<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710124/639057299c7e80680e0ce143jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1080" height="720"/><figcaption>Coach Lekhnath Lamsal with his volleyball team in Pokhara after his return from Qatar.</figcaption></figure>This is the 19th instalment of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-1/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-1/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667462176137000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2dJwfp-y2h_cWMn9Bj77nK">Diaspora Diaries</a>, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. For most people life is a continuous transition from one stage to another. Not for me.I am in my mid-40s, currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree with students who are my son’s age. My life is a series of seemingly random vignettes strung together in no particular order. Yet, in retrospect, they have collectively shaped who I am today.As a school student in Pokhara, I suffered from a bone disease that caused body ache, restricted my mobility and caused recurrent fever. After expensive visits to hospitals, I finally landed a good doctor in Delhi who cured me. Had there been a delay in treatment, he said, and I would not have been so lucky.His last words before discharging me from hospital still rings in my ears:  “Forget you were ever sick. You are young and have your whole life ahead of you. From now on, bring out your inner courage and zest for life.” And I did.When I started Grade 11, I felt like I had been given an empty slate to start a new life. I was finally free of pain, and anything was possible.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710124/6390572b9c7e80680e0ce144jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="732" height="762">I developed a love for sports, especially volleyball, which I was surprisingly good at. Standing tall at 1.88m, I was the best spiker and was known for my ability to jump high. My interest in studies decreased as my love of the game increased. The cheers of supporters made me feel formidable. On the volleyball court, I was king.I was getting noticed and had started to build a fan base. The chief of Pokhara police recruited me, and I got even better at the game with practice and training. Before long, I was in the national team playing in different tournaments, including the South Asian Games.My salary was low, and I couldn’t even afford to buy new shoes when they wore out. A pair of sports shoes cost more than my entire month’s pay.  Life was getting unaffordable, and I had responsibilities to provide for my family. Which is why I had to take the difficult decision to leave for overseas work, just like everyone else. I was passionate about volleyball, but there was no future and security in it.This is the reality of Nepal. Whether you are a national player or not, all roads eventually lead to the Gulf or Malaysia.In 2002, I got on a plane for Qatar where I was to work as a security guard. My wife was pregnant back in Pokhara with my daughter, our second child. This was a time when there were not as many Nepalis in Qatar.I eventually spent 14 years in Qatar, my new home. During that time, I was promoted five times, and ultimately became a branch manager overseeing other security guards in the company. My starting salary was 900 QAR but by the time I left, it was 7,000 QAR ($1,900).I was luckier than most Nepalis. I knew that because I had taken bodies of migrant workers to hospital, or watched construction workers struggle in the extreme heat for low wages in Qatar.I also managed to find time to play volleyball in tournaments organised by the Qatar Volleyball Association between various nationalities. There were moments when cheers from fellow Nepalis gave me an adrenaline rush and a powerful feeling.I was lucky enough to go home frequently, every two years initially and once a year after my last couple of promotions. But then my daughter Alisha became ill, and I had to rush back to Nepal. <figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710124/6390572e9c7e80680e0ce145jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="540" height="960"><figcaption>Lekhnath Lamsal at a volleyball tournament while he was working in Qatar for 14 years.</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710124/6390572f9c7e80680e0ce146jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1440" height="1920"><figcaption>Lamsal with his daughter, who died at 16 while undergoing treatment for cancer.</figcaption></figure>She, too, was having chronic body aches and it was hard for her to move. I had to find out what was wrong, and nip it in the bud. It reminded me of similar symptoms I had as a child, and recovering in a hospital in India. Except in my daughter’s case, doctors found a tumour.I could not extend my one-month emergency leave. My wife stayed back in the village with our two sons while I took my daughter to hospital in Kathmandu. Doctors removed her tumour, after which she had to go through several rounds of aggressive chemotherapy.My savings from the job in Qatar made it possible for me to afford to pay her medical bills which had racked up to almost Rs6 million. Friends who had known me through volleyball across the world as well as colleagues in Qatar pitched in, donating Rs1.7 million. This generosity brought enormous relief at a time when I was feeling lowest.My daughter kept her spirits up throughout her struggle. Once, she told me that she was not going to make it and had a premonition that the end was near. Her body was unable to handle the painful side effects of chemotherapy. I could feel her slipping away.The image of her looking frail and small in the ventilator is etched in my heart. It is painful when I remember how we communicated with each other through eyes blurred with tears, as she tried to make a few feeble gestures and I struggled to mumble words of comfort. I was not ready to say goodbye.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710124/639057329c7e80680e0ce147jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="853"><figcaption>Lekhnath Lamsal back in Nepal, where he has enrolled at age 42 in a bachelor’s program in a college where he is also a part-time coach.</figcaption></figure>Ten days after she had shared with me her premonition, Alisha passed away. She was just 16 which her whole life ahead her. It has been four years now.I am too old now to play volley professionally, although I play in tournaments for 40+ year olds here and there. I have no interest in going back to Qatar because I will have to start from scratch.So I picked up where I had left off, and recently joined a bachelor’s program in sports management at Gandaki College, while working as a volleyball trainer on the side. I hoped to improve things for players so they would not have to struggle as much as I did.Players, who should be at the centre in Nepal, are nowhere in the priority list. Like everything else in Nepal, sports governance has been infiltrated by politics and vested interests.Although I am two decades late, I realise the importance of education and a degree. My class mates are half my age, and I switch back and forth between being their guardian figure and friend.I study hard and am a grade topper in my cohort. But university homework does not relieve me from my household responsibilities, I am up by four am every morning taking care of household chores, including tending to our cow and buffalo.Translated from a conversation with the author. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-3/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-3/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667462176137000&amp;usg=AOvVaw3A3GJLtuseTTIMh0KZ3_i5">Diaspora Diaries</a> is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad.Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.Read more:  <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/speaking-the-language-of-overseas-work/">Speaking the language of overseas work</a>

