An Alternative Education in Rural Nepal

Sorry it looks like I haven't been updating my blog followers, it's due to copyright laws etc. that I have to redirect you to Republica for my latest articles.
Happy reading.

[Link updated.]

Tara's Story Before and After

For a revised version of 'The Road to Solambu', please go to the Republica website.

[Link updated.]

Grassroot Feminism

"Feminism... does that word have the same negative connotation in the UK as it does here in Nepal?" One very respected doctor asked me one day.
I stared back blankly, searching for the right words to respond as I swallowed back my shock.
The Oxford English Dictionary describes feminism as "the advocacy of women’s rights on the ground of the equality of the sexes," while the Cambridge English Dictionary defines it as "the belief that women should be allowed the same rights, power and opportunities as men and be treated in the same way, or the set of activities intended to achieve this state".
But I still to this day cannot define that single word in one sentence, so here's what I think is the definition of feminism in an article I wrote for Republica.

Bolde Outreach Camp

A small stoopa in Bolde Phediche

Bolde Phediche i s a beautiful secluded village nestled almost precariously in the sloping hills somewhere in South-East Nepal. Seven years ago two doctors had to travel six hours by foot without water to get from Dhulikhel Hospital (DH) to it. A few months later, one of the same doctors and a Community Programmes Coordinator from the hospital endangered their lives during one of Nepal's civil wars by walking through a jungle to reach more patients at the same place. They were mistaken for Maoists, and nearly shot by the Nepalese Army.

Today, patients from Bolde and its surrounding areas can find medical help every day, 24 hours a day at a Health Centre built and funded by DH and its Department for Community Programmes (DCP). A 'camp' of 14 doctors can now walk uphill for half an hour (safely) to reach the Health Centre to provide 25,000 people with specialised care, as they did on Friday the 2^nd of October this year.

Through word of mouth and the artful distribution of flyers to the right people, these 25,000 people know exactly when such doctors will be visiting the Outreach. This way, patients living in the catchment area of the beautiful but remote Bolde Phediche can not only receive quality healthcare, but arguably the best healthcare available to them, for close to no money. As it turned out on Friday the 2^nd of October, patients were surprised by a group of specialists all the way from Austria who accompanied a team of doctors, nurses and staff from DH to specialise particularly in the gynaecology, orthopaedic and physiotherapy departments.

The Austrian team led by Professor Doctor Rudolph Schabus included Physiotherapist Matthias Pakosta; Massage Therapist Angela Krottendorfer; and Medical Engineer Kahr Jurgen. As Angela put it, "This is not something which the average tourist can experience." The four professionals are just part of the example of how healthcare in Nepal can develop and change people's lives; literally transcending thousands of miles to get to patients who have never seen a non-Nepalese person before, and who had no idea that their ailments have led to intricate studies in other parts of the world.

Surgeon Dr Rohit of DH's Orthopaedics Department says that on that day alone, the medical team saw a total of 64 patients in a little over six hours. Also assisting him was Medical Officer Dr Pujan and Physiotherapist Nishal, and Health Assistant Sudip. "35 patients came just for the Orthopaedic Camp, at what I like to call 'my' Outreach," he says smiling at the thought of the progress DH has made to reach out to villagers.

Dr Rohit is particularly attached to Bolde Outreach for a few reasons. He has managed it since he first started as a Medical Officer at DH. He still visits frequently despite the bumpy ride and long journey from the hospital. Most of all, Dr Rohit is still attached to Bolde Outreach because he is one of the two dedicated doctors who used to walk for six hours through jungle and uphill to see his patients. He says that the cases he has seen the most are occupational injuries. "We saw many cases of traumatic injuries from work-related situations, and due to years of neglect the healing process has been made much harder, and the pain worse."

In most cases, physical therapy was the only cure or way of easing discomfort. "This visit was different for us because every patient had two or three doctors or specialists attending to them," said Mattias. "It's a good job we all agreed on the diagnosis every time!" Mattias was on hand to manipulate three spinal cases, and along with help from Professor Dr Schabus taught orthopaedic patients some physical exercises which can be performed when they are at home.

Angela had more difficulty discharging her patients compared to her colleagues. "I treat with Acupuncture Pressure Massage, so a few patients were gesturing to friends to come and try or asking for their other foot to be massaged!" she laughed. Meanwhile, Kahr had the tough job of gathering what materials he could to make several splints for patients. "The splints are only made to hold out until surgery," he said, whilst holding a piece of flimsy looking wood - and quite a few patients do require surgery.

