Planes, trains and automobiles.

Having now lived in Nepal for nearly seven weeks, I felt it was time to comment on the infrastructure that I am encountering every day. The word itself is almost lost on Nepalese transportation, as the word “structure” implies some sort of organisation and planning which, from what I have experienced, are somewhat lacking in this lovely little country.

Let’s start with planes…and enough said. As far as trains are concerned, I cannot comment, having neither seen nor experienced (or heard scary stories) about any. But on automobiles I could write a short novel. The range of incompetence of drivers is one thing, but the range of incompetence of vehicles is a whole new story. Most cars have bits fallen off, bits bashed in and bits borrowed from other suffering means of transport. The taxis here are hilarious – all tiny little cars with very swish dangling interiors that often prevent vision through the windscreen.

In fact, so much attention goes to the shrines hanging from the rear view mirrors that no time is left to care about such things as seatbelts, door handles and seats. I went in one recently that had a hole in the floor that I could put my foot through and feel the outside breeze. Air conditioning Nepali-style! 

However,  the haulage lorries put the car decorations to shame – such beautiful, beautiful trucks!

Growing up on a farm, I have an affinity with agricultural living and have been greatly amused by the tractors out here. No John Deeres or Massie Fergies in Nepal; oh no, just take an engine, stick it on wheels and add a handle, then sit on a trailer, hold the engine handle and tally ho. Brilliant.

I love the buses the most. They are all similar looking from the outside, but step on in and you’re greeted with loud blaring Hindu chart classics from the driver’s radio and mirrored ceilings. 

The decoration once again shrouding the myriad of flaws, including not enough room for the hundreds of people they cram on. I swear that last week I took part in the “How many people can you get on a bus?” World Record. When I boarded (simply by sticking your hand out wherever you are on the street, no such thing as bus stops), the twenty seats were all taken. The standing room was long gone and I was thus shepherded towards the driver, clambering over the gear stick and two small children to sit perched just below the dashboard. Assuming I was the last aboard only proved my naivety. Along the fifteen minute journey to the market, another twenty two people boarded. Twenty two. On the roof, on the back door, clinging on to the bar on the boarding step, joining me under the dashboard. Definitely an entry for the record books.

Yet the piece de resistance of the traffic network pleasures out here has to be the roads. Once again, I see another area of Nepali life where the Government do not spend any money. Quite where the country’s money is being spent, I (and the average Nepali) have no idea. If you think you’ve met potholes before, think again. These roads take things to a whole new level.

A good road is a road where you only hit your head on the roof every thirty seconds or so, as oppose to every five seconds on an average stretch of thoroughfare. The piles and piles of rubble on the sides of the road begging to be tarmacked onto the highway only prove to rub salt into the painful sores of any traveller as they bump and jolt their way from A-Z. Add to that wannabe Lewis Hamiltons on the backs of nifty little mopeds, no road rules, crossroads where you just “go for it”, roundabouts made out of cows or people and you've a little taste of life on the roads Nepali style. Never again will I moan about sitting in a traffic jam on the M4!

On the flip side of the shambolic road network, my mind has been boggled by the speed, stealth and daring feats of ingenuity of Nepali builders. Next door to the guesthouse, a new pad is being erected. Check out the ingenious bamboo scaffolding and corrugated iron flooring (with barefoot builders, of course).

The mountain-goat like balancing skills of these builders has caused me many a heart-in-mouth moment of panic as they skip across wobbly roofs, scamper up swaying stick ladders and carry tons of bricks and cement on their heads. Yet the buildings pop up faster than lightening. And are sturdy. Miraculously sturdy!

Speaking of goats, the bleating little ungulates have started to pop up in numbers around Lakeside.

This is a doomed vacation for Billy Gruff and his pals, as sadly they are being brought in for the sacrifice next week for Dashain (one of the biggest Hindu festivals in the calendar year, our equivalent of Christmas). According to the Kathmandu Times, 88000 goats are being brought to the capital for the festival – all ready for the first day of festivities when each family in the country sacrifices a goat, gives offerings to Dashain, the goddess of the Victory of Good over Evil, and then feasts on the goat (our Turkey and Stuffing equivalent). I have been invited to a Dashain feast by a lovely family I have got to know who run a local café. I am planning to time my arrival hour carefully.

