‘Tamar river in Tom’s book, is it the same as Tamor River?’ I texted my editor. ‘Yes, the Limbu pronounce it Tamar,’ he wrote back. ‘You have a lot of catching up to do!’ And I did. The fact revealed itself to me even more as I buried my nose in Thomas Bell’s new book, Human Nature. The book launched by Kathasatha in Kathmandu in November, takes the reader on a journey as the narrative spans across four different regions in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-mountains-are-melting">Nepal’s mountains</a> that Bell covered in 2016-2018.&nbsp; The years are not directly mentioned in the narrative, but marked by relating them to major events such as the earthquake and indicated vaguely as ‘two months later, in the monsoon’. The first chapter, Migration, takes the readers through Panchthar-Solu in eastern Nepal. The second walk is a chapter called Agriculture, which covers Chautara to Gorkha or the central hills. The third, Architecture, is all the way to upper Dolpo. The last chapter, Conservation, cuts across Jumla to Rara Lake. As a teenager, the first I saw of Nepal’s hills was the east, so the book immediately had me. It also took me back to my own travels to Dolpo and Jumla, constantly revealing everything I had not noticed during my own travels, fetching me names of places, laying before me a new map of Nepal. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/natures-fragile-gift-to-nepal">Nature's fragile gift to Nepal,</a> Ajay Narsingh Rana In the first chapter, when Bell sets out, we come across his companion Rajendra, who becomes a conduit to exploring the complexity of Nepal, including the obsession with casteness. The travesty of small talk in Nepali conversations is never lost even as the author records intriguing ideas connected to indigenous knowledge, myth, folklore, rivers, history, anthropology, science, literature, and art. Aside from the walks, the book also takes heavily from research, evoking Shanker Lamichhane’s literature to Rosseau’s walks. The walks and the research proceeded ‘hand in hand’.&nbsp; “I’d do a bit of reading, then a walk or two, then a load more reading and writing, and so on,” Bell tells Nepali times. “There was a year between the first two walks and the last two, during which I spent a lot of time reading up and made an early draft of part 1.” Little incidents that occur along the way help build a narrative. In some instances, we experience harsh Nepal truths. Near Salpa, a boy beats a snake to death, saying “it bites”. There are conversations about death and hardships with people along the trail, spoken about as though they were the same thing as ‘someone making you wait till the morning’. It broaches on Nepali stoicism or maybe bravado. The narrative is replete not just with people's stories, but the stories they tell and those that have been passed down. The story of Miyapma launches one into a world of myth and fantasy. There are stories lost to us, like that of Tunilu who learned the trick of dying from a lizard.&nbsp; Then the stories of Nidhini the siren and the Banjhankri. The same stories get told in many communities across the world in different ways, converging stories that represent human nature. Humans create stories so life can make sense. The writing is fast paced because of its mostly journalistic style. The quotes bear the tone of individual speakers, something only good journalists can do. The narrative is frank and honest, alternating between serious scholarship and banter. The mood often slips from profound to jocular. For instance: ‘Nun khursani piro, khane manche hero’, नुन खुर्सानी पिरो, खाने मान्छे हिरो, rhymes a jhankri shaman in the fourth chapter. Some conversations randomly enter a space which has no connection with the main narrative and still entertain: Red mud, deusi-re Slippery path, deusi-re Falling all about, deusi-re We have come, deuri-re “The first job for a book like this is giving pleasure and entertainment. People should read it for fun,” Bell tells us. And he makes a serious read, a fun one with anecdotes, hand-drawn maps, photographs, a glossary of 30 words on landscape. At one point he mentions he forgot to carry a camera from his lodgings. The book is an<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/60-years-after-1954-devastating-flood-same-failings-of-government-today-post-quake,2433"> environmental history of Nepal</a>. It details the conquest of Prithvi Narayan Shah, explaining how it hinged on establishing an agriculture system that thrived on rice-plantation, which in turn allowed him to create a land-military system and introduce taxation. There are stories about Prithvi Narayan that get told with some discrepancy as they rove across the mountains, the destiny of all oral history. “I hope the book provides an accessible and attractive telling of some aspects of Nepali history for readers who might not know about all of these things, or who hadn’t thought about them in this way before,” Bell says. When in Dolpo, Bell also goes into the intricacies of its trans-Himalayan architecture. There are lengthy, art review-like sections on<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/sacred-survival"> thangkas</a>, where he delves into the history of the sacred style, its relation with the community the work takes inspiration from, and how the visualisation of it continues to impact the people.