And the Straw that Broke the Camel's Back is....

The Nepali Post Office.

The last week or so that I’ve been in Banepa has been rewarding, yes, but also a serious test of my mental and emotional prowess. It was bound to be a bit too much at some point. The reason it is so difficult is not because anything is bad, or people are unfriendly, but rather because of unfamiliarity and lack of communication. To come into a family’s house to live still learning about Nepali culture and still ingrained in American culture is a culture shock. The cultural norms are vastly different, and what we think of as a right (like privacy), Nepali families see as totally unnecessary.

Even mealtimes are different and therefore slightly uncomfortable. You eat sitting on a bamboo mat in the kitchen (usually by yourself), and typically eat at 7am, 9:30am, 2 or 4pm, and 8pm. The afternoon meal (in my host family’s house) consists of whatever the cooking class (Sudip teaches a class at the house) makes, and is a crowded affair with the family and the cooking class crowded in the main area on the floor or couch. The night meal is usually dhal bhat (rice with lentil stew and cooked veggies) and is served to me in the kitchen on the floor. Whomever has made it (often the daughter in law) typically stares at me while I eat, hovering over with a pan of rice trying to get me to eat more.

Communication has been wearing too. Not only am I speaking and learning 4 languages, but none of them provide me satisfactory communication. My deafness makes it difficult to understand people who are speaking accented English, my lip-reading ability for spoken Nepali is slim to nil, and even sign isn’t perfect because I’ve only mastered the basic words. Complex, meaningful conversation is impossible with such a limited vocabulary. I have a whole new empathy for my deaf students who have physical impediments which make communication difficult and basal because that is no way to live at all. Everyone deserves a meaningful way to communicate.

So with all the stressors, I was looking forward to coming back to Kathmandu to get a package my parents sent (with items that would have been in my luggage) and to get my phone. I took the bus to Kathmandu (it was wonderfully cheap, but you get what you pay for – every time I thought it was full, 10 more people got on!) and then got off at the post office. Feeling proud of myself for making it to where I needed to be, I walked into the post office to get my package.

It was horrible! First of all, I was directed to an external building that included package pickup and customs. Then I had to go back and forth between 3 rooms having no clue what was going on for about 30 minutes. Lots of forms to fill out and people sending me elsewhere. I finally got my package and saw (they open it there) that it was actually my second package that my parents sent. I was looking for the running shoes but got the hiking boots. I was happy to get the hiking boots, but I hadn’t realized how much of a lifeline the running shoes were for me until I discovered they weren’t there. This really upset me, both because I’ve been dying to run, and because it meant that the running shoe package was likely lost or stolen. This was the first half of the straw. I then had to run back and forth between the rooms for another hour and half while people tried to tell me what I needed to do, but I couldn’t understand anyone! Finally, I figured out that I had to pay all kinds of customs fees. It was so depressing to see my package sitting on the table but be unable to bring it home with me until I fought through everything with these people with whom I couldn’t communicate. This was the second half of the straw.

Finally, a good 2 hours later, I got into a taxi and had to force myself to hold it together until I got to the Fulbright Office. Apparently I only partially succeeded, because the driver kept shooting concerned looks back at me. Once I arrived, I broke down for a bit from the frustration of communication, lost packages, lost luggage, cultural stressors and everything else. Thankfully, the director of Fulbright Nepal was in no way shocked to see this (apparently it happens to everyone at one time or another) and helped me pull myself together. It’s amazing that what is such a good thing (being in Nepal) can be SO stressful, particularly in the event of so many things lost.

I love Nepal and the people and am extremely grateful to be here. But I HATE the Nepali Post Office!