a light in the dark

from one of my nepali sketchbooks

shabaley

I haven't known what to write. It's been a month now since the earthquake, and though the kids and their families are alive and safe, they have lost so much. For most of them, their homes, and entire villages are gone. The school is so badly damaged, with 120 kids still living under a tarp, sleeping on the ground. With the monsoon season upon them, I don't know how they will cope. Aftershocks have become too many to count, and just when they feel the ground has finally stopped shaking, it begins again. I cannot imagine their fear, their anxiety.



Tsering Lama told me that something in his back was broken after that wall fell on him, but he assures me that he feels much better, and now he plans to trek to what is left of his village. Tsewang found out that Pemba Tsering is in his village and unharmed, and Pemba Gyaltsen managed to contact me to tell me he's ok too. The only one we still have no word on is Phurbu Nyima. I keep hoping that his phone just ran out of battery and he's safe with his loved ones, but how I worry...



These snapshots are from our week-long SMD After School Artists reunion this February. We dined on shabaley and momos, and I added some Turkish helva to the mix. Pedro sketched Tsewang, and Kiran drew a cup of tea on a square of tissue, which I then slipped between the pages of my sketchbook.

There go my eyes again. They keep getting all watery!



Please donate to the Himalayan Children's Fund if you can. The funds go directly to Shree Mangal Dvip School if you write "SMD School" in the designation box— any little bit helps!

an update, and a way to help

The week has been frustrating, with dropped calls and connections so bad that Tsewang's voice was chopped into nonsensical sounds. Nevertheless, we have managed to talk nearly every day since the earthquake, and this is what I know:

The 240 kids and staff at Shree Mangal Dvip School (SMD) are safe, though still sleeping outside under tarps. They have food and water so far, and they have opened the school grounds to others for shelter. Many of the children's villages are gone, and some still do not know if their families are alive and safe. Tsewang's family is safe, though their homes are gone. Most of his village in Nubri, which is in the hardest-hit district of Ghorka, has been destroyed. Like many of the remote villages in Nepal devastated by the earthquake, they are in desperate need of water, food, and shelter. I cannot imagine the stress and fear that the kids must be feeling— not knowing the status of their loved ones back home, and not knowing how to help them. The news from Nepal is that the government is not sending villages any help and support, and that most of the aid is being focused on the Kathmandu area. Survivors are essentially starving on the hillsides and mountains.



As for my dear artists, the original group whom I've been teaching for the past five years, news has been trickling in. Most are safe, though emotionally exhausted and fearful of more aftershocks. They are doing their best to support the littler ones, and to help out in any capacity they can (you can see Kiran, Tsewang, Nyima, and Tsering D. above). As several of the original group graduated (SMD only goes up to 10th grade), many of them are no longer at school. One of my boys, Tsering Lama, was hospitalised after a wall fell on him, and no one seems to know exactly where he is or how badly he is injured. No one has any news from Phurbu Nyima, or the two Pembas. Last I knew, they were in their villages.

I have had a difficult time sleeping and focusing, not knowing if they are safe, not knowing if the families of all the kids are safe, and knowing that they are afraid. I do not know yet how to get help to the villages, but I do know how to help the school.



The Himalayan Children's Fund (HCF) is a 501(c)(3) non-profit based in the United States, dedicated to supporting SMD, along with the Tibetan Buddhist monasteries and abbey founded by Thrangu Rinpoche. I fully trust HCF, as I have donated funds through them in the past, and know that they money does indeed reach the school. I also sponsor one of SMD's fine young artists through HCF.

One of the easiest ways to donate is through Network For Good. Follow this link to the HCF page:
https://www.networkforgood.org/donation/MakeDonation.aspx?ORGID2=954121177

To support Shree Mangal Dvip School, please type "Earthquake relief for SMD" in the designation box when you are making your donation. Your donation however, can be designated or undesignated— if it is undesignated, the money will be distributed where it is needed between SMD, SMD's clinic, the monasteries, and the abbey. For more information, please read the latest HCF newsletter.



I thank you for all the kind words of support that I have received, and hope that you will keep my dear ones and the people of Nepal in your hearts and thoughts.

All photos are from Shirley Blair and Tsering D.

nepal

I am left without words, with a terrible pain in my chest. Yesterday morning as I was walking through Taksim Square, I saw a plane with its right engine on fire streak across the sky, a ring of debris floating to the ground. I was filled with dread, and thought of the terror the passengers and crew must be feeling, and spent the day hoping for their safety. When I returned home, I learned that TK1878 had landed safely, no one was injured, and I breathed.

Then I heard about Nepal.

