Ants eat pasta

The post monsoon cupboard clean out, disposing of all the rancid spices, revealed a bag of what had once been pasta that had become transformed into a thriving ant colony. Tiny ants now superseded by snails multiplying under the kitchen sink and a gecko the size of a Komodo dragon, but even this is no match for the huge spiders that lurk in the bedroom at night. Compensated by the arrival of swarms of fireflies, lighting the bedroom with twinkling stars. Woke up and imagined I was in heaven. A surprise storm on Tuesday morning cooled the air; I feared for David who had left home laden with a full rucksack in his bicycle basket, nine almost-life-size cut out animals on his carrier, 2 large framed charts under his left arm and his brow mopping towel in his right hand. He arrived at school just as the winds and lashing rain began.
On Tuesday evening we were invited to the Eastern Star hotel to have dinner with the VSO delegation from Kathmandu, including a Tory MP – the sole Conservative representative of VSO’s VolPol event to mark its 50th anniversary, and presumably to ensure government funding for a few more years. He fitted the stereotype. 11 MPs are currently visiting VSO projects in different countries, and supposedly having a ‘volunteer’ experience; his has been more of an embassy experience. On Wednesday we helped facilitate a review workshop for NGOs and their communities at the misnamed Sagarmarta (Nepali name for Everest – it is of course completely flat) Party (no sign of one) Palace (certainly not). Very interesting to work with a group other than education; the MP slept through most of it, possibly due to his wine consumption the previous evening and we bundled him into a rickshaw to take him back to the airport in the afternoon. Transport was difficult as it was the day for worshipping machinery. Buses, trucks, lorries, tractors, cars and rickshaws were taken to the temple to be blessed, have huge tikkas applied, and be festooned with garlands.
Most of the local factories have been forced to close because of the power shortages – more than 12 hours without electricity some days, and no schedule so it is impossible to plan. We try to keep our laptops and phones charged and the water tank topped up when we are home, but some days its impossible. When the power is on, it is usually only enough to produce a brown flicker in the light bulbs. We are loving our new supply of DVDs – have just finished Middlemarch and Cranford, often getting up in the middle of the night to finish an episode when the power comes on. We feel immersed in 19th century England – and indeed the conditions of some of our neighbours are not unlike the poor depicted there. Karna, now confident in negotiating his way round the computer, discovered Cranford yesterday, and is now very confused about what England is like.
Suddenly a 4 day workshop organised by a local NGO roused my colleagues from their torpor; after half an hour of planning they disappeared for the rest of the day. I met them at the NGO Federation at 8am on Friday tucking into a hearty breakfast. The workshop is targeting teachers from very poor Dalit communities near the Indian border, and follow up support will be provided. The lack of proper planning was evident, so we had a shamefaced debriefing at the end of the day. By Sunday things were going well, with some of the best training I have ever observed. On Monday, a bright young man from Save the Children, who are funding the initiative arrived for the final day – another useful local contact. We spent most of Tuesday ‘debriefing’ and planning for how we will change our approach for the primary training that starts at the ETC after Tihar.
Durga is being remarkably pro-active and we have been off into the countryside on the back of his motorbike visiting some of the headteachers who were trained before the monsoon. The travelling is wonderful, if precarious. On the highway he is no respecter of speed humps, and once off the road we bump along increasingly narrow tracks through bright green paddy fields and lush banana plantations, negotiating cows, buffalo, chickens, ducks, women carrying huge bundles of fodder and tiny children playing in the dirt. Blue mountains in the distance. Looks idyllic, but the reality of life in the villages is grim. Flimsy houses of bamboo and mud, dilapidated school buildings with dirt floors and no resources, but some bright eyed teachers trying their best. Children, as ever, are curious and delightful.
I read in the Guardian Weekly today that the average British family spend 34 minutes a day shouting at each other. Include the dog and multiply that by 10 and you have an approximation for a Nepali family. Especially when they live downstairs. We have discovered that they are very rich, own three cars, and want to buy the whole house from our landlord. They have just installed a generator, so now the 2 televisions are on from dawn til late. We are in delicate negotiations about who should pay the electricity bill for the month that we were in England.
On Sunday September 28 we go to Kathmandu for a VSO workshop followed by our Dashain holiday, rafting down the Seti river to Pokhara before we take to the hills. There is a general air of festivity already, with more street stalls selling trinkets, children with balloons and firecrackers, and the setting up of huge bamboo swings. The barley seeds will be planted on Tuesday. Our colleagues are starting their annual family gatherings with singing, dancing and much feasting on everything except fatted calves.