Surgery can be an unaffordable option for most rural villagers under normal circumstances. At DH through the Outreach Centres however, surgery can be charitable. "We know some of our patients really can't afford surgery, and we will still operate," Dr Rohit explains. In fact, most of the time the price tag on a general check-up is just to "Ensure patients understand the importance of health. If something is free, sometimes it can take away the meaning. A check up and follow up treatment only costs 10 Rupees."

At least 15 of the total patients that day were gynaecological consultations, seen by Dr Shakya, Medical Officer Dr Prativa, or Nurse Krishna. Dr Shakya was also at Bolde for other reasons. "A lot of girls don't feel they can even talk to their mothers about their 'women' problems, they're so shy," Dr Shakya said after her talk on women's health to a group of 30-odd female students from the ages of 14 to 18. At one point the girls even stopped answering questions Dr Shakya was asking when they saw a group of men walk by outside their classroom.

Sessions such as these are not common at schools and happen only on a voluntary basis, which means a lot of girls still shy away from discussing issues such as puberty with anyone other than their friends – who only know as much as they do. Having someone to talk about such issues with is still rare in Nepalese society. "Some girls don't understand why they menstruate, and others don't know why they have menstrual pains, for example," begins Dr Shakya. "It's really good to come and speak to them here, in their own environment because they are willing to learn, they're just shy." Without the Health Centre, the girls may never have had a chance to discuss these issues openly.

Samita Giri, the Women's Health Programme Coordinator from the DCP was also on hand to give a talk on uterine prolapse to a mother's group. 16 mothers turned up at Bolde Outreach to talk about the risks and signs to detect prolapse. "They talked very openly about it because there were no men present," said Samita who highlights the all-important absence of men in order for women to be able to speak frankly about feminine issues.

Part of the discussion was to encourage women to let go of the traditional view that operations on older mothers are pointless as they do not have "long to live". "When uterine prolapse occurs in older mothers, they don't want to have surgery because they think, 'Well I'm old now anyway'. I had to explain that they shouldn't think like that, and that prolapse is dangerous." A contributing factor to this way of thinking in rural societies is because operations, taking medication, and getting treatment in general are perceived as ways to weaken the body further, thus hindering a person's ability to work in the future.

Samita taught the women how to identify the three stages of uterine prolapse, and more importantly, how to look for signs of stage one prolapse so that in the event of such problems, they can seek medical assistance immediately. "The women mentioned one case of a woman they knew who used hot water to 'cure' herself. They also said at the beginning of the session that they felt it was unnecessary to teach them, and that their daughters and granddaughters were the important ones. Afterwards however, they understood why we were addressing them."

Samita recognises the progress that can be made through talking to women in the community honestly and in a coherent manner. Most of them, just as Dr Shakya said, want to learn. Through community programmes little by little changes can be made in the way people think and act. "At the end of the session mothers were saying 'We should bring our husbands next time!'"

As a community-focused hospital, camps such as the one conducted at Bolde Phediche earlier this month are what keeps DH's message of working for the community, and with the community burning bright. From stopping off to pay a patient a visit on the walk to the Health Centre, to changing the way women think permanently about their bodies; every subtle difference each member of staff has made to each individual person in the community work as push and pull factors. Such changes keep the hospital going and they are also why the hospital exists in the first place.

As so many of the doctors point out, "Why wouldn't we want to visit an Outreach? It's the best part of the job!"

Gynae OPD at Dhulikhel Hospital – Uncovering the Norm of Social Stigma

A few days ago, I interviewed a female patient in the Gynaecology Outpatient Department (Gynae OPD to those familiar with the term). She was 29 years old and nine weeks pregnant with her fourth child. She already had three girls, the eldest being 13 years of age and the youngest still a toddler. All this was perfectly normal; average even for a patient in Gynae OPD in Nepal; however, this patient caught my attention because she was not here for a simple check up.

Maiya Rana had been instructed by her husband to find out the sex of their unborn child, and to abort it if it was a girl. I looked at her while Dr Shakya, the gynaecology doctor, translated to me, word for word, Maiya's husband's demands. The only emotion I detected in Maiya's countenance was stress as she tried to subdue her irritable toddler, while glancing from me to Dr Shakya. 
Maiya's problem is a problem many married women in rural Nepal face; the burden of bearing a son.  Such a burden rests heavily on the mother's shoulders, who must also carry the weight of social stigma if she does not produce a male successor for her family.

