This is the 47th instalment of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries">Diaspora Diaries</a>, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. When I first went overseas in 2005 as a kitchen help to Bahrain, I had just one goal: to save Rs200,000 so I could return to Nepal and start a small business like a cold store. &nbsp; Nearly 20 years later, I am still overseas. The years have just flown by.&nbsp; When I had first started applying to migrate for work, I got rejected in many interviews because of my poor English. I was close to giving up, but instead enrolled myself for language training.&nbsp; And it paid off. I was the last interviewee in a recruitment drive for a Bahrain-based job, but got selected. When I first saw the vacancy in the newspaper, I did not know where Bahrain was. I had heard of Dubai, Saudi Arabia and Qatar, but not Bahrain.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123101124_37b1ba3da8af8f5e5448d049083827b68366859b0d8165ccfb8e02da4e8d6efd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20231123101124_37b1ba3da8af8f5e5448d049083827b68366859b0d8165ccfb8e02da4e8d6efd" data-rendition-name="original" width="525" height="700" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 47"> </figure>  After a few years there, I did manage to save my first two lakhs, but then I wanted the next two. And so it went on. As we work and earn, our dreams grow. And there are no limits to our dreams. You buy land back in Nepal, and after some time overseas, manage to build a one-storied house. You build the first storey, and then think why not add another floor. Once the house is done, it’s time to start thinking about the children’s future. There is no end, really. Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/finding-a-niche-in-nepal">Finding a niche in Nepal</a>, Babare Bahadur Bomjan My starting salary in Bahrain was Rs12,000. Now I am a chef earning over 33 times the amount. My specialisation is in French and Italian cuisine at a high end restaurant but with an Arabic twist for the palate of our customers. I manage over 35 kitchen staff from Asia and Africa.&nbsp; At peak hours, the kitchen can get quite chaotic and loud, but I am also at my best under pressure and try to create a fun environment for my team. My base is in Bahrain, but I am currently in Saudi Arabia temporarily setting up a new outlet for the same employer. One of the reasons for my involvement in the Saudi outlet is that many of the new staff are from Nepal so my employer figured it would be easier for me to train and motivate them.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/adventures-of-a-nepali-coffee-aficionado">Adventures of a Nepali coffee aficionado</a>, Laxmi Prasad Timilsina Before leaving Nepal, I dreamed of joining the army but it got complicated when I used to get questioned in my village, including from my friends who had joined the Maoists. They gave me a hard time.&nbsp; I lied at a canteen that I had prior experience working in restaurants. I kept making mistakes and did not even know how to cut vegetables the right way. I used to say “this is how we used to do it at my old restaurant” and cut carrots without peeling them or putting random spices in noodles. I got away with it. My first mentor in one of the restaurants was a Dubai returnee who trained me. &nbsp; In my years away, I have come home twice intending to stay. My sacrifices and effort working night and day has earned me the trust of my employers so I could tell them that I will go home, try out something and if it does not work out, I will return. And I did return, and they welcomed me back. When you prove yourself at work and build good relationships, doors remain open.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123101140_ff3a1b3424a4ea61fa941f967ed4b30bca5af18ced066e319252ec62098be33d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20231123101140_ff3a1b3424a4ea61fa941f967ed4b30bca5af18ced066e319252ec62098be33d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="diaspora diaries 47"> </figure>  Switching jobs also improves your bargaining power and employment benefits, either by your original employer who will match the new offer or the new employer who will try to attract you with better benefits. I have jumped from Bahrain to Qatar and back to Bahrain over the years, and these added to the benefits. Despite what I have achieved, I know that I have missed out a lot in life by being away. True happiness is at home, where my family is. That will never change, no matter how much time I spend away.&nbsp; I first left Nepal when my wife was pregnant with my eldest daughter. It was a time when photos were exchanged over letters and phone calls were expensive and difficult to arrange. I wasn’t there to hold my wife’s hand during those months. Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/the-return-of-a-master-baker">The return of a master baker</a>, Raju Pakhrin I made up for it partially when my son was born eight years later. I could at least go home for the delivery. My daughter will go abroad for her education when she finishes high school next year. By the time I return to Nepal, she will have left to pursue her own dreams. Once she is abroad, I will pass on the baton to her and she will help bring her younger brother to wherever she is. That a family like mine can dream of sending children for overseas education is a testament of our sacrifices. But then you miss all important milestones in life. I could have brought my family to Bahrain but my work schedule is so busy that I would not be able to give them enough time. I have come a long way since my days as a kitchen help. But if someone were to make a movie of my life, it wouldn’t be of my professional journey but rather a story about separation and sacrifices. About not being able to give my family the quality time they deserved.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123101124_e67381d1bdc348ac5d675eb569b2c802ac9abb0042eb4c8491cb38e7112594bf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20231123101124_e67381d1bdc348ac5d675eb569b2c802ac9abb0042eb4c8491cb38e7112594bf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 47"> </figure>  Ours is a generation of sacrifices. And we were born at a time and in a country where it feels impossible to balance time with family with earning money. There are festivals that you miss because you are away from home. But there are also times when work keeps you so busy that you even forget that it is Dasain back home. &nbsp; Many Nepalis have done well across the Gulf including in the hospitality sector by proving themselves with their hard work and loyalty despite not having formal education or language skills. &nbsp; Youth these days have it a lot easier, young Nepalis are better educated and have English. But it is your skills, work experience and performance at work that matters most. As an interviewer who is involved in recruitment drives now, I have learnt to look beyond English skills or CVs to identify genuinely hard-working people eager to learn and grow.&nbsp; Many newcomers these days are in a rush for overnight success and promotions and get easily disheartened, but it is a process, a journey. With luck, hard work, and patience success will come.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-on-my-mind">Nepal on my mind</a>, Ishwar Chaulagain I do not think my story is that remarkable. I am a simple Nepali who worked hard and made personal sacrifices, and things fell into place. I was good at grabbing opportunities that came my way. I think that most people who stick to their craft continuously for years will eventually get good at it.&nbsp; Everything might not work out as we plan or hope, but something or other inevitably will. That is my mantra, to give it my all without worrying too much about results. In fact, I try not to worry about anything at all. &nbsp;&nbsp; Translated from a conversation with the author. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to editors@nepalitimes.com with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