Not quite Christmas pickings, but along the same lines, myself and another volunteer indulged our craving for a bit of English cuisine and cooked a good old roast dinner for the other volunteers and family in the guest house on Saturday night. Chicken, roast potatoes, lots of vegetables and even some Yorkshire Puddings found their way out of the little oven and onto a Nepali menu for the evening. Not content with just the first course, I went one step further and knocked up an apple crumble with vanilla ice-cream for pudding. Yum, even if I do say so myself. As much as I love curry and rice, it was so good to have my palate tickled by familiar flavours for an evening.

This week I have had the pleasure of shopping for toys. Having dissected the feedback forms from all of the ten schools that attended the training days, I have planned to use some of my funds to offer some of the schools their basic needs.  Toy boxes for nurseries, painting of walls, educational materials and library books came up time and again for many of the schools. Because of the kindness of so many of you, I am able to help out each of these schools with their basic wish list. I started off this week scouting the market for some good, educational toys and games and some toy-box-esque crates to be able to concoct something sturdy and full of fun.

I was really pleased with the finished result – as simple as the toys are, to be able to give nursery classes something to play with is all that I wanted at this stage. None of the nursery rooms in the schools have any materials; the majority of them being simple stone rooms with not even pictures on the walls, never mind things to play with. Children from ages two to six spend around six hours per day sitting in these rooms. Thus, a bit of brightness and a teddy bear or two to cuddle will hopefully prove a positive addition to the room.

As part of the follow up to the main training, I have arranged a visit to each of the schools to go through any areas of the main training they found confusing, as well as to officially donate the toys, a library box of books and some educational materials.

The first school I visited was a very good school by local standards. The nursery has pictures on the wall and the school has a library. An actual library. With books in it and (occasionally) children borrowing them. Brilliant.

Yet most of the schools have nothing – not a single book within the whole school, therefore as meagre as my book box donation looks, it is giving the schools fifty more story books than they have ever had before.

The problems volunteers have encountered with donations before have been one of two things. Either teachers take items home for their own children to use, or they lock them away in the staff room; feeling they are so precious, valuable and unique that they are too good to use. It was essential I made it clear just how these donations were to be used. Rather than say they were from myself, I presented them as being from the PoD Charity (so that the schools do not then expect such donations from every volunteer that comes). I also made a big deal of handing them over (getting the headmaster involved and Phil, the local charity manager over here) with photographs and ceremony; the thought being that there is then evidence of the handover, there are rules about how items are to be used and there is a big focus on the use and enjoyment of these donations.

My first two follow up visits have both filled me with hope. The first school, Balmandir School, is a relatively good school as it stands: a government school with keen teachers who want to better their school. The mantra on the walls leads their hopeful way:

They have well-built classrooms, tables and chairs and even provide lunch for the children.

As before mentioned, they have a library, they have decorated nursery classroom walls, they have displays up in the classrooms and they have a whole host of enthusiastic teachers who are keen to implement key ideas from the training day.

The second school, Anapurna Primary, made my heart smile when I visited yesterday. Just five days after the training day, they have taken on-board so many ideas already into their school, putting up star-charts on the walls, posters and displays and making their classrooms tidy and ordered. Six weeks ago, they were teaching in blank-walled stone rooms, with repetitive dictation and rote learning. Now they are trying out group work, creative teaching and positive discipline. Small steps hopefully with big rewards.

The plan now is to paint their three classrooms during the Dashain holidays, so I am busy sketching (!) artistic designs for twelve blank and rather dirty stone walls currently covered in children's scribble. Here’s where I hope that I’ve been graced with the Piscean's artistic flair when it comes to painting...

I will finish this week’s update with a poem. Not from me, but from a school student published in the Kathmandu Post. It evokes the youth of the country's real hope for education and the optimism that so many children hold for a future built upon the foundations of education. The bitter-sweet reality of the corrupt state that awaits them when they grow up is blighted for now by a heartfelt determination to grow, to prosper and to learn. If only students back home were so proud of the education that is served to them daily on a golden platter.

The infrastructure of education is currently as blemished as the infrastructure of the roads, but you can not for a second doubt the hope that is germinating in the little hearts of the future of Nepal.