Bombs and Brownies

Dear all,

Tonight's post is going to be brief, because I'm frightfully tired, but I need to write a little to get some thoughts out of my head. As some of you may have already heard, the largest Catholic church in Nepal was bombed yesterday. Two people were killed and another 14 were injured, among them one of the many Jesuits that I've come to love in my time here. It is a shocking and heartbreaking event that we are all still trying to deal with.

But before you all get too worried, let me assure you, I always attend the much smaller private mass in the Jesuits' residence, so despite the attack being on my parish, I've never actually been in the building that was bombed. Of course, it looks as if there will be a memorial mass held there soon and I will be in attendance, but after that I plan to continue attending the Jesuits' mass as the setting suits me better.

Anyway, the reason I'm writing about all of this is because I'm trying to understand my own reaction to it. You see, since the first phone call yesterday from a friend checking to see that I was safe, I've only been able to think about one thing: baked goods. Even from the shards of information about the bombing my friend told me over the phone, I knew it was our parish, I knew one of my priests was there, and I knew it was a big deal. But to my suprise, my first thought was "I want a cookie" and my second thought was, "I should bake brownies". And while the cookie lust has long since be satiated, the intense desire to drown the priests and the rest of the catholic community here in chocolate chip cookies, cupcakes and, of course, fudgy brownies has yet to subside.

I guess on some level it must be my small battle against helplessness; yes, there's nothing significant I can do, but I can still bake chocolatey happiness. On the other hand, one of the guilty pleasures I get out of going to the Jesuit mass, is helping some of the older priests afterwards at their breakfast. They remind me of grandfathers without grandchildren, and putting sugar in their tea or listening to their stories gives my Sunday mornings meaning. So perhaps that same nuturing need is just going in to overdrive. All the same, I feel as though the kitchen is calling to me and it's an urge I can't really understand.

In particular, I'm worried about the injured priest. He's not a local Nepali, which means he has no family here, and since I've visited others in Nepali hospitals, I know that the hospital does not provide food to patients. Instead, the families are expected to bring food from home for their loved ones. And this leads me to this equation One badly burned priest - family = brownies. Still, I'm trying to control myself, as I know 1) that the sisters from the Catholic school are doubtlessly fussing over him even more than I want to 2)that father may not be able to see visitors yet, and even if he is able, he may not be willing to see many people until the burns have had some time to heal and 3) that sometimes over eagerness to help just gets in the way. So I'm trying to control myself, at least for a day or two, so that I can see where and how I'm really needed.

That said, if any of you feel like sending some cookie recipes along, I'd sure appreciate them. They might be just the thing to calm me a bit. But all in all, I'm fine, as are most of the people I met with today. We are heartsore, but nothing more, and really I'm impressed by the patience and compassion with which the Jesuits are facing this challenge. So try not to fret, and just send some good thoughts our way.

I'm, of course, sending good thoughts back.

All my love,

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The Lure of the Exotic

Sometimes I try to see myself as some of you must see me. I try to explain my behavior the way some of you must…the way I in fact often explain the behavior of many friends who are far more adventurous than I, and this exercise often leaves me considering the term “exotic”. It is easy to believe that when people go off to live somewhere new or to learn about other people and other places, they have gone off in search of the exotic. We tell ourselves, they are looking for something new, exciting, perhaps even undiscovered in a place or a people we describe as exotic. We, as Americans, (or as Westerners as the literature would call us) have a strong sense of the exotic. There are the things we know; the shopping malls, the parking lots, the churches, the bowling alleys, and then somewhere, over there, there’s the exotic. Sometimes, that word calls to mind beaches and palm trees, but despite the images, for most of us, it has a much broader general meaning.

As anthropologists, we are trained to look more deeply at this type of “othering”, and called to ask ourselves and others what we’re really saying when we mark something as exotic. In a sense, it’s similar to the way some feminists deconstruct terms like “mankind” in order to find the unsaid or unacknowledged in those terms. And like the term “mankind”, exotic is in fact a very loaded word. When we claim something is exotic on a very basic level we mean something that is new and different. And yet, though I’ve never visited California, people would surely look askance at me if I described it as exotic upon arriving there. So at this point, let’s extend our definition to mean “not American” or better yet, “not European or American”, as I’m certain England generally doesn’t qualify as exotic either.