Maiya told us that this was an unwanted pregnancy. In fact, she says, her last daughter, who was born with a cleft palette, was also an unwanted pregnancy. "I only wanted two children," she sighs as she shifts the weight of her sleeping daughter in her lap. Maiya's husband had expected their last daughter to be a boy, but as Dhulikhel Hospital has a policy of not disclosing the sex of the baby during ultrasound check ups for fear of situations such as Maiya's, neither Maiya or her husband knew that they would be having a daughter until she was born.

Maiya says that her husband longs for a boy so badly that they will keep trying until she can conceive one, and every female they conceive from now until then will be aborted - because he says so. I wait for a reaction of shock from the doctor, but she merely continues to listen to Maiya intently. When Maiya pauses, Dr Shakya turns to me and quietly says, "Have you ever heard anything like this before? This is perfectly common here in Nepal. A lot of men here are used to abusing women's rights."

And it's true. Women here who have total control over their bodies are the more privileged ones, for want of a better term. What is considered a basic human right in any developed country is a constant uphill battle for many women here in Nepal, particularly rural areas where literacy levels are low, and fertility rates high. Once a woman such as Maiya is married into a family, she is then and there considered the property of said family. She will cook, she will clean, she will work if the husband wants her to, and she will raise their children – the luckier ones will not have to care for the elder generation on top of her daily duties. Maiya is considered one of the luckier ones.

I ask her why she cannot stand up to her husband. "He tells me I have an easy life, and he is the one earning money. All I have to do is look after the household and bring up our children. I have no money, so how can I say no?" She tells us that she has actually been on the contraceptive pill on and off for nine years, but is reluctant to disclose whether or not her husband knows about this. I ask if she wants to have the baby or the abortion if it was her decision. She replies without thinking, "Choosing either way is criminal. It's a life."

Clearly, her husband's concern is only that Maiya will conceive a boy, with no second thoughts or guilt about using abortion as a form of contraception. No questions have been asked in the first half hour of the consultation about how it will affect Maiya's health. Only after she has spoken to us about her husband's desire for a boy, only after she voices her concern for the health of the baby, and only after she enquires whether or not we can find out the sex of her baby, does she ask, "How will an abortion affect my health?"

But Maiya does not show a shred of self pity, which is the admirable part. She is stronger and more mature than her 29 years betray, possibly because she had to grow up so much quicker than the average 29 year old I know. Married at 17, she knows very little about the world outside of her work and her family. Perhaps this is blessing in disguise, because Maiya's life is not likely to change anytime soon.

Then Maiya tells us something surprising. She says her 13 year old daughter has already said she never wants to get married. "She says I can't take control of anything in the home, so why would she get married?" Maiya says rather bemusedly. She also knows that she is not alone in bearing the pressures of needing to conceive a boy. She tells us a story about a friend who gave birth to four daughters, and then a fifth. According to her friend's husband, they would only be able to bring up the child if it was a boy – so he gave his wife an ultimatum; the daughter or their marriage. The friend chose her marriage, and abandoned their fifth child at the hospital.

As the consultation and interview draws to a close, I am caught off-guard by a question directed at me. Dr Shakya turns to me and asks, "What advice would you give her?"

The only advice going through my mind is too obvious, yet impossible for Maiya to take. I think for a few moments, and try to reply without sounding too ignorant of Maiya's circumstances. "I think you should take control of your body. It's never too late to stand up for yourself, and if you want this child, regardless of the gender, you should keep it. An abortion should be your decision, because it's your health."

Maiya seems satisfied with my answer and is smiling as she leaves, because, she says, having someone to listen to her for a change has been lovely. "Sometimes even when we can't change their lives, just listening to them is a form of a help," says Dr Shakya. "I can't help every woman the way I want to, but I can listen."

Small Luxuries

Sometimes it's good to move out of your comfort zone. Sometimes it's incredibly hard to push yourself to even find the edge of said comfort zone. And then sometimes, you just need to be reminded of why you need to recognise what lies beyond your comfort zone.

Moving to Nepal was never a carefully thought out decision on my half, I'll admit it. It was a self-indulgent act of impulsion which I have no regrets about, but it was a hastily made, not very well thought out move non-the-less. Not many of my friends know that. It's only now as I sit in my apartment, trying to proof-read some documents on water sanitation that I've had a chance to reflect on the past four weeks of my stay here in Nepal properly.

Hearing your mother's voice break as she tells you she misses you, or reading an email from a friend telling you she is incredibly proud of you wakes up something inside of you. It reminds you that you can't just lie in bed when you're having a bad day and missing home, because you need to go to work, and have deadlines to meet. It reminds you that you're only one person, in the grand scheme of things such as the world, the universe, trying to make a difference to someone, (anyone's) life. Most of all, it reminds you that you're really nothing special, and hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people in the rest of the world are going through exactly the same motions.

