Day 21 — Getting from Point A to B
By: Michelle Han
Tags: International Development, Nepal, Volunteering, Expat, Developing Countries

Exactly 3 weeks have passed since I got into an Uber from my condo in Toronto and out of the airport 25 hours later in Kathmandu, Nepal, quite literally on the other side of the world. I remember thinking that the city wasted no time introducing me to its dusty, chaotic nature, as I tried to look beyond crowds of heckling taxis and into the thick, orange-tinted smog for the driver that was to pick me up. Thankfully, I did eventually find him, sinking into my seat to watch the city unfold from the safety of his Jeep as we snaked through Kathmandu traffic. “How am I ever going to get from point A to B?” I thought aloud, to polite chuckles at my naivety from the novelty of it all.

If I have no memories of my toddler self, then my first days in Kathmandu are probably my best proxy for relating to her. I was learning how to speak the language (“Me eat!”), what was safe to eat and what wasn’t, what local foods I liked or disliked, how to walk without jumping at every scooter or car flying by inches from me. I’d like to think that since then I’ve upgraded to a young adult, having put the first stakes of my independence in the ground by moving into my own one-bedroom apartment in Pokhara and starting my job at Pokhara Technical School.

I had come to Nepal to learn what it meant to be born with less privilege, but I am living a life here that is more privileged than I have ever experienced. For starters, being driven around by a private driver for work and having a guard where I lived 24/7 became the new normal. When I got food poisoning, I was promptly delivered to a hospital for travelers with doctors trained abroad, my exorbitant bills covered by insurance. When I was shown apartments in the city I was to work, I was told that apartments where the locals lived would not be to my standards, because they had shared outdoor bathrooms, no hot water, and no backup generators. In my new home, guards and drivers were replaced by my landlord’s helpers who clean my room every week, do my laundry, and help me carry anything I buy up the three flights of stairs. Expat life meant brunching at restaurants where Eggs Benedict and coffee costs $10 in a country where a plate of fried noodles costs $0.50. Although I was now physically here, the gap between me and those I wanted to learn from seemed to have widened, not shrunk. As if I’ve zoomed in on it on a map, the real distance only revealed itself in proximity, when both realities existed in tandem with each other.

To my dismay, physically being here also did not automatically mean that I was here at all. In both Kathmandu and Pokhara, life can be as comfortable and familiar as life back home, complete with English-speaking friends (Australians, they’re everywhere), my favorite foods (dumplings) and vices (bubble tea). Perhaps it is just the reality of being a foreigner, but I liken my experience to getting off the plane to realize you’ve arrived in a very nice lobby. The lobby is comfortable and filled with others like you, but it is a transition place between your old and new life. I didn’t quit my job and travel halfway across the world just to hang out in the lobby.

Unfortunately for whatever naive predispositions my lazy streak might’ve had about cultural osmosis, this means that every day requires a conscious effort to move away from what’s familiar. Everyday, I must remake the decision to be or not to be here, to arrive again in my mind. In a practical sense, this means choosing to speak Nepali even if I sound like a 3-year-old. Or exploring a new part of town. Waking up at 6 am to watch how people worship at the local temple. Reading about history and politics and connecting those dots to the present by asking about people’s lived experiences. Observing the habits of my adopted Nepali family, belonging to the landlord living downstairs. Asking about people’s ethnic and caste heritage, their birth town, and their dreams for their children. A thousand little interactions and details converge to create context and understanding, building the foundations required for empathy and trust.

It is humbling to have to relearn so much of what I had taken for granted. If I am experiencing culture shock, it shows itself in very strange forms. Loneliness creeps in and out, and my emotions sometimes blindside me, not unlike the scooters here that seem to swerve from every direction. Here, there is an Uber-for-scooters service called Tootle that I’ve been using to get around. The first time I rode on a scooter here, I was terrified and clenching on to my poor Tootle driver for dear life. The fifth time I rode on a scooter here, I decided it was still terrifying, but fun, and that I was not going to fall off. I hope that maybe by the fiftieth time, I will not just be riding on a scooter, but driving my own and swerving around others, eventually answering my own question of how I’ll get from point A to B.