But let me throw a wrench in the works at this point, and ask about that little state of Hawaii. I think that many people would in fact describe Hawaii as exotic, particularly those who have yet to visit there. My first explanation of that description would go back to beaches, palm trees, and luscious weather, but I think that misses the mark. After all, there are plenty of dreamy vacation spots on the US mainland. So exotic can’t simply mean nice place to visit. But the answer does lie once again in our shared imagination of Hawaii. Hawaii is not just a place of beaches, and palm trees, and it’s not just a place that, at least in our minds, is free from strip malls and traffic jams. It is also the home of grass skirts. Of course, grass skirts are in and of themselves, really just a symbol of a whole slew of other cultural practices; dances, food, language, ect, but they are a potent symbol indeed. In one simple skirt, mainland Americans are able to contain the entire Hawaiian archipelago. And more to the point for this discussion, by recognizing that skirt as “exotic”, they label all of the islands of Hawaii and all of their inhabitants as exotic as well.

So now what do we mean when we say “exotic”? I think in some senses, we mean “tribal” or perhaps, “uncivilized”. And now the problem with the term, the hidden negativity, comes to light. Though I’ll allow a certain amount of glamour to the term exotic, in that it tends to carry with it some admiration of what we imagine to be a freer and more spiritual way of “tribal” life, I think above all else, “exotic” is really an unconscious judgment call based on a hierarchy of civilization that is firmly biased towards the “West”. Exotic is the word we use when we want to describe the pull of the “primitive” on civilized beings like ourselves. And in doing so, we place ourselves above those exotic peoples and places which we know little or nothing about, but which we imagine ourselves to understand quite well.

But why this long rant on a particular word? Nepal, for me, has never been exotic. I’ve never looked at it with the romanticism or criticism necessary to apply that term. But yet, today, for a moment, I caught myself mentally criticizing another’s adventure for its lack of exoticism as if exoticism were a necessary ingredient of all good adventures. In that moment, I bought into the stories I’d been told, and I relied on the symbols I’d been given by American culture without thinking. And so, as an act of atonement, and an exercise in careful critical thinking, I’ve written this small piece. I decided to share it with all of you because I know that at least a few of you will never cease to believe that it is not a yearning to experience the exotic that has brought me here. I doubt this post will be enough to convince you otherwise, but all the same, I challenge you to think about your preconceptions about Nepal, about Hawaii, and about any other place that strikes you as different enough to be exotic. At the very least, I challenge you to use the word, the image, and the symbol cautiously. Perhaps, you may find yourself, as I did, discovering more about yourself and the way you see the world, than you will about an exotic other.

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I have Mountains

Dear All,

As some (perhaps most) of you have heard, I've decided to stay on for at least another year here in Nepal. While is wasn't the most difficult decision I'd ever made, I can assure you a lot of thought has gone into it, and I'm as confident as I can be that this is absolutely the best thing for the me I am right now. But as at least one friend has very emphatically asked, "Why would I want to stay another year?". I'm not sure I'll do it justice, but let me try to explain.



I'll be the first to admit that at times life here is remarkably challenging. We face water shortages, electricity shortages, and as of late, even governance shortages. The weather is often hotter than any good Michigan girl should ever have to endure. I haven't had good ice cream, worn cowboy boots, or sang karaoke in longer than I care to count. I've danced to a swing song with a partner a grand total of two times and I've only had one shopping trip with the girls.

But, here, I have mountains. No matter where I am, they are always looming in the background, looking peaceful and calm, kind of the way I picture God to be. And when it rains here...well I'm yet to find the perfect words. But more than that, I have a job or rather, a project, that occasionally drives me to the brink of insanity, but in the end, always leaves me feeling contented and accomplished in ways I'd never even dreamed of before. I face a million challenges here, both as a foreigner and as a single woman, but with these challenges my confidence continues to grow. And though I've yet to climb Everest, I'm now certain that if I wanted to, I could. It's as simple as that. (I don't want to. Just for the record)

Here, I've also grown a family that I cherish and worry over as much as I do all of you. I've worried with them over the failing health of some of the older people in our family, and I've rushed to the hospital to welcome our newest nephew. Here, I have a group of friends who will sit with me when I have a concussion, who will shower me in chocolate on my birthday, and who will patiently explain everything that's happening in a Hindi movie, no matter how much it annoys the people around us. And yes, here I have my Buffalo, who is a constant source of support, comfort and laughter in everything I do.

None of these things alone would be enough to hold me here, so far away from all of you, and all the things at home I've always loved, but together, especially now as I continue to grow in to the academic, and the person I've always hoped to be, the pull is to much to resist. So I'm apologizing now for another year of missed birthdays, Christmas parties, and trivia nights, but I've no doubt in my mind, when I come near to you again, my new glow will be enough to convince you this time apart was all for the best.

Neither time nor space could ever dim my love for you,
Me

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