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Work hard, play hard

<img width="800" height="533" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414110/63723bd09c7e80680e0c95e4jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>Dasain is a time for Nepali families to get together. Kathmandu’s population drops by half as people head back to their home districts, and flights to and within Nepal are full during the festive season.But two years of Covid made travel difficult, and since then high air fares have discouraged many from <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/post-covid-rebound-for-nepals-airlines/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">flying</a>. Which is why virtual vermilion tika and Jamara barley shoots have become the norm.Maya Moktan has not been able to celebrate the festival with her family in Sindhupalchok for eight years because she is a nurse in Dubai. She only gets a few weeks of leave which does not coincide with <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/top-dasain-destinations/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Dasain</a>. But she has made the best of this by connecting with her family on video calls.“I have now celebrated one too many Dasains virtually,” Moktan told us in a video chat from Dubai. “I miss my family even more during this time and call them every day.”While still in Nepal, she and her family used to travel from Bhaktapur where they had settled to their hometown in Sindhupalchok district every Dasain. This annual ritual has now shifted to the mobile platform. Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/dasain-2022/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Dasain 2022</a>“My dad pretends to put tika on me on the mobile camera and I act as if I received it on my forehead,” adds Moktan.Badri Dhital is working in Japan and has not been home for five years. He could not make it this year either. The time difference with Nepal means most days he is often unable to catch his family online, but he made sure to mark the Dasain via a video call.“Thank god for technology. This is the only thing that helps lessen the pain of separation,” the 27-year-old told us in a phone interview.Virtual platforms have dramatically changed the way the Nepali diaspora marks Dasain. With more than 300,000 Nepalis leaving the country every year for work, study or to settle abroad, there is now an increasing trend of digital Dasain.  An estimated 5 million Nepalis are in India or overseas, which is nearly 15% of the population. This year, 1.5 million people left Kathmandu for their hometowns during Dasain, many could not find bus or airline tickets in time. And this year heavy rains disrupted festival travel.Even for families living in Nepal, digital Dasain has become an option in case they cannot make it home. Many share Dasain photos on Facebook or social media platform group chats. As the number of TikTok users among Nepalis exceeds 50% and is catching up with Facebook, more and more Dasain videos are shared on that platform.But while online platforms have made Dasain easy for families to spread far and wide, there are concerns that they are eroding the unique culture and heritage tied with the festival. For example, there has been a dramatic drop in traditional kite flying or playing in the swing during the festival week.There are also fewer local Dasain carnivals which used to help in face-to-face social integration. But Nepalis do not have to wait Dasain anymore to take part in shopping — just about everything can be bought online, from food to clothes. What used to be carnivals are now Dasain schemes offered by brands and companies.“As we embrace technology, we have stopped meeting relatives and celebrating festivals in their true spirit. Our children want to do even less of that,” says Dipesh Ghimire, a professor at Tribhuvan University, adding that the trend is now equally prevalent in rural areas.He adds: “In fact, technology have made everything so accessible and cheap so that Dasain is no longer necessary for some people who are connected all the time with their relatives anyway.”Dasain celebrations of the past represented the society of yesteryear. If it is celebrated the same way today, it cannot reflect the understanding of people today, their consciousness and the world at large, adds Ghimire.Another culture expert Govind Tandon says digital platforms have made Dasain more accessible and significant without adding financial burden to families away from home. Digital Dasain has also lessened the craze of dakshina, the cash token given to younger relatives, for whom the pocket money is an added attraction of the festival. But even dakshina is going digital. Banks and digital wallets now offer schemes at Dasain. Last year, e-Sewa provided gifts worth Rs500 to 500 people who made transactions under their 'Dasain Digital Dakshina Abhiyan'.The campaign was so successful the developers extended it until Tihar and some 30,000 people used the platform amounting to transactions worth Rs70 million. Says Ashish Gautam of E-Sewa: “Digital Dakshina has made Dasain technology-friendly while also reducing the burden of printing new notes.”Now banks and digital micropayment platforms, as well as brothers and sisters, are gearing up for virtual Tihar which this year falls on 24-27 October.Translated from the <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/132446?fbclid=IwAR01IqRld3ZMnuDvn2BmJHGi0TOlnVNHhQzNB2XqIG-W1MbooU_58wTdSGQ">Nepali original</a> published in Himalkhabar monthly magazine.

Digital Diaspora Dasain for Nepalis

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209fe9c7e80680e0b5576jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="720"/>As a truck driver in Saudi Arabia, I am always on the move. That’s how it has been since 2011.Jeddah is almost 1,500km from Jubail, where I live. Places en route like Riyadh only allow trucks at certain hours of the day, so we take stops in between and wait. Including sleeping breaks, it takes us almost 36 hours one way to reach our destination.The road goes on and on and on. You feel like you have been driving forever, only to realise there is still 1,000km of asphalt left.It tests your patience. Fortunately, there are other Nepali drivers on the road.  The dreary driving is mutual so we keep each other company on the phone throughout our journey. When my phone is quiet for a bit, I get a call from a fellow long hauler who reminds me to stay awake. Then he tells me a joke.This is the camaraderie I share with my fellow gurus. Yes, just like back home in Nepal, we call drivers ‘guru’ here in the desert, too.In Nepal, trucks have funny or inspirational messages painted on their back. It is not allowed here. But some of us have managed to just write ‘Nepal’ on our trucks.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/in-the-minds-of-nepals-migrant-workers/">In the mind of Nepali migrant workers</a>, Upasana KhadkaDuring food stops, we pool our resources and cook together in our tiny makeshift kitchen in the truck. It is more fun and easier that way, but also saves us money. Of course, we always opt for dal, bhat and chicken curry.After doing this for 10 years, I have never got tired of the magical way the sand dunes on either side of the highway change their colours and textures. These are shades of reds and browns that I have never seen before.We get to the point from where there is another 600km more to go, and that is when I start feeling more upbeat. As we get closer to our destination, our mood starts to shift. By the time we have less than 50km left, we start honking at each other in celebration and there is a huge sense of relief and accomplishment even though we may have done the route many times.My first few trips were exciting. I had places to be, things to deliver. But it soon started feeling monotonous. Day turns into night, and into day again,  and you are driving along in that endless ribbon of road.Of late, I have started opting for shorter routes which are quicker and also better for my health. Now that I have worked in the company for many years, I have a say on my route preferences.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/63720a009c7e80680e0b5577jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="858" height="643">It is easy to get lost in thought on the road here in the Saudi desert. I ran away from my home at age 11 to India to be a domestic worker, taking care of my employer’s children who were older than me. Life has not been easy.Before driving these humongous trucks, I worked as an auto-rickshaw driver and then a personal driver in India for a pittance. My license in India was fake, since I was only 15. I shaved my chin so that my facial hair would grow, but it did not. When I was questioned about my youthful looks, I blamed my Nepali genes. The sahu employer bought it. Or maybe they just wanted someone sojho he could trust to work for cheap.The first time I came to Saudi Arabia after paying Rs70,000 to a manpower company, I <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/long-and-winding-road-home-to-nepal/">landed a terrible employer</a> and returned to Nepal prematurely after getting sick. But I knew I had to go overseas again -- what other option did I have?With my second child on the way, I was so desperate when I came to Saudi Arabia the second time that I thought to myself: “Even if things do not go any better and I die there, it will still be better for my family because they will at least get around15 lakhs from the Foreign Employment Board and insurance as compensation.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/migrant-worker-finds-farming-in-nepal-more-rewarding/">Migrant worker finds farming in Nepal more rewarding</a>, Naresh NewarThis time, though, I landed a good employer and have not looked back since. This coincided with my daughter’s birth -- and as they say, with her arrival so did Laxmi enter our house.Even with a good job, I again started feeling ill in Saudi Arabia just like I had the first time. I was always drowsy and weak, and it was difficult to muster the strength to even get through the day driving the truck.One of my Indian colleagues noticed this, told me, “For the next two weeks, drink four to six liters of water a day.” I did that and immediately started feeling better. It was a miracle, and something as simple as drinking lots of water. I did not know that I was severely dehydrated.My life could have taken a completely different turn had it not been for this small piece of advice from a colleague. I remember him with gratitude.I share my room with three other Nepalis. But even in the cramped space, we have managed to create our own individual corners. Our work and sleep schedules do not always match. But even when we are in the same room, we are all glued to our phones most of the time speaking to family, or reading news from Nepal.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/63720a039c7e80680e0b5578jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="902" height="676">Even though I have lived in Saudi Arabia for over a decade now, I have barely had any interaction with local people other than people at the airport. Just like in India, my supervisors in Saudi Arabia have all been Indians. My colleagues are either Nepalis or ajnabi foreigners. I speak mostly Hindi and Nepali, although I have picked up some basic Arabic.I think domestic workers here are the ones who learn to speak Arabic fastest since since they live with locals families and deal directly with them on a daily basis.Unlike <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-long-wait-before-flight/">many Nepalis</a>, my colleagues and I were lucky during Covid-19, as we had work. We continued to deliver goods from the port to nearby markets. Everything was shut down and the no-entry rules during certain hours in cities meant the roads were empty. We drove like kings.But soon, I tested positive. Again, unlike <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-migrants-again-caught-up-in-2nd-wave/">many Nepalis who even lost their lives in Saudi Arabia</a> during the pandemic, I was well taken care of. But when I was in isolation, my mother passed away in Nepal to a non-Covid related cause.I was trapped as I was Covid positive, but also because of the travel bans that had shut out the world. I mourned the loss of my mother in isolation. It was also painful that neither my brother nor me, both of us migrants in the Gulf, could be there for her final rites.Read also:  <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/his-last-journey-home-to-nepal/">His last journey home to Nepal</a>, Shankar DahalWe had made enough money to take care of her long-term illness that may have even extended her life by a few years. But we had failed to be there with her in the last moments. An uncle performed the funeral on our behalf.Perhaps it is that experience or because I recently turned 36 that during my dreary journeys on the road, that I have started longing for home more intensely. I want to spend time with my family now, it has been too long and my children are all grown up.How many more times must I call my wife to confirm that I have sent her money for that month's expenses, and that she should spend it wisely? Hemanta Rana captured it very well when he sang “चालिस काटेसी रमाउँला”. I am now nearing age 40 that he sings about, when we can start taking things easy after years of toil.My friends tell me there are better opportunities in places like Portugal for drivers like me, and I am tempted. But just for a moment. But I quickly decide against it. I want to be back home in Nepal soon, and make up for the time I have lost to be close to my family.Till then, म खाडीमै छु, म गाडी मै छु. Here I am still in the Gulf, still in my truck.   Translated from a conversation with a Nepali driver in Saudi Arabia. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to editors@nepalitimes.com with 'Diaspora Diaries' in the subject line.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/mindful-of-migrants-mental-health/">Mindful of migrants' mental health</a>, Upasana Khadka

