It's been an odd couple of weeks for one reason and another.
Two weeks ago I headed off on my long awaited trip to go and see some pico hydro projects in the Gulmi district of Nepal - south of Pokhara - with a colleague from the PEEDA office, Biraj. There were of strikes in the Terai, but we didn't pay too much attention to them, as rumours generally turn out to just words and no action. However, they have the desired effect with people staying at home and changing their plans in fear of them. Our bus down to Butwal, the industrial heartland of the Terai was simple enough. And when we got to Butwal, the rumours became stronger and stronger. Buses and jeeps weren't going to be running the next day, and we were to go to Tansen in the hills above Butwal that day, before making our way into the rural hills of Gulmi.
The next day came, and after our morning meeting in Butwal, we found that although there were no buses running south of Butwal, the buses north to Tansen were running. So we jumped onto the next bus heading north. Biraj stopped to get some water, and the bus drove off without him. It promptly stopped a couple of hundred metres along the road where a slightly panicked and sweaty Biraj caught us up. As we left Butwal, a motorbike swerved in front of us and made us pull over. A banda-wallah, a person enforcing the strike, came onto the bus and looked around before talking to the conductor and taking a large handful of cash. This is a huge problem with Nepal, that there are many legitimate reasons that people call strikes here but some just jump on the wagon to make money.
We wove our way through the foothills of the Himalaya, making our way from Butwal's 200m to Tansen's heady 1500m or so. We saw Tansen from a long way away, perched on the side of a hill overlooking a fertile green valley full of barley and wheat. As we pulled into Tansen bus station, we noticed the lack of activity. This wasn't going to bode well for our plans. We spoke to the ticket counter, and they said they didn't know what was going to happen the next day. Jeeps might come to go to Gulmi. They might not. But they did know one thing; if they were going to write us a ticket it was going to cost 10 rupees - a bit stupid when the ticket only cost 70 rupees.
We climbed through the streets of Tansen, which reminded me of the Alpine and Pyrenean villages I had walked through when I lived in France, and made our way to the royal palace. However, the palace was just a building site. In my guide book it says that the palace is amazing. And I'm sure it would have been, if the Maoists hadn't destroyed it in a battle with the police during their 'People's War'. On a side note, it is always interesting to see that on building sites in Nepal there are a large number of women, who lift, shovel, carry and do all the menial work. It makes me feel very sorry for them. But then in a way it is good as well. They are working, more independent, and somewhat empowered. I just sometimes hope that they are not working to feed a lazy husband.
After some frantic phone calls in the evening, Biraj and Krishna, a local hydropower installer whose village we would be visiting, managed to secure some seats in a jeep to Tamghas - the district centre of Gulmi - and reserve the same jeep to drive us out to Krishna's village called Bhanbhane. So after our morning's work was done in Tansen, we waited for our jeep. Several jeeps past us as we waited at the appointed place, all fairly empty. Then one came that had people hanging off it at all different places. It stopped in front of us. Surely this wasn't going to be ours? Oh, but it was. I had been promised a seat in the front, due to my excessive leg length compared to Nepali people. However, the man in the front wouldn't move. He reminded me of one of the characters in a comedy show here in Nepal. He had a small moustache and a high pitched squeaky voice, with hand movements that emphasised every word he said. And he was stubborn. He said that he had booked the seat 3 days ago and wasn't going to share it with any long-legged whitey (the Nepali's have some slang words for westerners, mainly referring to the colour of our skin). So, instead of the spacious front of the jeep, I was squeezed into the small seats at the back, just enough room for my bum to touch one steel pole and my knee to touch another. I was joined there by Biraj and Krishna, and Krishna's grandfather who was coming along back to the village to stay for some time. We all climbed in and the people on the outside of the jeep hung on whilst the jeep sped off in a cloud of dust.
At the appointed place we stopped for lunch. I tried my best to climb out with dignity, but the bruises that were now top-and-tailing my upper leg made sure that any dignity I could have hoped for vanished. I fell out of the back of the jeep and stumbled into a restaurant for some food - as we hadn't really eaten yet. I went on an expedition to find the toilet, and was pointed to the top of some stairs. As I climbed the stairs I struck my head on a steel bar holding the roof in place with a resonating clang. For a few seconds my vision was double. This was obviously going to be a good day.
