Am I part of the problem? Or part of the solution?

Shades of last year.

Before we dig in, I want to give a shout out to the folks who could join our last Zoom call from Pharping! The first group got a bit more of my attention, while the second group got a chance to meet almost every elder at the home as they woke up and started their day. Bishnu Aama even managed a smile and a very clear, “Good morning!” when she saw the screen on my notebook computer. I’ll schedule another one soon, before I leave Nepal.

Next, I want to extend a deep thank you for all the emails, WhatsApp and Signal texts, and Instagram messages when I announced Man Bahadur’s death. This one hit me hard, folks. I appreciate all of you.

♥

Now, on to the topic most on my mind these days:

Am I part of the solution, or am I perpetuating the problem?

You may have heard the story of my experience last year. If not, here’s the TLDR (too long, didn’t read) version:

• Caught bronchitis in Hong Kong.

• Flight attendants on flight from Hong Kong to Kathmandu served non-potable water.

• Spent about four days holed up in my hotel room before I was well enough to catch a cab to a hospital.

• Spent the night in the hospital and fought for four hours the next morning to be released.

• At breakfast the following morning, was berated by a man from New Zealand for being an American.

• The following day, was warned by a police sergeant that there were no homeless Nepali elders in the streets, and that I would not be safe if I tried to go out during the night to feed the supposedly-non-existent homeless elders in the streets. (I was asking for protection.)

• The same day, was berated by the hotel manager (who was also a member of the Kathmandu Tourism Board) for wanting to feed the elders in the streets.

• The hotel manager’s argument: They weren’t Nepali, so they didn’t need to be fed. Also, if I fed five tonight, how many would come next month?

There were loads of other, fun moments during those first few weeks, but I’ll just focus on the ones above for now.

After being beaten down physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, it wasn’t long before I found myself hunkered down in my room at a new hotel, questioning what I was doing and whether I was doing any good in the world.

Fast forward a year.

Early on in my trip this year, I had the chance to catch up with Suraj at Corona School (many of you know him from the book). I mentioned that I had heard there are a number of elders from India living on the streets here, and that many of these elders may be eligible for a pension in their home state in India. I also mentioned that there may be Nepali elders in India who’ve lived and worked there their whole lives and who have no way to get back to Nepal to collect their pension and live. I mused about finding a way to get everyone back to where they want to be (if they want to go home) so they could live out their last years with a bit more peace.

Suraj’s response was that the Nepal government has previously rounded up the homeless elders from India and sent them home, and these elders just end up back here because they like the weather better.

I think your brains are doing the same back flips mine did when I heard that. I took it all in and just bit my tongue.

Just last week, though, I was having lunch outside with a friend, when a homeless elder showed up. I was fishing in my bag for some bills, so I didn’t notice when George waved the old man off. When I handed the beggar a few bills, I heard George chuckle. He’d been warned about “perpetuating the problem” by giving money to these old beggars. The thinking was, if all the tourists just stopped giving them money, these old people would just go home, and then maybe others won’t come to Nepal in their younger years and end up begging for the rest of their lives. He said, “Now, I feel like a jerk for not giving him money when you did.” He said he’d heard these old people make more money begging than they would by working. (This is not an uncommon situation in the US with younger people standing on street corners holding cardboard signs. I’ve talked to a few who admitted they make far more money begging than they would at any minimum-wage job.)

What’s astonishing to me is that there are loads of younger adults (and older adults) leaving Nepal for Bangladesh, Dubai, Hong Kong, Japan, and other countries every day to try and find work. One of Akkal’s brothers is living in Croatia, driving a local bus for a living. Another young man I know has an aunt who’s trapped in Dubai, working off her “sponsorship” debt in a modern version of indentured servitude: The man who paid for her travel expenses is holding her passport, along with all his other so-called employees’ passports, and controls when, or if, they ever leave the country again.

Taking it all in, can we blame any of these people for wanting to find work wherever they can? For trying to beg for enough on the streets just to live each day in uncertain and unsafe conditions? Can we blame any of them for doing what we, ourselves, might do?

Apart from giving every old, dirty, hungry, beggar a lie detector test to find out their story, and patting them down to see how much money they have on them before I give them any of my own money, there really is no way to know who’s who here.

And, honestly, I don’t care who’s who.

This year, I refuse to question myself or my work. I can’t possibly save them all, but I can save one at a time. And I am certainly not part of any problem, real or imagined.

In closing out this very long email, I leave you with the
Buddhist Metta (Lovingkindness) Prayer:

May all beings be peaceful.

May all beings be happy.

May all beings be safe.

May all beings awaken to the light of their true nature.

May all beings be free.

♥

Alicia Jean Demetropolis