James Harris (‘Jim’) Simons, the mathematician and billionaire philanthropist who set up a foundation to improve Nepal’s healthcare system, died in New York on 10 May, aged 86. Jim Simons was an award-winning mathematician who pioneered quantitative investing and gave away much of his billions to support mathematics education, scientific research and various humanitarian causes. But his life was marked by family tragedies. His elder son, Paul, was killed in New York in 1996 in a traffic accident, and his younger son, Nick drowned in Bali in 2003 after a volunteering stint in Nepal.&nbsp; Nick Simons had written letters home from Nepal about his experience in rural health posts, and was determined to become a physician so he could help the underprivileged in poorer parts of the world.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240511120528_08e9e9ec5b9faa6a852fb5a4b5a8586526935cb8a9c8c61fd329fb8e4d7466e4.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240511120528_08e9e9ec5b9faa6a852fb5a4b5a8586526935cb8a9c8c61fd329fb8e4d7466e4" data-rendition-name="original" width="596" height="812" loading="lazy" alt="Nick Simons"> <figcaption>Nick Simons with a friend in Nepal in 2003. He died soon after while swimming in Bali.</figcaption> </figure>  After Nick’s tragic death, Jim Simons and his economist wife Marilyn travelled to Nepal several times to set up the <a href="https://www.nsi.edu.np/overview" target="_blank">Nick Simons Institute (NSI)</a> to back up government hospitals in rural areas with training, equipment and budgetary support. Since it was established in 2006, NSI has invested more than $100 million in Nepal’s health sector and now supports 45 district hospitals and health facilities. Most of the institute’s work is behind-the-scenes and not visible to the public, like its help with training nurses and anaesthesiologists, maintaining biomedical equipment, and in retaining qualified medical staff in remote rural hospitals by topping up salaries. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11436" target="_blank">Jim Simons once told Nepali Times</a>: "Rural health care is not a new problem in Nepal, and there are lots of people addressing the issue. What makes NSI unique is that it will do this job better than it has ever been done with an emphasis on quality and training.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240511020552_a9bbf2070d0ace34db48799e7c76f8f18a221750b5f2bcb5fda3a87b2eb97769.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240511020552_a9bbf2070d0ace34db48799e7c76f8f18a221750b5f2bcb5fda3a87b2eb97769" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Jim Simons NT"> <figcaption>Marilyn and Jim Simons in Nepal in 2012. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption> </figure>  Indeed, the Simons made several visits to Nepal in 2003 soon after their son died, talking to health experts to see where support would be most catalytic and meaningful. They decided to do this not by running their own hospitals, but by working with the government in developing sustainable solutions in rural healthcare and scaling it up. "With the establishment of the Nick Simon's Institute in 2006, Jim was clearly a game changer for enhancement of rural health in Nepal. &nbsp;Also what is unforgettable about Jim was his amazing sense of humor in telling a story, his sharp intellect, and how he did not suffer fools lightly," says <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18356" target="_blank">Buddha Basnyat</a>, a physician who is in the executive committee of NSI. The Simons often said they would probably never have been involved in Nepal’s health sector had it not been for their son Nick, who had found fulfilment helping Nepalis and wanted to return to live and work here.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240511020556_761b7ed7926bbf26b24c5e8ab06df077019280451bc1d4efc5bd3c5d44e740bb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240511020556_761b7ed7926bbf26b24c5e8ab06df077019280451bc1d4efc5bd3c5d44e740bb" data-rendition-name="original" width="904" height="1382" loading="lazy" alt="Jim Simons NT"> <figcaption>Marilyn and Jim Simons in Nepal in 2023 with Patty Weisenfeld of Nick Simons Foundation. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption> </figure>  Jim Simons went through three phases in his life: as a mathematician, an investor and a philanthropist. As a maths professor, he found solutions that are still used to solve problems in physics and astronomy. He then set up <a href="https://www.rentec.com/Home.action?about=true" target="_blank">Renaissance Technologies</a> that used his talent in mathematics to analyse complex financial data and forecast global share markets. That is how he made billions, much of which he re-invested in improving STEM education in American schools, in exploring the universe, or trying to find the causes of autism.