After lunch, Biraj decided he couldn't take it any more in the back of the jeep and would ride on the top. He asked me if I wanted to join him. I politely declined. Although there would have been a lot more space there, there was also the high risk that I would fall off - as clumsy as I am. So Biraj rode on top, which should have made my life a little more comfortable inside, as there were now only three people on the back seat. However, a new steel bar seemed to press itself in the base of my spine for the rest of the 3 hour journey, meaning that after arriving in Tamghas I didn't want to sit down again for a week.
We arrived in Tamghas and the jeep refuelled before taking us to Bhanbhane. The road to Bhanbhane is a dirt track, and our jeep driver relished in driving along it as fast as possible, constantly asking me whether I was scared or not. To be honest, I wasn't. The road was badly maintained, potholed and had some rather scary drops if anything should happen, but our driver seemed very capable, so it didn't really worry me at all. We arrived in Tamghas after nightfall - the dirt road in the dark was a bit more daunting - and made our way to Krishna's house for food and sleep.
The next morning, a whole host of people were waiting for us as we woke up. They were the user committee and hangers on of the pico hydropower projects that we had come to visit. For those who don't know, pico hydropower is a small hydropower unit that generates under 5 kilowatts. The units in Bhanbhane were just 200 and 300 watts. However, this was enough to give electricity for 15 to 20 homes per unit. We spent all morning being shown around the pico hydro sites in the village.
Two 300 W pico units using the same water
Most traditional pico hydropower units need water to drop more than 40m in order to generate electricity, known as head. When I was in Bidroha's village, their unit needed 120m head to generate 2kW. The advantage with the units in Bhanbhane are that they only need a small head - between 2.5m for 300 W and 7.4m for 5kW - but with the small head means they need more water flow. These units can be built into existing irrigation canals, dotted all over the hills of Nepal, and so do not require much work to install them. Unfortunately they are currently underused and out of production, so the project I am working on here is to get them better utilised throughout Nepal. More information can be found on the PEEDA website here.
The 300 W unit
The benefit of electricity - light without the need for firewood, kerosene or batteries
We visited a location where a Dalit community could build a unit to supply their village. The Dalit people are the lowest caste (class) in Nepali society, often considered as untouchable, especially to high caste Nepalis. Everyone in the village was very pleased with their electricity. They could have electricity 24 hours a day, 7 days a week - something that made us jealous with our 16 hours a day of power cuts. Of course, what big donor organisations like to see is people using electricity for light and so on, but the richer people also enjoy watching TV, charging mobile phones and laptop computers with their new found electrical power.
Biraj talking to the leader of the Dalit village about the possibility of electrifying their community
In the afternoon, we were invited to the local school for the 10 class leaving ceremony. The School Leaving Certificate (SLC, equivalent of GCSE in the UK) exams were going to be starting after 1 month, so the students were being sent on study leave. The ceremony reminded me very much of mine, 10 years previously. Sombre men stood up and talked about the future. People sang songs. There was even a political sketch with G.P. Koirala, the octogenarian politician who refuses to just go away, and Prachandra, the current Maoist Prime Minister. Biraj and I were welcomed as honoured guests with tikas and flower mallas, and everytime some talked they would mention "hamro bideshi paahun" - our foreign guest, i.e. me. The students were then forced to come up one by one and read out aloud a sentence written for them on a piece of paper. Most of these were embarrassing, causing them to recoil when they read it. One by one, each student would nervously amble up to the stage, read out their humiliation before racing back to their seat to plant their head in their hands, whilst their peers laughed at them. At the end of the proceedings each student was given a tika and malla, before eating a plate of goat curry and beaten rice.
The class 10 students
Me receiving my malla
The next day we went to see new possible sites for the units, as we would want install some quickly when the project fully begins. However, we had one small problem that we were delaying. How would we get back to Kathmandu? The strike was now in full swing, 2 people had been killed by the police the day before, as well as a policeman being murdered. There was very little petrol to talk about, and buses and jeeps were even more infrequent than normal. Somehow, Biraj and Krishna managed to negotiate a way for us back to Tansen. We hoped from there we could get to Kathmandu the next day.