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Sky is the limit for Nepali chef in Bahrain

This is the 31st instalment of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries">Diaspora Diaries</a>, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. It had been nine years and one month since I had been working in Malaysia. I was planning to return home for good after reaching the 10-year mark. But I met with a life-threatening accident at the steel plant where I worked. It was dangerous work, and the explosion reminded me in the cruelest way just how dangerous it was. I was unconscious for five days in hospital. When I came to, I realised I had lost my left hand. I wept. As a worker who has only done physical labour all my life, what was I worth without my hand? The idea of returning home made me uncomfortable. I felt like it would be better if I just died there in Malaysia, disappeared without trace. Losing my hand, I had also lost my sense of dignity, confidence. The desire to isolate myself just grew stronger. But as time passed, I started coming to terms with reality. Malaysia was a second home to me. Of my nine siblings, seven have previously worked there. I had family and friends there who reached out to me, took care of me, fundraised for me and showered me with love. It was evident that I had earned the goodwill of people who stood by me at the lowest point in my life. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/i-went-to-earn-and-learn">“I went to earn and learn”</a>, Nawaraj Shrestha  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023050111054_29ca47bc62f769118e2a3412dc24ddbd0c06cb80c828968f3914c357f3128c86.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2023050111054_29ca47bc62f769118e2a3412dc24ddbd0c06cb80c828968f3914c357f3128c86" data-rendition-name="original" width="1536" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="DD 31"></figure>  Life in my village in Ramechhap was difficult growing up given our economic background. I had no education or skills. To get a job that paid liveable wages overseas felt like the only option. After nearly a decade in Malaysia, I was well liked by my supervisors. I had good duty hours. My struggle in Malaysia allowed me to provide well for my family. In those nine years, I came home thrice on vacation. I had gone there with dreams and ambitions, but I was on my final flight home, maimed and dispirited. I had narrowly escaped death, but dreaded homecoming. I only told my family back home about my situation 15 days after regaining consciousness at the hospital. They were shocked and heartbroken, and insisted I come home immediately. I hung around in Malaysia with a missing limb. I refused to return home without compensation for my workplace accident. I wanted to benefit from their social security scheme and although I heard there were provisions for such support, being able to access it entailed paperwork and constant follow up. In particular, it also required the employer’s proactive support and follow up as they are more aware of the SOCSO program and how to access it than workers like us are. I also relied on informal support of friends and family until I got this sorted out. I may have lost my limb but my responsibility as a father continued so I decided to persist. I had nothing to lose after what had happened. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/migrant-worker-returns-to-create-work-at-home">Migrant worker returns to create work at home</a>, Sunil Bhujel  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023050111054_aeeb65b811ec159bf56745d013ba7c4dc2cf99e023a6d919ff6e7d1d707bc44a.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2023050111054_aeeb65b811ec159bf56745d013ba7c4dc2cf99e023a6d919ff6e7d1d707bc44a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1536" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="DD 31"></figure>  I used to be offered food and basic items for free from shops frequented by Nepalis, Bangladeshis and Vietnamese. They gave it out of love, but I used to feel bad as I felt these were handouts out of pity and it was discomforting and perhaps hurt my pride. I would feel bad about having these ungrateful thoughts, and for the reluctance to appreciate their generosity and kindness. These were complex emotions to deal with. My persistence finally paid off. I now get a monthly disability benefit of 824 Ringgit ($185) via bank transfers from SOCSO every three months. If I face any problem, the foreign employment board in Kathmandu supports me. I will benefit from this throughout my life which is a relief. It has helped me with some of my household expenses, and has ensured my children’s education. The Governments of Nepal and Malaysia have signed a social security agreement that makes it easier for people to benefit from the scheme in case of accident or death. The agreement provided me with strong support to claim my dues. I am hopeful that the Nepal government can facilitate such support by following up with the employer or the Malaysian government because workers like me do not necessarily know how to work the system there. For workers who face mishaps like I did or families of the deceased, I hope I can serve as an example or source of information about what is possible during these trying times. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/for-better-or-verse-in-the-gulf">For better or verse in the Gulf</a>, Dalbir Singh Baraili  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023050111054_5a4d60cd9210c982486dbbff20870391d8c260c4d14b6388dc15deb4e7b3bed7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2023050111054_5a4d60cd9210c982486dbbff20870391d8c260c4d14b6388dc15deb4e7b3bed7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1536" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="DD 31"></figure>  I get Rs2,100 as a disability benefit from the Nepal government as I am categorised under the ख category of disability and not क. But without my limb, I cannot work at all. What can I do with a meager Rs2,100? Which is why the lifelong Malaysian SOCSO benefit is important for me. Through the contributory Foreign Employment Welfare Fund and mandatory insurance under Nepal’s labour approval process, I also received a one time support of around Rs800,000 which provided some financial relief. Thankfully my labour permit was valid, if not, I would not have been eligible. I worry about those in my situation deprived of benefits because they do not have a valid labour permit or are unaware of social security benefits like the SOCSO scheme. Even after years, I can feel the weight of my missing limb. My phantom fingers feel like they are tightly clutched together and causes pain and discomfort throughout my waking hours. I use prosthetics but it is heavy and unnatural. I still break down when I watch shows like Indreni that cover similar stories. The memories do not go away, and the tears do not stop. When the odds are heavily stacked against you and you are left with lasting scars, lifetime social security support can at least provide something reliable to fall back on. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/adventures-of-a-nepali-coffee-aficionado">Adventures of a Nepali coffee aficionado</a>, Laxmi Prasad Timilsina Translated from an interview with the author. 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">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with 'Diaspora Diaries' in the subject line.