&nbsp; Art is often woven into religious myths, such as the saga of the heroic Milarepa, where we stumble upon philosophy: ‘This body, so hard to obtain and easily broken…’ Also a reminder that we are each a leader with our own set of disciples. Each of us, our own Milarepa. The fourth section is the strongest in rhetoric as it takes on <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/is-trophy-hunting-okay-to-earn-revenue-for-conservation,2591">Nepal’s conservation history</a>. And if you have read Tom’s first book, Kathmandu, you know to expect some sharp, forthright criticism of the system.The chapter points at the flawed conservation approach that has hurt indigenous science and peoples.&nbsp; While there is the seriousness of a heavy topic, the narrative also bears occasional eccentricities, such as: the old man in Jumla has dogs, cats, fleas, hens, rabbits, goats and bees. “I hope that the book has enough layers that different readers find different things in there that interest and entertain them,” Bell says. Me, I came away with history. Told. Forgotten. &nbsp; I came away with history. Told. Forgotten.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220171240_52e9bef3b714fbfdfac2dfe9adab3a2df897c0a03ff8c71d5a6829902e0ddada.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241220171240_52e9bef3b714fbfdfac2dfe9adab3a2df897c0a03ff8c71d5a6829902e0ddada" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Human nature book details"> </figure>  &nbsp;

Pratibha Tuladhar

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The nature of Nepal

The India Art Fair (IAF) advertises itself as ‘the biggest event in India’s cultural calendar … a leading platform’ for art collectors who can discover modern and contemporary art from South Asia.&nbsp; For this year’s ticketed event on 5-8 February in New Delhi, more than 133 exhibitors from 14 countries will be representing top artists from their networks. Danfe Arts, a touring art space from Kathmandu, will participate in the Galleries Section of IAF’s 17th edition featuring a booth with works by six Nepali artists.&nbsp; One of them is Sanjeep Maharjan, Assistant Professor for Sculpture at Kathmandu University, who will showcase his claywork as part of Danfe Arts’ entourage. In 2024, Maharjan curated a show for Danfe Arts at Takpa Gallery titled, ‘Unfolding the City’. The IAF prefers to showcase skilled artists who have honed their practice over many years. Much like various biennales and residencies that have been popping up increasingly in Asia, the Fair delves into sociopolitical issues of the region such as many comissioned works including <a href="https://indiaartfair.in/exhibitor/yogesh-barve-supported-by-art-charlie" target="_blank">Yogesh Barve</a>’s installation entitled ‘I am not your Dalit’ featured at the feastival last year.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260115110136_13f262546fca46c0fe4d76f758a694afe7c0c1cfee5bf74eb4f257f78734f8f2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260115110136_13f262546fca46c0fe4d76f758a694afe7c0c1cfee5bf74eb4f257f78734f8f2" data-rendition-name="original" width="989" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali artists at India Art Fair"> <figcaption>Anil Shahi's Hand of Hope, Oil on Canvas, 36 x 60 inches. Exhibiting work at IAF.</figcaption> </figure>  As the name implies, it is a grand bazaar where artists and their agents show up, to be seen — a powerful regional platform where creativity merges with commercial interests. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Artists have a reputation for being weak at business.&nbsp; And in Kathmandu, where the contemporary art scene has been steadily expanding since the early aughts, more and more creatives are seeking platforms like IAF and collaborators like Danfe Arts in order to boost their portfolios. A NEW COURSE In 2022, I was invited to participate in a formal group discussion by founder of and curator at Danfe Arts Shivangi Bansal who was preparing to chart a new course with her Danfe Journal. The journal included photos of artworks as well as writings about art and helped bridge the gap between art and the Nepali public’s understanding of associated processes. Contemporary art and literature is considered a niche activity. Proper marketing and outreach is required to make the product accessible to the average consumer. Besides, consistency can also be an issue. Too often, energetic graduates might register organisations and launch initiatives only to burn out within a year or so. Nepali society would benefit more from a sustained effort with a long-term vision rather than trendy initiatives that look bright and shiny. Danfe Arts discontinued the journal but continued to engage with Nepal’s art community, like facilitating a commission for Mini Tamang by the India Art Fair (IAF) in 2025, as part of IAF’s Young Collector’s Program. Tamang’s artwork, ‘Evocative Waves’, was installed at New Delhi’s Stir Art gallery last year. In 2024, Danfe Arts had organised a group exhibition called ‘A Lake That Once Was’ in New Delhi’s Bikaner House to coincide with the India Art Fair, which listed the exhibition as part of its parallel programs. This meant the Nepali artists received more visibility and value among IAF’s much larger audience.