Day in the life: Working in Kathmandu

It's morning in our cozy apartment in Kathmandu. The sun is just peeking over the top of the building next door, and I've been woken by the incessant bell-ringing and conch horn-blowing of a neighbor. I know that all that noise is meant to help carry their prayers to heaven, but it's a lot more intriguing of a cultural tradition when it's not the crack of dawn.

I shamble out to the kitchen, led by a frantically whining cat who knows it's time for wet food. Cats don't speak English, so I can only infer what he's trying to say from the various squeaks, purrs, and howls that he makes. At this time every morning, his sounds say:

I WILL DIE IF I DON'T GET SOME FRIGGIN WET FOOD NOOOOOOW!

I make him sweat it out while I grind beans for coffee. As a novice pet owner, I still fail to understand why wet food is so superior to dry food for little guy.

After a couple of hours of coffee, oats, and watching the news with Steffen, I pack up and take the five minute stroll from our quiet alley (I like to call it a cul-de-sac), past kids playing with trash in the street, past the Danish Embassy, past an empty lot with cows grazing in it, out to the insanity of the main road. I pick my way past beat-up taxis, trucks belching smoke, sleek UN and Embassy vehicles driven by private drivers, bicycle-drawn rickshaws, and in every square foot of free space between all of these vehicles, an endless stream of motorbikes and scooters weaving their way to the front.

I often take the micro to work. The micro is a little bus manned by a driver and a young guy hanging out the open sliding door whose job is to collect bus fare and yell at pedestrians as we fly past. I believe that most developing countries have some version of the micro - we sure did in Kazakhstan, but I'm sad to say that that one was a little more organized than its Nepali counterpart. I used to take a taxi to and from the office, but now that all of the culture shock has worn off, frankly I'd rather take the bus than haggle for a non-tourist cab fare every single morning. There was talk of hiring a car service during our time here, but with Stef working from home and me just going to the office, the poor guy would just sit there in the car all day and wait.

Anyway, so after about thirty minutes in a moderately crowded micro (Lord knows I've had worse commutes), I hop out in a neighborhood called Dhapasi Heights, and arrive at work. For the past three weeks or so, I've been training as Program Director for a small, U.S.-based nonprofit called Volunteer Nepal. For those familiar with the org structure of Peace Corps, my job is basically that of a recruiter combined with the duties of all the in-country staff, minus about 99% of the bureaucracy. Somebody's interested in volunteering, I e-mail with them for a few months of questions and advice, process their application, find them a placement, and once they're in-country I manage their financials and coordinate a small staff to get them out to whatever school, orphanage, clinic, or NGO they've chosen to volunteer at.My office shares a building with the Volunteer House, a hostel style outfit where our volunteers stay while they're not out at other, more exotic placements.

So far, I love it. It's all of my favorite jobs from the past combined. One part Chico Study Abroad, one part USAC Madrid, one part Camp Adventure, a generous portion of Peace Corps, and on some days, a sprinkle of Leatherby's and Volleyball Festival when the Volunteer House is full and buzzing with activity and things to be done. When there are volunteers in the house, my best backpacking memories flood back from the corners of the past: meeting new people, simple spaghetti dinners with cheap wine, and the excitement of exploring the unknown and opening one's eyes to a bigger world. It's nice to be in a place now where I'm making these experiences happen for other people.


Coming soon:

-It's kitten eve: The Sgaz man gets a little sister tomorrow
-Photos: Steffen played Santa Clause for a horde of Embassy brats, and only two cried. But was it enough to buy us a membership to their gym?
-How many more makeshift ornaments can our potted plant hold? [Not many]