As I write this, I'm reminding myself all of these things over and over in my head. It's a National Holiday, it's not stopped raining since last night, and I'm sat alone in my apartment thousands of miles away from everyone I love, and I'm almost ready to feel sorry for myself - but here there's a lot more to life than feeling sad. While I sit in my room, indulging in my emotions, many people here don't have the satisfaction. Here, if you have time to stop and review your day, it's considered a small luxury. Here, people don't pity themselves.

In a country where 90 percent of the population live in rural areas, roughly only half of that percentage has access to a clean water supply. Yes, I guess people here just have more to worry about. Sadly, Nepal also contribute to the 30,000 deaths worldwide of children under five who die from preventable diseases, and to the 6,000 who die due to contaminated water and inadequate sanitation.

Some other statistics;

• 
  
  
  
  1.4 million children die every year from diarrhoea.
• 
  
  
  
  A further 1.6 million people die from other water related diseases.
• 
  
  
  
  Approximately 1.1 billion (nearly 20%) of the global population do not have access to standard water supply sources.
• 
  
  
  
  About 2.4 billion (41%) of people worldwide do not have access to basic sanitation facilities.
• 
  
  
  
  More than 125 million children under the age of five live in households without access to a clean water source and more than 280 million children lack adequate sanitation facilities.
  
  
  

I guess then, one could say I'm out of my comfort zone, along with maybe another 2.4 billion people in the world who never had the opportunity to escape back into a comfort zone in the first place. There's nothing brave or indeed exceptional about moving to Nepal, unless, perhaps you came here to become a doctor, a soldier or the Prime Minister of the country (which we actually currently are in need of). Most of the time, all I have is my pen and notebook, or when there's electricity, my laptop – hardly life-saving instruments or weapons of protection.

 

There is one thing I want from this experience though, and I think that judging from some of the responses I've had about my last post, I'm on the way to achieving, and that's awareness of Nepal. Someone said to me the other day, "Now why would anyone care about a little country like Nepal, so far from the West?"

 

Perhaps a cynic would say people should care because it has close relations with what will soon be one the greatest powers of the world and is one of the fastest-growing economies; India. Or maybe because it is a relatively violence-free country, despite its "Democratic Socialist" politics not quite achieving what it aims for. Personally though, I'd like people to learn about Nepal at the same rate I'm learning about it. Simply because it's a country rich in culture, steeped in history, and overflowing with kindness. Nepal doesn't need Western Sympathy, it needs Western Faith. If raising awareness of it by working at Dhulikhel Hospital turns just one head back home, then I've served the hospital. However, if my writing continually informs people back home of how "a little country like Nepal" can overcome poverty, ill health, and start enrolling all the children here in schools rather than in rice fields, then I've done more than just what I needed to do.

 

And all this would take is stepping outside of my comfort zone. Put into context, being outside of it, doesn't seem like such a bad place to be.

The Road to Solambu

Tara was just another illiterate girl from her village of Panchet, hoping to make a better living in Kathmandu.  At the age of 19, she had never learned to read, write or count – she could barely write her name.  Then something miraculous happened; Tara fell in love with someone who barely spoke her language.  Utaka fell in love with Tara and whisked her away to his home country of Japan, where they went on to have two beautiful girls.

But Tara was still illiterate.  It didn’t matter to Utaka, because Tara had learned very quickly to speak Japanese and he loved her, but it upset Tara when her daughters asked her to check their homework and she couldn’t read a single word.  Tara decided that if she wanted to prove to her children that education was important, then she would also have to learn, so she enrolled in Japanese classes.  She studied whenever she could and worked hard, in fact she worked so hard that she went on to fulfil her childhood dream of becoming a nurse; something unheard of for a girl from her village especially.

Yet Tara still felt something was missing.  She was happily married, had her own loving family but she never forgot about Panchet or the people whom she grew up knowing before she met Utaka.  She knew that she had to do something for the people in her village because she had been lucky.  Her dreams had come true, but there were thousands of people from her village who never dared to dream.  Working in healthcare in Japan had made Tara realise that this level of medical help could be provided in her village, if she could find the funds.  Each month from then on, Tara put aside a portion of her salary, until one day she had saved up almost five million Nepali rupees.