Wounded in the line of duty

This is the 30th instalment of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad.&nbsp; For a young man like me during the Maoist era, it seemed like those of us who were staying behind in rural Nepal only had two choices: join the Armed Police Force (APF) or the Maoist militia.&nbsp; I used to be a social worker in Tanahu, collecting data on visually impaired locals and connecting them to health camps. The job was neither easy nor financially rewarding. But it was meaningful. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/migrant-worker-returns-to-create-work-at-home">Migrant worker returns to create work at home</a>, Sunil Bhujel However, travelling became too risky because of the conflict, and I had to stop the work. I chose to join the APF because my brother was in it. I remember feeling out of place at the barrack. I had grown up reading and writing literature, but suddenly it was not words but bullets that I learned to use. My true passion lay in pens, not pistols. Death felt even closer when 82 APF personnel were killed in Shamsherganj in Banke, the same place where my elder brother was stationed. This terrified my mother who would tearfully insist that we quit the police. I had just completed my training and was not enjoying this new stint. My brother, however, was too attached to the job and could not quit despite the danger. He did advise me to resign so our mother would not worry. I joined an undergraduate course, but as family responsibilities took over I decided to travel to the UAE for work as a security guard. It would be my home for the next 12 years. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/the-return-of-a-master-baker">The return of a master baker</a>, Raju Pakhrin  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023043011040_1f6abac0cf5ecca7a3746895ed03f7ee736a3baa1904218d74ba6164a32b60c1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2023043011040_1f6abac0cf5ecca7a3746895ed03f7ee736a3baa1904218d74ba6164a32b60c1" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1688" loading="lazy" alt="DD 30"> </figure>  It was a higher salary that brought me to the UAE. But soon enough, I realised it offered a lot more than just economic stability. As I often tell my friends, if you have gone to the UAE, you have travelled the world because you meet people there from all over. I remember exchanging a few words with a New Zealander who had paid AED21,000 ($520) for a ticket at a VIP booth at a Formula 1 race where I was stationed as a guard. I was shocked at the ticket rate, but was pleased with myself that I was getting paid to watch the same race while at work.&nbsp; I have been stationed at other high-profile places: guarding Burj Khalifa, the world's tallest building, which I had previously only read about. During New Year, I got to see great extravaganzas while on guard duty. I was focused on crowd management and ensuring people were safe, of course, but I also got to witness many historic events. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/for-better-or-verse-in-the-gulf">For better or verse in the Gulf</a>, Dalbir Singh Baraili These are neither desires nor expectations that people from simple backgrounds like me have. I was there just to earn, but I also got to learn. I gained exposure to what the world has to offer, even though I was just a poor guy in a guard uniform. I now know that no matter what corner of the world you throw me in, I will adjust and make a decent life for myself. But I also know not everyone is as lucky in the Gulf. I landed a good employer and made up to $900 every month as my security company got contracts with the best employers. But others in my position have it much more difficult. My biggest fear was losing the job that I had, and this kept me on my toes at all times. Neither my family nor I could afford to lose the job and salary, and at my company, even a small mistake could be costly. I had bought shares in a transportation company back in Nepal. My research showed that it was a promising firm that was going to break the syndicate in the country. After leaving the UAE, I joined the company as an operations manager but soon realised the job was not for me. I was used to order, rules and working within a system, but in Kathmandu, I found it difficult to adjust to the chaos. So I quit and sold my shares for a loss from my hard earned savings. It was literally down to my पसिनाको पैसा (savings from my sweat). Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/adventures-of-a-nepali-coffee-aficionado">Adventures of a Nepali coffee aficionado</a>, Laxmi Prasad Timilsina  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023043011040_98e807ba422eae80da53a7580dec869ddf1861913175c79cab3572d6ff516ade.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2023043011040_98e807ba422eae80da53a7580dec869ddf1861913175c79cab3572d6ff516ade" data-rendition-name="original" width="2126" height="1522" loading="lazy" alt="DD 30"> </figure>  Back home in Chitwan, I could not stay idle for long, and I could not bear the thought of going overseas for work again either. After 12 years away, I treasured the time with my family. A little bit of research taught me that there is potential in cleaning products so I took two short-term training sessions on how to make them.&nbsp; I started a small production and supply outfit in Chitwan. YouTube is also a good place to learn for someone like me without a good background in business. For a new company that started after Covid-19, we are doing pretty well financially, selling cleaning products for toilets, marble and glass, as well as hand liquid soap. We have 21 clients including hostels, hotels and resorts and often struggle to keep up with the rising demand. &nbsp;&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/adventures-of-a-nepali-coffee-aficionado">Adventures of a Nepali coffee aficionado</a>, Laxmi Prasad Timilsina I have plans to expand my company. It would be good if the government provided some support to us returnees, especially business grants or soft loans, keen on doing something in Nepal itself.&nbsp; We contributed so much to our economy during our years abroad, working silently in the desert heat, away from family and sending home money every month for over a decade. But we arrive here, and even though it is home, spend years struggling to find a footing in an environment that feels entirely new after many years away. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/baking-as-a-metaphor-for-life/">Baking as a metaphor for life</a>, Aliza Basnet Translated from an interview with the author. 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.

