Shot of the Week

Every Sunday I upload a photo to my facebook album, Shot of the Week. It is the one capture that speaks to me most out of the sometimes hundreds I snap each week! Sometimes the choice is obvious. A couple of times I have deliberated for hours or even stepped out the door with my camera to hunt one down at the last minute!

But each week I get great comments from my facebook friends. Some people share them on their own pages and occasionally I meet someone here in Nepal who says "Oh I love your Shot of the Week!" That just tickles me pink! I think I'll start posting them in Journey With Me too, for those of you who haven't taken the facebook plunge.


Today's Shot of the Week:

Pilgrims from Tibet discuss Gospel tracts in their own language. At Boudhanath Stupa to perform Kora, they had just met an ethnic Tibetan Christian who gave them the literature and told them about the Most High God. It might be the first time they heard His name. I roamed nearby with a camera and tried to be invisible as I prayed for these beautiful ladies and for their new friend who risked so much to share. 12/5/2011 — at Boudhanath, Kathmandu, Nepal.

Previous Shots  of the Week:

In the right place at the right time. I was hanging out the window shooting still life across the street and Leah says "Oh, oh! Look down!" 10/10/2011

— at Boudha, Kathmandu, Nepal.

Divine Encounter. Thinking we were just looking for a new adventure, we followed our "whim" up a mysterious stairway and found this old man sitting alone at an otherwise deserted shrine. After I took this shot, Leah struck up a conversation and eventually offered a Nepali Bible. He met us at the same place the next day to receive it and began reading instantly. 10/13/2011

— at Boudha, Kathmandu, Nepal.

Jeff, Bishnu and I stopped to catch our breaths and admire God's handiwork while on a quick outreach hike above Thankot. 10/21/2011

— at Thankot, Nepal.

Two men of God share a Bible during a Church service. 10/29/2011

— in Kathmandu, Nepal.

A gaggle of brightly colored boats wait lazily for renters on Lake Phewa. I wasn't shooting lazily though. Leah and I dashed down to Lakeside, snapped about four shots and then rushed back up the hill to catch a taxi for our next scheduled event. Later I realized the moment produced my shot of the week. Now I want to go back! 11/2/2011

— at Pokhara, Nepal.

Shared a few words and smiles with this little angel and her mother while walking home one day. One of the things I love about Nepal is the interaction with people around me. You relinquish some of your own privacy here and find yourself invited into the lives of strangers. 11/7/2011

— at Boudha, Kathmandu, Nepal.

A quick walk to to the ATM at sunset took us past the balloon man's cart. 11/20/2011

— at Boudha, Kathmandu, Nepal.

A woman tosses water on the street in front of her house to cut down on dust. Monsoon is over. 11/27/2011

— at Boudha, Kathmandu, Nepal.

A street child sleeps the afternoon away, oblivious to the bustle of Thamel, a bazaar district. Most likely addicted to glue, statistics say he won't live much longer. 12/4/2011

— atThamel, Kathmandu, Nepal.

Stay tuned for more!




L.

A Gingerbread Man

Traffic in Kathmandu.


There might not be an adjective strong enough to convey the intensity that comes flying at your face when you embark on a journey across this city! You will meet every imaginable conveyance; massive trucks and buses, four door taxis, land rovers, motorcycles, scooters, rickshaws, bicycles and pedestrians, all in a mad dash to claim that next vacant piece of road. And then there are the animals. Buffalo and cattle roam freely through the craziest intersections. And, no, it's not okay if you accidentally hit one. Sometimes you move like a maniac and sometimes you just sit and turn off your engine to conserve petrol. 


Yesterday as we made our way across town I giggled to myself. The smooth tones of Michael Buble's voice floated through the tiny car: "It's be-ginning to look a-lot like Christ-mas . . ." It doesn't look remotely like Christmas here. Though a few shops cater to the westerner, this city is mostly oblivious to the concept of the Christ Child, Saint Nick, jingle bells, holly boughs or Christmas trees. 