Diaspora Diaries 3

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101120/637208829c7e80680e0b54edjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1656" height="1142"/><figcaption>Hom Nath Giri at his desk in a company in Kuwait City. PHOTO: Hom Nath Giri</figcaption></figure>I am not sure where to start telling you the story of the journey of my life.I come from a very simple family. My father’s job as a court messenger was to deliver legal letters and messages. His salary was not enough to support our family, so in 1994 he went to Saudi Arabia where he found a job as a gardener, working outdoor in the desert heat.We communicated in letters and if we did not hear from him for over two months, my mother would start crying. The letters my siblings and I wrote to him were formal, in a style they taught us in school. They all started with ‘Sri Pujaniya Baba, Shastang Dandawat’ (Respected father, I bow to you).In all his letters over the years, my father reminded us to do well in school. One of them said:“If I had studied, I would not have had to work here as a gardener. Even in Saudi Arabia, I would have got a much better job. I would have had opportunities for promotion. But there are no promotions for gardeners like me. This is why it is important that you study. I am working here to enable you to study hard.”When my father turned 50, I decided it was time to bring him back from Saudi Arabia. He had worked very hard for ten years, and it was my turn to step up.My father came back, passed on the foreign employment baton to me. In 2004, I left for Kuwait to work as a security guard. The heat was oppressive and the work was not easy. Over a dozen of my colleagues went back to Nepal one by one, either because they were caught sleeping during duty hours and got laid off, or because they just could not bear the heat.I stayed on, determined to keep working no matter how difficult it got. I was promoted many times in the past 17 years from Shift Supervisor to Patrolling Supervisor to Operation Supervisor. Then I became the Assistant Operation Manager, Operation Manager and I am now the Assistant Managing Director.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101120/637208859c7e80680e0b54eejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1870" height="1226"><figcaption>Giri with his father and mother when they visited him in Kuwait in 2018. His father toiled as a gardener in Saudi Arabia to support his family, he died a year after this picture was taken.</figcaption></figure>I grew up delivering newspapers around Pokhara starting at 3AM on a rusty, donated bike for Rs1,000 Rupees a month. I used to be  drenched in sweat and dizzy during my 12 hour shifts as a security guard when I first arrived in Kuwait.The odds were stacked against me. I would have laughed if someone had told me I would have the position I am holding today. But it wasn’t my education that helped me rise up the ranks. Little things like my English skills, integrity and work ethics did.Foreign employment worked for me. It gave me a platform. When we aspire to go overseas, we go after manpower agents. We plead with them to connect us with jobs, we call or message them desperately. But the minute we get on the plane, we start scolding them.If I met the manpower company owner who sent me to Kuwait, I would actually thank him. My success has meant that I have been able to lift my family back in Nepal out of poverty.I have brought my brother-in-law and his son also to Kuwait for jobs. I have connected people from my village to well-paying work here. My financial strength has spillover effects on those associated with me.Read also: <a style="font-size: medium; font-weight: 600; letter-spacing: normal; background-color: #ffffff;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/in-the-minds-of-nepals-migrant-workers/">In the mind of Nepali migrant workers</a>, Upasana KhadkaWas it the Nepal government that helped me? No. It was the recruitment agency that gave me this opportunity. They get all the blame, but never the credit for success stories like mine.Of course, they deserve to be punished when they cheat workers, especially when they promise the wrong job or pay. But it is also true that they have done more for many than what the government ever did.My father’s experience in Saudi Arabia ensured that our family had enough to eat and our basic needs were met, even though we had no savings. My Kuwait experience elevated my family even more. All because of foreign employment.Luck was on my side, I realise that. There are many like me who have done well. But I must say that a large majority of Nepalis come here and leave without making much progress in their salaries or positions.Hard work is key. So is having a vision and proper planning so you have specific goals to strive towards. Many of us do not get that kind of guidance so we do not know how to make use of available opportunities.Soft skills like computers and English proficiency are critical to make use of available opportunities of which there are plenty but not well exploited by Nepalis. How do we inculcate that drive to keep learning and bettering ourselves so we are given opportunities to rise?Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-year-of-migrant-workers/">The year of migrant workers</a>, EditorialI started as a security guard but I relied on people around me to help me learn how to use a computer. I still remember shouting with joy when I typed a paragraph in a Word document and my colleague got it printed.I have started getting comfortable with this lifestyle. After being stuck in Nepal for 8 months during the Covid-19 pandemic, I have changed my mind about returning anytime soon. I explored opportunities in the hotel and restaurant line back home but was unable to muster the courage to make an investment and start something on my own.For me, foreign employment is a secure option. I have seen many friends who returned to Nepal for good, used up all their savings in some unsuccessful venture and came right back to Kuwait. After so many years away, we do not have the network, contextual knowledge or the ability to deal with the corruption that defines every aspect of life in Nepal. The idea that honest work can help us succeed in Nepal feels a bit far-fetched at the moment.Of course you miss the little things like taking your children to school or playing with them. But having experienced both being the son of a migrant as well as a migrant father,  I can say the situation is much better now for transnational parenting.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101120/637208889c7e80680e0b54efjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1772" height="1280"><figcaption>Giri with his son when his family visited him before the pandemic. PHOTO: HOM NATH GIRI</figcaption></figure>When I was a boy, the postman used to come every Thursday as we waited for our father’s letters. Sometimes the letters would be stuck somewhere and we would receive all six on the same day after six months of radio silence and panic. Now I see my children every few months in person and talk to them every day.Despite being away from Nepal, I feel like I can contribute more from here than if I were back home. Whether during earthquake or Covid-19, we have sent a lot of support to Nepal including oxygen cylinders.There are many Nepalis who require help in the Gulf region, and I find myself spending a good chunk of my salary and time every month helping them. I am lucky that I can do that. I often get sentimental when I go back to my apartment after dealing with people who need help. I write poetry to get the weight off my chest.What was most distressing was having to walk out of Kathmandu airport once behind men who were pushing two coffins in luggage trolleys. The bodies had been repatriated in the same flight as mine. Later, I composed these lines:घर गाउँमा रुवाबासि पिर पठाएछ,सम्झनालाई अन्तिम चिनो तस्विर पठाएछ॥खुशि बोकी घर फिर्छु भन्थ्यो परदेशीले,कठै! आज बाकसभित्र शरिर पठाएछ॥He said he would come home and bring joy,But he brought back tears and grief.He sent a photograph as a parting gift.Alas! He sent his own body home in a box.That, too, is foreign employment.One of my favourite memories is when I brought my father to Kuwait in 2018. He came to my office and sat with pride behind my desk. He told me all those years of toil in Saudi Arabia had been well worth it.What I have achieved in my life is in large part due to the motivating letters our father wrote to us from Saudi Arabia. He sacrificed his life for us. We lost him last year, and I miss him every day.Translated from a conversation with Hom Nath Giri in Kuwait. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.  Read more:<a style="font-size: medium; letter-spacing: normal; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 600;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-1/">Diaspora Diaries 1</a>, Nepali Times<a style="font-size: medium; letter-spacing: normal; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 600;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-days-of-international-migration/">The Days of International Migration</a>, Editorial

