Rice, Rice, Rice

There is a linguistic anthropological theory that says the more words you have for something the more important it is. That’s why in Michigan, we know the difference between sleet, hail, powder, packing snow, slush, flurries, snow, ice, and black ice. After all, it would be hard for a Nepali, or even a Southern to point out the difference. Here in Nepal, rice has the same kind of importance. There are well over 27 varieties of rice that I alone am aware of. Additionally, the Nepali language has a separate word for seed rice (what you plant in the ground), un-cooked rice, and cooked rice. Not only that, but even the general word for food is used as a synonym for….yep, you guessed it, rice. Rice is a big deal around here.

And as the monsoon finally gets started around here, the rice planting season is also beginning. Rice planting festivals seem to be happening every other week in one place or another, and farming families are calling neighbors and friends to help them get their rice paddies planted in time. This year, Buffalo and I were lucky enough to be invited by a friend to help plant their fields, and to engage in the most popular activity of rice planting season: playing in the mud. And trust me, there’s usually a lot of mud to play in during the monsoon.


So last Saturday afternoon, we headed over to our friend’s field to plant rice and make a little trouble. Not surprisingly, I learned a little about farming rice in the process. The first I learned was that rice plants are originally planted and grown in a very small area, usually only a corner of the total field. Then when the plants get to be about a foot tall, usually right around the beginning of the monsoon, they need to be spread out across the entire field. This is where the real rice planting begins. The farmers first pull the seedlings out of the ground and gather them in bundles. Then the men plough the fields, and if there’s enough water, flood them. Once the field resembles a swimming pool, the women go to work, re-planting the seedlings in neat rows across the entire field. Now the rice will enjoy the heavy rainfall for four months, after which, we’ll be heading back to our friend’s fields to help with the harvesting.

Sadly, and to our great disappointment, the rains and the electricity were not in our favor this year. There wasn’t enough water to flood the fields properly, which really cut down on our ability to have the full out mud wars we were planning. In the south of Nepal, the fields get flooded to about two feet of water and the newspaper is always full of pictures of boys and girls splashing around and throwing huge mud balls at each other. But Buffalo and I will have to save that for another year. All the same, it was great fun to spend the day working, playing and learning with friends.

All the same, I have to admit, I was pretty thankful that our friend’s field was rather small, and I can’t imagine how hard it would be to plant the large fields I’ve seen in the terai (south) when I was working there. On the other hand, the rice beer the other women forced on us, sure did seem to dull my aching back at the end of the day, and the tasty treats they fed us didn’t hurt either. Overall, it was a great time, and we are both looking forward to the harvest, and to getting a big plate of that delicious rice!

Oh, and Buffalo and I are shopping for plane tickets now, so not to worry, we’ll be there before you know it.

So much love you’d need a dozen elephants to carry it!
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"Malwadi herne", my 3 year old niece cried impatiently, running to the window. She's still small and she's used to getting what she wants when she wants it. What makes this request interesting is that "Malwadi herne" means "I want to see the Maoists."

The Maoists she was referring to were the 500-600 people who had gathered on the street outside our house. Through the day the crowd had ebbed and flowed, sometimes quietly resting, other times blaring Nepali songs and dancing. By evening, they'd started lighting small fires, most of which were only for fun, but a few of which featured a scarecrow effigy of the Prime Minister at the center.

I'm sure from the sound of it, you may be able to imagine quite a frightening picture, but after 6 days of continuous strikes, it's just become daily life. All the same, it's a rather interesting life.

In short, the situation is this: The Maoists have demanded the current Prime Minister resign. Until he does so, Kathmandu is under siege. And in order to make their siege as effective as possible, they have bused in thousands of villagers; sheltering them in private schools, party halls, and homes which they have commandeered. Ironically, many of the "protesters" were brought here by force and many of them have already started walking home.