We were on our way to do an American family photo shoot and then on to Christian Nepali friends for dinner. I had packed a few dozen freshly baked gingerbread men as gifts for our hosts. We weren't surprised when traffic stood still. Nor were we amazed when a beggar boy tapped on my window moments after we stopped. It happens. The boy pressed his face against the dusty glass and waved a dirty flyer. Probably a professional. He's been provided with printed material to woo the hearts of tourists. No need to contribute funds to a begging ring. But the cookies! I selected a jaunty ginger man and passed it through the window to the filthy kid who couldn't possibly appreciate it. 


Or could he? 


The boy accepted the cookie with interest and moved out of the traffic to enjoy his treat. I watched as he studied the shape and bit off the head. He looked a little amused at his decapitated victim. He savored the spicy sweetness, then decided which limb would go next, and next.


I was struck with how similarly kids back home eat gingerbread men. The little ones in my life get ginger guys every year - even help bake and decorate them. Still, the simple pleasure of dissecting an unsuspecting bit of sugar and spice never loses its satisfaction! And it wasn't lost on the little urchin who tasted a bit of Christmas cheer for the very first time. 


The scene plays back in my mind again and again. I see the essence of the Christ Child in it.  The Most High God comes as a mortal man to a world that doesn't want Him. He is served up to we unappreciative beggars as payment for our destitution, and Glory to God in the highest! It is enough! This Bread of Heaven is all sufficient to feed the human soul, no matter the race, nationality, creed or caste! He is here, among us for all time, just waiting for us to press our faces to the glass . . .


and beg.

I am the living bread which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live for ever: and the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.

John 6:51

L.

Redeemed

I sit on my bed this deliciously quiet morning, trying to catch up on correspondence. The normal buzz of activity in the street below my window is interrupted with an explosive bang that sends me flying. I grin at my own racing heart. It's just a firecracker. Or firework. Or some other random act of noisy celebration.

It is Tihar in Kathmandu.

Last night as I rode home across the city, I wondered at the twinkle of lights, hung like streamers down the faces of otherwise dismal buildings. I pretended for a fleeting moment that I was in an American city in the final days of December. It could almost be Christmas in Atlanta! Only not.

Tihar is a five day festival in Nepal. Each day is reserved for a different object of worship. Today my neighbors worship cow, the mother of the universe. They will honor her with flowers and tika and perform pujas with her excrement that seem disgusting to my western mind, but holy and purifying to them.

Yesterday belonged to the dog. My language teacher explained the the worship of dogs with great patience. It all seemed natural and obvious to him. Dog is a protector and friend, the guard of both the physical world and the underworld. Lowly and dishonored he may be, but yesterday the mangy, crippled street dog was worshiped as a god. 

Tihar follows closely on the festival of Dashain, another Hindu holy season. Dashain is the fifteen day celebration of a legendary victory of good over evil, in which the goddess Durga slew the mighty demon Mahisasur, who ravaged the earth disguised as a water buffalo. The eighth day of Dashain flows with the blood of thousands of goats and other animals, raised, purchased and slaughtered in sacrifice to Durga. It is a dark day for Christians in Nepal. Many believers are persecuted by their families and friends on this day, because they cannot possibly take part in the deep pujas that are the basis of the beloved celebration.

For devout Buddhists, the eighth day of Dashain presented an opportunity to rack up the good karma. Tradition says that a compassionate benefactor may rescue a beast doomed to service or sacrifice. During Dashain, saviors sometimes arrest the hand of the executioner, offering to pay a good price for his victim. This is very good karma for the hero. When the purchase is complete, the animal is decorated with brightly colored ribbons and tassels and set free. The signs hang permanently from the ears and horns, proclaiming to all the sacredness of their wearer. No master may ever take this beast captive, no burden may ever be imposed on him, no hand may ever harm him. He is eternally free.

What a picture.

