There are some things that Nepalis just do right. I've been through a lot of cultural adjustment over the past nine months, but there were a few Nepali customs that immediately caught my eye as significantly better in so many ways than the American customs I've grown up with. Example: Nepali hospitality. Their insistence on providing tea and a place to sit to all guests, though at times overwhelming, is one of the most consistent kindnesses I've ever experienced. The Nepali saying that "a guest is god" has developed into a loving warmth that has met me at every doorway.
Another thing Nepalis do right? Waste. or I suppose I should say the lack of waste. Almost everything we ate came package-free, straight from a local farm. Milk was bottled in reusable plastic jars; tea, flour, and beans scooped directly from a large burlap sack. Except for the wrapped candies and ramen from my Bauju's store, there was very little plastic or paper to throw out. A months worth of waste in Nepal is comparable to the waste we often accumulate in just a few hours in the U.S.
As my last days in Gorkha crept around the corner, I came to recognize another shining star in Nepali tradition: the art of saying goodbye. I grew incredible close to my students, co-teachers, and family after many months of living in Gorkha. I expected a heart-wrenching, tear-filled goodbye of people asking me not to go and me awkwardly repeating that I had to. I suppose I expected this in part because sometimes Nepalis show they care by guilt-tripping you: "Why were you gone so long?" "You'll forget about us the week after you leave," "You don't like the food, do you?" In America, we'd call it uncomfortable. In Nepal, it's called showing you care.
So of course, going into my last days of goodbye, I suspected questions more difficult than the one's I normally got from my first and second graders
But to my surprise, I was dead wrong. In fact I've never seen a group of people do goodbye better. It started with my Bidai, a farewell ceremony where the teachers covered my face in red tika as a blessing and students handed me armfuls of flowers.
The gifts and smiles overwhelmed me in love. The red powder took days to fully remove. So did the heartwarming feeling that came with.
As my "Thank You" I created a scrapbook of photos for the school and wrapped/signed over 270 presents for all of my students (better not to leave anyone out). For my most cherished classes (1, 2, & 5) I printed out photos for each student, to give them something to remember me by, even when they are older and graduating to high school and beyond. I hope sincerely to be an enduring memory in their hearts and minds.
On my final morning, students came early to sit with me and snap pictures together. As I said my final goodbye to teachers, they repeated with a happiness similar phrases: "Go well," "Safe Travels," "We will miss you," and "Don't forget us, okay?"
The last one got me every time. But neither the hugs of my favorite teachers, nor my final wave to my students were tear-filled. In fact, they were filled with joy. And I was both amazed, and incredibly grateful, for the Nepali ability to say goodbye with joy. In the same way they drink tea in the mornings, in the same way they dance or sing songs to the beat of a madal drum - My Nepali family bid me goodbye with joy.
....and with several glass boxes filled with fake flowers and cheesy sayings from "Best Wishes" to "Happy Birthday." I don't know who started this trend, but they've really started quite a business. They also gave me and the other Fulbrighters a good laugh as we lined our gifts up in the Kathmandu apartment (over 25 glass boxes in all). "It's the thought that counts." But, of course, I don't need twelve glass boxes to remember my Nepali family and my time in Gorkha. That comes with ease.
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