In some senses, it's as if the whole country is in an unbreakable deadlock. The protesters no longer want to protest, but they are forced on by their party leaders. Meanwhile the rest of the nation sits at home, only venturing out between the hours of 6pm-8pm, the 2 hours which the Maoists allow shops to open in order to supply food both to their cadres and the rest of us.

Until yesterday, things had remained peaceful, but the protesters have now endured 6 days of hot sun, and 6 mosquito filled nights. What's more, hundreds of protesters lie in the hospital suffering from diarrhea after drinking contaminated water.

At this point, what happens next is very uncertain. My office has already announced we will remain closed until at least Monday. Each day the leaders sit in talks from 11am until 3pm, but so far not a single consensus point has been made.

The only things that are certain is that we are safe here in our home, and that the strike will continue for some time yet. Hopefully that time will be short.

All the same, no need to worry. We are wanting for nothing, but a little exercise. I'm sure we'll all have a few bandh pounds to shed when this is all finished.

As always, missing you all dearly!!! Read more on " "!

Holi Easter, Batman!

Last weekend, I decided to introduce my new family to yet another of our crazy American traditions, the wonder that is Easter Eggs. Since we’ve got three little ones in the family, I thought some easter egg dying was in order. Afterall, that’s what you’re supposed to do on Easter, right? But this presented a unique problem. How could we color easter eggs without commercially available dying kits, complete with egg drying racks and bunny stickers? At first, I thought I’d try to make homemade egg dyes. But once I’d done an internet search and found some recipes, I realized that would be totally impossible. For one thing, all of the dyes required that the eggs soak for at least 12 hours, which with three year olds, is an impossibility. Second of all, they all required ingredients which would have taken some hunting to find in the US, let alone here in Nepal. And finally, I have been trying to dedicate more and more time to writing up a few articles. And so my Easter Extravaganza was defeated, or so I thought.



The Thursday before Easter I mentioned my crushed plan to one of the other teachers at school. She immedieatly came up with a remarkably novel solution. “Why don’t you use those colored powders that everyone throws at everyone else during Holi? The color won’t come out of my clothes, so I’m sure it could stick to an egg.” I wasn’t sure it would work, but it was worth a try. So I sent Buffalo to Pashpatinath, the biggest Hindu temple in the country, in search of colors for my easter eggs.
When he returned home, he tossed me a small bag filled with little envelopes made of newspaper. Each one contained a teaspoon full of colored powder. There was powder in bright pink, a deep turquoise, purple, two shades of green, a bright yellow, and a beautiful saffron orange. I dissolved a pinch of each powder in cold water, and in seconds had a table full of easter egg dyes. And the dyes not only managed to stain our easter eggs, the two kids and I (one wee one wasn’t able to come over to play) pretty easter hands for the whole day. I think the powder even worked better than the stuff we used to use at home, because the color stuck to the eggs almost immediately. Of course, as this was our first easter, and I’d only boiled about a dozen eggs, the kids decided to re-dye each egg several times, and we ended up with a batch of brown/black eggs anyway. But at least the eggs looked the way I hoped they would for a little while.

So in addition to perfectly blending two often very different cultures, I think I’ve managed to discover a new dye for the silk yarn I’ve slowly been spinning.
And yes, I know what you’re all thinking. “If you didn’t spend so much time playing with little ones and yarn, you’d probably have a lot more articles written, and maybe even a few more blog posts.” But I’m going to have to quote my mentor on this one. Whenever anyone asks how his dissertation is going, he proudly points to his little girl and says, “There’s my dissertation.” All the same, I do hope to have some articles finished very soon. Especially considering that now I have to tell you all the very sad news, that none of the graduate schools I had picked, picked me back. Which means that Buffalo and I have to postpone our homecoming to November, and that I have to work, work, work, and re-apply next year. But not to fret, back up plans are in the works, and I’m sure by next year, grad schools will be begging me to join their departments.

And in the meantime, I’m going to go start dying that yarn!

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