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Diaspora Diaries  2

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410114/6372051a9c7e80680e0b289ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1883" height="1194"/><figcaption>Photo: PATTABI RAMAN</figcaption></figure>In this new fortnightly column, Diaspora Diaries, Nepali Times provides a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line. It has not even been three months since I said my goodbyes to my family, but I am already back in Nepal from <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/human-rights-referees-blow-whistle-on-world-cup-fouls/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Qatar</a>.I was promised a job in housekeeping in a five star hotel, but ended up in a construction site where they wanted me to carry around heavy stuff all day. I paid over Rs100,000 for this job, including with loans and selling my sisters’ jewelry. But it was not what I signed up for.Even then, I had no choice but to accept my fate. But after a month of physical labour, I fell ill and realised I was not cut out for this work. My company never once asked about my <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/in-the-minds-of-nepals-migrant-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">health</a> while I was in hospital, or recovering in my room.I wanted to come home, but my employer was unwilling to let me go, and ultimately I had to escape without letting them know. Employers have been known to file cases falsely accusing people like me of stealing so workers cannot leave the country.I only made it out because I had the support of some helpful Nepali brothers in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-days-of-international-migration/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Qatar</a>. Not the embassy. Not the employer. Not the recruiter. Just some Nepalis with big hearts.They were generous with their advice about what to do, and provided me with taxi fare.  They pitched in for my ticket. They called me to remind me to keep my spirits high. Even now, in Kathmandu, my stay at this hotel has been financed by a fellow Nepali in Qatar.In a foreign land, just being Nepali bonds people together and people go out of their way to help strangers — it is an inexplicable kind of brotherhood that I will never be able to forget, or repay.Despite my bad luck, I have been lucky in many other ways. I am young, I sought help and help came spontaneously from many people. But I know it for a fact that there are many like me who have it even worse, are <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepali-migration-in-the-2020s/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">suffering silently, and struggling</a>.It is not bad for everyone. I know other Nepalis who have been in Qatar for years, and are happy with their jobs. It is like a lottery, and I was dealt a bad hand this time. The company I was posted in happened to be the worst of the lot.I have been lucky previously. I worked in <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/disproportionate-number-of-deaths-of-Nepali-workers-in-Malaysia,2812" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Malaysia</a> in a hotel for three years starting 2011, and earned $480 a month, which at the time was a huge amount for me. After returning, I worked in a hotel in Nepal. But I needed to earn more, and that would only happen if I found a job overseas again. I chose the Gulf this time, but was unlucky.As I sat in my room alone in Qatar when I was recovering and my roommates were at work, I used to reflect on many things, as I had so much time in my hand. You leave home for a few extra thousand rupees to a foreign land, but what all do you lose in the process?<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410114/6372051d9c7e80680e0b289bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="459">My work in Qatar required me to get up at 4AM for the bus that came to pick us up. We packed food that we cooked the previous night, but sometimes it went bad because there was no fridge at the construction site. You also cannot eat when you feel hungry, you can only eat when you are told to eat.I even had to ask my supervisor to go to the toilet at the construction site. Our work would end at around 6PM, but by the time we reached our camp, it would be 8PM. We would then have to cook dinner and our meal for the next day. By the time we were done and ready to wind down, it would be past midnight only to wake up at four the next day.It went on and on like this. We were moved three times in the short period I was there. You don’t have a say in any of this, you just do as told to do as they say.I remember looking at fancy buildings in the past and wishing I could work in those. But it took me a terrible overseas experience in Qatar to realize that it is the people inside those buildings that matter. A Nepali in what they call a wakala (small shop) was much happier than me.When I was recovering alone in my room desperate to come home, I told myself I would never consider migrating overseas again. That I would do something in Nepal itself. I cannot explain the rush I felt when I finally held my boarding card in my hand at Doha airport. It was a well-planned escape that could have gone terribly wrong.But reality hit soon after I came to Nepal. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/workers-return-to-jobless-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Where are the jobs?</a> What will I do here? What will I earn? I have to feed my family, and have loans to repay. You make a lot of sacrifices for a job abroad — even your dignity at times. But we also need those jobs.I am sharing my story so others can learn about my experience. I prefer to remain anonymous. Besides my wife, no one in my family knows about what I faced abroad. I was in so much pain and stress, what is the point getting my ailing mother all worried?I am beginning a battle with my <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/a-few-good-agents/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">recruiter</a> to get back my money, and he has shown some willingness to cooperate. I might eventually have to go back overseas one day, and coming public with my story may hurt my chances since I will be viewed as a ‘troublemaker’.A fellow Nepali in Qatar who had not been paid for months was transferred and accused of being a ‘ring leader’ among camp workers — just because he asked the manager for overdue food allowance.That is our reality. They want the quiet ones. The ones who can be silenced.Translated from a conversation in Nepali.