There was just one thing – Tara didn’t know how to build a health centre.  She could only remember basic Nepali, and she spoke no English.  One evening, she decided to ask her kind-hearted Japanese teacher Kyoko (whom she had remained close to even after graduation) for help as she knew Kyoko had contacts who could speak English.  Kyoko and her husband Yukio listened to Tara as she expressed her pain at her inability to help after all this time.  Yukio, who at the time was the Director of a Japanese bank, agreed to go to Nepal with Tara then and there to help her find doctors and contractors.  Together, they left Osaka for Kathmandu.

But when they got to Kathmandu, nobody was willing to help them.  “Why would you want to put money into Panchet?  It’s so far from any big city, spend your money wisely and invest it in hiring doctors in Kathmandu,” hospitals told her and Yukio.  Every night, Tara cried herself to sleep and felt sick at the prospect of being so close, yet further than she had ever felt from home. 

Tara had told her family of her plans for Panchet, and had asked all of them to find help and extra funding for the health centre she wanted to build.  Her cousin, Hira, was one of the few in her family who had left Panchet with a full education.  At the time, he worked as an Office Manager at one of Kathmandu’s most prestigious hotels, and as a result had met many people who worked in business and healthcare.  One of the people he met, just so happened to have recently accomplished exactly what Tara was setting out to do in a small village named Bolde.  Hira’s friend told him that he had gone directly to one of Nepal’s NGO hospitals in a small town called Dhulikhel.

Tara, Yukio and Hira set off for Dhulikhel the next day.  Tara told Dr Ram, Dr Koju and Dr Biraj her story slowly, in her broken Nepali and about her fears that her money wasn’t enough and she had no idea how much everything would cost. All three doctors listened intently and after Tara had finished her story, there was a calm silence.  Dr Ram finally spoke.

“Tara, you came to us with a brilliant idea, why dwell on the amount of money you have?”

With that, Dr Ram, Dr Biraj and Dr Koju accompanied the three on the treacherous six hour journey from Dhulikhel to Panchet.  The doctors loved Panchet, and saw for themselves the beauty of the village which Tara spoke of.  How could it be that in a village where there was no plumbing or electricity for most of the evenings, that there could be such raw compassionate people?  All this time Westernisation had taught people world-wide that modernisation was the key to development, yet there was more civilisation and humanity in this tiny village than you could imagine in any regular city in the West.

On the way back to Dhulikhel, the doctors stopped off in a village named Solambu.  Roughly two hours walk from Panchet, the doctors came up with an idea.  They asked Tara if it would be OK to build a health centre here instead, as it would almost double the catchment area for patients.  Tara was so thrilled, she agreed, because two hours walking for the people in her village would be better than two days to get to the nearest hospital.  Together with Yukio she returned to Japan with hope, not despair.  Yukio later used his knowledge to gather funding for building the health centre. 

What you see in this picture is the finished result of what started as a dream, and was completed brick by hand-carved brick (literally) by people who dared to believe in it.  Tara never stopped dreaming, and together with Yukio she started an International Non-Governmental Organisation (INGO) called Nepali Tara which translates as Nepali Star.  And because Tara truly is a bright shining star, she went on to build a school near her village.

Yukio san quit banking permanently, and now runs Nepali Tara from an office in Osaka.   Hira also quit his well-paid job in hotel management to oversee a new bridge project which will connect Panchet to Solambu Health Centre (SHC).  Once completed, this bridge will increase SHC’s catchment area to 75,000 people – that’s more than twice the number who can currently reach SHC.

 This weekend, I accompanied Yukio san, Hira and two representatives from the Japan Overseas Cooperative Association (JOCA) who are monitoring the funding given by Japan Post to build Solambu Health Centre’s latest development; a Community Centre where micro-finance meetings can be conducted, and various programmes can come to life. 

If you ever decide to visit, which you might well do, walk down the steps to the right of the Health Centre towards the canteen.  About six feet down the footpath, you may notice a small orange tree.  This small orange tree, rather like the person who planted it, will one day grow to see other small trees planted around SHC to provide fruit and vegetables for the storage rooms in the completed Community Centre.

The Middle of Nowhere

Godamchaur Outreach Centre, just one of Dhulikhel Hospital's 10 Outreachs.

On Sunday I got the chance to visit one of Dhulikhel Hospital's Outreach Centres.  This tiny brick room attached to the side of a village primary school is literally all there is to it.  Godamchaur is in Kathmandu district, but so far removed from the liveliness and pollution (!) of the city that you could be anywhere else in Nepal.
Getting to Godamchaur Outreach is more than trying; don't even think about it unless you have a sturdy 4x4 or actually live there, which is essentially what it was built for.  We drove through Dhulikhel, Basghari (where I live), Baskapur, Kathmandu and then finally reached Lalitpur.  Godamchaur Outreach is a partnership outreach of Dhulikhel Hospital's which makes it more technical support than patient support.  Still, for a country where 80 percent of people aged 5-18 years live in rural areas, it makes such  a huge difference to access to healthcare.

