<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131140/637237999c7e80680e0c733cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="533"/><figcaption>Sangam and Laxmi Mahato, sisters of Dilip Mahato, who was killed by the sand mafia three years ago for protesting their mining operation. Photos: ANITA BHETWAL</figcaption></figure>Sangam and Laxmi Mahato were very happy that their only brother, 24-year-old Om Prakash (Dilip) Mahato, was coming home after graduating from college in India.The sisters got to spend barely two weeks with Dilip before he was murdered by contractors extracting sand from the Aurahi River by the village. They crushed him beneath a tipper truck.Dilip had been protesting illegal sand mining and actively organising the local community to conserve the fragile Chure Hills. More than two years after his death, after being threatened by their brother’s killers, the sisters have brought their struggle for justice to Kathmandu.Their father Ram Jiwan Mahato has also come to Kathmandu with his daughters and said in a resigned voice: "Our life isn't the same anymore. I want to see the criminals pay for their crime while I am still alive. We had to come to Kathmandu to make our voice heard.”Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/drawing-a-line-in-the-sand/">Drawing a line in the sand</a>, Bhrikuti Rai<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131140/6372379b9c7e80680e0c733djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="702" height="837"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In the last three years, the case against the seven perpetrators has been postponed more than ten times by the courts, while the contractors are still gouging out sand from the Aurahi. Acting on a case filed by one of the accused, the Dhanusa District Court has also issued an interim order forbidding the family from obstructing the sand mining operations.But Sangam, 24, and Laxmi, 22,  are not giving up without a fight. They have vowed to carry on Dilip’s struggle, to bring his murderers to justice, and to end the destructive extraction from their river.“Our brother walked half the way,” Sangam said resolutely. “We will complete the rest.”A month and a half after Dilip’s murder, the community in Shreepur village decided to stop sand mining. Barely two days later, dozens of tipper trucks arrived at night to transport sand.As per Nepal’s Riverine Material Management Procedure 2019, the use of heavy equipment in sand mining of river beds is banned to limit the destruction.When Sangam called the police, elected officials passed the buck to the local municipality. The local contractor Bechan Sharma and officers from the Dhalkebar Police Station reached the scene. But instead of apprehending the contractor, police inspector Tej Bahadur Karki threatened the sisters. The family continues to receive threats and is under immense pressure to withdraw the murder complaint. They are constantly followed wherever they go, while others have tried to bribe the family. None of this has stopped Dilip’s family from trying to prevent illegal sand mining from their neighbourhood.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/need-and-greed/">Need and greed</a>, EditorialBefore she travelled to Kathmandu with her sister, Laxmi took this reporter to the banks of the Aurahi. Two excavators and four tractors were busy extracting sand from the river against the 2019 guidelines.When we called the Dhalkebar police that there was illegal sand extraction going on in the river bed, the person at the other end of the line dismissed it saying, “Even if we come, they will have left by the time we get there.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131140/6372379e9c7e80680e0c733ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="462"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The police did not show up for the next hour, but within minutes of our call, the trucks and the bulldozers were gone.Since Dilip’s murder, the contractors have taken away sand from a 10 km stretch of the river. But every time they call the police, they immediately get threats from the sand mafia.Last year, when Dilip’s cousin Aditya asked the proprietor of the Churimai Crusher Industry Binod Mahato to stop his illegal activity, goons came to his house and threatened to kill him.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/hiding-their-head-in-the-sand/">Hiding their head in the sand</a>, Ramu Sapkota“After that, my mother did not let me stay at home,” recalled Aditya, who stayed away for six months.Despite the risk, Ram Jiwan is proud of his daughters. “I lost one son, and my daughters continuously receive threats, but there is no fear in our blood.”Before coming to Kathmandu, Sangam and Laxmi collected data on the activities of sand and boulder miners and quarry owners in the region. Even if the authorities don’t take any action against the perpetrators, they want the community to be aware of the issues. “If we teach the students about the importance of conserving the Chure, some of them may continue the fight,” said Sangam.But Laxmi believes that, ultimately, change has to come from the central, provincial and local governments, with strict implementation of environmental protection policies.When not fighting for the environment, or running around the courts, Sangam gives tuition classes to school children and Laxmi teaches at Janata Secondary School in Mithila Municipality. They earn barely enough to pay off the Rs3.5 million that the family owes money lenders.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/crushers-of-justice/">Crushers of justice</a>, EditorialSangam also heads the Om Prakash Mahato (Dilip) Environment Conservation Academy, an NGO established two years ago, and Laxmi keeps track of the ongoing court case.The Dilip Academy has built a garden area, Dilip Chure Batika, after receiving Rs1.5million from the President Chure Tarai-Madhes Conservation Development Board. The family has also invested Rs2 million from the central government, and Rs500,000 from the Madhes government after Dilip’s death in the institution.But what the sisters really want is justice, and the termination of the sand mining contracts. In a community which marries off daughters after Grade 10, it was Dilip who convinced their parents to let his sisters go to college.With his support, the two sisters were preparing for the civil service exams when he was killed. Both sisters now want to go to university to study Environment Science.Said Sangam: “If our brother were alive, the situation of not only our family but also the environment would have been better. We want to contribute however we can to fulfil his dreams.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/drowning-in-sorrow/">Drowning in sorrow</a>, Mukesh Pokhrel

Anita Bhetwal

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Sisters carry on slain brother’s fight