“I went to earn and learn”

This is the 29th instalment of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries">Diaspora Diaries</a>, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. The last time I counted, I had done 23 odd jobs by the time I was 22. From teaching computer classes to running a digital photo studio, to even performing in a dance bar, I had done it all. But nothing stuck. I discontinued my undergraduate in humanities because I did not find it practically useful. On the advice of the principal of the school I was teaching in, I applied for a job in Afghanistan via an individual broker who had also sent his son there. After the series of failures I had faced in Nepal, going overseas felt like the only remaining option. After paying 3.5 lakhs for a visit visa, I was en route to Afghanistan in 2010 via UAE. Or so I thought. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/the-return-of-a-master-baker">The return of a master baker</a>, Raju Pakhrin I was instead transported to an abandoned house in Ras Al-Khaimah. There were about 60 people like me crammed in that windowless house who were sold the Afghan dream. A few had failed in previous attempts to travel to Afghanistan but were determined because the agent was good at exploiting their desperation. There were no pillows or blankets in the rooms, just thin mattresses. From day 1, I knew I was in trouble. A sinking feeling of hopelessness tugged at my heart. We tried at least to make our situation bearable, and some of us used whatever money we had to cook our own food. It helped us to kill time. On the 20th day, a foreigner finally came to interview us. I was selected but instead of Afghanistan, he wanted to send me to Iraq. I declined. I complained loudly to my agent, and he reluctantly allowed me to leave the house. I used that opportunity to go to an internet café to print resumes which I passed on to Nepalis that I met along the way. I helped my friends do the same. A Nepali security guard came through and 14 of us were invited for interviews at a hotel opening. On the 26th day in the UAE at the interview venue, we finally got to eat good food for the first time. Seven of us passed the interview. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/adventures-of-a-nepali-coffee-aficionado">Adventures of a Nepali coffee aficionado</a>, Laxmi Prasad Timilsina The agent tried to prevent us from taking the job by holding onto our passports and, later, from repaying our recruitment fees, claiming credit for our job placement. I was not having any of that, so I returned to Nepal and took back every paisa I had paid the agent. After two months, our new employer sent us our work visas and we went to the UAE again to work as a housekeeper in a hotel. I did not understand the concept of dignity of work, and hid from my family how I was making beds in a hotel for a living. As a former teacher, I did not want them to see me as a failure and pressure me to return home. The hotel allowed us to cross train, and I tried out the engineering department where the Sri Lankan supervisor was impressed with how I answered his technical questions and completed his construction related tasks. As a grandson of a carpenter and mason, I grew up with construction tools and had picked up skills. Every day, I would do housekeeping for 9 hours, and spend another 5 to 6 hours in the engineering department. My passion for what I was doing fuelled me despite the long hours. That sense of belonging had been missing when I was a teacher, a housekeeper, a pastry maker and even a dancer. I started applying for jobs at other hotels and got a call from the Marriott in Qatar and got a job in the MRT (Make Ready Team), a standby for all types of maintenance work. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-mothers-sons">A mother's sons</a>, Bishnumaya Bhusal  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230428200412_c5e817f43c9230433de917afbb19cf907e50c956f565562fc10a7b6a3f0b3ed3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20230428200412_c5e817f43c9230433de917afbb19cf907e50c956f565562fc10a7b6a3f0b3ed3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1750" height="2333" loading="lazy" alt="DD 29"> </figure>  I worked extremely hard at various Marriott locations and received Best Employee of the Month awards regularly. I even got a Spirit to Serve award signed by Bill Marriott himself. Later I would find out that a German long-stay guest in one of the Marriott apartments had sent a glowing reference about me to headquarters as I helped with maintenance work in the couples’ apartment. She was short-tempered with a record of formally complaining about other Marriott staff including the GM himself, so it was quite flattering that the couple was impressed with me. After spending four years in Qatar, I again transferred back to the UAE where I worked as a senior technician at a Marriott there. When Covid-19 hit, my life priorities changed. The virus demonstrated the fragility of our lives, and I just wanted to be with my wife and daughter. My managers did their best to keep me back, even offering to let me take a six-month leave. But I just wanted to come home, as being away for 11 years was too long. With travel restrictions, coming home was not as easy, and it was a while before my name was finally in the Nepal Embassy’s list of people eligible to travel. My insistence to return home could also have been driven by my confidence about job prospects, especially in maintenance and repairs in new hotels. I had a niche to fill.&nbsp; Today, my company in Kathmandu Complete House Repair and Maintenance Solutions provides a one-stop service for all kinds of maintenance and repair services including plumbing, painting and electricians. Clients do not have to rely on different individuals or companies for different construction services or to manage schedules. Word of mouth has worked well for me, and my customers include Marriott, Hotel Dragon and Palisade. Good work can take you far as we can rely on happy clients to bring us more business. This is an important lesson I learnt from the Marriott culture that is serving me well now. I also took a Building Electrician test (Level 2) and taught a practical electrical course at Bageshwori College. Frustrated with how youth are underrepresented in politics, I am also now an elected member of the Suryabinayak Municipality. My business is going well, but it is difficult to build a professional team in Nepal that cares about the basics, like punctuality, dedication, safety wear, and feels a sense of responsibility about finishing work in a timely manner as we commit to our clients. I find it especially surprising because the same Nepalis in Qatar or UAE that I worked with are recognised and valued for our work ethics. The wage difference, I am sure, is a factor to drive motivation, but so is the overall work culture in shaping work ethics. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/baking-as-a-metaphor-for-life/">Baking as a metaphor for life</a>, Aliza Basnet  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230430130448_2cbe2e73d61dbb95e731ab6dc2d6e0c4cb94b8c14fb8685d0ffcf189fb74c067.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20230430130448_2cbe2e73d61dbb95e731ab6dc2d6e0c4cb94b8c14fb8685d0ffcf189fb74c067" data-rendition-name="original" width="1750" height="1309" loading="lazy" alt="DD 29"> </figure>  I have come a long way from the first time I entered the UAE in 2010 as a victim of fraud. Today, I am in a much better position, with knowledge and finances that are serving me well in Nepal. Reflecting on my journey makes me emotional. The friends that I am in touch with from the crammed building in the UAE are also doing well for themselves. One is in the UAE working in the kitchen of a Sheikh’s family. Another works in a hotel in the Maldives. And the third who worked in the laundry department runs a tailoring store back in Nepal. I have not forgotten them, and our deeply disappointing start 13 years ago as migrant workers hoping to get into Afghanistan. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/prisoners-of-the-green-passport/"> Prisoners of the Green Passport</a>, Mahendra Thulung Rai Translated from an interview with the author. 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">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with 'Diaspora Diaries' in the subject line.