Yesterday I went to Baunepati Health Centre, which is roughly two hours down the worst dirt road from Dhulikhel that I've ever seen.  I felt that this was really what I had been waiting to see since I've been here; how much of a difference Dhulikhel Hospital's Outreach Centres are making to people's lives.

Under Sudip's care ( a trained paramedic) dermatologists, orthodontists and other professional specialists visit Baunepati Health Centre once a week.  When doctors are not dispatched from the hospital, there are usually three paramedics on duty, 24 hours a day.  I accompanied Sudip, two orthodontists, two dermatologists and two other doctors to see first hand how one of Dhulikhel Hospital's Outreach Centres operates.
Oh boy did I see a lot.  I witnessed five tooth extractions, and the complications which went behind them; an armpit abscess; a snake bite which had become infected; and lastly before lunch a bad case of osteomyelitis of the foot.  It was not so much the severity of the cases which got me though.  Seeing the paramedics and doctors work away case after case really made me think that the medical profession is not one for people who only care for themselves.  The journey to the outreach was over two hours long.  The journey back had taken around about the same time, with the snake bite victim rocking back and forth with us along the decrepit road, eyes narrowed in pain the whole way.  No, what really amazes me again is simply how much people care about each other here.  I get the feeling here that nobody treats their occupations as "just a job".  Maybe it's because they all work for a non-for-profit hospital built specifically to aid the poor, but I have yet to hear one doctor, nurse, paramedic, or any other medical professional who works 14 hour days, six days a week, complain once.
Seeing the patients made me see how much those working at Dhulikhel Hospital love helping them.  After seeing the patient with the underarm abscess, I heard Sudip sigh and mumble something quickly in Nepali at her.  The patient turned her head away and said something softly, so that Sudip had to lean in closer too.  "What's the matter?"  I asked.  "I gave her seven days antibiotics to take, but she only took one.  She said it makes her weak, see?"  Sudip shrugged his shoulders and looked at me helplessly.
It was then it suddenly hit me.  The medical staff here did not train merely to help their patients recover, they go out of their way to try and teach them how to improve their lifestyles.  They have a relationship with their patients I've never seen before back home, where patients are a statistic and doctors do not remember your name.  I was moved by what I saw at Baunepati, not because I saw a paramedic trying to explain to a patient that she had to take her antibiotics even if it meant she was too weak to work for a couple of days, but because I've seen other medical staff attempt to do the same thing.
It is incredibly difficult to try and change a way of thinking which has been embedded into a tradition so rich and full of history.  In a country where 80 percent of under 18s still live in rural areas, how does one find the time and access to education?  It is not merely drumming into someone why they need to take their medication, there need to be so many changes from the bottom upwards.  Essentially, change is upturning a whole tradition of values.  Why someone needs to go to an Outreach Centre over a witch doctor, why someone should always use a toilet rather than the bushes, and why someone should let their child go to school rather than stay at home and work so that they have food for now is not going to be easy to explain to someone who has never known any different.
Which is where Dhulikhel Hospital's "micro-finance groups" come in.  DH fund several "micro-finance" groups to help women in the community earn a living.  Unfortunately Nepal is still a patriarchal country, where women have less say then men and are mostly just considered wives, mothers or labourers.  The micro-finance groups attempt to change this perception of women by giving them a means to support themselves and their families without relying on others.  In each micro-finance group, roughly 10 women are given a loan of 6,000 rupees (roughly 450 GBP) each.   With this money, each woman can find their own entrepreneurial path; from candle-making; soap-making; farming to breeding livestock. The micro-finance group is a typical example of helping developing countries through trade rather than aid, as the four percent interest creates another pot of money which goes to another woman.
I can only write about what I've seen over the past few days, but there is so much more to the healthcare system, Dhulikhel Hospital, the people, and the culture here I've yet to learn.
"Dhanyabad" for coming with me, and I'll be sure to update you as I learn.