Diaspora Diaries 1

<figure><img width="2342" height="1300" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181120/636be14f9c7e80680e083e3fjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Countries with the highest numbers of Covid-19 cases, with ones where total cases rose last week (in red) and fell (in blue). Data: Johns Hopkins University</figcaption></figure>A second wave of Covid-19 cases in Europe and the explosive spread in the United States has raised the number of deaths from the pandemic in the Nepali diaspora, but experts say the toll may be higher than officially reported.
The Non-Resident Nepalese Association (NRNA) which keeps track of the impact of the pandemic among Nepalis living outside the country says new cases and fatalities have been reported in the past two weeks from United Kingdom, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-its-no-time-to-let-your-guard-down/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-its-no-time-to-let-your-guard-down/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1605582652845000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGGUewmszI26gfH8FVNzxRXYetJUA">the Untied States</a>, Spain, Austria, the Netherlands, Denmark, the Czech Republic, Germany, India, UAE, Qatar and Saudi Arabia.
The estimated total number of Nepalis abroad who tested positive for the virus crossed 46,000 on 14 November, with 293 deaths in countries from where figures were available, NRNA said. Nepalis have tested positive in 44 countries around the world, and fatalities have been reported from 18 of them.
More than 1,000 new cases were confirmed in the past two weeks, and eight more deaths of Nepalis were reported from India alone in the past week in Chennai and Maharastra states. The largest number of new cases has been reported from Romania, where 550 have tested positive in the past two weeks taking the total infected Nepalis to 9,714. Two of them are said to be in a critical state in hospital.
There are no exact figures for the numbers of Nepali migrant workers in Romania, but 4,325 arrived in 2019 alone, and reports say Nepalis form the largest number of people applying for work permits in 2020. Most had jobs in the hotel and restaurant business which have been hit hard by the Covid-19 crisis. One report said all 22 Nepalis working in an auto company in Bucharest had tested positive.
Of the Nepalis abroad who were infected, the Association said more than 41,000 had recovered — possibly indicating that most of them were younger Nepali immigrants in Europe and the Gulf region. However, the death rate is higher in the UK, where there is a large population of elderly Nepali Gurkha pensioners and their families, as well as the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/bhutan-refugee-to-coronavirus-care-giver/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/bhutan-refugee-to-coronavirus-care-giver/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1605582652845000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFO0eeE7nBEdNXf2caLanSPergQ6Q">United States</a>.
Many Nepalis in countries like the UK, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/himalayan-new-yorkers-tell-stories-of-covid-19/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/himalayan-new-yorkers-tell-stories-of-covid-19/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1605582652845000&amp;usg=AFQjCNED7YXzDUecpSHZ22qaLSzxnl4XnQ">US</a> and Israel are also <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/overseas-nepalis-on-the-covid-19-frontlines/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/overseas-nepalis-on-the-covid-19-frontlines/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1605582652846000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGsbjaQRwTJZuwsyoYH8EL2TSa5kg">at the frontlines </a>as caregivers or medical personnel, or work in jobs which require public interaction, and where they are at high risk.
“Nepalis abroad should take care during family gatherings, they should keep a distance and wear masks at all times,” says NRNA’s Health Committee coordinator, Sanjeeb Sapkota. 
Meanwhile in Nepal, the number of infected crossed 200,000 last week, even though the recovery rate is at 82% and 169,000 people are not infected any more. The total fatalities in Nepal increased by 6 on Sunday to reach 1,202.
Of the new infections, 807 were in Kathmandu Valley, and Saturday saw 1,477 testing positive. The numbers are slightly slower than the daily average for the past two weeks because testing clinics were closed for the Tihar holidays over the weekend.
Among those hospitalised with Covid-19 is Govinda KC, the activist surgeon who has for the past four years staged 19 hunger strikes demanding that the government reform medical education and make health care more accessible and affordable. Ironically, KC has been admitted to Teaching Hospital, where he has been treated in ICU in a critical state during his fasts.
The total number of active cases in Kathmandu is now 15,237, Bhaktapur has 1,252 and Lalitpur 2,315. Most are in home isolation, either because they have mild symptoms, because there are not enough beds in hospitals in the Valley, or because they cannot afford being admitted. 
On Sunday, 1,477 new cases were detected out of 6,476 PCR tests carried out, while 2,798 have made recoveries.