Migrant worker returns to create work at home

This is the 26th instalment of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad I grew up in a lahure household in Dharan and my parents were in the military abroad and were good providers. But life took a different track when I was married at 15, and sent off to my husband's &nbsp;village in Jhapa.For someone raised in freedom and comfort, being a daughter-in-law in a conservative household was challenging. Wearing a kurta or speaking to neighbours was frowned upon. As a buhari daughter-in-law, I was kept out of any family decision-making. My day would start at 3AM and I was busy throughout with non-stop household work. By 17, I had my first child, and later two more.&nbsp; The family I was married to was well off in terms of property, but was consistently cash-strapped. It was a weird reality, we were poor and struggling to make ends meet while sitting on large tracts of land. I relied often on my maternal family for financial support. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-mothers-sons">A mother's sons</a>, Bishnumaya Bhusal  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230310060340_de400c76a82b6af0f8a764f6963c1bc5a0b8a8bf0348bf3426e7ef684317e48c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230310060340_de400c76a82b6af0f8a764f6963c1bc5a0b8a8bf0348bf3426e7ef684317e48c" data-rendition-name="original" width="959" height="610" loading="lazy" alt="DD 26"> </figure>  I felt the real pain of being cash poor when my eldest daughter, a special needs child, passed away at a young age. This was the pre-mobile era and my mother-in-law was traveling in Pokhara. Not having the money to pay for her last rites, I left my daughters body in the verandah and ran to a shop to sell my jewelry. I will never forget this moment. This must have inculcated in me a desire to work for money. But what work would I do in Nepal with no education? My expenses were rising as my other two children were growing up. The everyday struggle to earn enough to pay for basics was frustrating. So I decided to try for overseas employment and managed to collect enough money with the help of my family, and by selling the remaining jewelry paid for a job in Israel as a caregiver. At that time, migration to Israel was not as well managed as it is now under the government program. The manpower agencies facilitated the recruitment based on how much you paid them. I was probably one of the few migrants who did not cry at the airport. What I was doing was for my children’s secure future, I did not have a choice but to be strong. I felt more comfortable leaving my children with my mother in Dharan. As a lahure child, I had visited the UK but did not have much memory of it. So Israel as an adult was fascinating. Even little things like rotating the shower handle to get hot or cold water was new and amusing. I was placed in a wonderful family. The elderly lady I took care of was in her 80s, and kept reminding me how I was like a daughter she had never had. She had four sons. I found a guardian’s love with her. Compared to the household work I was doing back in Jhapa, the job in Israel actually felt easier because my boju was elderly and needed rest. My day started only at 7 and by 12, she would need a four hour nap, and by 7PM in the evening, she would call it a day. I had to cook only once every three days because the family had a system of freezing food. &nbsp;Not only was the work relatively easy, I was getting paid up to $1,200 a month. My Israeli boju used to tell me how I was her 15th caregiver, and the only one with whom she was able to develop a rapport and feel comfortable with. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/baking-as-a-metaphor-for-life/">Baking as a metaphor for life</a>, Aliza Basnet  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230310060316_e71c12fad0d7d91fbd557d98d8e026093a0b8570faa489959f4260f701b714ab.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20230310060316_e71c12fad0d7d91fbd557d98d8e026093a0b8570faa489959f4260f701b714ab" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="481" loading="lazy" alt="Caring for her own and others NT"> <figcaption>My Israeli boju who was like family for 5 years.</figcaption> </figure>  The only downside was that I was home all the time and seldom went anywhere, and only hung out with two other Nepalis in the community. Tel Aviv was 90 minutes away and I did not feel like travelling even though I had family there. Other than finances, there was not much I picked up in Israel. Boju often pleaded with me not to leave Israel until she died. I did not have a reason to go back, I was sending money home and I was happy in the family. I naturally got close to her and we had personal conversations. She knew her end was close, and would often express how she feared dying in pain and instead wanted to die peacefully in her sleep. One morning, when boju did not ask me for water at 7 as she usually did, I knew something was wrong. She was quiet and non-responsive. By the time we called the ambulance and her family, she had passed, peacefully, just like she had wanted. I mourned the loss of a guardian, and not just as an employee. Such is the work of a caregiver. The seniors die. Babies grow up. But both are people in such vulnerable ages that it is very easy to get personally attached to them. Having spent more than five years with boju in Israel, I did not know what was next. I had crossed the period when I could legally change jobs and I did not want to return home as I had to take care of my children. So in 2011, I did what someone in my position without a choice does. I carried on as an undocumented worker, knowing the risks. I found a good family. But Israeli authorities soon found out that I was breaking the rules, and came to the house knocking loudly at the door when my employers were away. Hiding or escaping was not an option as it felt like they were going to break down the door. They helped me pack and took me to a detention centre. Ten days later, I was escorted by them right up to the plane and sent home. While I was in detention, my boju’s grandson came to see me. He told authorities that I was like family and he would send me home in dignity, but that he didn’t want my last memory in Israel to be bitter. The authorities refused, but treated me well. I would be banned from Israel, and if I visit again it can only be as a tourist. Back in Nepal, it was impossible for me to stay idle. I had got too used to earning money. I thought of Korea next and started studying for the exam. But given the uncertainty, I came to Turkey instead through a manpower agency. I had to pay Rs400,000 for the job which only paid €350 a month. This was much lower than what I was earning in Israel, but what choice did I have? Over the years, my salary has increased and I now make €1,200 a month, taking care of two babies. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/turning-the-desert-green/">Turning the desert green</a>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230310060316_054c7febbc74f8311266156aa20395d22ddbf4d986747e460fc2b66b38ae9de5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230310060316_054c7febbc74f8311266156aa20395d22ddbf4d986747e460fc2b66b38ae9de5" data-rendition-name="original" width="753" height="879" loading="lazy" alt="Caring for her own and others NT"> </figure>  Since 2017, Turkey has seen more Nepalis, and we have organised ourselves better. I am now Vice President of the NRNA Turkey and during times of crisis like the recent earthquake, we rally together to support those affected. We provided support to Nepali students, although they were not injured their hostels were deemed unsafe to live in and were kept in shelters. We sent them as well as other Turkish people affected by the earthquake some financial support. We got contributions from all over the world including from my friend, a Nepali caregiver I met and became close with in Israel, who is now in the US. My daughter became a registered nurse in Australia a few months back. I am proud of her and also of myself because the odds were really stacked against us. I, too, was a class topper back in Dharan, but life had different plans for me. I paid for my daughter’ expenses growing up, including her studies in Australia. I brought my son to Turkey as he needed more parental guidance. I hope my story reminds other women how much we are capable of, if we trust ourselves. The adversaries I have faced as a woman and a mother in Nepal’s patriarchal society is by no means unique. If I had not taken a few bold decisions for the well-being of my children or rebelled against societal expectations, our reality probably would have been different. Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/prisoners-of-the-green-passport/"> Prisoners of the Green Passport</a>, Mahendra Thulung Rai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230310060316_a1b9423bb9d9cb0f4c681f773ce9f7be2f29ebf582472b36355fe59b122a3970.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20230310060316_a1b9423bb9d9cb0f4c681f773ce9f7be2f29ebf582472b36355fe59b122a3970" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Caring for her own and others NT"> </figure>  I have been lucky with the employers I have been placed with both in Turkey and Israel. Not all fellow Nepalis in other parts of the world are as fortunate. Even then, being a foreigner always makes you a second class citizen, with many rights inaccessible and more importantly, you are under the control of the employer with whom your immigration status is tied. I found out that in Turkey you can apply for citizenship after working for five years. I now hold a Turkish passport, perhaps the first Nepali caregiver who has transitioned here. I went that route because a documentation status, can free you from being under another person’s control and change your reality, and your sense of freedom and control. My dream is to eventually open a Nepali restaurant in Turkey, primarily targeting Nepali caregivers but also to promote Nepali food among locals. I remember when I first came to Turkey, my employers never had rice. There was chicken, bread, vegetables and cheese, but no dal bhat. After a few weeks, I asked her if we could have rice and she was taken by surprise because she had been feeding me well, what her family ate. For my employer, rice was both unhealthy and relatively more expensive. But she did some online research and realised Nepalis need dal bhat and started providing it. For Nepalis missing dal bhat in Turkey like I did, the restaurant that I want to start will hopefully bring home a little closer. Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/for-better-or-verse-in-the-gulf/"> For better or verse in the Gulf</a>, Dalbir Singh Baraili Translated from an interview with the author. 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.

Caring for her own and others

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cac9c7e80680e0bd4a3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="1276"/><figcaption>Ajay Shrestha in his cricket jersey during happier times. All photos: courtesy ANIL SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>I left for the UAE six years ago. It was a struggle to adjust to the new environment, but the country gave someone like me who had arrived with no experience a platform to work hard, and make a decent living.I started as a crew member at a restaurant, and by the end of six years, was working as an assistant manager making five times more than my starting salary.I did not have any reason to leave the UAE given my job security and attractive benefits, but my younger brother, Ajay, who was based in Malta wanted me to join him there.“Europe is Europe,” he used to say.My only motivation to go there was to be with my brother. Why live in two separate places when there is opportunity to be together to support each other, to celebrate festivals together, and create some semblance of a ‘home? My mother also loved the idea of her sons being together.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721caf9c7e80680e0bd4a4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1600" height="1200"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>He helped me find a job in Malta, also in the restaurant line. The salary was not all that different from what I was making in the UAE.When I joined my brother in Malta on 31 January  this year,  it had been three years since I had last seen him. We were thrilled. What I did not know then was that it would be a reunion that would change the trajectory of our lives.In addition to the excitement to see me, he was also looking forward to his trip back to Nepal on 1 March. He was already in holiday mode, excited to be back for the first time since he got here.A cricket fanatic, he had set aside a 1,900 euro fund to organise a game back home through a cricket academy in Bardia that a common friend had set up.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-1/">Diaspora Diaries 1</a>, Nepali Times<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cb39c7e80680e0bd4a5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A mother’s boy, he was trying to decide between different mobile sets to buy for her, and also for an uncle.He worked as a bike delivery rider in Malta and in the morning of 16 February, he was scrolling through his phone when he got a delivery request and decided to take it up. Every extra euro would help, he said.I was playing a game on my phone and barely paid attention as he left the apartment. He later called from below the apartment to ask me to pass his power bank that he had left. As a delivery boy, it was an essential he could not afford to leave behind.He called again me to tell me to throw him his purse from the balcony. He caught it with a grin. Sloppy boy, I thought.A while later, I got a call from a fellow Nepali. He told me to go to the hospital because Ajay had met with an accident, about three kilometers from our apartment.I could feel my soul leave my body when I heard the news as I rushed to the hospital. As soon as I arrived, I was told by the doctor that Ajay was no more.The fact that he had come back twice to take his phone charger and wallet still haunts me. He had died on the spot when a truck hit him. Perhaps if he had not been delayed by those couple of minutes due to his absentmindedness, he would still be alive. The difference a few split seconds would have made.Needless to say, I was shocked beyond belief. How could this have happened? My eyes hurt to see my brother as he lay there in the hospital, as if we was in peaceful sleep. He looked normal and was still warm.