As I clicked through news story after news story, and the emails in my inbox— panic. I tried calling my loved ones in Kathmandu, and the phone just kept ringing. I couldn't breathe.

Finally, I got a hold of Tsewang, one of my students. He assured me that everyone was safe, though his home in his village had collapsed. His aunties in Swayambhunath are safe. It was the middle of the night for him, so I told him to try and get some rest, and that Pedro and I love him.

Today I managed to contact Tsewang again, who told me that he was trying to help manage the situation. Everyone slept outside, they had some tents. Everyone was still safe. Many villages were destroyed. He then passed me to Shirley, the director of Shree Mangal Dvip. The school was substantially damaged; it is now unusable, and they are in desperate need of water. There was another aftershock that registered 6.7.

As soon as I can find a way to help them, I will let you know. Until then, please keep my kids and the people of Nepal in your hearts and thoughts.

wind and wings

now, sit real still

I was sketching the gate at Shechen Monastery while Pedro was chasing warblers in the nearby trees, when a group of young monks heaving cases of soda paused to watch me draw. Most peeked, smiled bashfully, and carried on with lugging the soda, but I was eventually left with two boys who decided to sit with me.

After some silence and more smiles, the boys began to whisper at each other fiercely. Suddenly, one of them cheekily blurted out: "He wants you to draw him!"

This earned him a little punch in the arm from his blushing friend. I abandoned my lousy sketch for a fresh white page, selected a suitable pencil and told the blusher to sit real still. His name was Jamyang Tashi, and he was from Mustang.



Jamyang sat with such dignity for a young lad, though there was mischief in his sideways glance as he peered at the lines that were adding up to become his face. An older monk passed by and gave his approval— a grin, and a "same same". The boys were pleased with this, and Jamyang lit up when I showed him his finished portrait. I told him I would photocopy the drawing and bring it back to him, but I wasn't sure if he fully understood what I meant. The next day I returned with the copy and tracked him down to the classrooms at the back of the monastery. He appeared in the window of a very dark room— I could barely see him, except for a set of gleaming white teeth behind the window grate. I passed him the photocopy, which he received with both hands, thanked me, and skipped off.

the moments that change your life

It was in this dark little room that my life changed, five years ago. I remember that first art class as though it were yesterday— the room full of shy kids eager to draw, who scarcely uttered a word for the first few days. We had copier paper and pencils, the erasers were cut into four pieces so everyone could have their own, and we drew whatever was around— ink bottles, keys, each other.

It's funny how you never know what moment will change your life until time has settled in. I never knew that the kids in front of me would become so dear to me that they would be my family, and that I would return to Nepal year after year.



Our group grew larger, and we moved to the cafeteria balcony. Some students got scholarships to study abroad, some returned to their villages to do service, some went to college, and some got jobs. Pedro and I got married. It's amazing, all the things that can happen in five years.



It's amazing how kids turn into young adults when you're not looking!

those familiar eyes

juniper man

Nearly every afternoon for the past three summers, I could rely upon a certain cloud of white smoke following the crowd around the Stupa. Often, it was the scent of juniper branches that it carried with each dissipating puff, and because Kathmandu is home to a variety of offensive stenches, I breathed its whiteness in deeply, feeling the juniper sweep my head clean.



We called him 'Juniper Man', the man who swung the censer like a pendulum, muttering mantras through lips barely parted. He wore a turmeric jacket and a pointed beard, his hair neatly tied back in a bun. I have never drawn him because every time I see him, I find myself caught up in his wake, mesmerized by the movement, by the scent. This year, we came to the point of mutual recognition— I would place my hands together in greeting, and he would nod with a slight smile, never breaking his swing or a syllable of his prayer.

On the night of the full moon, I followed him for several circumambulations, camera in hand. Knowing precisely what I wanted, he slowed down and kindly paused until I got a few blurry shots, smiled and continued on. I asked the older kids at school who he was, but no one knew.



Seeing him was always uplifting. It's funny how a perfect stranger can have such an effect on you.
Thank you, Juniper Man.

art class

If you've been following my blog for the past four years, then you are probably aware of the reason why I spend summer after summer in Nepal:



On the balcony of Shree Mangal Dvip School's lunchroom, under violet-grey and charcoal monsoon skies, I teach art to some extraordinary kids.

a thousand flickering lights

Under the full moon, faces glowed orange in the light of a thousand flickering flames, and the scent of butter and juniper thickened the air. Three ladies followed each other in a chain of prostrations, their bellies lying flat against the cool stone floor, while others continued to circumambulate the Stupa, careful not to disrupt their rhythm of rising and falling.