Nepali diaspora hit by Covid surge

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70129c7e80680e06005bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="998"/><figcaption>Photo : GOPAL GADTAULA</figcaption></figure>Manoj Rai was a 17-year-old student in a school in Tashigang, Bhutan in 1990, when soldiers arrived at his dorm and took away all the Nepali books. They piled them high in the courtyard, and set them alight.A few days later, the boy decided to escape the army’s dragnet and without even returning home he went down to the border, where the Indian security forces were packing other Bhutanese like him into trucks and dumping them in eastern Nepal.Thousands of refugees from Bhutan lived under plastic sheets by the side of the Kankai River in Jhapa. Many fainted from trauma, culture shock and homesickness. On a single day, Manoj Rai remembers cremating 28 children who had died of epidemics.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/who-stands-with-bhutanese-refugees-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Who stands with Bhutanese refugees in Nepal?,</a> Bhuwan Gautam and T P Mishra“We refugees know very well the meaning of life,” Rai said with a faraway look in his eyes, at his home in Charlotte, North Carolina. He is among the nearly 95,000 refugees from Bhutan who have been resettled in the United States. Others have gone to New Zealand, Norway, UK, Australia, the Netherlands and Canada.Rai opted for resettlement after seeing no possibility of returning to Bhutan, and tried to convince as many of his compatriots as possible to take up the offer. Some were resolutely refusing to move, but he tried to convince them that being a citizen of a foreign country, rather than a refugee, could help them return to Bhutan one day. Many third-generation Bhutanese are now studying in the world’s top universities.Rai has always been interested in music, often taking his small band house-to-house during Dasain and Tihar in Nepal, performing songs of longing for home in Bhutan. Villagers used to give them rice, gundruk and vegetables, which the refugees cooked in the camps by the dusty river banks.“We were always hungry, but we had to eat to live. And music was a way to feed ourselves,” Manoj recalls. “And now, on the other side of the world from home, we are trying to preserve our culture.”Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Bhutanese-refugees-resettlement-program-ending-in-2018,4121" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The end of the road for Bhutan's refugees</a>,Jenna Kunze Soon, relief organisations like World Lutheran Foundation, Save the Children, the UN High Commission for Refugees and others came to the rescue of the refugees, settling them in seven camps<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70159c7e80680e06005cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1050" height="738">in Jhapa and Morang, where 120,000 Bhutanese lived for more than 20 years, until resettlement.“We were floating like kites. We missed home, and slept in jute sacks on the sand,” remembers Manoj, who could not even go back to Bhutan when his mother died there. “That is my biggest regret -- that I was not there for my mother. There are many Bhutanese like me.”Manoj came to the US 8 years ago and recorded over 70 songs since then. He has also founded the charity Love and Sports, which supports Nepali art, culture and music with an annual gathering in which the best are honoured with awards.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/family-separation-bhutan-style/">Family separation, Bhutan-style</a>, Jamie PiotrowskiMany of Manoj’s Nepali songs are about Bhutan. The translated lyrics of one of them:‘In the lap of the Himalaya is our dear BhutanWe blossom as we live together as oneDon’t cry, mother, we will make you smileWe will decorate our motherland with flowers.’

Ex-refugee takes refuge in music

Recent outrage in Sikkim over an Indian Army expedition climbing <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-kangchenjunga">Kangchenjunga</a>, the world’s third-highest peak, has spiked attention to the need to balance mountaineering jobs with indigenous reverence for sacred landmarks. Kangchenjunga (8,586m) is not a peak as much as it is a mountain range with 16 peaks above 7,000m on the border between India and Nepal -- the word itself means ‘five treasures of the snows’ in Tibetan. Some of the highest prominences like Kangchenjunga West and Kangbachen are in Nepal, while the Main, Central and South Peaks are on the border. Climbing the peak from the Indian side has been banned since 2001 because the indigenous Lepcha community there regard the mountain as the abode of Dzoe-nga, the patron deity of Sikkim, which was an independent Himalayan Kingdom until it was annexed by India in 1975.&nbsp; Buddhists in Sikkim say their saint, Padmasambhava, recognised the mountain as a protective spirit. The state has declared the base of the mountain Kangchenjunga National Park, which covers an area one-third of Sikkim. ‘The act of scaling this sacred peak is not only a matter of serious concern but also a violation of both the prevailing legal provisions and the deeply held religious beliefs of the people of Sikkim,’ read a letter from Chief Minister Prem Singh Tamang (Golay) to Amit Shah, India’s Minister of Home Affairs and Cooperation.&nbsp; Tamang continued: ‘We further request Your Honour to take up the issue with the Government of Nepal to ensure that no future expeditions are permitted on the sacred mountain, in deference to the deeply held beliefs and cultural values of the people of Sikkim.’ Kangchenjunga was climbed for the first time exactly 70 years ago by a British team who told King Tashi Namgyal, the Choegyal of Sikkim, that they would not set foot on the summit. Since then, there have been about 532 successful climbs of the peaks and 52 have died while trying.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628060616_5c268e08cf49f36b79ef9b31933fc2d9bf9a6f65414e7ca06dd028bf04e7ccc1.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250628060616_5c268e08cf49f36b79ef9b31933fc2d9bf9a6f65414e7ca06dd028bf04e7ccc1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1782" height="1178" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb NT"> <figcaption>Indigenous communities in Sikkim held purification ceremonies following the Indian expedition to Kangchenjunga. Photo: THE VOICE OF SIKKIM / FACEBOOK</figcaption> </figure>  <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/peak-climbing-season-2025-s4abrxny">This spring climbing season</a> alone, there were 70 climbing permits for foreigners issued for Kangchenjunga by the Nepal government, and made it to the top while one French climber died.&nbsp; One of the expeditions this year was an Indian Army team led by Col Ranveer Jamwal, who has summited the highest peaks on all seven continents, and Mt Everest thrice. Jamwal’s team was on the final leg of a ‘<a href="https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/india/nimas-summits-mt-kangchenjunga-concludes-historic-har-shikhar-tiranga-mission-successfully/articleshow/121341315.cms?from=mdr">Har Shikhar Tiranga</a>’ (The Tricolour on Every Peak) mission to plant the Indian flag at the highest points of each of India’s 28 states. Kanchenjunga was the last peak they had left, and the hardest, but the expedition put five climbers on the summit. What seems to have incensed the Sikkimese is that while it has banned climbing the mountain from its side, it was an Indian military expedition that went to Nepal to climb the mountain. After news broke of the climb in May, the Sikkim Indigenous Lepcha Tribal Association asked people to observe purification ceremonies in temples across the state. Mayalmit Lepcha of the association acknowledged that the Sikkim government was also partly at fault: “I don’t think such an expedition could have gone forward without the state government being informed, so it could have done something to intervene. It shows weakness. What’s done is done, all we can do is carry out these sanctification ceremonies.”&nbsp; In 2000, one year before Sikkim’s ban, the state allowed an Austrian team to attempt Kanchenjunga’s northeast face for a fee of $20,000, on agreement that they would stop 10m before the summit. Despite this, there was outrage over the expedition on the grounds that it violated Indian laws regarding the defiling of religious sites and Sikkim’s rights to maintain its culture after merging with India. The Indian Army expedition was also seen to have circumvented Sikkim’s law and violated religious sensibilities by going through Nepal. While the team may have thought they were respecting Sikkim’s beliefs by finding a way to complete the mission, the people of Sikkim saw it as defilement.&nbsp; The somber mood of the Sikkim people at the ritual contrasts sharply with Jamwal’s sense of accomplishment. “Without a doubt, the most difficult summit of my life,” he told reporters after the climb. “It tested every ounce of our will.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628060616_ccfe079c78dab788d19fe2080ee8a5d5dcb11de4157316f6d94e5964da097157.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250628060616_ccfe079c78dab788d19fe2080ee8a5d5dcb11de4157316f6d94e5964da097157" data-rendition-name="original" width="787" height="377" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb NT"> <figcaption>Prayer flags along the Sikkim-Kangchenjunga trekking route. Photo: TREKKINGININDIA.COM</figcaption> </figure>  The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">controversial Nepali-British mountaineer Nirmal Purja</a> was also on Kangchenjunga this spring the mountain, on a mission to summit all 14 8,000m peaks for a third time. He echoed Jamwal about the tough conditions: “The conditions above camp were extremely tough, with deep snow and challenging terrain—more crevasses than usual.” Nepal’s government has not said anything publicly, but it is unlikely that it will ban climbing on Kangchenjunga, since it is becoming popular with expeditions because of its technical challenges, and overcrowding on Mt Everest. Nepal does have bans in place for some of its mountains out of respect for local beliefs. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/to-open-machapuchre-for-mountaineering-or-not">Mt Machapuchre</a> (6,990m) the imposing pyramid that looms over Pokhara, for example, is seen as an icon of purity by the Gurung people and a symbol of Vishnu by the Hindu communities who live at its base. A strict climbing ban has been in place since 1957, when a British expedition led by Col Jimmy Roberts stopped 45m short of the summit – either because the last bit was too difficult or out of deference to local sentiments.&nbsp; Khumbila that stands above Namche Bazar is only 5,761m high, but like Kanchenjunga is considered the protector deity of the Sherpa people. Gauri Shankar on the Nepal-China border, called Chomo Tseringma by the local community, was off-limits between 1965 and 1979 due to its association with Lord Shiva and Gauri, his consort. Although expeditions are now allowed, there are not too many takers. In Tibet, climbing Mount Kailash is prohibited by the Chinese government because it revered by the Hindus, Buddhists and followers of the Bon faith. Even Mt Everest is regarded as sacred, and its Sherpa name is Chomolungma, Goddess Mother of the Earth.&nbsp; Economically, climbs on Kanchenjunga bring in decent revenue. This climbing season, the 41 permits, at $1,800 each, brought in $73,800. This is somewhat comparable to Makalu, Lhotse, and Annapurna I, but these numbers are dwarfed by the $4 million in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-everest-industry">Everest permits</a>. Revenue from Kanchenjunga climbing permits is something Nepal could potentially forgo if necessary, but the expeditions also provide jobs to hundreds of high altitude guides, porters, base camp support staff and other logistical costs.&nbsp; As the third highest mountain in the world and the tallest in India, there will always be significant motivation to climb it from the Nepal side, especially as climbers are drawn by the technical climbing at high altitude.

Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb?

The monsoon this year arrived on time, and brought life-giving rain — irrigating paddy terraces, recharging groundwater, reviving springs, and increasing electricity generation.
But Nepal has to deal with either too much water or too little. On a clear April day before the monsoon, the hills of Sindhuli district were parched, and there were wildfires burning out of control. There had been no rain for the past six months.
And that has been the perennial crisis for Nepal’s farmers: that 85% of the rainfall occurs during just four months of the monsoon with little rain for the other eight months.&nbsp;
The water crisis is related to the powerful changes sweeping the mid-hill region of Nepal. With better roads, higher incomes and more exposure, many residents now aspire to have the kind of water supply seen in urban homes. They want hot or cold water at the turn of a tap, showers and flush tank toilets.&nbsp;
To meet this rising demand, many local and provincial governments are investing in large water supply projects often by lifting water from rivers hundreds of metres down the mountain. But these new systems may not be sustainable in the long run.
Many villages in Sindhuli are switching from local springs to piped systems, and even in rural homes, overhead tanks are becoming common.
But this new convenience comes with big challenges. Lifting water from rivers far below requires long pipes, electric pumps, and constant maintenance. These systems are costly, and the streams themselves often shrink to a trickle in the dry months. Big water-lifting schemes look impressive, but there is doubt if they can meet growing water demand.
A much more sustainable solution would be what some communities are doing: restoring old ponds or build new recharge systems. But those villages are exceptions, in most places traditional ponds and wallows are being filled up to be turned into sports fields, or make way for buildings.
Where there are new ponds, they are sometimes in the wrong places or without proper design. Roads and drains are not engineered properly and have increased landslides and erosion. Water management in hilly areas is not just about building things, it is about building in the right way, in the right place.
Traditional water systems were based on nature. They were not perfect, but they used the land wisely. Ponds used to hold rainwater and slowly refill springs which supported families, farms, and forests.&nbsp;
Not everything worked well in the past, but we can learn from traditional water management practices. Across Nepal, some rural municipalities have launched campaigns to store monsoon runoff — either in tanks, ponds or by recharging the aquifers.
But not all efforts have been successful. Some ponds are built without any hydrological study. Some are rushed to meet deadlines rather than real needs.&nbsp;
Now, the Muhan initiative hopes to revive springs to make households more resilient and help farmings. With the financial support of the Australian Centre for International Agricultural Research, research is being done to understand how springs work and how they are affected by changes in rainfall, land use, and development.&nbsp;
Instead of just building pipes and tanks, the project maps the entire springshed so we can understand the root cause of water shortage. In Sindhuli, the problem is not the amount of rain, but the loss of natural systems that store it and the social systems that manage water.&nbsp;
Nepal’s towns and villages now face a major challenge: how to manage water all year round as demand rises with people’s living standards. Depending only on river-lift systems is not a sustainable solution.&nbsp;
We need a mix of approaches that help store water from the rainy season to make it available for the rest of the year, whether by directly harvesting rainwater, restoring ponds, managing springsheds, or smart management of demand.
Rural Nepal is also seeing dramatic depopulation. Much of the outmigration can be stemmed if there is easier water supply for agriculture and household use. Across the mid hills, villages are emptying because springs are going dry. Government policy needs to catch up with the reality on the ground, and support solutions that work for people and nature. Every water supply plan should include recharge structures. Every road or building project should consider water flow and erosion. Local governments need more than budgets: they need training, tools, and data.
Ngamindra Dahal is with the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu. Hemant Ojha collaborated in this piece and is associated with the Australian National University.

Water for Life

Turkish Airlines has been presented with the Sustainable Financing Pioneer Award by Ishka, recognising its landmark transaction that, for the first time, integrated a sustainability-linked loan structure into a multi-currency JOLCO financing model for the acquisition of two next-generation, fuel-efficient Airbus A321neo aircraft. This innovative transaction, arranged by Societe Generale, links the financing terms to Turkish Airlines’ Sustainability Performance Targets (SPTs), particularly the goal of reducing carbon intensity across its fleet.
&nbsp;&nbsp;“We believe this structure not only supports our fleet renewal and growth objectives, but also reinforces our long-term commitment to becoming a carbon-neutral airline by 2050,” said Chief Financial Officer Murat Şeker.