Job satisfaction

It's now Friday, and I have still not yet officially started my job!  It's not because I'm lazy, it's because I have not yet met with Dr Ram, Dr Koju or Dr Biraj yet, who essentially run the hospital and are my bosses.  As mentioned before, the post I am taking here is completely new and I will be the first person to take up the job as Press and Communications Officer here, so the job description is still up in the air.
One thing I've learned about Nepal is that people don't panic here.  Ever.  That's OK, but it is pretty hard for a Brit to get out of the mindset of having mini nervous breakdowns throughout the working day.  I have my contract, but nobody's asked me to start my job yet; I was meant to meet with Dr Biraj today, but he is immensely busy as it's exam period at Kathmandu University at the minute.  Zero stress for everyone involved... except me.
I would advise anyone coming to start a new job here to get a word-perfect contract and ask all the questions before you arrive.  This is not due to trust issues, as far as I've experienced, everyone I've met has been hugely helpful and immensely kind; this is just to cover basics such as holidays, holiday pay, visas, penalty for contract terminations and all the other fine print.
Otherwise, my stay has been reasonable.  Everyone working at the hospital speaks English, but I would not recommend anyone rely on this, as outside of the hospital, everyone will speak either Nevari or Nepali.  I can't quite shop on my own yet, I don't even know where to buy toilet roll from, but I hope that in time I'll learn all these skills plus a little more.  Bit by bit my life's coming together, but I think it will be a slow process.  Last night, my internet went down again at my flat.  It's very easy to feel isolated without it, and I have taken it for granted so much in the past.  It is my only connection to home.  My neighbour, who I met for the first time tried to help me connect to another server, but his was down too.  He is the first person who lives in my flats permanently who speaks English, and he is the chief Radiologist at Dhulikhel Hospital.
In a bizarre way, I feel like I am learning more about my friends' professional lives here than I have learned back at home.  I have friends who are doctors, midwives, radiographers, and physiotherapists but normally when they try to tell me about their jobs, my brain can't process their technical terminology.
I began my medical schooling yesterday, when C took me around OT, Paediatrics, and ICU.  Dhulikhel Hospital is an "autonomous" hospital, and receives funding from various donors, but due to lack of funding in particular areas patients are required to pay for treatment.  The cost?  £1.50 a day for overnight stays.  While living costs are generally low here, £1.50 would only buy you half a meal in Kathmandu.  At Dhulikhel Hospital, you receive medical care, three meals a day, and a bed.  Consultation and registration costs just 15 pence.
Obviously with living costs being lower, the hospital standards here cannot be the same as in the UK.  One difference which struck me on my orientation yesterday was that I was allowed anywhere I wanted to go.  I witnessed three operations, and all I needed to do was scrub up.  I'm not quite sure what the rules are in hospitals back home for press officers, but there would probably be some red tape involved.  The second thing which struck me about the hospital here was how minimalistic it is.  The OT doesn't have tangles of wires jutting out of the walls like I've seen in episodes of E.R. or Casualty.  There is no clinical white light bathing the surgeons and nurses in an ethereal, angelic manner, just sunlight, a headlamp, and a bare light bulb.  And this is how surgery is performed every day here, day in day out.
After seeing enough blood to call it a day, I followed C and P into the "restroom" where surgeons, anaesthetists and nurses retire for coffee breaks between operations.  Every one I spoke to loved their job.  Yes, it is long hours, yes, it is intense, but most of them had worked at Dhulikhel for over five years, one anaesthetist I spoke to was going into his eighth year at the hospital.  I have also never seen such pride in a person's weary eyes when they speak of their jobs.
Today I was invited to observe the Ultrasound Department by my neighbour S the Radiologist.  One of my friends from home has spoken to me about training to move into the Ultrasound Department, and had mentioned to me how hard it is to peer at tiny flickers of light on a screen while trying to control your hand movements on someone's abdomen - today I truly appreciated her words.  S works from 7:30 in the morning, and does not get to go home until 10 in the evening most days.  When he is on call, he is expected to rouse himself whatever time it may be and jump back on his motorcycle to work.  He too has been working at the hospital for over five years, and intends to go back to studying this year to "upgrade his degree" at the hospital.  If he successfully completes it, he will be the most qualified Radiologist working in Ultrasound in the whole of Nepal.
Over the past two days, I have witnessed more in the medical world than I have my entire life back home.  I somewhat naively fell into this job here knowing absolutely nothing about the medical world, thinking I could learn the basics as I went along.  In the past two days alone, I have met people who have devoted their entire lives quite literally to medicine and helping people.  They work hard and barely reap the rewards for their knowledge and expertise in their area.
I have not heard one word uttered in complaint against their lifestyle however, and I am quite sure if they were to choose how to live their lives again, they would choose no different.  The staff at Dhulikhel Hospital have given themselves entirely to their jobs, and it has been the most important lesson I've learned so far - if you love something enough, the rewards don't have to be obvious.

