-Yueqi Sun (Master Student at the University of Edinburgh)
If it were not for the field trip of the programme, Nepal would be somewhere far down my travel list. Since, my childhood days, I have always thought that I would travel far from my home country China, and leave the countries nearby for later days when I am more burdened with duties and my knees wobbling with age. But I have always liked traveling, and I believe that all thinking during travels stems from comparison – or in academic terms, positionality, how who we are and what we’ve gone through colours the view we see.
What I first saw in Nepal gave me the impression that the country is not that different from my own, perhaps a little older version of it, but in general not that different. We too have flat faces; we too have vendors peddling amidst the flow of traffic, and the smog-shaded sky somehow reminded me of Beijing, the place where I have spent the most years of my life.
But then after diving into the country for some days, I noted some differences. We do not have monkeys dancing on the wires of a capital street; we do not have streets flanked with wires dangling in mid-air, coiled like spaghetti, and the starkest difference to the eye was that in no way could there be construction materials inside the hallway of a government building that is not guarded by circles of armed soldiers.
So, to the eye, it was a tie. Then I went deeper into something else, lifestyle. It wasn’t long before I again found some common ground. I was brought up never to waste food, and on the walls of the Tewa canteen, where we stayed in Kathmandu, wrote “Food and love are meant to be shared, not wasted“; I saw school-age girls sharing bowls of snacks, skipping along the way, backpacks happily tapping against their back, just like I once did; I saw passing-by drivers getting out of their way to help push another car that was ensnared in the muddy road; I saw on New Years’ eve people enjoy the merry moment while it last and I saw people inch forward in life, trying to make ends meet. I have seen and experienced these, not only in China but in so many other countries.
What I have never experienced before was the degree of kindness that the Nepalese people have shown. China has an ancient saying, “Poverty brings out the worst of people”, and I have always believed this to some extent. But that was before the security guy at Tewa, who had already slid into his sheets, ready for sleep, got up to lead my friend to nearby restaurants to find forks for our take-away, and that was before seeing the cleaning women, who gave the clothes that had been blown off the courtyard line a decent scrub before hanging them back again. I was so amazed at all these, that I could not even get in a capitalism-bred five-star hotel but received in Nepal out of the kindness of people’s hearts. And on the day when we finally returned from Pokhara to Tewa, many of us agreed on one thing: when we peeled the backpack off our heavy shoulders and crashed flat onto our beds, the place felt almost like a home.
I have seldom felt this way about any place that is only for such a temporary stay, but now when reflecting on it, I would say not only did Tewa feel like a home at that time, but when I took a step back and stared at the country and the people, in essence they seemed not so different from my own.
When we were in Ghandruk, in the Annpurna Conservation Area, we rode a bus on the waves of the undulating mountains. The road was bumpy, with almost no proper construction, no guardrail, and the cliff was inches away. If we’d tilted a bit more at the wrong time, we would have made a perfect version of the next Final Destination movie. But during all that time on the road, the driver showed an almost impossible talent, his gaze never wavered and his grip on the steering wheel had always been firm. He showed a quality that cannot be bred elsewhere, not in a country flat with plains and not in a mountainous developed country where roads would smoothly lace the ranges. He showed something that can only be born there. And for the Nepalese people, or at least for those I met, I found in them a sense of duty, a determination that can only be born in a country that has not gone far down the road of development.
There in Nepal, I heard a story, it was said that regarding the bumpy road, the local government had in fact had the money for repair, but they didn’t do so, hoping that the hard journey would persuade tourists to stay for the night atop the mountains, thus generating some tourism revenue; Another story I heard was that many years back, the country would suffer from electricity blackouts from time to time, therefore generators would be installed in many places. However, some years ago, one man inside the government decided to improve the situation, and he did. But soon he was removed from his position as his doings hindered the profit of the generator companies. I have yet to verify these stories, but I believe them to be true as history may not repeat itself, but it does rhyme, and I have heard so many stories alike.
After hearing these, I couldn’t help but ask the ultimate question that almost everyone has asked at one point: why? When I stared at the women who carried the crushing weight of hay on their back, hiking towards their mountain-enclosed home, I couldn’t help but imagine if they were born into a country in the Global North. I have had such a haunting habit ever since I arrived in the UK. When I see how elders in the country need not worry about medication fees, I would think about the old rural Chinese lady who receives only about thirty pounds as a monthly pension. I would freeze, swell with despair before rebooting back to life and telling myself that it is how the world has always been, that people born into privilege may enjoy that privilege all their life, the happy prince needn’t come alive as a statue, and the people born into unprivileged places might never know there is another way of being. Their education, or lack of it, would even sometimes land them in places where they become targets, the material for a good mock – “They are barbaric”.