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240515170536_5ea1f3742ee715ce95ee11a82dfcc6991be56b827f5dff8d6c58824f836763e1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20240515170536_5ea1f3742ee715ce95ee11a82dfcc6991be56b827f5dff8d6c58824f836763e1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1001" height="784" loading="lazy" alt="Jim Simons"> <figcaption>Health expert Aruna Uprety at a school algebra class in western Nepal.</figcaption> </figure>  After the death of his sons, Jim Simons sought solace in solving mathematical puzzles in his head. One morning at the leafy Summit Hotel in Kathmandu, the proof came to him in a flash of a puzzle that had bedevilled him for a long time.&nbsp; ‘Jim was an exceptional leader who did transformative work in mathematics and developed a world-leading investment company,’ the <a href="https://www.simonsfoundation.org/2024/05/10/simons-foundation-co-founder-mathematician-and-investor-jim-simons-dies-at-86/" target="_blank">Simons Foundation</a> said in a statement announcing his death on Friday.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240515170536_e4c458bcc5f9daf7d8833bb0bffc98304224be100b88cde3ade7c7ae41067cd5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20240515170536_e4c458bcc5f9daf7d8833bb0bffc98304224be100b88cde3ade7c7ae41067cd5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2008" height="1396" loading="lazy" alt="Jim Simons"> </figure>  Besides NSI, the <a href="https://www.nicksimonsfoundation.org/" target="_blank">Nick Simons Foundation</a> was involved in other health-related activities in Nepal, including building the new <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15138" target="_blank">maternity wing at Patan Hospital</a> and supporting <a href="https://www.nyayahealthnepal.org/" target="_blank">Nyaya Health Nepal (NHN)</a> that runs <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-rural-lifeline" target="_blank">Bayalpata Hospital in Achham District.</a>&nbsp; Jim Simons once said: “Nick opened up a whole new world to us. We have met so many wonderful people who otherwise we never would have known. Nepal is a gift that Nick gave us.”

Kunda Dixit

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Jim Simons' gift to Nepal

In 2009, Samir Lama completed his MBBS and then passed all three stages of the United States Medical Licensing Examination (USMLE), making him eligible to practice in the US. However, he returned to Nepal in a year, opting to serve his own people instead. Lama pursued a three-year residency in General Medical Practice at the Teaching Hospital in Kathmandu sponsored by the Nick Simons Institute and was later placed at the District Hospital in Piuthan under a three-year contract. Eventually, at a medical college in Chitwan, Lama’s monthly salary was Rs80,000, a relatively meagre sum for someone with three years of post-MD work experience. Dissatisfied, he established his own polyclinic in Chitwan. But today, he is based in Britain, working as a resident physician in general practice. “There are difficulties living and working in Nepal,” Lama tells us by phone. “Becoming a doctor through civil service is difficult, and a physician’s life is financially challenging even in private practice.” In 2017, Murari Barakoti completed a one-year fellowship in Interventional Cardiology, and preferred to work in Singapore and the Maldives rather than stay in Nepal. He blames the lack of expertise-based remuneration in Nepal for his decision.&nbsp; “In the Maldives, doctors get ten to twenty times the pay they would normally get in Nepal,” says Barakoti, who is among 1,100 Nepali doctors working in the Maldives today. Ironically, many students from Maldives come to Nepal’s medical colleges for their education. Sandesh Parajuli, a government scholarship recipient for MBBS in Pakistan, worked for two years at Gandaki Provincial Hospital after he returned. In 2020, he took the medical officer exam at Lumbini Provincial Hospital, and the results are still pending. Tired of waiting, Parajuli completed his USMLE online and is now in the US. He says, “There is a sense of fulfilment serving patients in my own country, but the working environment in Nepal for doctors is not conducive. Of my 20 closest friends, only one is still working in Nepal.” It is generally known that young Nepalis are leaving the country by the tens of thousands every year for undergraduate studies in Australia, Canada or Japan. Less well known is this haemorrhage of doctors and nurses. <div class="embed-block"><iframe title="Specialists" aria-label="Grouped Bars" id="datawrapper-chart-3jT6V" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/3jT6V/1/" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border: none;" width="600" height="492" data-external="1"></iframe></div> The depletion of medical personnel has further weakened the country’s already fragile healthcare system, and added to the shortage of specialists. Despite an annual turnover of 2,000 to 2,500 MBBS graduates, Nepal faces a severe shortage of doctors, especially in remote parts of the country. The Nepal Medical Council (NMC) has nearly 35,000 registered doctors, including 10,588 specialists. But there is no exact figure for working professionals. A 2015 study by the Council reported that approximately 36% of doctors are working abroad, but the actual proportion is estimated to be much higher.