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-2/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Diaspora Diaries 2</a>, Nepali TimesMy mother back in Nepal had to be rushed to hospital as she collapsed after hearing the news. This added to my grief and worry.In that abyss, I felt numb, unable to process what was going on. It had been only 17 days since I had arrived in Malta. Everything was a blur.Back in my brother’s apartment as I wept, I could not comprehend what was going on and what was next. I had to figure out how to take my brother’s body home. I did not know anyone there, or how the system worked.Friends came to the apartment to pay their respects. They were all in tears, and hugged me, brought me food and made sure someone was always at my side. I have no idea who these people were, but they were all Ajay’s friends and they were there for us, and to support me.Growing up, I was always the quiet one, and Ajay the more outgoing sibling. I used to be known as ‘Ajay’s Dai’ rather than Anil. Even in his death, I was ‘Ajay’s Dai’, surrounded by his friends, in an unfamiliar country, among unfamiliar people.It was also evident how much goodwill Ajay had garnered in Malta. I had at least five Nepalis who came to me to repay money they had borrowed from Ajay. They didn’t have to but they did. They were in tears.Many recounted memories of how he had helped them when they were struggling financially. In the following weeks, there were football games organised in his memory with moments of silence in his tribute. My brother, he had left a mark among many.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-3/">Diaspora Diaries 3</a>, Nepali Times<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cb79c7e80680e0bd4a6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="720" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>These stories of death in a foreign land are common. It is a familiar sight for us Nepalis to see coffins arrive at Kathmandu airport. Most of them are on flights from the Gulf, where I spent six years.But this was the first fatality among Nepalis in Malta. Even the Prime Minister of Malta and the Mayor reached out to me and extended their condolences. The Nepali community there was stunned. Nepalis and Maltese friends crowdfunded for his repatriation, to support our family, and raised nearly Rs2.8 million with which we could send the body to Nepal.How do you describe the feeling of being on a plane with your brother in the cargo hold in a box? How can you talk about bringing a younger sibling’s body home to your parents?<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cb99c7e80680e0bd4a7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="720" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>On the flight back home, I kept thinking about how my brother had brought me to Malta just weeks before he died. It was as if he had wanted his elder brother to take care of him, and bring him home.Had I been in the UAE, there was no way I would have been able to go to Malta to do that. The longer the wait, the more difficult it would have been for my parents, since seeing my brother’s body and completing the final rites at least provided them a sense of closure.Here in Bardia, the days are passing slowly. My priority is to take care of my parents who are distraught. My mother is almost  unrecognisable with shock and loss of appetite. She has no more tears left to shed.Things were just starting to look up for us. Three months ago, we bought our father a scooter so he could get around more easily than in his bicycle.My brother and I had just moved in together in Malta, and this happened. Nothing makes sense. I now want to find ways to keep my brother’s memories alive, and to fulfill his dreams.We organised the cricket tournament in his memory, and the finals were on Monday. A team from Banke district won.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-4/"> Diaspora Diaries 4</a>, Nepali Times<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cbc9c7e80680e0bd4a8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="750" height="403"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Both us brothers were very fond of cricket growing up, perhaps because India is right across the border. But back then we could not even afford the basic equipment.We played with a tennis ball, and even that was expensive. We made our own bats. My brother had wanted to make sure that children of our home village would not have to suffer the same deprivation.Just a month before his death, my brother had sent another Rs15,000 to the sports academy to organise the tournament.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cbf9c7e80680e0bd4a9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="958"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>On the opening day, I wore one of his favorite jerseys that said ‘AJ’ on the back. It is the little things that remind me of him, and make me suddenly burst into tears without warning. There are many memories of our childhood that make me feel simultaneously close to him, while reminding me of the cruel reality that he is not around anymore, and he will never be.The jersey is among his possessions that I brought back with me from Malta, leaving nothing behind in his apartment that I gave up before returning.I don’t think we will ever learn to move on from this loss. But perhaps one day we will learn to live with it.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-qatar-job-mirage/">The Qatar job mirage</a>, Nepali TimesTranslated from Nepali. 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.

Fate joins, then separates, siblings

<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

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 src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4519c7e80680e08f9b8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="836" height="472"/><figcaption>Lavkant Chaudhary’s art depicts historical wrongs against the indigenous Tharu of Nepal. This is part of a series of drawings on digital prints of archival edicts from rulers that affected the Tharu people.</figcaption></figure>About 9.5 million Nepalis or 36% of the country's population fall into the old British category ‘tribal’. Today, they are called adivasi or indigenous people.In the mountains live adivasi groups like the Magar, Gurung, Sherpa, Rai, or Limbu. In the plains are the Tharu, who alone form over 6% of Nepal's population. Many other smaller ‘tribal’ groups live in both areas.I taught for three years in an eastern hill district dominated by Rai and Tamang villages. For over a decade I have been researching state-sponsored development programs in the Tarai, and how <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/5-myths-about-the-tharu/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/5-myths-about-the-tharu/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1612155250125000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEyzT7_KTjYr6dYyp037_m8HF-YUw">the Tharu</a> have resisted and adjusted to them.The story of the Rai, Tamang, and Tharu have counterparts in Nepal, across South Asia and the globe. There is no better place to start understanding this history than with <a href="http://ramachandraguha.in/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://ramachandraguha.in/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1612155250125000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEmnnqEBD8tCPQbo_a-5dQv0Vtiyw">Ramachandra Guha</a>’s book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Democrats-Dissenters-Ramachandra-Guha/dp/0670089362" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.amazon.com/Democrats-Dissenters-Ramachandra-Guha/dp/0670089362&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1612155250125000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGUfRIq6B2d-QJhH-9_orM0bewyTA">Democrats and Dissenters</a>. The chapter ‘Tribal Tragedies’ by the well-known historian offers a useful point of departure for understanding Nepal as well.In India, over 105 million people in over 500 different communities are officially classified as 'Scheduled Tribes'. Eight percent may seem small, but 8% of the country’s population is a lot of people.Guha's