<figure><img width="800" height="423" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12769c7e80680e0a98d7jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Children who have lost their lives in the pits and ditches left by contractors: (clockwise) Riya Bishwakarma, Sushil Layomagar, Aditya Layomagar, Jasmine Khatun, Suman Mahato, Anil Mahato, Karuna Bishwakarma, and Samma Khatun. All Photos: MUKESH POKHREL/HIMAL</figcaption></figure>Despite protests, defiant sand mining and quarry contractors have continued to leave large abandoned pits along Nepal’s rivers in which children drown by the dozens every year. There is no exact count of how many of the children who drown every monsoon lose their lives in the pits and ditches left by sand mining contractors because police only record these deaths as generalised '<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/death-by-drowning-on-the-rise/">deaths by drowning</a>’.In Dhanusa district alone, 206 children have drowned in the past two years – most of them were under 15 years and died while swimming in these water-filled sand mining pits.  Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/drawing-a-line-in-the-sand/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Drawing a line in sand</a>, Bhrikuti Rai <figure><img width="1200" height="700" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12789c7e80680e0a98d8jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Sushil Layomagar, 12, of Birendra Bazar could not return to school after holidays in July 2019 because of heavy rains. He was sent out in the afternoon to graze goats, but fell into a 50m deep pit dug by a sand mining contractor, and drowned together with a friend.This was a doubly severe blow to his mother, Chhalimaya, whose husband Hari Bahadur had died in Saudi Arabia earlier that year. The contractor had extracted sand and gravel to build the Bharatpur-Srirampur road, but left the gaping hole that filled with water after the rains.There was a strong protest against the contractor. "We told them to stop digging, the children will fall into the ditch,” says Susil’s grandmother Madhumaya Layomagar. “But they shouted at us, saying that they owned the land and could do with it as they pleased."In the adjoining Sarlahi district the same year, Samma Khatun, 6, and Jasmine Khatun, 11, of Sarlahi drowned in a pit dug by a brick kiln. The two girls left home to play at noon, but when they did not return for two hours the parents started a frantic search. Jasmine's grandmother Jahira Khatun recalls, "They used to go to pick grapes, so we went to look over there. A while later, the brick kiln workers saw the children in the water and called us. They had already stopped breathing.”  <figure><img width="1200" height="700" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d127c9c7e80680e0a98d9jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>It is not just in the Tarai that children are drowning in abandoned sand pits. In Nuwakot, 12-year-old Binita Balami fell into a ditch left by illegal sand miners. Laxmi Tamang, 35, jumped into the pond to save her but also drowned. Last year, another 12-year-old boy drowned in similar circumstances by Nuwakot’s Likhu River. There have been many localised protests against contractors and calls for a ban on their activities, but both licensed and illegal businesses have local political patronage and have continued unabated. The rampant sand mining does not just pose a danger to children drowning, but also threatens bridges and other infrastructure.Residents of Naktjij in Dhanusa have repeatedly complained to the municipality office against illegal gravel extraction along the Aurahi River, which has led to many deaths of children. The practice continues. It was after protests against illegal sand mining on Aurahi River that <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/drawing-a-line-in-the-sand/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Dilip Mahato</a> was beaten and then run over and killed by a tipper truck near his home in Sripur in January 2020. Mahato was a college student in India, and had been outraged by the dangerous pits that the contractors left near his home.  <figure><img width="1200" height="700" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d127f9c7e80680e0a98dajpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Read also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/trickledown-corruption,4176">Trickledown corruption</a>, Editorial<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/bulldozing-democracy-in-nepal,4184">Bulldozing democracy</a>, Om Astha RaiFollowing his murder, locals formed a struggle committee and waged a losing battle against the contractors. Dilip's father, Ramjivan Mahato, says the police sided with the owners of the Churiyamai Sand Processing Centre. The government’s rule on sand excavation prohibits sand and gravel mining within 2km of towns, and along rivers with a 1km radius of highways and bridges. The regulation requires contractors to level out ditches after mining so it does not collect water. The rules are blatantly ignored. Neither the national nor provincial governments have any data on how much sand, gravel and boulders are extracted from Nepal’s rivers and streams every year, but the Chure Tarai Madhes Conservation Committee estimates that more than 30 million cubic metres of riverine resources are collected annually nationwide. Only 20 out of 100 municipalities along the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/crushing-tale-of-Chure" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Chure Range</a> which are extracting sand and gravel actually had licenses, according to Prem Nath Poudel, a geologist at the Committee. He adds, "There has been far more excavation than we have allowed. Even within the 20 municipalities that have the approval.”The government is also seeing very little revenue in relation to the amount of excavation being done. The municipalities generally set a minimum price of Rs211 per cubic metre for the sand and gravel when inviting bids, which means the revenue for 30 million cubic metres should be Rs6.33 billion. “We are tired,” says Ramjivan. “When a child drowns and we lodge a complaint, excavation work stops for a day or two. But the digging soon resumes.”  <figure><img width="1200" height="700" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016110/636d12829c7e80680e0a98dbjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>But according to the National Natural Resources and Finance Commission, the government collected only Rs4.62 billion in revenue from sand and gravel contractors in the current fiscal year despite one-third of municipalities across the country having signed contracts for excavation. It is clear that most of the mining is illegal, or are licensed in exchange for kickbacks.The business is being driven by a surge in construction across the country, which has raised the demand for building material. The trade is so lucrative that political party leaders, the local administration and police officials are all in on it. In the 2017 local level elections, 68 among the 616 <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Elected-contractors,4182" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">elected persons</a> from 137 municipalities of Province 2 had affiliations with excavation contractors. Dev Prakash Tripathi is a journalist, who after seeing rampant illegal sand mining in his native Malekhu has become an activist with the 'Save Trisuli Campaign' in Dhading district. He says, “Leaders and people's representatives of all political parties have invested in the sand and gravel trade, which means their businesses are above the law.” Some big names linked to sand and quarry contractors are Krishna Lal Shrestha, chairman of Galchi Municipality of Dhading, Rajendra Pandey, leader of CPN (Unified Socialist), Bhumi Tripathi, and Salikram Jamarkattel, leader of CPN-Maoist Centre. Bishwa Aryal and Prabhat Kiran Subedi of the Nepali Congress have also been found directly or indirectly involved. A local government chief in Mahottari district, who did not want to be named, admitted that he would not be able to cover his election expenses unless he supported sand extraction. He says matter-of-factly, “I can’t sell my house to pay for the election. What’s wrong with selling sand and pebbles that are washed down by the rivers?” Such criminal callousness angers families like the Layomagars and Khatuns who have lost their children to drowning on sand pits, and to Ramjivan Mahato whose activist son was killed by lawless contractors in cahoots with local politicians.Here in Dhanusa, the excavators and tipper trucks of the Churiyamai Sand Processing Centre are back on the banks of the Aurahi River, digging up sand and gravel. The company is still threatening the Mahato family. Says Ramjivan: “They say we already killed one of your children, don’t make us kill another one.”Translated from the <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/126355">original article</a> by Aryan Sitaula.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandu-creeps-up-surrounding-mountains/">Kathmandu creeps up surrounding mountains</a>, Mukesh Pokhrel