A redeemed Blue Sheep, photo courtesy of Marianne Broqueville

L.

And They All Blogged Happily Ever After

Once upon a time . . .


A servant girl in a kingdom far away dreamed of a magic journal. In her journal, she would write of her adventures in strange lands, and with a pinch of her spell-bound pet mouse, the tales would suddenly appear before the eyes of all the people around the world who loved her and prayed for her.

But there was no fairy god-mother in sight, so servant girl visited this humble shop . . .

Where she met N-cell the wizard. 


The great N-cell promised many hours of internet for only 1,000 rupees.


But N-cell's magic turned against the servant girl. Sometimes the internet didn't work at all, always it was too slow, and sometimes it made her computer shut down completely.


Servant girl was just a little bit lazy, so she said,


"Oh well. Ke Garne."


She gave up on her dream, that naughty, butmos girl. She went on adventuring and storing up tales in her heart, but it was hard work to share them so she kept them to herself.


But one day God said to His servant girl,


"You naughty, butmos girl! I put a dream in your heart, and a gift in your hand, and you are too lazy to use them!"


So servant girl began to pray that God would make her strong to face the challenge of mighty Lord Communication the Evil.


Communication was a ferocious giant in the land where servant girl served. He built mighty webs all over the kingdom that looked like this:

If you could pay money to Lord Communication the Evil, and if you were very brave and very diligent, and if you had a smart person to help you, you could untangle a part of Lord Communication's evil web and use the internet it carried to send magic messages around the world.

But servant girl and her friend were pilgrims in a strange land. They needed a friend.

So God sent the Christian brother from downstairs to help servant girl and her friend.

Christian brother and his son knew the ways of Lord Communication the Evil. 

He tried very hard, and after may weeks, God blessed his efforts.

The beautiful internet began to flow . . .

Through this magical connection . . .

Out the window of servant girl's house . . .

Past Lord Communication's mighty men . . .

Through the tangles of the evil web . . .

And out to the wide, wide world.

So servant girl and her friend danced up and down, and said "Hallelujah!" (Which is the same in every language.)

The End.

The moral of the story:

I beg you do not scorn my words, sweet readers, but cherish the tales I send to you. They are travel worn and battle weary.

L.

The American Club

I am enjoying one of the pleasanter afternoons of my life. 


I am inside the confines of the elite American Club of Kathmandu. No cameras allowed. 


By US standards, the facilities aren't overly impressive, but in this underdeveloped city it feels like an oasis of sophistication. And for a girl like me with a bit of a romantic side, the rustic luxury is just right. I feel like I've stepped into an old Ingrid Bergman movie. Casablanca? 


And they have wireless. Joy!


Leah and I are camped out in an idyllic cafe, laptops, books and journals commandeering a table for four. The chairs are real rattan. The walls are hand molded brick, impressed with age and charming ornateness. The window walls open to tennis courts and swimming pool and sub-tropic gardens. Fans whir overhead.


This is not Kathmandu. This is Kathmandu for the movies, and is available for a monthly membership that neither Leah nor I deem priority. But oh my, it's heavenly to hang here and write, read, and strategize. 


We arrived this morning on invitation from the American Embassy to join a September eleventh commemorative ceremony. The event itself was a simple half hour nicety, but afforded us with the experience of such novelties as gentlemen in suits and ties, speeches in English, and (sigh) a color guard of US Marines. 


I was awed as ever as I gazed at Old Glory, hand over my heart, and heard the beloved anthem soar through the tent. 


And then the insects attacked. First the gentleman in front of us was bombarded my an evil, weevil-like creature, sending him into a dance and Leah and and me into a battle with the giggles. Next another winged monstrosity decided he liked Leah. More dancing.


Okay, so maybe this is Kathmandu.


I was in Kathmandu, surrounded by bugs and saffron robed monks, and the flag meant just that much more.




L.