&nbsp; Doctors planning to leave are mandatorily required to present a Good Standing Certificate (GSC), and the Medical Education Commission issued 1,025 GSCs just between April to December 2023. Commission sources say the demand for GSCs has surged in the past four years.&nbsp; The majority of Nepali doctors have chosen to migrate to the UK, with 1,578 physicians acquiring certificates since 2020. The US is the second most popular destination, with 888 Nepali doctors moving there to practice in the same period. Opportunities in Australia, UAE, Canada, and Qatar are also on the rise. Sanjeev Sapkota, president of the Non-Resident Nepali Association (NRNA), estimates that of its total membership, 5,000 are doctors and medical specialists. Many others who have migrated have not bothered to become NRNA members. Worryingly, government scholarship recipients make up a rising number of migrant physicians — depriving state-run hospitals in the country of specialists. Some doctors seek improved working conditions, while others, frustrated with unemployment or exploitation in Nepal’s private hospitals, choose to start anew. They are attracted by the promise of higher earnings, and a better future for their families. 1:150,000 Completing an MBBS degree generally takes six years, and those studying on government scholarships are obligated to work in a rural hospital for an additional two years. During this period, they have no time for further study or to sit for civil service exams. However, once the commitment is fulfilled, they are left without a paying job. “Despite some incentives for further studies after MBBS, many graduates struggle because of low salaries and uncertain future prospects,” says Shambu Khanal of the Lumbini Provincial Hospital.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240128110120_63d9c40da537cbdad3dc2307a31623607227185a5768b1999359f53cc6c17b88.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240128110120_63d9c40da537cbdad3dc2307a31623607227185a5768b1999359f53cc6c17b88" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1667" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali healthcare NT"> </figure>  Postgraduate study opportunities are also hard to get due to limited annual seats of around 2,000. Additionally, a small number of subject-specific seats further complicates matters, particularly for those candidates below the top 500, barring them from pursuing preferred medical disciplines. Without government support, individuals must bear all expenses themselves, discouraging many more aspiring Nepali doctors from pursuing MD/MS degrees. This in turn is leading to a chronic shortage of specialists in Nepal. The 'Human Resources for Health (HRH) Projection in Nepal, 2079-2087' reveals a deficit of 5,779 specialists, with the annual production growth rate falling short at 6.41%, thus widening the gap in the doctor-to-population ratio. At present, there is only 1 doctor for every 850 people in the Kathmandu Valley which is better than the WHO-recommended 1 per 1,000. But this ratio goes down to 1 per 150,000 in remote districts. &nbsp;Despite depopulation of the mountain districts, there is a dire need to retain qualified medical staff in rural Nepal. The absence of diverse medical expertise, coupled with government oversight of emerging disciplines, leaves returning professionals with no acknowledgment or motivation. The country therefore faces a critical shortage of specialised doctors, particularly in cardiology, surgery, gynaecology, and neurology. A recent study by the Medical Education Commission showed a shortfall in surgeons: there are only 660 when the country needs a minimum of 808. Medical generalists face a similar deficit, with just 349 working actively against the 1,115 required. The study also foresees a demand for 1,223 medical generalists in 7 years, factoring in population growth. Doctors in specialised services in new fields face challenges due to inadequate infrastructure and equipment. Even those willing to work in government hospitals struggle to secure positions.