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026011804014_2a15d57a63c375503965a41396b22c006152368a018450d2617f4c8c076ccc74.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026011804014_2a15d57a63c375503965a41396b22c006152368a018450d2617f4c8c076ccc74" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="998" loading="lazy" alt="arts"> <figcaption>A Lake That Once Was, 2024 at Bikaner House, Delhi.</figcaption> </figure>  Since its inception, Danfe Arts has put out an eclectic mix of programs, demonstrating innovative thinking and effort. With its multi-platform approach, Danfe Arts has collaborated with restaurants like Mezze, putting up an exhibition in November 2025, ‘Bhoye - The Feast’. Danfe Arts is also cultivating relationships with specific artists based on synergies and sensibilities.&nbsp; The history of art practice in Nepal is long and illustrious, but due to political and geographical constraints, esteemed artists have been sheltered and confined within our national borders.&nbsp; By featuring these six artists for the 2026 edition of IAF, Danfe Arts is helping them make regional connections. And as our artists and gallerists show up on global platforms, they might in turn compel Nepalis to view more critically the value of art and how creative practices can contribute positively to society. As technology takes over and AI bots spam the Internet, the issue of originality might become tantamount to survival. We should take risks in our professional pursuits in order to design new communal models of exchange. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; India Art Fair New Delhi 5-8 February&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026011804014_f226a31af8a33f8da5e7359886289de3fd1b2db17697b96b909404e582d75124.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2026011804014_f226a31af8a33f8da5e7359886289de3fd1b2db17697b96b909404e582d75124" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="arts"> </figure>

Nepali artists at India Art Fair

The series <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/looking-good-by-doing-good">Nepal Made</a> profiles world-class Nepali products and the people behind them. Deepak Acharya was born and raised in Simara, before his uncle took him to Pokhara when he was only in sixth grade. After class, he helped sell jackets and outdoor gear at his uncle's Lakeside store. &nbsp; Twenty-two years later, &nbsp;Acharya is still selling jackets. Not international brands like he used to, but products of his own outdoor gear company, DOLPO.&nbsp; Acharya and his brother-in-law, Krishna Ammai, started making and selling jackets and gear for international companies out of Thamel. After losing his business partner in the 2015 earthquake, he was done selling imported items. He launched his own line of outerwear, named after Nepal’s rugged and remote district, known for its stunning arid landscape. The careful selection of the name DOLPO paid off. It took off, providing a high-quality, affordable Nepal-made alternative to foreign companies.&nbsp; “A lot of work went into choosing the name Dolpo,” says Acharya, who considered what came into people’s minds when they heard the name of a place with double-O sound. “I wanted a brand that local customers would instantly relate to toughness and mountains.” The elegant logo reflects this as well, made up of two overlapping rounded triangles denoting mountains with a third peak in the middle. Underneath is ‘DOLPO’ in upper case sans serif.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260116120148_968d9354094049265372d851d0e44e16ae4fc86b5631481e365e6e977f13d37d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260116120148_968d9354094049265372d851d0e44e16ae4fc86b5631481e365e6e977f13d37d" data-rendition-name="original" width="854" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Dolpo NT"> <figcaption>Photo: DOLPO</figcaption> </figure>  RIGHT QUALITY, RIGHT PRICE “Our philosophy is Right quality, Right price,” says co-founder Deepak Acharya, adding with a smile that the pricing strategy of a particular competitor has made business easy: “The employees at North Face may sell North Face, but they wear Dolpo.” The rebranding was so successful that Acharya regrets not launching it sooner. The reason for the success is that the outdoor gear market in Nepal has taken off with more and more domestic tourists trekking in the high mountains to share their adventures on social media.&nbsp; Nepalis seem to be consciously choosing sustainable, Nepal made products of international quality. Acharya says: “Of course, there will always be a demographic that only wears North Face, or Sonam. But we have the right design, right price philosophy.”