Drowning in sorrow

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131120/636cecb49c7e80680e09ad7ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="419"/><figcaption>Dev Narayan Mandal, pictured here with a tree sapling. All Photos: DEV NARAYAN MANDAL</figcaption></figure>What started out as a wildlife conservation initiative in the Tarai has repurposed itself during Nepal’s wildfire and pandemic crises, setting an example for other communities on ways to bounce back.While most development projects in Nepal ground to a halt during the lockdown, the Dhanushadham Protected Forest (DPF) generates employment for the most under-served groups by providing work instead of relief. With catalytic help, it has moved beyond just saving trees to upgrading health services, local schools, and creating jobs.Just as in last year’s lockdown, the DPF is mobilising the local community in Dhanusha during the second wave to pit, irrigate and prepare 32 hectares of the local Bhatighari forest for planting saplings before the monsoon. In the process, families get income at a time when many have lost their jobs during the lockdown.The District Forest Office provided saplings of 22 native species, and the community offered jobs to the Dom, Dalit and Musahar families. As in last year’s crisis, nearly 30,000 people are expected to benefit from temporary employment in preparing degraded land for afforestation.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEIcFAvIrj8“The marginalised castes generally lack permanent homes and proof of citizenship, so they are  deprived of government relief which is based on voter registration lists,” explains activist Dev Narayan Mandal of the Mithila Wildlife Trust in Dhanusha District who leads the program. “Our reforestation program aims to help them with income during the crisis.”During the wildfire season in March-April, locals mobilised themselves in emergency fire-fighting, dousing the flames to protect the 360 hectares of the DPF. Mandal’s long-term hope after the pandemic is to turn the conservation area into an eco-tourism destination for some of the thousands of pilgrims who throng to Janakpur, and provide sustainable income for the families living on the margins.Since the forests were restored, many of the migratory species of birds like Siberian white cranes have returned, as have wild elephants, sloth bears, hyenas, wild dogs, blue bulls, tortoises, snakes, spotted leopards.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131120/636cecb79c7e80680e09ad7fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="365"><figcaption>Ferruginous ducks spotted at Dhanushadham Protected Forest. Photo Credits: GANESH SAH/ MITHILA WILDLIFE TRUST</figcaption></figure>Mandal has a post-graduate degree in Environment and Sustainable Development and returned to Nepal in 2012 after working for ten years in Delhi, and was shocked to see that the dense hardwood forests along the Chure foothills that he remembered from his childhood were all gone. With it, the wildlife had disappeared, there was water scarcity and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/drawing-a-line-in-the-sand/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://nepalitimes.com/drawing-a-line-in-the-sand/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1620876514357000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFzF7u4Tuohw-Kemt1dCqBI8MEQjA">other environmental problems</a>.Mandal set up the Mithila Wildlife Trust and adopted the Dhanushadham forest to prove that protecting nature can also uplift the socio-economic status of communities suffering exclusion due to caste, and empower them with self-sufficiency and dignity.Mandal used his reputation as Nepal’s first snake rescuer to garner attention in the media, raise money through interaction programs for this plans to protect Dhanushadham not just to restore nature but to help communities traditionally neglected by society.“When I returned from India, the forest was so thin I could see through the trees to the other side,” Mandal recalls. “There was encroachment from north and south, illegal logging, wildlife poaching, overgrazing.”Mandal was able to convince local communities about the long-term benefits of conservation, and they excitedly rallied behind his Mithila Wildlife Trust, helping DPF become free from illegal felling and open grazing. The Trust set up a micro-finance scheme to support families who had till then relied on timber poaching.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131120/636cecba9c7e80680e09ad80jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="360">“In over seven years we have not even had a single branch cut,” says Mandal proudly. “All this was done hundred percent by the locals, who were not paid anything. While timber smuggling benefitted only 3% of the local population, sustainable development rewards everyone equally. This got the locals on board.”However, the pandemic threw the eco-tourism prospects in doubt, and local communities needed immediate help to cope with job losses. Mandal raised money from the UK-based Gemma and Chris McGough Charitable Foundation and The Pipal Tree non-profit for a Covid Disaster and Food Relief Challenge to restore another 32 hectares of forests starting June and provide income for those affected by the Covid-19 <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/thick-haze-adds-to-nepal-covid-19-woes/">second wave.</a>The Department of Forestry chipped in with 29,000 saplings, and with help from the Community Forest User Group (CFUG), the results were so encouraging that the McGough Foundation pledged more money to protect another 12 hectares of forest. Locals are paid for scrub clearance, pitting, planting and irrigating saplings. And the same communities that sprang into action when<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/while-the-forests-are-burning/"> forest fires</a> swept through the Chure in early April, and they saved the recently reforested areas.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131120/636cecbd9c7e80680e09ad81jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"><figcaption>Afforestation has employed women from marginalized groups throughout the Covid fallout.</figcaption></figure>The Mithila Wildlife Trust has come a long way, and has moved far beyond protecting wildlife to help with the education of the local Muslim and Dalit communities. The CFUG Chair is now also heading the local school management community to upgrade classrooms to keep in step with remote learning until schools reopen again.The success of the Dhanushadham Protected Forest cannot just be measured in money, the regenerated area now serves as an important wildlife corridor between the Tarai, the Chure foothills and beyond. Species displaced by human-animal conflict, like wild elephants, can now return to their original habitats.Mandal says it gives him a sense of fulfilment to see how just the act of saving trees has had such a wide ripple effect on society. He says, “As the communities become more self-reliant and educated, they are more empowered, and the child marriage rate, school dropout rate, alcoholism, domestic violence, have all fallen sharply.”

Empowering Nepalis during Covid-19 crisis

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111144/636b84929c7e80680e0677a1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="419"/><figcaption>Dev Narayan Mandal, pictured here with a tree sapling. All Photos: DEV NARAYAN MANDAL</figcaption></figure>What started out as a wildlife conservation initiative in the Tarai has repurposed itself during Nepal’s wildfire and pandemic crises, setting an example for other communities on ways to bounce back.While most development projects in Nepal ground to a halt during the lockdown, the Dhanushadham Protected Forest (DPF) generates employment for the most under-served groups by providing work instead of relief. With catalytic help, it has moved beyond just saving trees to upgrading health services, local schools, and creating jobs.Just as in last year’s lockdown, the DPF is mobilising the local community in Dhanusha during the second wave to pit, irrigate and prepare 32 hectares of the local Bhatighari forest for planting saplings before the monsoon. In the process, families get income at a time when many have lost their jobs during the lockdown.The District Forest Office provided saplings of 22 native species, and the community offered jobs to the Dom, Dalit and Musahar families. As in last year’s crisis, nearly 30,000 people are expected to benefit from temporary employment in preparing degraded land for afforestation.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEIcFAvIrj8“The marginalised castes generally lack permanent homes and proof of citizenship, so they are  deprived of government relief which is based on voter registration lists,” explains activist Dev Narayan Mandal of the Mithila Wildlife Trust in Dhanusha District who leads the program. “Our reforestation program aims to help them with income during the crisis.”During the wildfire season in March-April, locals mobilised themselves in emergency fire-fighting, dousing the flames to protect the 360 hectares of the DPF. Mandal’s long-term hope after the pandemic is to turn the conservation area into an eco-tourism destination for some of the thousands of pilgrims who throng to Janakpur, and provide sustainable income for the families living on the margins.Since the forests were restored, many of the migratory species of birds like Siberian white cranes have returned, as have wild elephants, sloth bears, hyenas, wild dogs, blue bulls, tortoises, snakes, spotted leopards.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111144/636b84959c7e80680e0677a2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="365"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Mandal has a post-graduate degree in Environment and Sustainable Development and returned to Nepal in 2012 after working for ten years in Delhi, and was shocked to see that the dense hardwood forests along the Chure foothills that he remembered from his childhood were all gone. With it, the wildlife had disappeared, there was water scarcity and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/drawing-a-line-in-the-sand/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://nepalitimes.com/drawing-a-line-in-the-sand/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1620876514357000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFzF7u4Tuohw-Kemt1dCqBI8MEQjA">other environmental problems</a>.Mandal set up the Mithila Wildlife Trust and adopted the Dhanushadham forest to prove that protecting nature can also uplift the socio-economic status of communities suffering exclusion due to caste, and empower them with self-sufficiency and dignity.Mandal used his reputation as Nepal’s first snake rescuer to garner attention in the media, raise money through interaction programs for this plans to protect Dhanushadham not just to restore nature but to help communities traditionally neglected by society.“When I returned from India, the forest was so thin I could see through the trees to the other side,” Mandal recalls. “There was encroachment from north and south, illegal logging, wildlife poaching, overgrazing.”Mandal was able to convince local communities about the long-term benefits of conservation, and they excitedly rallied behind his Mithila Wildlife Trust, helping DPF become free from illegal felling and open grazing. The Trust set up a micro-finance scheme to support families who had till then relied on timber poaching.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111144/636b84989c7e80680e0677a3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="360">“In over seven years we have not even had a single branch cut,” says Mandal proudly. “All this was done hundred percent by the locals, who were not paid anything. While timber smuggling benefitted only 3% of the local population, sustainable development rewards everyone equally. This got the locals on board.”However, the pandemic threw the eco-tourism prospects in doubt, and local communities needed immediate help to cope with job losses. Mandal raised money from the UK-based Gemma and Chris McGough Charitable Foundation and The Pipal Tree non-profit for a Covid Disaster and Food Relief Challenge to restore another 32 hectares of forests starting June and provide income for those affected by the Covid-19 <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/thick-haze-adds-to-nepal-covid-19-woes/">second wave.</a>The Department of Forestry chipped in with 29,000 saplings, and with help from the Community Forest User Group (CFUG), the results were so encouraging that the McGough Foundation pledged more money to protect another 12 hectares of forest. Locals are paid for scrub clearance, pitting, planting and irrigating saplings. And the same communities that sprang into action when<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/while-the-forests-are-burning/"> forest fires</a> swept through the Chure in early April, and they saved the recently reforested areas.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111144/636b849c9c7e80680e0677a4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The Mithila Wildlife Trust has come a long way, and has moved far beyond protecting wildlife to help with the education of the local Muslim and Dalit communities. The CFUG Chair is now also heading the local school management community to upgrade classrooms to keep in step with remote learning until schools reopen again.The success of the Dhanushadham Protected Forest cannot just be measured in money, the regenerated area now serves as an important wildlife corridor between the Tarai, the Chure foothills and beyond. Species displaced by human-animal conflict, like wild elephants, can now return to their original habitats.Mandal says it gives him a sense of fulfilment to see how just the act of saving trees has had such a wide ripple effect on society. He says, “As the communities become more self-reliant and educated, they are more empowered, and the child marriage rate, school dropout rate, alcoholism, domestic violence, have all fallen sharply.”