main point is that democracy and development in independent India after 1947 has not only overlooked tribals, but often undermined their political freedom, cultural integrity, and economic status.Modern India has impoverished them. Guha writes that ‘indigenous groups are the unacknowledged victims of seven decades of democratic development. In this period, they have continued to be exploited and dispossessed by the wider economy and polity’. The ‘continued to be’ wording is important.Guha notes that politically, tribals have fared even worse than Dalits and Muslims: ‘While Dalits and Muslims have had some (admittedly modest) impact in shaping the national discourse on democracy and governance, the tribals remain not just marginal but invisible.’Not just marginal but invisible. Government development programs in India often undermined the welfare of tribal groups. They were sometimes pushed aside for commercial forestry, dams, and mines. Sometimes, it was national parks and other conservations programs. They were displaced by both development and anti-development.Outsiders often wrongly assume that tribal groups have always been poor, probably even poorer in earlier times. Actually, it is the opposite: sometimes it is modern life that has worsened conditions.A governmental study group in India noted that tribal poverty often owed to non-tribal Indians, the so-called ‘civilised’ people. ‘We have driven [the tribals] into the hills because we wanted their land and now we blame them for cultivating it in the only way we left to them,’ the report says.Indeed, state policy and an emphasis on fast, big infrastructure development in India since 1947 has taken the homes and land of millions of Indian adivasi. Guha says the estimates range from a few million to an astounding 20 million. That is two thirds of Nepal's own population.According to the sociologist <a href="https://www.epw.in/author/walter-fernandes" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.epw.in/author/walter-fernandes&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1612155250125000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEj8yZsxUuzRJFy3xHOKrsyIJwmYg">Walter Fernandes</a>, roughly 40% of all those displaced by government projects are of tribal origin and are many times more likely to be displaced than non-tribal Indians.Compensation programs have often failed because adivasi have not been provided with the language, cultural, and financial knowledge and skills for the modern age. Thrown into the deep end of the economy's pool without the skills necessary, they often toil for low wages as landless labourers.National parks and other conservation efforts have squeezed adivasi groups from the other side. ‘Apart from large dams and industrial townships,’ Guha writes, ‘tribals have also been rendered homeless by the setting aside of forest areas as national parks and sanctuaries.’Adivasi often live on or near lands that were once marginal. They shaped the land, of course, but did so lightly, so the ecosystems are healthier than most others.As displacement by conservation grew worse in the 1960s, the Dhebar Committee noted the problems: ‘The tribal who formerly regarded himself as the lord of the forest, was through a deliberate process turned into a subject and placed under the Forest Department.’After conserving nature better than other societies for generations, adivasi found themselves blamed for its destruction. ‘There is constant propaganda that the tribal people are destroying the forest,’ the Dhebar Committee noted.One study blamed official ignorance of and arrogance toward adivasi cultures, fueled by the assumption that tribal traditions were backwards. Government officials, it found, regarded themselves ‘as superior, as heaven-born missionaries of a higher culture ... lacking in any intimate knowledge’ of adivasi traditions.Government officials felt free to ‘boss the people about ... in order to “get things done” they do not hesitate to threaten and bully’.In his book, Guha notes: ‘Officials and their urban conservationist supporters claimed that in order to protect the forests, the Adivasis had to be kept out.’Guha argues that adivasi are politically invisible, and he notes that unlike Muslims and Dalits a tribal person has never served as a cabinet member. In addition, Dalits and Muslims have served in other high constitutional offices, but not adivasi.Adivasi marginalisation is part of a global pattern that, surprisingly, has worsened in recent decades, not improved. In other parts of the world, indigenous communities faced deep challenges centuries ago, when European societies first moved into their areas. But they have also faced profound and worsening problems in recent decades. Their marginalisation is an old story but also a recent, modern one.‘For sheer intensity, sweep, and impact,’ historian <a href="http://kencoates.ca/about/bio/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://kencoates.ca/about/bio/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1612155250125000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHHdVB0o4aHp6RgOsiyX5zebt-xsw">Kenneth Coates</a> has written, ‘few generations in history [of indigenous people] have witnessed the dramatic transformations of the period between 1940 and 1970.’During those years, several factors made things much worse: World War II and the Cold War, national consolidation within newly independent nations, and the postwar boom in road, dam, and other infrastructure development.Similar dynamics played out in 1960s Nepal, including rushed <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/how-chitwan-was-opened,4159" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/how-chitwan-was-opened,4159&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1612155250125000&amp;usg=AFQjCNF3O-fMK2Y6M7y_WGGVFTS4_odNoQ">Cold War development projects</a> and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/putsch-ek/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/putsch-ek/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1612155250125000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGhgZfz59kDGZUltiKnUbj98fhmAw">King Mahendra's</a> ‘one language, one culture, one nation’ policies. Nepal's 59 adivasi groups have faced many challenges.In Nepal and elsewhere, this was a story of marginalisation and exploitation, but not just that. The adivasi have resisted, shaped history, created pockets of freer action, applied their own meanings, and found creative ways to persevere.Writing about <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/atrocities-against-tharu-expressed-in-art/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/atrocities-against-tharu-expressed-in-art/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1612155250125000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFEsd5ekpBcShves4HVutT_JpzMsg">Lavkant Chaudhary's</a> probing artistic inquiries into Tharu history, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Life-%20with-sickle-cell,1460" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Life-%2520with-sickle-cell,1460&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1612155250125000&amp;usg=AFQjCNF_L-LWeJs1x671-nDJKtbjLD6-3A">Priyankar Chand</a> observes, ‘The art presented is a glimpse into nearly three centuries of violence inflicted upon the Tharus by the various apparatus of the Nepali state. Yet the narrative explored is not only about suffering, it is more importantly about resilience and resistance.’Tom Robertson, Ph D is a historian who has been researching malaria and Tharu history since 2007.  He is an adviser to the Chitwan Tharu Culture Museum.

nepali-diaspora