&nbsp; DOLPO uses fabric and material mainly from Japan, and adheres to strict quality control. The reversible down jackets, windcheaters, shorts, fleece-lined pants, trekking trousers, backpacks, and polo shirts can be bought through its website, or two exclusive flagship stores in Sorakhutte and Thamel Chok. “After the rebrand, we slowly made a digital platform, marketed online, and worked with a delivery company to get items directly to buyers,” says Acharya. “We have no brokers or middlemen to keep prices low for the consumer.” DOLPO is a family business with Acharya’s mother and sister also involved, and nephew Nishant Ammai driving digital sales. Acharya points out that there is a lot of business opportunity in Nepal, as there are too many low-quality products being sold at too high a price. &nbsp;“The market is begging for an auto-correction,” he says. For Nepal’s pessimistic youth who are fleeing the country, Acharya urges patience: “The younger generation wants shortcuts. The mindset is to set up a venture and in three years they will be set for life. But this is not how success works.” “Choose a field, put in ten years of effort, really learn about it, and then you will see the vast possibility present in Nepal,” he continues.&nbsp; Last month, the DOLPO logo was seen on the jerseys of the Biratnagar Kings in NPL 2. The company made hats, jackets, and jerseys for star-studded cricket players including Lokesh Bam, Sandeep Lamichhane, Faf Du Plessis, and Martin Guptill. The Kings finished second in the group, and although Acharya is a football fan, he is happy to contribute to the rise of cricket in Nepal. &nbsp;&nbsp;

Proud to wear DOLPO

The wide <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-river-of-life">Karnali River</a> looks like the sea here in the Tarai, and thick fog makes it impossible to see the other shore. Farmers melt into the mist as they head off to their farms. A weak sun filters through by mid-morning. Pigs nap in their pens, goats are dressed in cardigans fashioned out of jute sacks for warmth, hens peck listlessly at the mud courtyards. Ducks waddle across the country roads, and cars swerve to avoid them. The indigenous Tharu and Sonaha communities here have deeply-rooted socio-cultural ties to the river. They have fished in it for generations, and fish is associated with births, deaths, and weddings. As their name suggests, the Sonaha have also traditionally panned for gold in the sand along the banks. But in recent decades, over-fishing, pollution and infrastructure have led to a decline in the Karnali’s fish population. Last week, near the Satti bridge connecting Sudurpaschim and Lumbini Provinces, the fog lifted to reveal the blue-green Karnali glimmering in the sun. Hundreds of people from Kailali’s Tikapur and Bardia’s Rajapur gathered for the inauguration of the Sakhi Fish Sanctuary — the first conservation effort of its kind in Nepal.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260116130120_ef2493a1124a33e90ca39f3a0b861ffef4a8bde6b5d3839f96e2fe7f583d0de8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260116130120_ef2493a1124a33e90ca39f3a0b861ffef4a8bde6b5d3839f96e2fe7f583d0de8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali aquatic reserve"> <figcaption>The Sonaha community have traditionally panned for gold in the sand along the banks of the Karnali River. Photos: GAYATRI PRADHAN / WWF NEPAL</figcaption> </figure>  The sanctuary covers nearly 4 sq km of the Lower Karnali that falls within the two municipalities, and is ecologically significant since it serves as critical breeding, spawning, and nursery habitats for endangered fish, reptiles and mammals.&nbsp; Here are found the rare Gangetic River Dolphin (Platanista gangetica), the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/crocodile-chronicle">Gharial</a> (Gavialis gangeticus) &nbsp;fish-eating crocodile, and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-the-karnali-otters">Smooth-coated Otter</a> (Lutrogale perspicillata). In addition, there are 197 species of fish in the Karnali, of which 136 are found here in the Tarai section of the river. The pebbled riverbed is a breeding ground for fish when the river is low, while the oxbow lakes and loops created by the nearby Satti bridge are nursing grounds for fish. This is what makes this section of the Karnali ideal to be declared a sanctuary. But what makes the conservation effort really unique is that it is an initiative of the two local municipalities, the local Tharu, Sonaha and other indigenous communities. The sanctuary will support the river’s aquatic biodiversity, and is supported by the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), the Dolphin Conservation Centre, Freed Kamaiya Women Development Forum, Small Mammals Conservation and Research Foundation, and the Sonaha Bikas Samaj.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260115110116_f844434e0191df09ad6d6d7887a69491eaf15f0ff1b093c7866ab22cfb0c6c95.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260115110116_f844434e0191df09ad6d6d7887a69491eaf15f0ff1b093c7866ab22cfb0c6c95" data-rendition-name="original" width="1358" height="1312" loading="lazy" alt="6-7 map"> </figure>  MEKONG LESSONS The mayors of Tikapur and Rajapur visited fish conservation zones in Laos along the Mekong River to learn about their conservation practices. &nbsp; “We have indiscriminately killed the fish in the Karnali during the breeding and nursing season,” said Rajapur Mayor Dipesh Tharu at the inauguration. “We felt that if this continued there would be no fish left.” Tharu is aware that some locals are wary of conservation initiatives, fearing that it will ban fishing altogether. The sanctuary will allow sustainable fishing but ban the use of dynamite and poison to kill fish.