<figure><img width="640" height="480" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110915118/636bb49d9c7e80680e07bbb1jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Bhikhari Yadav carries his father around his village in Dhanusha on a bicycle before leaving for Dubai. Photo: SHREEJANA SHRESTHA/NEPALI TIMES ARCHIVES</figcaption></figure>As you might expect, the remittance village is punctuated by smooth, concrete houses rising among their weary-looking brick, mud and bamboo neighbours, a settlement where shiny motorcycles whine back and forth. But in the remittance village you will also find residents who cannot even afford the price of a flight ticket to join the growing queue of fellow villagers trooping overseas to earn. It is also a place where going to work abroad actually drives some households into poverty instead of lifting them out of it. This is why author Ramesh Sunam’s book, <a href="https://www.routledge.com/Transnational-Labour-Migration-Livelihoods-and-Agrarian-Change-in-Nepal/Sunam/p/book/9780367471569" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.routledge.com/Transnational-Labour-Migration-Livelihoods-and-Agrarian-Change-in-Nepal/Sunam/p/book/9780367471569&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1600234530467000&amp;usg=AFQjCNH93FOWM9UJvFNaTuYLnJA94TFAhg">Transnational Labour Migration, Livelihoods and Agrarian Change in Nepal: The Remittance Village</a> is so valuable. It precisely details the economic, sociocultural and even political forces that shape the livelihoods of rural people, among which is transnational labour migration (TLM) whose earnings are sent home as remittances. That cash has largely propped up Nepal’s economy in recent decades, at one point making up about one-third of GDP. Today it is about 25% and at any given time, 1 in 5 working age Nepalis is overseas for work. A recent World Bank report ranked Nepal as the largest remittance-receiving country in South Asia and the fifth largest in the world as a share of GDP.   Pre-Covid, the International Labour Organisation (ILO) estimated that 164 million people were officially working outside their home countries although, notes Sunam, the actual figures would be much higher with the inclusion of ‘undocumented’ migrants. A little over 40% of those migrant workers were women. Spotlighting the people and livelihoods of Panchayan village of Sunsari District in Province 2, situated between Dharan and Itahari, The Remittance Village is based on field work that Sunam did between January 2012 and February 2013. An academic endeavour, the book can be challenging for non-specialists. But Sunam, an assistant professor at the Waseda Institute for Advanced Study, at Waseda University in Tokyo, clearly and consistently signposts and summarises the contents of each chapter of this compact read. The insights generated will be useful for anyone who wants to better understand one of the key economic drivers and policy issues of today’s Nepal, particularly with labour migration threatened by the effects of the Covid-19 pandemic. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/india-and-nepal-in-covid-19-crisis-together/">Nepal and India in COVID-19 crisis together</a>, David Seddon Sunam concludes that various factors — including of course crossborder migration — are weakening the bonds between villagers and the land, but that the same cannot be said for the poorest rural residents, for whom working the fields remains a key step in the climb out of poverty. He writes: ‘TLM does offer a pathway out of poverty: over two-thirds of migrant households changed their status from being poor to non-poor in this way. It is, however, important to highlight that these households became successful through a diversification strategy by combining migration with other farm and non-farm pursuits.’ Sunam tells the story of Aman Chaudhari, who spent four years working in a garment factory in Dubai to try and better the lot of his family. Meanwhile, his wife Mena continued sharecropping in farmers’ fields in Panchayan, also working as a wage labourer on villagers’ farms. After Aman returned, they built a house on a small plot of land bought with his remittances, sent their children to a private school, and vowed that Aman would not migrate again to work. On the other hand, the poorest of Panchayan’s people, who lack the clout to even get loans from the local money-lender, struggle to pull themselves up. Often landless and burdened by illiteracy and low caste status, they are unable to finance the visa, ticket and administrative requirements to undertake TLM so they remain at home, just scraping by. In The Remittance Village, Sunam takes nothing at face value, ‘It’s not that simple’ could have been the subtitle of this book. For example, it might seem obvious that when villagers migrate for work they open up space for poorer residents left behind to take over tilling the land. But, Sunam notes, the overall decline in workers because of TLM means that some land owners who are unwilling to pay the higher wages called for by the shrinking labour supply choose to stop working their land altogether, actually resulting in fewer opportunities overall for the poorest residents to earn. Even for migrants themselves, the experience can be negative, with lasting implications, Sunam writes. ‘Migration has not just reduced poverty or helped poor households prevent their further impoverishment. It has also exacerbated and (re)produced poverty.’ He tells the story of Ajit Magar, who migrated to the United Arab Emirates in 2010 dreaming to save enough to build a house to replace the family’s hut, and to send his daughter to private school. Six months after Magar arrived, his company stopped working and he had to return to Panchayan, burdened by debt. ‘At the moment I do not have money to buy a warm blanket to beat this cold winter,’ he told Sunam. ‘I cannot imagine building a new house. Lenders visit me almost every week forcing me to clear their loans soon. I had never faced such a difficult situation in the past.’ <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/why-nepal-is-stuck/">Why Nepal is stuck</a>, Kunda DixitJust as the causes of rural poverty are complex, so must the solutions be. Here is where I would have appreciated more fleshed-out ideas from Sunam, who obviously cares deeply about the livelihoods of the rural poor. His suggestions include:-  A policy ‘to address the needs of poor households who cannot make their way out of poverty through migration or non-farm employment’- Preventing the conversion of farmland for speculative, non-agricultural purposes, a process that leaves Dalits and the landless without access to and control over land as well as challengedto produce food for their own consumption- To provide access to land and other resources,‘distributing unused public land and barren forest land (forest land in law but with no trees) to the current occupants, if they are landless, through a community-based land-titling programme.’Yet, having described so meticulously how crossborder migration is not itself a solution to rural poverty but just one of many factors that intersect to shape the lives of residents of the remittance village, it is understandable that the task of further articulating and designing those solutions should be left to another researcher. <img width="640" height="988" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110915118/636bb49f9c7e80680e07bbb2jpeg.jpg" alt="">Transnational Labour Migration, Livelihoods and Agrarian Change in Nepal: The Remittance Villageby Ramesh SunamRoutledge, 2020140 pages£120 (hardback) £33.29 (e-book)ISBN 9780367471569