Turkish finance

<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-last-of-the-kusunda">The Kusunda</a> are among the last remaining hunter-gatherer communities left in Nepal, and it has only one fluent speaker left of a language that is not related to any other language group in South Asia.&nbsp; The Kusunda call themselves the King of the Forests ((गेम्येहाक़ in Kusunda,वन राजा in Nepali) and used to have a nomadic lifestyle till recently. But decades of exclusion from mainstream society and modernity have forced the Kusunda to assimilate. &nbsp; Today, most Kusunda live across Nepal’s mid-hills and western plains, choosing to identify themselves as Thakuri and adopting names like Sen, Shahi, and Khan to avoid ostracisation. Over time, inter-ethnic marriages between the Kusunda and other communities became increasingly common.&nbsp; However, the assimilation with other communities also meant that almost no one from the Kusunda community can speak their mother tongue – considered by linguists to be a ‘language isolate’ not related to any other language group in the world, and lacking set rules of grammar that are foundational to other languages. There are no words for ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ in Kusunda, nor are there words to signify direction. There are 23 languages with less than 1,000 speakers listed in Nepal's 2021 census, with Kusunda being the language with the least number of speakers. The number of people who identified as Kusunda has decreased with each subsequent census. Only 253 individuals identified themselves as Kusunda in the last National Census of 2021, down from 273 in 2011.&nbsp; <div class="embed-block"><iframe src="https://creators.spotify.com/pod/show/raithane-bhakha/embed/episodes/Kusundas---the-last-of-the-forest-kings-e23ge6p/a-a9peei1" height="102px" width="400px" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe></div> The government’s decision to provide a social security stipend to the community for the past few years has prompted many from the Kusunda community to reclaim their identity and in the process, explore their culture and language. Kamala Sen Kusunda, who lives in Dang, is the only fluent native Kusunda speaker alive, although there are now other Kusunda and non-Kusunda people learning how to speak the language. By the time Kamala Sen Kusunda was born in 1975, her family had settled in a village in Rolpa. Although she did not experience the nomadic life of her forebears, she still roamed the forests freely as a child and many of the values and socio-cultural practices of her community were instilled in her and her siblings.&nbsp; This meant that Kamala grew up speaking Kusunda with her family. But by then, the Kusunda had increasingly begun to interact with people beyond their community, and inter-ethnic marriages had become a norm.&nbsp; Kamala herself married at 18 to a 52-year-old man from the Chhetri community. She would go on to have four children, but they were brought up with her husband’s culture and community rather than her own, and teaching them her mother tongue seemed impractical.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628030648_afaa298bf8ea3b7086e2ed086b11eab463ef2b20a82a4aad74df3dd2e922a4c3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250628030648_afaa298bf8ea3b7086e2ed086b11eab463ef2b20a82a4aad74df3dd2e922a4c3" data-rendition-name="original" width="855" height="641" loading="lazy" alt="Kusunda NT"> <figcaption>Gyani Maiya Kusunda with Kusunda youth in 2015.</figcaption> </figure>  “If I had spoken my language to them when they were children, they would have learned,” she tells us ruefully. “But they were growing up in a different community, so I never pushed, and they never expressed interest.” At the time, she had other things to worry about, such as earning a livelihood and sustaining her family. To find work, Kamala and her family moved to Shimla in India, where she worked at an apple orchard for six years.&nbsp; Over the next years, Kamala and her family moved back and forth between India and Nepal for work, and Kamala was not actively conversing in the language of her people or being able to connect with members of her community now scattered across Nepal.&nbsp; Had she not forgotten her language after all those years? “How could I forget the language of my ancestors?” she replies. “Not speaking it did not mean that it ceased to be a part of me.”&nbsp; Kamala had been working at a brick kiln in Thimi seven years ago when the National Language Commission tracked her down, offered her a paid position as a Kusunda language consultant and source person for basic language training in Dang.&nbsp; It was there that Kamala met her cousin Gyani Maiya Sen Kusunda, the only other person able to speak Kusunda fluently, who had been working with the Commission to conserve Kusunda language and culture. It was also where Kamala met language researcher and lexicographer Uday Raj Ale. Ale had been in the middle of his research into the Tharu language and community 15 years ago when he met Gyani Maiya Kusunda’s son, who told him that his mother was one of the few people who spoke Kusunda, but that no one had shown an interest in studying and preserving the language and culture. Ale met Gyani Maiya, spending time with her learning and researching Kusunda. By 2017, Ale had collected enough words to put together a Kusunda dictionary. The Kusunda vocabulary currently comprises 2,000 words. His research into the Kusunda language and culture has taken him to every known Kusunda household in Nepal. Although the census puts the number of Kusunda at 253, Ale reckons there are only 158.&nbsp; “Kusunda language is endangered due to its lack of use in everyday life, literature, and religious and socio-cultural practices, as well as the prevalence of inter-ethnic marriages,” explains Ale. In 2019 the Language Commission began its language transfer programs for youth from indigenous communities. Since then, the Commission has completed multiple phases of Kusunda language classes in Dang facilitated by Uday Raj Ale. The classes have 20 students, not just from the Kusunda community, but also interested non-native students.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250626120632_c6c378bc00af450f2b7f0cf17af1c3b2b6f7b7226927c458c3e01ec389869d33.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250626120632_c6c378bc00af450f2b7f0cf17af1c3b2b6f7b7226927c458c3e01ec389869d33" data-rendition-name="original" width="1485" height="1535" loading="lazy" alt="Kusunda NT"> <figcaption>Students learning Kusunda with instructor Uday Raj Ale (second row, left)</figcaption> </figure>  Khamba Rokaya, who worked as a caretaker for young Kusunda children in Dang, became interested in learning the language as she sat in with the children during their lessons, and for the last few years has been among the few non-native Kusunda language learners in Dang. “I am not from the Kusunda community, but now that I have learned the language, I hope to do my part to carry on the work and share my knowledge with as many people as possible,” she says. “One way to ensure that we preserve this language is to extend its speaker base, both within the Kusunda and non-native communities.” Ale and Kamala have continued to work together since Gyani Maya’s passing in 2020, expanding the Kusunda vocabulary and creating appropriate curricula to fit the needs of the students as their knowledge of Kusunda expands.&nbsp; But without any documentation of Kusunda history, the community’s traditions, stories, values and language were at risk of being lost to time. “The loss of an ethnicity, language or culture in a country is akin to losing a vital organ, and a unique perspective of looking at the world,” says Ale. Which is why Archive Nepal in collaboration with the British Council’s Cultural Protection Fund and the UK’s Department of Culture, Media, and Sport in February launched a book of creative writings in the Kusunda language titled पिन्डा (meaning ‘The First’ in Kusunda): A Compilation of Kusunda Literature. The book is a collection of informative essays about the Kusunda language and culture, short stories that explore themes from nomadic life to universal Nepali experiences of poverty and migration, letters to loved ones, as well as conversational pieces by five Kusunda students ranging from ages 16 to 30. The works in the Kusunda language are also translated into Nepali and English.&nbsp; “Language is an important part of ethnic identity, and our indigenous languages cannot evolve or be conserved unless they are spoken or taught,” said Ale during the launch of the book earlier this year. “But most importantly, language exists as long as there exists literature in that language.” Kamala was in Kathmandu for the launch of the book, and smiled proudly as she looked at the young writers who had contributed to the collection. She said: “I’m glad the young people have chosen to learn and preserve Kusunda. Otherwise, our language would have died with me.” &nbsp;

diaspora