"Taxi? Taxi?"

I landed in Kathmandu at 7:50pm local time, that's GMT+5.45 after a minor delay in Hong Kong, and here I am.
I can honestly say on first impressions, it beats everything I imagined it would be.  The houses are bigger, the smells stronger, the people busier - it's a real assault on the senses.  Amid cries of "Taxi?  You want taxi?"  I shuffled my way through Immigration, where I finally managed to get a Tourist's Visa for £70 (roughly $100 US) but contrary to everything I've read on the internet, my maximum stay on this visa is only 90 days.  For me that's fine, because Dhulikhel Hospital will be extending my visa, but if there is anyone who wants to stay in Nepal for longer than this duration, you will need to renew it.  Renewal isn't a problem, they barely checked my passport, except you have to make your way back to the airport in order to do so.
My driver was a lean smiling man who spoke little English, and refused to let me push my own luggage.  Meeting him made me realise I need to learn Nepali - and fast.  Very few Nepalese speak English beyond the basics, and while the Devanagari script is pretty much impossible to read straight away, the Nepali language is a distant cousin of the French language.  Nepali and French share the same grammatical structures, so with that in mind, I shall see how much progress I make learning Nepali.
After around 45 minutes of darkness, narrow roads, big cars and lots of motorbikes, we arrived at our destination - Dhulikhel Lodge Resort.  Dr Biraj had kindly informed me that for my first night, he wanted me to sleep comfortably and had checked me into the hotel with food ready and waiting for my late arrival.  The best part?  I had internet!  I spent most of the night on my laptop, fearing that it could be the last time I use it for a while.  Nepal is notorious for power cuts, so anyone travelling without a torch or candles (i.e. me) is silly - come prepared!  A headtorch would be even better, if you can get a hold of one.
I woke up today forgetting where I was, then panicking I had slept in and my ride had been and gone.  After a cold shower,  I spent a day back and forth from Dhulikhel Hospital for lunch and dinner with some new found friends.  Everyone I've met today has been lovely.  From the two little boys who wanted me to take their picture to the land lady's daughter, I've never met people who want to help a foreigner out so much.  Especially when I started to pull a push gate and one of the said little boys hopped across the road to let me into my own apartment... My guide/new found friend C has been wonderful to me.  It's been so daunting, every minute I've been left alone has felt like an hour, but he's been chauffeuring me back and forth on the back of his motorbike along with my other new found friend P.  They both work in Community Programme Development at Dhulikhel Hospital, and I'll hopefully get to see their work on Friday at one of their Outreaches.
Dhulikhel is green, really green.  There are what look like rice paddies across the road from my bedroom, and lots of little convenience stores dotting the distance between where I live and the hospital, which looks like it could be around a half hour walk.
This is utterly the scariest thing I have done my whole life, but I think I'm ready for it.  I'll keep you posted because tomorrow is my first day at work, and I sure do need a shower.

In search of Godot

I'm lost.  I have been for a while I might add, and I'm still not too sure I've found where I want to be, but here goes; my Godot could be in Nepal.
Rather than spend my life waiting for my Godot in Carlisle, I've taken the plunge and accepted a job in Nepal, as the first ever Press Officer at Dhulikhel Hospital.  No pressure.  For those of you who may not already know, Dhulikhel Hospital is Kathmandu University's prestigious NGO hospital, covering a whooping population of 1.9 million people from far and wide.
I figured it was about time I cleared out of my mother's humble detached, and actually tried out something different, something I could actually call my own.  I still don't quite know why I'm choosing to find my vocation in Nepal (other than the fact my good friend Tshering recommending me to the hospital), but here's hoping I can change my life, and maybe at a push, a few others' too.
I've started this blog as a way to keep in touch with friends from all over, but also in the hope I can eventually give advice to those of you who wish to emigrate to Nepal, whatever your reasons may be, wherever you may be emigrating from.
Thus, wherever this journey may take me, I hope it will give me a more rounded view on other worlds, other cultures, and I hope to meet so many interesting and world-wise people along the way.  There's still so very little I know about any of these things, I'm excited, nervous, bewildered, sick, scared, and enthralled at the thought of it.
Here's hoping that I am embarking on my first exciting journey of many to come and you learn with me as I go along.  This could get messy, or it could be a beautiful, uproarious ride - whatever happens though, I can wholeheartedly say I am unprepared.

Thank you for joining me friends, I am completely honoured and as Lieutenant Iceman Kazanski says to Maverick, "You can be my wingman, any time."