Nepal’s remittance villages

Many of us former Nepal Peace Corps volunteers (PCVs) would agree that our time in Nepal changed in significant but very different ways our perspectives on life if not the future paths we chose to follow. Of no one was this truer than Dorothy Mierow. Dorothy was born in 1920, in Colorado Springs. Her father Charles C Mierow was a classics scholar and Latin professor, who served for ten years as president of Colorado College.&nbsp; Dorothy developed an interest in animals as a child, graduated with a BA degree in natural history from Carlton College in 1942, a Master’s in biology from the University of Pittsburgh, and another Master’s in geography from the University of Minnesota.&nbsp; As a young woman, Dorothy traveled with her father throughout Europe, including a visit to ancient Greek ruins, and took a Magellan Tour by cruise ship around the world in 1958.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_0bad133ab22aada319e74bbad95d563e191371db291c08f373839fbd15440262.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025071901074_0bad133ab22aada319e74bbad95d563e191371db291c08f373839fbd15440262" data-rendition-name="original" width="903" height="1178" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>HOME AWAY FROM HOME: Dorothy Mierow as a college student in her native Colorado.</figcaption> </figure>  She was a college teacher during much of the 1940s, also teaching at a girls’ school in Hawaii. Then back to her native Colorado in 1953, where she became a curator and later director of the Colorado College Natural History Museum. She taught geography classes, and in her free time, Dorothy climbed 22 of Colorado’s 14,000-foot peaks. Traveling in India in 1960, Dorothy decided to spend two weeks in Nepal. In late 1961, she filled out an application to join the Peace Corps and specified that she wanted to go to Nepal, ‘because I admired the people so much when my father and I were there on our trip’.&nbsp; Dorothy reached Kathmandu in September 1962 as the first group of American Peace Corps volunteers in Nepal. She stood out from the others: one of the few women in that group, surely the oldest at age 41, a world traveler, and a woman who already had established a professional career.&nbsp; One doubts if Dorothy had had a husband and children whether she would ever have gone to work and spend much of the rest of her life in Nepal.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901078_68e84ade1ffb0f6c83c7f8fa5c1e7315b5f6c543217f96cde012e4d86f171515.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025071901078_68e84ade1ffb0f6c83c7f8fa5c1e7315b5f6c543217f96cde012e4d86f171515" data-rendition-name="original" width="1259" height="910" loading="lazy" alt="How th Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life NT"> <figcaption>Pokhara Bazar in 1962.</figcaption> </figure>  The Peace Corps assigned Dorothy to teach geography at Tri-Chandra College. After the school closed in the winter due to lack of heating, USAID and the College of Education asked Dorothy to help train general science teachers.&nbsp; She taught for two months and became involved in a textbook-writing project, commenting: ‘I would like the children to know something about public health, conservation (the trees are going fast and so is the soil), and learn the names of some of their common birds, trees, and flowers. They are more impressed with electricity, airplanes, and cell structure.’ When a new college opened in Pokhara in 1963, Dorothy was transferred there and lived with a Nepali family. The college boasted 30 students and no permanent buildings.&nbsp; In October 1963, Dorothy wrote: ‘Pokhara is a town of almost 5,000 people … We are in a fertile valley surrounded by foothills … There is a small Mission Hospital … a Leper Hospital and Tibetan Refugee Camp started by the Red Cross and now run by the Swiss. With winter approaching, more Tibetans are appearing in town, often with pack horses or donkeys. Some have been carrying large boxes of powdered milk,donated (by USAID) to the camp from the airport … There is no electricity, and the transportation problems make many items scarce and expensive. I am really a sort of a museum. The landlord brings all kinds of people in to see how I live and count my shoes and dresses. They express amazement at my books, pictures, tin oven, Nepali dolls from Kathmandu, screened food shelves and curtained closet.’ The standard term for Peace Corps volunteers was two years, but Dorothy extended her term and was still at Prithvi Narayan College at the end of 1965, when she wrote that she had 20 Geography students in the first-year class and 6 in the second year preparing for the IA Examination. The college enrollment was 125 students, and the foundation for a new science building was being excavated.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_c6a80e5e0db0c705b2f8733c6d30dc0386fe3abbd2238ea9d947b7d746f94a29.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025071901074_c6a80e5e0db0c705b2f8733c6d30dc0386fe3abbd2238ea9d947b7d746f94a29" data-rendition-name="original" width="902" height="605" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>Mierow and friends at Phewa Lake.</figcaption> </figure>  Dorothy noted that she ate one meal a day at the (Shining Mission) Hospital but otherwise lived on dal-bhat, momo, and potato curry at local shops. However, she had developed a new passion: to build what she initially called the Pokhara Museum of the Himalaya. In commendable Peace Corps fashion, Dorothy always worked with Nepalis and respected the culture. ‘The greatest joy and satisfaction I have had has been from the building of a Museum-Library in memory of my parents … It has been possible to feel like a wealthy benefactor with the money saved by father for the family’s education and now available for the education of others… (Father) would have loved to be in on the founding of a new college and be able to plan a library. Several hundred of the books to be in the museum-library came from his collection and were carefully selected to be of use for students in Nepal…’&nbsp; ‘The museum part is to satisfy my own inclinations and was thought of when I found how little diversion there was for the people of Pokhara… It is part of the University requirements for the college that it should have a geography and biology museum. The museum building is small but adequate.&nbsp; I have tried to design it in harmony with Nepalese architecture and decorate it with some of the art of the best artists or woodcarvers… Posts holding up the porch roof are carved by Cottage Industries to represent different peoples of Nepal in typical costumes. The door was carved by a local wood carver and has typical birds of Nepal around it. Inside are 10 roof-support carvings designed by the retired Director of the National Museum in Kathmandu, Mr. C.M. Maskey.&nbsp; They were carved by the best wood carvers in Patan very skilfully. The building has three rooms: the library, the exhibition room, and a smaller workroom which can be used by our newly formed Woman’s Club as well as other groups or classes.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_03d3359c65389d30a0134e9a4862778994121e7e833b7d28b18e06e36fc76ff8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025071901074_03d3359c65389d30a0134e9a4862778994121e7e833b7d28b18e06e36fc76ff8" data-rendition-name="original" width="629" height="599" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>Mierow with local women in Pokhara in 1969.</figcaption> </figure>  Dorothy promoted her project to influential Nepalis connected with organisations whose support she solicited: The Department of Archaeology, the Department of Agriculture, the Godavari Botanical Gardens; Tribhuvan University’s Science and Education Department, Nature Conservation Society.&nbsp; The museum was opened officially in early 1967. The Annapurna Natural History Museum, the building Dorothy designed and had constructed, is still open and features some exhibits which she created many years ago.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_54326a8a0685e980e782378076de2f5cd02d2426e9b0d94eed972d3dbe83af26.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025071901074_54326a8a0685e980e782378076de2f5cd02d2426e9b0d94eed972d3dbe83af26" data-rendition-name="original" width="1333" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>The Annapurna Natural History Museum.</figcaption> </figure>  Dorothy returned to America in 1967, but she longed for Nepal. In the spring of 1969, she again tried to enroll as a Peace Corps volunteer but was told that as she had spent more than four years, she would not be eligible for another assignment. Undeterred, she persuaded the college in Pokhara to invite her to return as a teacher.&nbsp; UNICEF and the Forestry Department sponsored Dorothy to prepare charts on trees, birds, animals and flowers in colour for distribution to the schools of Nepal. Dorothy, back in the Peace Corps, returned to Pokhara and the Museum in 1972. She formed a friendship with her former geography student from Sikles, Chandra Prasad Gurung, and in 1974, she brought Chandra to America, where he enrolled in Colorado College and studied cultural anthropology.&nbsp; Chandra subsequently earned his PhD in geography from the University of Hawaii and returned to Pokhara to become director of the Annapurna Conservation Area Project. Gurung actively promoted ecotourism, landscape conservation, and biodiversity conservation in Nepal. His life was cut short along with those of 23 other Nepalis and foreigners who perished in a helicopter crash near Taplejung in September 2006.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_322d3c3ac6f1b08ffa07c44a19998b937a7db9eb43527f7539cf6481e1546314.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025071901074_322d3c3ac6f1b08ffa07c44a19998b937a7db9eb43527f7539cf6481e1546314" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>Mierow's four books on Nepal and its biodiversity. </figcaption> </figure>  Dorothy worked with several well-known Nepalis to publish her paintings and photos in beautifully illustrated books. She and Hemanta Mishra of the National Parks and Wildlife Service wrote Wild Animals of Nepal (Ratna Pustak Bhandar, 1976). More than 400 photos Dorothy took on treks to the Everest region, Gosaikunda, Muktinath, Jumla and Rara Lake, as well as travels in the Tarai, appeared in Himalayan Flowers and Trees (Sahayogi Prakashan, 1978).&nbsp; The botanist Tirtha Bahadur Shrestha identified the species. Dorothy and Kesar Lall published This Beautiful Nepal (Sahayogi Press, 1981). Birds of the Central Himalayas (1988) contained Dorothy’s paintings of 250 species of birds found along the areas of the Kali Gandaki River, Pokhara, Chitwan and the central Tarai. Dorothy summed up her life and work in Nepal in Thirty Years in Pokhara (Pilgrims Book House, 1997). Dorothy returned to Pokhara and her adopted Gurung family several times during the 1980s and 1990s to celebrate festivals and meet old friends. Her final years were spent at her mountain cottage in Green Mountain Falls north of Colorado Springs. She died at the age of 79 in August, 2000. Nepal gave new meaning and purpose to Dorothy Mierow’s life. Daniel W Edwards was a Peace Corps volunteer in 1966 and is the author of several books on Nepal. The author thanks Special Collections, Tutt Library, Colorado College.