&nbsp; “The sanctuary will contribute to the conservation of not just fish species, but also the mammals and reptiles that live here,” explained ichthyologist Suresh Wagle. “It will protect the spawning and nursing grounds, restore the natural habitat of fish and ensure their genetic continuation.” Tikapur’s mayor Ram Lal Dangaura Tharu recalled his own childhood spent fishing in the Karnali: “Even two decades ago there used to be plenty of fish here, we used to bring baskets full of them home. Now, it is looking like there will be no fish left. This is why the sanctuary is important.” Local governments taking the lead in conservation allows them to have ownership, and help citizens understand the importance of protecting the riverine ecosystem better.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260116130120_fddc696800b9b38d02736195af2b3535667cde365d56151ccf85eb0756f1ad8f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260116130120_fddc696800b9b38d02736195af2b3535667cde365d56151ccf85eb0756f1ad8f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali aquatic reserve"> </figure>  “The commitment of the local government towards resource conservation, management and sustainable development is what makes this sanctuary so unique,” says Ghana Gurung of WWF Nepal. “In Nepal and across the world, we are seeing indigenous culture and traditions disappear with the biodiversity. This initiative will not just protect freshwater aquatic species but also the culture and heritage of indigenous groups linked to the river.” Komal Sonaha grew up fishing and panning for gold along the banks of the Karnali. The fish provided food, and the gold brought additional income. Sonaha also remembers Karnali brimming with fish when she was young. “But now, there are hardly any left,” she said. &nbsp; Sonaha is also a WWF Otter Champion, and part of the community-run river conservation groups that mobilise local communities for awareness. “Initially there was anger and suspicion among local communities, but now, there is a realisation that the sanctuary is the best thing that could have happened here,” Sonaha added.&nbsp; Sonaha and her family still pan for gold, but with the fish scarce, their primary means of livelihood has shifted to livestock like many other families in Tikapur and Rajapur, supported by national and local institutions.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260116130120_23d679da5c49f22342b4fd80f0d0ec5a1fb4c38fb4ac379d276a959f435b4f68.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20260116130120_23d679da5c49f22342b4fd80f0d0ec5a1fb4c38fb4ac379d276a959f435b4f68" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali aquatic reserve"> <figcaption>Local communities whose livelihoods are linked with the Karnali river have been supported by organisations like WWF Nepal and other national and local organisations to set up alternative means of income generation.</figcaption> </figure>  Ashmita Tharu and Pratima Tharu also used to depend on fish, but now have shifted to vegetable farming in Rajapur. This time of year, there is spinach, cucumber, and cauliflower ready to be sold to nearby markets. The women are now financially independent and actively contribute to their household expenses and their children’s education. Said Pratima: “We used to fish in this river without thinking about the consequences. We had no idea how important conservation was.”&nbsp; Ashmita nods in agreement. “Now, we are self-employed and so busy with our vegtables that we do not even have time to fish anymore,” she said. With Tikapur and Rajapur municipalities leading the charge, conservationists hope that other local governments and communities along other rivers in Nepal will follow suit to preserve aquatic biodiversity.&nbsp; “This initiative from the two municipalities is a milestone in conservation,” said Bijay Shrestha of the Dolphin Conservation Centre. “This will serve as a model and can be replicated across the country to conserve our freshwater habitat and the people who rely on them.” Local officials also hope that the sanctuary will provide an opportunity to explore options like fishing tourism. &nbsp; Said Tikapur Mayor Ram Lal Dangaura Tharu: “The Karnali, with its biodiversity, is a river of opportunity and possibility, we are determined to protect it, and make what this river has to offer known to Nepal and the world.” &nbsp; This article is brought to you by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/" target="_blank">Nepali Times</a>, in collaboration with <a href="https://inpsjapan.com/en/" target="_blank">INPS Japan</a> and <a href="https://sgi-peace.org/" target="_blank">Soka Gakkai International</a>, in consultative status with UN ECOSOC.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224141220_30c3782f9c09219bf1c249b51483a3cfb7a53a06d117d2aebd23ca7080d12758.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20251224141220_30c3782f9c09219bf1c249b51483a3cfb7a53a06d117d2aebd23ca7080d12758" data-rendition-name="original" width="680" height="103" loading="lazy" alt="SDG"> </figure>

Karnali Aquatic Reserve

This is the 80th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad.
