Health & Education Development Scheme
A Volunteer's View
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Health & Education Development Scheme A Volunteer's View |
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Flying in to Kathmandu airport the pilot gives you an excellent guided tour of the Himalayas, 5.30 in the afternoon and the sun is just picking out the magnificent south face of Sagarmatha, ‘the forehead of the skies’, known in the west at Mount Everest.
In amongst the bundles of what seemed like numerous blankets belonging to the returning Nepalese chugging round on the conveyor belts, came the much needed medical supplies kindly donated from a German hospital, then the rucksacks of Chris and Bjorn the two German medical students travelling on the same flight as me, then… then nothing. Aware that someone from the hotel would be waiting for us outside, the others went through and I ran round frantically trying to locate my luggage, but alas, no luck.
I had been conscious enough to carry a toothbrush and a spare pair of underwear in my hand luggage, other than that, for the next week I had only the clothes I was standing up in, and an eagerness to immerse myself in the unknown throbbing and unpredictable culture around me.
Foolishly safely packing my camera in my rucksack, I spent that first week in Kathmandu wandering the streets trying to absorb everything I saw, the richness of the sounds, the choking fumes of the hectic traffic, the children’s laughter as they darted around me, intrigued by my white face.
My bag finally turned up after a nice holiday of its own off to Brazil somewhere, and my friends at the Shree Tibet Hotel sent me off on the five hour bus ride to Gorkha.
Nepal’s number one industry is tourism and they thrive on the backpackers who descend from all round the world to trek through the mighty Himalayan range. Surprisingly, in spite of this, a western face is still a source of amusement and delight. I sat on the bus as hoards of eager teenage boys battled it out as to who would sit next to me; meanwhile I was joined by a middle-aged man who proceeded to fall asleep on my shoulder.
As the bus weaved up the sides of steep hills I stared in awe at the endless terraced fields, it seems the Nepali are capable of growing anything on any land, no matter how remote or steep, I’m sure some of the women crouching knee deep in water picking rice grains and throwing them into the large baskets on their backs were defying the laws of physics.
It’s a different world, I told myself, I must try and accept the way they do things here, try and keep an open mind, and if that means accepting the concepts of gravity defying farming, then so be it. 
“Fri 3rd September 1999
Well, am sitting in the Gorkha Prince Hotel, Gorkha, listening to MTV and waiting for the other volunteers to wake up so we can down a few well-deserved beers. My face is burning, my legs don’t seem to work anymore and I think I might have infections in various awkward places, but other than that life is just so great. The last few weeks have simply been unbelievable, memories that will go with me forever. Everything’s so hectic, yet so peaceful.
When I awoke this morning with a view of one of the highest points on Earth I had no notion that today I’d be involved in an impromptu Doctors’ Surgery in the middle of the street and witness the slaughter of a live goat over lunch (didn’t really feel that hungry anymore).
So here I am, Gorkha, a great little town on the side of a steep hill, dirt tracks, noisy buses, fresh bananas, staring people, welcoming people, water buffalo, fighting dogs, Titanic T-shirts, and me.
I’m working at Annapurna English Boarding School, although I’ve been in Gorkha for nearly two weeks I’ve only actually spent two or three days in the classroom, it’s festival season so the pupils have had numerous days off. I believe it’s my duty to teach English, Maths, Geography, Moral Science (haven’t quite worked that one out yet) and Physical Education, to a selection of classes at the school.
The school is old and falling apart, there are no windows, no functioning toilets, many of the doors have rather large holes in them, the children squeeze into small hard benches and eagerly learn their textbooks off by heart. The teachers are all really young, an average age of about 20 I would say, but they’re keen to learn what they can from their visitor. Generally learning is by chanting back sentences from the textbooks, learning lists of vegetables and countries and capitol cities off by heart. There’s no practical application of what they’ve learnt, no discussion, no questioning. It takes a lot of effort to get the pupils to talk, to talk to me to talk to each other.
 I politely refused the use of a stick and instead set about running my classes with games and activities, this proved quite difficult, the language barrier and, as far as the children were concerned, lack of violent discipline, meant that things often got out of control.
I was glad of the break when the medical students asked me to accompany them on a Health Camp out to another town. The camp was organised in association with The Child First and medical supplies were kindly donated from some American benefactors. I don’t think I’ll ever know quite how far away Takokot really is, distances are measured in hours not miles or kilometres, Takokot is 10 hours away. 10 hours walking up and down and up and up. The personal physical challenge to actually make it there was superlative, yet nothing compared to what we faced ahead of us.
It was dark when we arrived, we were hot and very, very smelly and in dire need of a cup of tea and a wash. I don’t think I ever envisaged taking a shower under a dribble of water that trickled out of a pipe in a steep hillside, over-looking a magnificent valley as the bats swooped around us and the stars lit up the sky behind the mountain ranges far, far in the distance.
Over the next few days we were welcomed into various small villages surrounding Takokot by crowds of people who had brought their children to see the White Doctors. Not being medically trained myself I sat feeling useless as the other Medical students ploughed through case after case of dehydration, tuberculosis, scabies, and dangerous cysts. I found a use for myself by helping to take down the histories and attempting to keep the writhing crowd from bursting through the door or throwing their children through the small windows. It’s times like that when you feel totally helpless, you want to help all these people, they are so desperate for medical attention, yet there is only so much you can do.
My basic Nepali now just about covers food and being sick; tea, cucumber, rice, diarrhoea, fever and go away.
In a little under three days, with three western medical students, two Nepali health workers and a baffled geology student from England, we saw over 700 children – we had to turn away a lot more.
The lack of showers and a 10 hour trek doesn’t seem that important anymore. Now I am just in need of a cool beer.”  Over the next few weeks I settled into school life. It wasn’t long before class 2 screamed in delight at the Hokey-Kokey, class 5 were constructing their own cubes, class 6 were proudly colouring in family trees and class 7 had the opportunity to put what they’d learnt about doctors into practice and have a guided tour around the hospital and actually help Chris and Bjorn with their examinations.
During a geology field trip to Scotland at Easter I had foolishly let fellow rock enthusiasts shave my head in a public demonstration of the versatility of the Bic razor. The smooth baldness, and, in the April climate of western Scotland, chilliness of my head, raised over £200 for the school.
With this money we managed to buy a hefty amount of stationary equipment for the school and chairs and tables for the top two classes. We had great fun one afternoon as the students and the teachers thoroughly enjoyed painting the walls of the new classrooms with board rubbers nailed on to the end of broom handles.
With more space and more materials the children seemed a little more relaxed and we set about drawing pictures and posters to cover the walls, as I tried to introduce them to the repertoire of the Beatles and, in complete contrast, they taught me traditional Nepali songs and dances.
Life in Nepal is so full of hope and joy, any excuse and they’ll find something to celebrate. Just before I left it was the annual festival of women, Teej. For one day the men had to do the cooking, whilst the women congregated in the Temple to dance and sing and, on this particular occasion, to laugh for hours with tears pouring down their faces as a strange white woman dressed up in full Hindi dress and make up prances around to the beat of a drum and cheers of delight from thousands of spectators.
Somehow, rocks don’t seem that interesting any more….
 Ruth Woodhouse University of Leicester |
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