How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer’s life

· On the night of 15 May, two glacial lakes burst in Tharka in Humla and the debris flow washed away homes and bridges.&nbsp; · Last week, a slurry surge on the Kali Gandaki in Upper Mustang caused at least Rs15 million in damage, and was traced to a melting glacier. · Dozens are feared dead after <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/rasuwa-flood-likely-a-glof">an expanding glacial lake in Tibet overflowed</a>, sweeping down into Nepal and damaging four hydropower plants generating 230MW, nearly 8% of the country’s total grid supply.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250718060748_45225dc707c1e9c2968ca8dbf6e564e01e4eb6e2ff254fb8eb940cf62cdd910b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250718060748_45225dc707c1e9c2968ca8dbf6e564e01e4eb6e2ff254fb8eb940cf62cdd910b" data-rendition-name="original" width="2667" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Rasuwa flood"> <figcaption>Miteri friendship bridge connecting Nepal and China was swept away in the Rasuwa flood. Photo: PRAKASH CHANDRA TIMILSENA / NPL</figcaption> </figure>  And those are just in the past month. Climate scientists say Himalayan glacial lake outbursts are becoming more frequent and destructive, and a warning for Nepal not to put all its eggs in the hydropower basket.&nbsp; <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/when-it-rains-it-pours-ksqprbu3">Record precipitation last September</a> unleashed floods that killed 200 people, and temporarily slashed Nepal’s total generation capacity of 3,000MW by nearly half. The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepal-valley-suffers-quadruple-disaster">Melamchi flood of 2021</a> caused by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-not-so-permanent-frost">permafrost melting</a> on a glacier upstream nearly destroyed a $800 million water supply scheme, Nepal’s largest infrastructure project which four years later still has not resumed full operation. The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/sikkim-flood-is-warning-to-nepal">glacial lake overflow in Sikkim</a> caused by record rainfall in September 2023 that destroyed the $1.2 billion Chungthung Dam and caused catastrophic damage to infrastructure on the Teesta River. This was a warning to the cascade of hydropower plants on the Arun and Marsyangdi river basins.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250718060736_6f61797a6be308321e3bae26e55d2f64cba4b9e5eb262adacb9e92fb5f3c6152.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250718060736_6f61797a6be308321e3bae26e55d2f64cba4b9e5eb262adacb9e92fb5f3c6152" data-rendition-name="original" width="919" height="549" loading="lazy" alt="hydro disasters and hydropower plants"> </figure>  Nepal has set a target of generating an additional 28,500MW by 2035 -- out of the feasible 48,000MW -- but how viable is an energy strategy that is exposed to heightened risk due to climate breakdown? &nbsp; “As extreme weather events increase, we must design and build infrastructures respecting river flow and topography,” says former Energy Secretary Dwarika Nath Dhungel. “We must make the best use of our water resources, but not by letting excavators loose everywhere mining riverbeds and building haphazardly where we shouldn’t.”&nbsp; Although no project can be disaster-proof, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-smarter-himalayan-infrastructure">climate smart design</a> can minimise damage from flash floods and landslides. Recent disasters have driven up insurance premiums for energy projects in Nepal, and smaller ones cannot even afford them. The 456MW Upper Tamakosi hydroelectric project which is still not fully functional after the September floods has claimed insurance worth Rs1.8 billion. The alternative to high risk high investment hydropower projects is <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/what-s-cooking-in-nepal-besides-politics">energy diversification</a> to other renewables such as solar, wind or biogas. Nepal gets annual sunlight of 300 days with 6-7 hours on average to total 50,000 terawatt-hours (TWh) per year.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250718060744_4acd452b4117180ca9bb5d3be839ff46dfd5464e4d507f5ad3704cef6253bc48.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250718060744_4acd452b4117180ca9bb5d3be839ff46dfd5464e4d507f5ad3704cef6253bc48" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="solar power"> <figcaption>Farmers in Tarai using solar powered water pump. Photo: GHAMPOWER</figcaption> </figure>  The Solar and Wind Energy Resource Assessment (SWERA) calculates that Nepal could source 3,000MW from wind energy alone, considering 10% of the area with more than 300W/m2 wind power density. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/people-power/decentralising-power-in-nepal">Solar energy</a> stations are cheaper and quicker to build, and would be an ideal alternative to reliance on hydropower.&nbsp; “There has been some investment in solar power, especially from the state sector,” says water expert Madhukar Upadhyay. “But there is an issue of land acquisition since the arrays need a lot of space. It is comparatively easier to get a permit to put up a hydropower plant on a river.” As for biogas, there is simply no incentive to build on past success with household level plants to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/more-bullshit">promote industrial-scale production</a>. Scaling up biogas by integrating it with urban biodegradable waste would still be a viable alternative to LPG.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250718060744_715d44afd5eb4ba8dafa209b0ad0f19400665797b5f078f5636821e600f96684.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20250718060744_715d44afd5eb4ba8dafa209b0ad0f19400665797b5f078f5636821e600f96684" data-rendition-name="original" width="1419" height="954" loading="lazy" alt="windmill"> <figcaption>A wind mill in Hapsikot in Nawalpur. Photo: WINPOWER NEPAL</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal’s public sphere is buzzing with excitement over the discovery of potentially 430 billion cubic metres of methane gas beneath Dailekh district that, if properly harnessed, would meet the country’s energy demand for the next 50 years. Even though a feasibility study is awaited, politicians from the prime minister down see this as a petro bonanza that will make Nepal rich. But drilling, storage and distribution of CNG in the country’s current kleptocratic state make that unlikely. If Nepal was to get rich solely on its hydro-energy potential, it could have done so in the past 50 years. Says Dhungel: “This is not exactly a new discovery, but it is premature to celebrate until its extraction is proven to be cost effective. And let us hope it does not get <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/balance-of-power">tangled in geopolitics</a>, since China is involved in the prospecting and drilling, which could make India uneasy.”&nbsp; The country suffers from the Dutch Disease curse even before its resource is fully exploited. And the same cronyism, corruption and rent-seeking structure cannot deliver the riches we expect from Dailekh’s methane discovery. Now, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/right-climate-for-nepal-s-energy-transition">with hydropower in jeopardy</a>, Nepal’s planners will have to evolve a new strategy for energy security into the future. But first, governance needs to be cleaned up with long-term strategic planning that takes climate risk into account. For example, do we need to mine fossil gas when there are renewable options? Will Dailekh take Nepal away from its climate commitments? Says Madhukar Upadhyay: “Nepal has always been resource rich and management poor. And the larger the resource, the bigger our management incapacity. It is a societal malaise.”&nbsp;