Nepali Birthday Party

Maya lives on the outskirts of the city, far from Leah's familiar streets. We take a wrong "choke" (intersection) and get into a pickle trying to turn around, but look at the view we would have missed if we had stayed on track!

We drive as far as we can and then climb out for a short hike in to Maya's house. But the path is a mini river, so we get creative. Through a neighbor's porch and garden, only to get stuck at their locked back gate. We smile sweetly and "Namaste" to a young girl, as if it's perfectly normal for her to run into a couple of white "bideshis" in her own back yard. She smiles back and trots after the key. I snap photos while we wait.

Rice is a beautiful crop. I didn't know that. Did you?

The river runs beside the path here, which we find extremely convenient!

Hard to believe we were battling our way through the streets of Kathmandu less than an hour ago.

We need to keep moving, but I keep stopping for just one more shot. Poor Maya.

This little building houses a Bible club for kids, Leah tells me. "Jaymase!" She calls to the lady who hosts the club. Jaymase, Leah explains, is a greeting used only by Christians in Nepal, and is loosely interpreted: "Joy in Jesus." To use jaymase is to confess belief in Christ. A beautiful young woman in a red and gold Kurta has been following us on the trail for some time, eyes downcast. She lights up when she overhears the brief exchange. "Jaymase!" She greets Leah. 

Maya's house at last! Just ahead on the right.

A beaming birthday girl / cook / hostess greets us with the selfless concern that in the time we lost taking the wrong turn, we may have gotten hungry.

Everyone is thrilled to see Leah.  

The children greet us with giggles and hugs and a few proudly pronounced English words.

Deepak. A boy who loves and serves God, even at great personal sacrifice. He owns a special piece of Leah's heart.

The mosquito coil burns all evening, filling the room with a rustic incense.  

Maya's famous momos (steamed, stuffed dumplings), achaar, an extremely spicy, but delightful sauce, vegetables steamed to perfection, and an extra special treat concocted especially for Leah and me: chicken drumsticks, barbecued American style. Maya amazes me!

Lovely.

The ideal Nepali matriarch. From her perch on the bed, she gives out hugs and quiet orders with equal freedom.

Leah and I are served a feast while everyone else waits for cake. Leah is experienced. She finishes her first plate and accepts another and another, all while chatting merrily in Nepali and interpreting for me. It's a good thing I'm not required to talk. I'm busy enough making this delicious, but overabundant food disappear!

When our dinners are complete, Maya brings out Leah's "alchi" cake. Alchi means lazy, and is Maya's teasing description of the store-bought mix Leah used to bake it.

"You're one year old, Maya!" Leah jokes in Nepali. We all laugh together and then sing "Happy Birthday" in two languages, at the top of our lungs.

Everyone gets to join the celebration at cake time.

"Ama"(mother) leans in and tweaks Leah's nose. "You're so cute!" Leah laughs. Ama reminds Leah that she is missing her teeth.

A lot of happy people live in this room!

Pepsi and Mountain Dew for everyone!

The kids admire my locket.

They carefully repeat the names. "Lee, Will, Reagan, Marc . . ." They give up when I say "Baby Olivia."

 

"Are they your children?" "No, they are my sisters' children." Leah explains in Nepali and then informs me it would be perfectly appropriate for me to claim my niece and nephews as my own, and would not imply I'm actually their mother. I like it.

We sit and exchange stories late into the evening. Most of the tales recount the hilarious experiences of working in the homes of the more fortunate.

Maya is chief story-teller. It takes her twice as long as it should, because every account has to be retold to me in English. But no one seems to mind. 

As the evening winds down, Maya's new husband Birbahadur arrives home. He is courteous and genteel and makes an effort to welcome us with English phrases and western etiquette.

"May I take your picture?" Maya seems both proud and shy. And very happy.

The older children walk us back to the car with a flashlight. Deepak wants to tell me something and asks Leah to help him. He reaches up and puts his arm around me as he speaks. Leah interprets: "He says he will pray for you." Leah doesn't have to tell me he really will.

L.