I worked in Kuwait for 11 years before deciding to call it quits. I had not visited Nepal in nine years. A broker from eastern Nepal had arranged the migration of 15 of us, and I was the only one from Jajarkot. 
Since the government did not allow domestic workers to migrate, we went through India. We were afraid he might sell us off in India. I had never left my village. As a precaution, we made the female broker accompany us to India till we flew out to Kuwait.
At the airport in Kuwait, no one came to pick us up and we waited there for two days. We did not have any money so we had to beg for food and water. Some gave us noodles, biscuits and water. Others ignored us. 
We even drank water from used bottles from the trash. The Indian agent finally came to pick us up but we were too scared to confront him.
The first house I was placed in was not good. I did not speak Arabic and I did not know how to use the iron or washing machine. A Filipino worker helped me, but madam kept following me around and making me do everything twice. It was not easy at all.
Not able to understand the language I was like someone dumb and deaf. Hand gestures were not sufficient. I don’t know how I passed those two years before returning to Nepal. But there were no jobs, no money. So I decided to migrate again to Kuwait because it felt familiar, and by this time I spoke Arabic. 
This time, I stayed with the same family for nine years. All four children in the house were born when I was there, so they are very attached to me. Madam was all right although she made me work a lot and micromanaged me. Every family member in Kuwait had their car and driver. Back home we don’t even own personal bicycles.
Taking care of children meant that I could go wherever they went so I got to travel and eat pizzas and burgers. They paid me on time, and I sent money home to take care of my sister, a cancer survivor.
With my savings I also bought land and built a small house in Surkhet. I have no educational background or work experience, so this was a big deal.
For nine years, I did not see a reason to return because of my obligations to my sister and her son. In Kuwait, I met with colleagues from different countries like the Philippines, Sri Lanka, Indonesia and India but we communicated in Arabic. We worked for different families but got to meet every Thursday when madams used to go to her mother’s house. 
We got along and fought like sisters, but most of our time went running after the children. There was no time for anything else. Madam’s house where I spent nine years was good, but it is actually how well the employers treat us that is important.
I watched Tiktok videos during my free time. Mostly deuda songs. During the GenZ movement, I was glued to social media. I supported it, but wished they had not burnt down government offices. I was not allowed to post on social media. 
By the time I left, I was making around 180 Kuwait dinar a month ($580). I have heard horror stories from Nepali sisters about their employers, but mine paid me well and on time. She could have been better by allowing me to rest more, to use the phone more freely. 
Between preparing children for school, ironing, washing, cleaning the house, cooking, taking care of the children, I had no time for anything. Not even to sleep properly. What can we do?
Back in Nepal I often wonder how the children are doing. If they are eating well. You get attached to them, but as they grow older, they also complain about us. I used to sing and dance with the kids. They depended on me for everything and I had watched them right from the time they were born. 
Sometimes, they used to refer to me as their mother which my madam did not like. I don’t have my own kids. That is why when I made up my mind to leave, I felt bad leaving them behind, especially the youngest one who relied on me for everything. 
Even now, when I think about it, my eyes tear up. Madam asked me to take a long vacation and return to Kuwait, but I had made up my mind to go back to Nepal. A Sri Lankan woman replaced me, and we overlapped for a month as I trained her and the children got used to her. 
On my last day, Madam and I decided that I should sneak out without telling the children because they would not be able to handle it. I asked the Sri Lankan woman how the children are holding up, and she said the youngest one still cries asking about me. Madam was also emotional about me leaving, she gave me olive oil, clothes and sweets but no money. I cannot describe how happy I was to get on the plane to return home, my heart was full of excitement.
Since I came back, it has been a very different experience. After nine years of living in someone else’s house where my every move was monitored, I feel so free. I can use the phone as I please. I can sleep as I please. I need to catch up on my sleep. There is so much freedom. 
Because of the children, I had developed a taste for pizzas and burgers but they are not as tasty in Nepal, I don’t know why. But the meal I was craving for when I came home was freshly made rice, lentils and mustard greens. I went to the hospital here, and I saw nurses in uniform and it reminded me of the domestic workermaid’s clothes I wore in Kuwait. 
I am worried about money running out, even though it has only been a few weeks. Expenses are high in Nepal. The monthly income has stopped. When I went a decade ago, I relied on others financially. Now, there are others who depend on me.
Author wants to remain anonymous.

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Homecoming after nine years