Nepal’s Resource Curse

Nepalis are living longer than ever. By 2028, the country is set to join the ranks of other <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepals-demographic-window-is-closing">ageing societies</a> around the world, and by 2054, 1 out of every 7 people in Nepal will be over 65. Life expectancy at birth has risen dramatically from just 55 in 1990 to 71 today, &nbsp;thanks to improvements in public health and access. But as more people live longer, the country must also prepare for a parallel rise in age-related illnesses and the complex social and medical needs that come with an <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/need-to-prepare-for-ageing-society,3624">ageing population</a>. Extended families have always acted as a safety net for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/home-sweet-home-for-older-nepalis">the elderly</a>, with children and grandchildren shouldering most caregiving duties. But with more than 1,600 <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/migration-not-a-wish-but-necessity-for-nepalis">Nepalis migrating </a>every day, older parents are left behind with no one to care for them. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-new-equaliser">Remittances</a> from migrating youth, which account for nearly a third of Nepal’s GDP, have kept the economy afloat. But money sent home cannot make up for the chronic departure of kin and caregivers, who are often the first to catch the signs and symptoms of disease in elders. In rural areas where over 85% of Nepal’s elderly live, the absence of this daily vigilance means early signs of illness often go unnoticed until they become debilitating. As a result, chronic conditions like hypertension, diabetes, and depression are left unmanaged.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250720130748_213f2c65f2638872e9ac0550a7ac251e4960c3726dc5c76215962a23ba71dff1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250720130748_213f2c65f2638872e9ac0550a7ac251e4960c3726dc5c76215962a23ba71dff1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1064" height="701" loading="lazy" alt="Smart ageing is Nepal’s next frontier"> </figure>  Geriatric medicine is largely absent from medical curricula and there is no national plan in place to manage cognitive decline, memory loss and confusion. These are often mistaken for signs of normal ageing, instead of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/dementia-brings-new-problem-that-families-have-little%20knowledge-of,2151">dementia</a>, delaying care until it is too late. The same pattern plays out with strokes, osteoarthritis, and vision problems — conditions that could be managed early but are instead allowed to spiral into <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/changing-disability-to-this-ability-h68f6sq2">disability</a>. Nepal is not ready for an older future. It needs a strategy for ‘smart ageing’ where the focus is not adding years to life, but enhancing years lived through the intelligent application of policy, infrastructure, and crucially, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/tech-and-transition-in-nepal">technology</a>. Many models of smart ageing, however, are sculpted around modern societies where independent living in later life is the norm. Furthermore, eroding traditional family care and an underdeveloped formal care system means there is a large gap that can’t simply be filled by copy-pasting from foreign models. Nepal must shape its own version of smart ageing. The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/healthcare-moving-from-hospitals-to-homes?%2F">tech boom</a> has led to homegrown digital healthcare apps such as Hamro Doctor, Cura Health, Jeevee and Health Yaad Ayo which offer teleconsultations, online appointments, and at-home test bookings. As <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/nepal-s-new-digital-landscape">smartphones and internet access</a> extend to the most rural fringes of the Nepali countryside, geography is no longer a barrier to the use of these digital tools. What limits their use is the lack of digital proficiency among the older generation. Others find the idea of turning to a device instead of a familiar, reassuring face unfathomable. That is why <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/addressing-nepals-digital-divide?ref=blog.togglecorp.com">digital literacy</a> efforts must be paired with guided human support to build trust alongside technical skill. Such a model of community-led digital mediation is already gaining traction elsewhere. In the UK, ‘digital health ambassadors’—often young people or even schoolchildren—are trained to co-design and advocate for online platforms that resonate with peers who might otherwise feel excluded from automated health services. A Nepali version could engage cohorts of nursing students, tech-savvy youngsters and returnee migrants to assist elders in navigating digital health platforms and troubleshooting problems, and most of all, normalising the idea of health apps being a reliable recourse.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250720130748_fcb94ab76e76b5574189757e88d76fccad4e115e78dd9eae92a3bd4c882c3431.png" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20250720130748_fcb94ab76e76b5574189757e88d76fccad4e115e78dd9eae92a3bd4c882c3431" data-rendition-name="original" width="2246" height="1590" loading="lazy" alt="Smart ageing is Nepal’s next frontier"> </figure>  Nepal’s own network of Female Community Health Volunteers (FCHVs), whose credibility is rooted in long-standing relationships across rural communities, could be similarly upskilled, their roles in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/target-2030-for-maternal-and-newborn-health">maternal and child health </a>expanded and repurposed to also include geriatric tech support. However, there is a limit to how much older adults can adapt to new technologies. So, Nepal should simultaneously invest in passive technologies—tools that monitor and act for the elderly, instead of demanding active use. That is where wearables and in-home smart health devices collectively known as 'gerontechnology' come in. Picture an 82-year-old in far-flung Rolpa, away from the facilities of an urban hospital. Installed in her home are low-cost motion sensors that monitor prolonged inactivity or signs of a fall, instantly triggering alerts to the nearest health post when necessary. On her wrist, a wearable bracelet continuously tracks her sleep, vital signs, oxygen saturation, and glucose levels. This data is encrypted and synced to a digital dashboard accessible by health staff at the local post. If the system flags an acute risk—such as a potential stroke or hypoglycemia—a nearby health worker is dispatched immediately to her home. If her readings over time indicate a trend toward a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepalis-have-high-blood-pressure">chronic condition</a> like diabetes, community health volunteers step in. They help schedule a virtual consultation with an endocrinologist in Butwal. Based on the advice received, she gets a prescription and picks up her medication from the local community pharmacy, along with a smart dispenser to ensure she sticks to her treatment plan without missing doses. This is not as far-fetched as it may sound. Many of the individual devices forming this connected medical system called an Internet of Medical Things (IoMT) already exist in Nepal as imported commercial products. What is missing is a stronger framework for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/business/public-health-partnership">public-private collaboration</a>: one where health tech companies continue developing locally adapted tools, and the government actively integrates these innovations into public health delivery. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/people-power/nepal-as-an-ai-power-bank">Nepal’s tech ecosystem</a> is maturing, but policymaking must evolve in tandem, especially when it affects an older generation largely resistant to change. The backlash against the recent mandate requiring National Identity Cards for accessing social security benefits revealed the pitfalls of imposing top-down reforms without adequate preparation or support for seniors. For Nepalis to age well, community caregivers, doctors, innovators, and above all, the state, must step in where families have stepped away. The goal is not to replicate traditional care, but to build a coordinated system of support that connects everyone through technology. The future is older for Nepal, let us be wiser too. The writers are pursuing their undergraduate studies in biomedical engineering at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University.