When we arrived in Tansen bus station, the ticket counter people were just useless as they were a few days before. They didn't know what buses would come, whether we'd be able to get to Pokhara, from where we should have been able to get to Kathmandu. All they could tell us is we should be there at 6 am and they'd see what they could sort out. So we went back to the hotel and sulked.
The next morning we woke up and were advised by the Hotel owner to head a little bit out of Tansen, to a junction on the Butwal-Pokhara highway. This highway is known as the Siddartha highway as it links Pokhara with Lumbini, the birthplace of Siddartha Gautam who became Lord Buddha. He had arranged a seat on a micro for us to take us back to Kathmandu he said. So we sat there and waited. After 2 hours of waiting for the micro, and at least 5 other buses going to Pokhara had past us, our micro finally pulled up. The driver took us slowly along the serpentine highway, a road that he had never driven along before obviously, and 10 hours later we arrived in Kathmandu. The journey was unmemorable, apart from one incident. As we were climbing up to Kathmandu's entry checkpoint at Thankot, a kid threw dirty water at our micro. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, but as I was feeling a little travel sick, I had sat next to the window with the window wide open. I got a face-full of drain water laced with green leaves and mud. Just what you want after 10 hours in an uncomfortable minibus. The reason the brat threw the dirty was was that in 2 days time the festival of Holi was going to be celebrated, where water fights and people throwing paint powder at each other were the main tasks of the day.
When I returned to Kathmandu, I learnt that Buwa's niece, Samjhu, was to be married in Hetauda, a town on the edge of the Terai but still accessible from Kathmandu despite the continuing strike. So we headed to Samjhu's wedding a couple of days after I arrived back. The wedding was a most beautiful and simple affair at Samjhu's family home. Samjhu displayed all the poise and dignity required of her as a Nepali bride, and for that I admired her greatly.
Samjhu and I after the wedding
SAM
At the appointed place we stopped for lunch. I tried my best to climb out with dignity, but the bruises that were now top-and-tailing my upper leg made sure that any dignity I could have hoped for vanished. I fell out of the back of the jeep and stumbled into a restaurant for some food - as we hadn't really eaten yet. I went on an expedition to find the toilet, and was pointed to the top of some stairs. As I climbed the stairs I struck my head on a steel bar holding the roof in place with a resonating clang. For a few seconds my vision was double. This was obviously going to be a good day.
After lunch, Biraj decided he couldn't take it any more in the back of the jeep and would ride on the top. He asked me if I wanted to join him. I politely declined. Although there would have been a lot more space there, there was also the high risk that I would fall off - as clumsy as I am. So Biraj rode on top, which should have made my life a little more comfortable inside, as there were now only three people on the back seat. However, a new steel bar seemed to press itself in the base of my spine for the rest of the 3 hour journey, meaning that after arriving in Tamghas I didn't want to sit down again for a week.
We arrived in Tamghas and the jeep refuelled before taking us to Bhanbhane. The road to Bhanbhane is a dirt track, and our jeep driver relished in driving along it as fast as possible, constantly asking me whether I was scared or not. To be honest, I wasn't. The road was badly maintained, potholed and had some rather scary drops if anything should happen, but our driver seemed very capable, so it didn't really worry me at all. We arrived in Tamghas after nightfall - the dirt road in the dark was a bit more daunting - and made our way to Krishna's house for food and sleep.
The next morning, a whole host of people were waiting for us as we woke up. They were the user committee and hangers on of the pico hydropower projects that we had come to visit. For those who don't know, pico hydropower is a small hydropower unit that generates under 5 kilowatts. The units in Bhanbhane were just 200 and 300 watts. However, this was enough to give electricity for 15 to 20 homes per unit. We spent all morning being shown around the pico hydro sites in the village.