&nbsp; Dharmagat Bhattarai, who is specialising in paediatric clinical immunology and rheumatology, says there is an urgent need for specialised doctors, especially for diagnosing and treating rare diseases in children. “After MBBS, graduates work as interns in hospitals for a year. Although hospital administrators assign them duties, they do not get adequate compensation,” says Bijay Parajuli, who specialises in pediatric critical care, rheumatology, congenital heart diseases, and neurosurgery. He adds: “In Pakistan, I received a monthly stipend of Rs44,000 after MBBS while interns in Nepal are getting only Rs9,000.” <div class="embed-block"> <iframe title="Total ‘Good Standing’ certificated from NMC" aria-label="Interactive line chart" id="datawrapper-chart-N0vyK" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/N0vyK/1/" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border: none;" width="600" height="400" data-external="1"></iframe></div> Resident doctors pursuing MD/MS face a similar fate. Overworked doing hospital health check-ups, filling prescriptions, and handling ward responsibilities, their studies are often hampered—and all this for poor pay. While countries like the USA, UK, and Canada waive tuition fees for MD/MS programs, resident doctors in Nepal have to struggle for better remuneration. A government hospital resident earns an average of Rs48,000 monthly. However, those working in private medical colleges are compelled to work for less than Rs20,000. Some doctors say residents in private hospitals often have to work for 36 hours straight, multiple times a month. Vishad Dahal, an internal medicine student at Kathmandu Medical College, faced suspension for questioning a 20 extra-curricular health camp. His suspension has now been revoked. NMC’s &nbsp;'Regulations for Postgraduate Medical Education (MD-MS Programs) 2017' states that postgraduate residents should not be assigned duty for more than 24 hours per week. Typically, it takes an average of 12 years to complete MD, even after graduation. This means most doctors would not have finished their studies even in their early 30s. Moreover, the cost of private medical education is expensive and often exceeds Rs10 million. And after all that, there is still no job security, not to mention the years it takes to recover the investment. This prompts many to consider working or studying abroad. “The rise in Nepali doctors moving abroad demands urgent attention. While it may seem routine at first glance, the trend can potentially cause a scarcity of experts,” admits Shri Krishna Giri, past president of the Medical Education Commission. He adds: “Restricting doctors from seeking opportunities overseas may not be a practical solution. The challenge lies in finding a nuanced approach that recognises and addresses the multifaceted factors contributing to this exodus.” &nbsp; With additional reporting by Yugottam Koirala.

Grass is greener overseas for Nepal's doctors

Pratikshya Roka Magar was a sickly baby ever since she was born in a faraway village in Rukum district. As years went by, the girl’s spine started to bend. Her mother Namrata Roka had given up hope that her daughter would ever get better when she heard about a Japanese doctor who was conducting a mobile health camp in the village.&nbsp; Partikshya was seven years old in 2013 when Japanese physician Ryukichi Ishida examined her, and diagnosed a rare case of spinal scoliosis that ultimately affects the lungs and heart.&nbsp; Now 17, Pratikshya has undergone six major operations in which two rods were inserted to her spine to straighten it. The Japanese benefactor has since been supporting her financially, and checks up on Pratikshya routinely.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-doctors-love-for-urdu-poetry">Nepali doctor's love for Urdu poetry</a>, Abdullah Zahid  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230817070836_da4e6800792c2aba1c4f41e664f24db51fbc25142c2e41e46b77e2da9d602f29.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230817070836_da4e6800792c2aba1c4f41e664f24db51fbc25142c2e41e46b77e2da9d602f29" data-rendition-name="original" width="1504" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Ryukichi Ishida NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  “He is like god for us,” says a grateful Namrata. &nbsp; Pratikshya is not the only one who has received Ishida’s healing touch in these mountains where the health system is still rudimentary, and the ravages of the Maoist conflict still linger. During voluntary work with tuberculosis control while walking through Nepal’s remotest districts in 1968 as a 21-year-old medical student, Ryukichi Ishida made a promise that he would return one day to serve the people of this country. Back in Japan, while heading the orthopaedic department at Osaka's Ueda-Shimotanabe Hospital, he constantly felt the tug of Nepal. In 2006, he left his family and a satisfying job to fulfil his pledge to return to Nepal. A question that had nagged him all those years was why medical care around the world, including in Japan and Nepal, was not more equitable. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/paul-farmer-on-my-mind">Paul Farmer on my mind</a>, Bibhav Acharya  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230817070836_6a2d16dbb69aaaf7f900a41835ca9e091d427f2de37a1411b5df7199749fcf6c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20230817070836_6a2d16dbb69aaaf7f900a41835ca9e091d427f2de37a1411b5df7199749fcf6c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1494" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Ryukichi Ishida NT"> <figcaption>Photo: JHUMLAWANG VILLAGE FOUNDATION NEPAL</figcaption> </figure>  Ishida was inspired by his physician father who also ran a clinic in the most underserved part of Japan. He has travelled through Dolakha, Jumla, Jajarkot, Rukum and Rolpa, conducting free medical camps carrying just a backpack — just like when he trekked through Nepal as an idealistic student all those years ago. He has been working at Rolpa's Jaljala Health Post since 2011, a place so remote that even Nepali health workers are reluctant to be posted there. The facility has since been turned into a hospital and research centre and is in the process of becoming a 15 bedded municipality hospital.&nbsp; The hospital has Nepali staff, but none of them stay more than a year. “The only thing constant here is Dr Ishida and his commitment to serve the people,” says Ajay Magar of the Jhumluwang Village Foundation, a non-profit that conducts health camps in collaboration with Ishida.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/the-good-doctor-0pqhzm7t">The good doctor</a>, Lisa Choegyal  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230817070836_909cd240e9e4ea3b0da86e6038a2a163f6d5e9e94df5117008cbdbf0cf8946f6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230817070836_909cd240e9e4ea3b0da86e6038a2a163f6d5e9e94df5117008cbdbf0cf8946f6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1531" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Ryukichi Ishida NT"> <figcaption>Photo: JHUMLAWANG VILLAGE FOUNDATION NEPAL</figcaption> </figure>  Besides treating patients, Ishida has also supported locals like Sahanshila Buda Magar who is the first female MBBS graduate from Thawang thanks to a scholarship he provided.&nbsp; Sahanshila, 27, got her degree from Changsha Medical University in China, and is undergoing a three-month training at Patan Hospital. She plans to go back home and work at the Jaljala Hospital. &nbsp; Ishida says the staffing challenges of remote area facilities in places like Rolpa can only be met by producing their own crop of young doctors with a commitment to the place they belong.&nbsp; Despite his years of experience as an orthopaedic surgeon, Ishida believes in integrating modern medical practices with traditional healing, especially for bone-setting and birthing. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-far-sighted-eye-care">Nepal's far-sighted eye care</a>, Sonia Awale  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230817070836_03aa6692c46a7850cb8d05acb0e89f7928a5dab973fcfa466ab9417fcd85c165.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20230817070836_03aa6692c46a7850cb8d05acb0e89f7928a5dab973fcfa466ab9417fcd85c165" data-rendition-name="original" width="3711" height="2770" loading="lazy" alt="Ryukichi Ishida NT"> <figcaption>Photo courtesy: RYUKICHI ISHIDA</figcaption> </figure>  The only reward Ishida has for his work is the respect and affection of Thawang's people. Villagers refer to him simply as “हाम्रो डाक्टर” (our doctor) — indicating they have ownership over a surgeon who they consider to be rightfully theirs. That same recognition is not reflected in the way the Nepali state regards Ishida. Now 76, and increasingly frail, Ishida has applied unsuccessfully for honorary Nepali citizenship. His visa requires Ishida to make frequent expensive trips back to Japan, and says he no longer wants to go back and forth.&nbsp; When he is away on his visa run, Rolpa’s villagers count the days for Ishida’s return so they can be treated. The surgeon does not take a salary, lives frugally and depends on the Jaljala Hospital for food and lodging.&nbsp; “I was born in Kobe, but I want to die here in Thawang,” says the soft-spoken Ishida. “This is my home now.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/an-eye-for-two-eyes">An eye for two eyes</a>, Yugottam Koirala

Pinki Sris Rana

The barefoot doctor of Rolpa

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

This is the 76th 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. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