During one of our evening group reflections, in which we shared our observations, thoughts, and feelings, one of my peers spoke about how she was moved by so many people willingly staying or coming back to their country, trying to make it better despite the problem being bigger than anyone. I resonated with it so much. I think for us coming from less-privileged countries, there’s always that question of whether to do something or just leave it be. I myself have thought about it so many times, and I admit that leaving for the better does sound luring, but deep down I want “the better” to be accessible for everyone – all those who were not as lucky as I, those who cannot escape their innate destiny but deserve things too. Therefore, I cannot begin to say how touched I was when I saw that so many in Nepal are already striving for that way. When chatting with the scholars, especially from SIAS, I learned that many of them have traveled abroad before and some of them were educated in the Western world. So, they’ve seen other places, other choices of life, and yet they went back, back to face the water, the air, the very different path. In Chinese, we have a phrase called “Fu Ming”, the second word means a knowing ending, and the first word means willingly heading towards. Together they mean have known the ending of a doing and the loss that may accompany, but willingly do it anyway.
That was how I felt in Nepal. I know in every country there are people trying to make their homeland better, to make the world better, but still, the situation is not the same, and the idealism one shows is measured by the price they pay. I admire all idealists, especially those in Nepal, where the situation is so difficult, and especially those from SIAS, but also all those alike. When visiting the Institute of Forestry, we had a short team-up with the local students. Since people always get closer easier and quicker by trashing something, I asked them what they disliked about their school. When asking the question, I had a floor-draping list of things I can say about my university, but the girl I asked, her eyes glowed in a way I could not erase from my mind, and she replied “Nothing”. I then learned that she actually meant it. Having never seen the big cat she had printed on her bag, and yet already she was already drafting a plan to go abroad and study and come back for their protection. And that is Nepal’s next generation.
Despair and pessimism aside, I sincerely believe in Nepal’s potential if not future. I don’t know enough about the country and dare not guess how the country might get there, but I see that it could, if the right path was taken. So many countries have been washed over by the same consumerism that has encroached on their own culture, but in Kathmandu I failed to find a single McDonald. Instead, I saw people dressed in traditional clothes, not only for photo or festival purposes but as part of their daily routine. I saw on the street so many temples, so many that it almost felt like the statues and fountains of the open-air museum of Rome. With proper development, that cultural heritage holds huge power.
But it’s not only about the culture from the old days, but also things that are very much alive today — the creativity, the ambiance of daily life, the people’s ability to find joy with even limited material, their tenacity in the cracks, and kind heart and inclusiveness towards foreigners like me. In Nepal, the ceiling of buses built for pragmatism purposes, I saw aesthetic patterns and braided hangings I had never seen anywhere else, and even at an outdoor flood alert system site, mini decorating models of houses were placed along the stream.
Saying goodbye to these was not easy, and although I have said so many goodbyes in my life, I have never gotten used to it. Before leaving Nepal, I added some local friends on socials and said the old “if you ever come to Beijing…” In most cases in the past, people have replied “Sure”, but this time I got an answer I have never heard before – “Sure, but we will also keep in touch before that, right?” There have been so many times, after parting, after returning to our very different lives, my friends and I struggle to find a topic big enough to start a conversation, and in time we drift apart in a mourning silence that none of us even realize. I had been there so many times to be able to taste the farewell from the moment we part, but because of this answer — this answer that came out of such a pure and wishful heart – I am starting to think perhaps things will be different this time.
This blog was not meant to be this length, but I wanted to write something for SIAS and the wonderful Nepalese I met along the way. For them, the only and most precious thing I can give is my time. So here is my thank-you. Thank you for everything you have done for us, and for your country. We Chinese always say that a spark can start a fire, but I want to say even if it can’t, the spark itself is still light for those close by. During my stay in Nepal, the country embraced the year 2081, and now I have set a reminder on my phone for the next new year so I could then greet my Nepalese friends, especially those from SIAS. I wish you would be healthy and happy and your country would get better and better until then, all the way until my version of 2081 and beyond.
Some photos I would like to share captured during the trip
as their garden and would go work out on the banks in the morning.