Smart ageing is Nepal’s next frontier

चौतारा rest stops have long been an integral part of scenic touristic town of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/pokhara-six-decades-ago">Pokhara </a>but are now rarely seen as the city bursts at the seams. They say inhabitants of Pokhara saw a plane before they saw cars. Indeed, the grass airfield was built in the 1950s, while the Kathmandu highway 20 years later. Before roads, people walked to get around, pausing to rest or even nap under the shade of banyan-pipal trees. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/pokhara-s-desperation-and-hope">Pokhara airport’</a>s ‘terminal’ in those days was a shady chautara where passengers waited for their flights. The chautara bore silent witness to daily life, whether it was travellers seeking a brief respite from the summer heat or villagers gathering for a chat in the mornings and evenings. But with the roads came vehicles, and then houses started filling up spaces, even farmlands. Pokhara began transforming from a serene village to a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/pokhara-comes-alive-at-night">bustling city</a>.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250719010724_d101fa482441ce67afdf5bc4e4547b334e7662c1cf0a20e9d31a0e8dff66f04b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250719010724_d101fa482441ce67afdf5bc4e4547b334e7662c1cf0a20e9d31a0e8dff66f04b" data-rendition-name="original" width="2147" height="1581" loading="lazy" alt="Trees of life and living NT"> <figcaption>Photo: DURGA RANA MAGAR</figcaption> </figure>  The banyan-pipal trees were chopped down to make way for wider intersections and buildings. The once-iconic rest stops that carried Pokhara’s identity had all but vanished. “Building chautara was once considered a religious duty, which is why so many of them were constructed across Pokhara,” says archivist Sunil Ulak. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10927">Ekai Kawaguchi</a>, a Japanese Buddhist monk, who visited Nepal 120 years ago en route to Tibet, documented <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/no-visitors-in-pokhara-to-admire-view">the landscape of Pokhara</a> and its surroundings. In his book, Three Years in Tibet, he reflects on the natural beauty of the town and its shady trees. A chautara used to be surrounded by ponds, where shepherds would bring their cattle to drink from while they took a nap under the shade. The gentle rustling of leaves in the cool breeze lent a soothing melody as did the chirping of birds, while the insects took refuge in the branches and leaves. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/pokhara-800-years-ago">Pokhara 800 years ago</a>, Kunda Dixit This ‘nature’s breeze’, as botanist Kalyan Panta puts it, is now history due to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/cost-of-living-in-a-big-city">haphazard urbanisation</a>. “When the wind strikes against one leaf, it creates a domino effect and other leaves start waving as well,” he explains. There were 632 chautara in the city until 1977, and by 2000 the number had fallen to 278. But in some wards the number of trees fell from 55 in 1984 to only five now.&nbsp; The gradual loss of these resting places has meant habitat <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/between-existence-and-extinction-in-nepal">destruction of birds and insects</a>, it has also damaged the environment and natural beauty of the city.&nbsp; Researcher Jagannath Adhikari’s study showed that infrastructure projects ignored the environment, and concluded that that urbanisation in Pokhara was unsustainable.&nbsp; The destruction continues to this day. Recently, old chaurata in wards 6, 13 and 14 were cleared to make way for a sacrificial ritual. In fact, ward 6 got a permit from the local government to clear its remaining trees.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250719010724_cee1d4faf8376e7ba18b9c7012ea4215b7c3fbf7e0983b0c97005df5567d6de0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250719010724_cee1d4faf8376e7ba18b9c7012ea4215b7c3fbf7e0983b0c97005df5567d6de0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Trees of life and living NT"> <figcaption>Photo: DURGA RANA MAGAR</figcaption> </figure>  But in wards 13 and 14, the Human Service Foundation cut down some 33 trees for which it is in a dispute with the metropolitan city as there is no unclear jurisdiction regarding who gives the permit. The Kaski Division Forest Office is currently investigating the matter. Elsewhere in ward 19, the ward office had launched ‘मेरो रूख, म काट्छु’ campaign due to an alleged chaos caused by monkeys in the area. The decision was rescinded after an all-around opposition.&nbsp; To be sure, there are policies in place to protect trees such as the Gandaki Province Forestry Act, 2080, and the Regulations, 2081. The province government also introduced an act in 2019 per which no tree, including pipal, silk cotton and other <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/suburban-tales/trees-trees?%2F">trees of natural and historical importance</a> shall be damaged, eroded or removed. But the local government, responsible for implementing the Act, is doing the opposite. “If this rapid rate of tree felling continues, neither trees nor chautara will survive for the future generation,” conservationist Ram Bahadur Poudel tells us, adding that old trees are being cleared under the pretext of pruning branches. Interestingly, Ulak notes that Pokhara-8 was called सिमलचौर in the past because there were so many majestic silk cotton trees, but there are very few left, if any, and hence altering the identity of a place. With modernisation, people have questioned the significance of chautara in this day and age. But they still have relevance. Urban centres in Pokhara and Kathmandu are much hotter than the outskirts because of the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/in-the-heat-of-the-moment-5xcycyot">urban heat island effect</a>. Says archivist Ulak: “While their original purpose was to provide rest, today they continue to play a crucial role in regulating temperature, beautifying the city, and preserving our environment.”

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