Most traditional pico hydropower units need water to drop more than 40m in order to generate electricity, known as head. When I was in Bidroha's village, their unit needed 120m head to generate 2kW. The advantage with the units in Bhanbhane are that they only need a small head - between 2.5m for 300 W and 7.4m for 5kW - but with the small head means they need more water flow. These units can be built into existing irrigation canals, dotted all over the hills of Nepal, and so do not require much work to install them. Unfortunately they are currently underused and out of production, so the project I am working on here is to get them better utilised throughout Nepal. More information can be found on the PEEDA website here.
We visited a location where a Dalit community could build a unit to supply their village. The Dalit people are the lowest caste (class) in Nepali society, often considered as untouchable, especially to high caste Nepalis. Everyone in the village was very pleased with their electricity. They could have electricity 24 hours a day, 7 days a week - something that made us jealous with our 16 hours a day of power cuts. Of course, what big donor organisations like to see is people using electricity for light and so on, but the richer people also enjoy watching TV, charging mobile phones and laptop computers with their new found electrical power.
In the afternoon, we were invited to the local school for the 10 class leaving ceremony. The School Leaving Certificate (SLC, equivalent of GCSE in the UK) exams were going to be starting after 1 month, so the students were being sent on study leave. The ceremony reminded me very much of mine, 10 years previously. Sombre men stood up and talked about the future. People sang songs. There was even a political sketch with G.P. Koirala, the octogenarian politician who refuses to just go away, and Prachandra, the current Maoist Prime Minister. Biraj and I were welcomed as honoured guests with tikas and flower mallas, and everytime some talked they would mention "hamro bideshi paahun" - our foreign guest, i.e. me. The students were then forced to come up one by one and read out aloud a sentence written for them on a piece of paper. Most of these were embarrassing, causing them to recoil when they read it. One by one, each student would nervously amble up to the stage, read out their humiliation before racing back to their seat to plant their head in their hands, whilst their peers laughed at them. At the end of the proceedings each student was given a tika and malla, before eating a plate of goat curry and beaten rice.
The next day we went to see new possible sites for the units, as we would want install some quickly when the project fully begins. However, we had one small problem that we were delaying. How would we get back to Kathmandu? The strike was now in full swing, 2 people had been killed by the police the day before, as well as a policeman being murdered. There was very little petrol to talk about, and buses and jeeps were even more infrequent than normal. Somehow, Biraj and Krishna managed to negotiate a way for us back to Tansen. We hoped from there we could get to Kathmandu the next day.
When we arrived in Tansen bus station, the ticket counter people were just useless as they were a few days before. They didn't know what buses would come, whether we'd be able to get to Pokhara, from where we should have been able to get to Kathmandu. All they could tell us is we should be there at 6 am and they'd see what they could sort out. So we went back to the hotel and sulked.
The next morning we woke up and were advised by the Hotel owner to head a little bit out of Tansen, to a junction on the Butwal-Pokhara highway. This highway is known as the Siddartha highway as it links Pokhara with Lumbini, the birthplace of Siddartha Gautam who became Lord Buddha. He had arranged a seat on a micro for us to take us back to Kathmandu he said. So we sat there and waited. After 2 hours of waiting for the micro, and at least 5 other buses going to Pokhara had past us, our micro finally pulled up. The driver took us slowly along the serpentine highway, a road that he had never driven along before obviously, and 10 hours later we arrived in Kathmandu. The journey was unmemorable, apart from one incident. As we were climbing up to Kathmandu's entry checkpoint at Thankot, a kid threw dirty water at our micro. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, but as I was feeling a little travel sick, I had sat next to the window with the window wide open. I got a face-full of drain water laced with green leaves and mud. Just what you want after 10 hours in an uncomfortable minibus. The reason the brat threw the dirty was was that in 2 days time the festival of Holi was going to be celebrated, where water fights and people throwing paint powder at each other were the main tasks of the day.
When I returned to Kathmandu, I learnt that Buwa's niece, Samjhu, was to be married in Hetauda, a town on the edge of the Terai but still accessible from Kathmandu despite the continuing strike. So we headed to Samjhu's wedding a couple of days after I arrived back. The wedding was a most beautiful and simple affair at Samjhu's family home. Samjhu displayed all the poise and dignity required of her as a Nepali bride, and for that I admired her greatly.
SAM
1 comment:
As evocative as ever, Sam.....
;o)
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