Nepal’s month-long cricket carnival ended on a sunny Saturday in Kathmandu with a final game in which the Lumbini Lions dominated the Sudurpaschim Royals with both bat and ball.&nbsp; The Royals were bowled out for an embarrassing 85, thanks to Namibian Ruben Trumplemann’s three wickets for three runs, and captain Rohit Paudel’s hat-trick in the eleventh over. Only opener Ishan Pandey’s 33 run-innings was of any note.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="909" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1345" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  The Lions came out with virtually no pressure on them, and Dinesh Adhikari’s 42 off 13 including 27 off the first over bowled by Dipendra Singh Airee won the match. Rohit Paudel came in to finish the match calmly, with 11 overs to spare, scoring two stylish fours and a six before holing out with the Lions on 83.&nbsp; The Lions took comically long to get the final two runs to win the game, losing one more wicket. But it was merely a matter of time, and a single ended the Royal’s misery.&nbsp; As dusk fell, the big fluffy lion mascot was on the field dapping up the Lions as red fireworks went off and Lumbini fans leaped from their seats in the packed stands.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  This capped off an incredible run from the Lions who had finished dead last in NPL Season 1, and had only one win and three losses after four games. They won the remaining three, finishing fourth, barely qualifying.&nbsp; This meant that they had to play an eliminator last week against the Kathmandu Gorkhas and then a qualifier against the popular Biratnagar Kings, whose squad included Sandeep Lamichhane, Faf du Plessis, and Martin Guptill. They won both in style. For the Royals, however, this was the second disappointing final in a row after being the best team in the group stage in both seasons of the NPL. National team batsman Binod Bhandari had had an excellent tournament for the Royals, but was in tears at having come this far again and fallen short.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  Despite the final being disappointingly less action-packed for the neutral viewer, the final marked the second successful execution of the NPL. The addition of seats and floodlights at the TU Cricket Stadium overlooking Kathmandu made evening games possible and improved the experience for fans.&nbsp; The floodlights also made for some gorgeous photography as the sun set behind Chandragiri, illuminating the Himalaya to the north in gradually fading shades of orange.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Adam Rossington’s 323 runs, including a century, and Sandeep Lamichhane’s 17 wickets were the standout individual performances across the tournament in the past month.&nbsp; The tournament brought out characters much loved by the vociferous crowd, including ‘Taklu’ Irish commentator Andrew Leonard who worked in a Dhaka Topi, British presenter Jess Crowe who donned a Sari for the final, and Chitwan Rhinos’ charismatic mascot Mr Gaida who entertained the crowd with enthusiastic nonstop dancing.&nbsp; The tournament was such a draw that the university grounds looked like a carnival with food and merchandise stalls. The capacity 10,000 stadium drew such a crowd that Kathmandu streets were relatively quiet on Saturday with people also watching the game live on tv at home.&nbsp; Kathmandu’s residents were genuinely delighted at being able to talk about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/cricket-carnival">a Nepali cricket tournament</a>, and not about the Indian or English Premier Leagues. And while everyone appreciated the cricket no matter who was playing, fans showed up for their provinces in loud numbers.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  The organisers having proven themselves, future NPLs may need more stadiums in other provinces, even better overseas players.&nbsp; Sambhav Sirohiya of the Kathmandu Media Group ambitiously tweeted that he believes that the league could already become the second most valuable franchise cricket league NEXT SEASON, especially if the government would loosen up its regulations of advertising, especially that of alcohol. Nepali cricketers and fans are now better prepared for the T20 World Cup in India and Sri Lanka in February, with the experience of playing in the NPL and with the access to world-class cricket talent and seeing how they go about excelling at the sport.&nbsp;

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

Singha Bahadur Lama worked for six years in Malaysia, but back home in Nepal he is now earning more than he ever did overseas. Here in his village 60km east of Kathmandu, Lama now harvests Buddhachitta seeds from sacred trees that grow in the mountains, and turns them into prayer bead necklaces revered in Tibetan Buddhism. The Buddhachitta tree (Ziziphus budhensis) is indigenous to Nepal and grows in the mountains of Kavre district, and demand boomed after the Dalai Lama proclaimed that the seeds found in Nepal were the best. People from Kavre had gone to Bodh Gaya 12 years ago and presented the Dalai Lama with Buddhachitta prayer beads. Not long after, while speaking in Taiwan the Dalai Lama told followers that the seeds from Nepal had special powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8" data-rendition-name="original" width="737" height="536" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama shows a visiting journalist different types of Buddhachitta seeds. Single-faced beads are the rarest and most valuable, as are the smallest 8mm beads. A prayer necklace made of 108 beads would easily cost Rs1.5 million (over $10,630). “We cannot say if our trees will give smaller beads or even how many faces or clear eyes, it’s all natural,” says Lama, who now works as a consultant, advising people all over Nepal about planting the tree, and has since spread it across the country. Four years ago, a Chinese middleman made 7mm plastic cups to cover the seeds, hoping the trees would produce smaller pods. It did not work, and the trees died. Such is the demand for high-quality Buddhachitta beads that a group of 20 men employed by a Chinese dealer cut down a tree along the Rosi River last year. The harvest from that tree had made $212,600 the year before. With that kind of price, the trees are in danger of being chopped down. &nbsp; Lama himself used to make Rs10 million ($70,880) from the seeds of each tree. With this money, he built new houses and sent his daughter to Japan, all with Buddhachitta income. But the market for the seeds is volatile.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama invested Rs10 million when prices were high ten years ago, but he lost most of that when the prices collapsed for bigger seeds.&nbsp; He adds: “That year the demand was only for small seeds, and it has only been three years since the prices have risen again for seeds that make no sound when you shake them.”&nbsp; HISTORY Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche left seeds of Buddhachitta while meditating in the Temal region of Kavre district in the 8th century as a blessing. He is known in the Himalaya as the ‘Second Buddha’ whose birth was foretold by the Buddha himself, and spread Buddhism in Tibet. Now, almost every household from the Tamang community here has on average 50 trees. The tree thrives on gravel and sandy soil, needs to be protected from excess water, and can grow up to 10 meters high. It starts bearing fruit annually from its third year and one tree lives for 90 years. The fruits are handpicked every June and July, and then have to be processed by boiling the seeds to remove their hard outer skin. The seeds are then dried in the sun for a few days.&nbsp; “Our families have been growing Buddhachitta for generations, but it started becoming hugely profitable only about 12 years ago, it has become a cash crop and has even replaced staples like maize,” says Dev Lama, 55.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Dev Lama</figcaption> </figure>  What helps is that Buddhachitta is not a high-maintenance crop, it just needs some weeding, watering, and protection from hailstorms and pesticides. Once it matures, it does not need much care, and farmers intercrop it with other grain.&nbsp; “You don’t have to work on it every year like maize, which needs to be planted year after year,” explains Shova Shrestha, 33. “We also continue to grow other vegetables and spices, all of which help to preserve soil nutrients.” Generally, farmers do not sell directly to Chinese traders but deal with local middlemen who take a cut before they take it to the Chinese traders who lodge in Kathmandu during the harvest season. But the bulk of the profit is made by Chinese wholesalers across the border. &nbsp; And now with the proliferation of the plant, and with nearly every family growing several trees, farmers sometimes struggle to find buyers and are often severely short-changed, as was the case with Maiya Tamang’s family.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Maiya Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  “I wasn’t home that day two years ago, but my sons later told me that my husband sold an entire tree for just Rs1,500,” recalls Tamang, 60. “We asked him why he sold it for a price that wouldn’t even buy a sack of rice, and he just shrugged.” Tamang did make a profit two years ago, but last year’s crop was destroyed by a hailstorm. Despite this, the bead business has augmented the income of a family dependent on subsistence agriculture. &nbsp; A neighbour, Sonam Tamang, had a few Buddhachitta trees in his backyard and has bought saplings from a nursery to expand. Saplings cost Rs500, but it is double that for plants that give high value seeds. Says Sonam Tamang: “The middlemen sometimes cheat us by offering much less than the seeds are worth, and they don’t allow us to speak directly with the Chinese buyers. But even if we did, there would be a language barrier.” Meanwhile, Singha Bahadur Lama who started out as a Buddhachitta farmer now owns a nursery and is a dealer in saplings himself. Some Nepalis have tried to sell directly in China, but face added costs of travel and hotel while there. &nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.