<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022112916110/63861ea79c7e80680e0ccddajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="799" height="536"/><figcaption></figcaption></figure>There have been few days without rain this April and May in Kathmandu. That means more disease for Kathmandu. Not COVID-19, but the virus we used to talk about -- last year's scary unknown disease, dengue.The year 2019 saw Nepal's worst ever outbreak of dengue, with 15,000 people infected, many times the previous high. Dengue was particularly bad in the Kathmandu Valley. At least six people died.The medical journal The Lancet has warned that Kathmandu could see a dengue ‘explosion’ because it has become ‘an ideal breeding ground’ for the mosquito that carries dengue -- the notorious Aedes aegypti. Already in 2020, four cases have been reported in Kathmandu, and four in Lalitpur.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/big-story-of-small-pox-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Big story of smallpox in Nepal</a>, Tom Robertson<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/viruses-past-present-and-future/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Viruses past, present and future</a>, Tom RobertsonDengue spiked in 2019 with outbreaks around the developing world. In recent years, Delhi, Dhaka, Ho Chi Minh City, Senegal and Singapore have faced bad outbreaks. A dengue outbreak in Delhi in 2015 inundated hospitals and clinics across the city.Dengue likes warm humid conditions. Before corona, dengue was the world's fastest growing dangerous virus, increasing four-fold in just over a decade. Two of every five people around the world, nearly 3 billion people, live in dengue risk areas where it is a leading cause of illness. Each year approximately 100 million people contract the disease, and over 20,000 die.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022112916110/63861eaa9c7e80680e0ccddbjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="961" height="540"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Like malaria, dengue is actually several different diseases that we give a single name. There are four dengue viruses: Dengue 1, 2, 3, and 4. A person can catch each one, and get sick as many as four times.A first infection generally brings only mild flu symptoms, if any at all. But a second infection can cause ‘severe dengue’ with plasma leakage, bleeding, and shock. This can kill. No treatment exists for dengue, but generally symptoms can be managed.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/climate-health-emergency/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Climate health emergency</a>, Sonia Awale<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mosquitoes-move-up-mountains-as-the-earth-warms/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Mosquitoes move up mountains as the earth warms</a>, Sonia AwaleDengue's main mosquito host, Aedes aegypti, is no ordinary mosquito. In a species known for death and deviousness, it has few rivals. Not many mosquitoes have so successfully defied human efforts at control, including in recent decades.Long before dengue, Aedes aegypti carried a far deadlier disease: yellow fever. During the 16th and 17th, slave ships brought yellow fever carrying A. aegypti from Africa to the Americas, devastating indigenous populations and reshaping the region's balance of power. In the early twentieth century, the A. aegypti -- yellow fever combination almost blocked the construction of the Panama Canal.Most wildlife avoid humans. Not A. aegypti. It loves us, particularly the ecological disorder we often create. The more humans, the more disturbed ecosystems, the more A. aegypti. Cities, especially disorganised cities, create ideal habitat: lots of standing water for breeding and lots of humans for feeding.Dengue's other mosquito carrier is A. albopictus.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022112916110/63861eac9c7e80680e0ccddcjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="463"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022112916110/63861eaf9c7e80680e0ccdddjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="635"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The Lancet points to dengue's major causes: climate change, relentless and haphazard urbanisation, brisk trade and transit from dengue-infested areas, and poor health infrastructure. As Kathmandu grows and gets more connected to other parts of Asia, dengue spreads.Climate change has been overrated as a cause. Warming temperatures can extend the range of Aedes carriers but other causes deserve more attention. ‘Last summer’s explosion of dengue in Kathmandu Valley was <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mosquitoes-move-up-mountains-as-the-earth-warms/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mosquitoes-move-up-mountains-as-the-earth-warms/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1590920172779000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHqCreNEFDji4GDyS_wUW1JkpUOGA">blamed on climate change</a>,’ the Nepali Times recently noted, ‘but it was actually a perfect storm of crowded and squalid living conditions, poor drainage, greater mobility of people, and a particularly wet monsoon.’The real problem is disorganised urbanisation. The A. aegypti carrier thrives in small collections of clean water in flower pots, old car and truck tyres, uncovered water containers, and even puddles. It bites people early morning and at dusk.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-is-a-microcosm-of-all-of-the-changes-in-world-health/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">"Nepal is a microcosm of all of the changes in world health"</a><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/ke-garne-attitude-kills-people/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">K garne attitude kills people</a>, Laxmi BasnetNepal, like much of the developing world, has witnessed dramatic and disorderly urban growth in recent years, much in the lowlands along highways. ‘Nepal's Tarai," Mukesh Pokhrel recently wrote also in this newspaper, "is turning into one endless elongated metropolis.’Kathmandu itself grew four-fold between 1980 and 2010, and is one of the fastest growing cities in one of the world's fastest urbanising regions.'<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mosquitoes-move-up-mountains-as-the-earth-warms/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mosquitoes-move-up-mountains-as-the-earth-warms/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1590920172779000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHqCreNEFDji4GDyS_wUW1JkpUOGA">Cities like Kathmandu are perfect breeding grounds</a> for the Aedes mosquito,' says Jeremy Farrar of the Wellcome Trust in an interview with this paper. 'Kathmandu’s climate is changing, the city is growing exponentially in a haphazard way and the mosquito loves highly dense populations of people.'<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/east-west-city/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">East-West City</a>, Mukesh Pokhrel<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19301#.XtI_7y2B3-Y" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Dengue fever</a>, Buddha BasnyatThe Lancet highlights what might happen in a dengue explosion in Kathmandu. ‘A tug-of-war might occur between the worried well and the truly sick,’ it says. ‘Hospitals might be overwhelmed and many needy patients with other diseases could be turned away.’Doctors inexperienced with the disease pose a particular worry. They could misunderstand its dynamics and cause unnecessary deaths by over-treating with unneeded antibiotics, transfusions, and excessive intravenous fluids. This has happened elsewhere.The dengue-carrying Aedes aegypti mosquito is difficult to control. Brazil eradicated it twice, in the 1950s and in the 1970s, and twice it returned. Several factors explain why: a lack of sustained careful epidemiological surveillance, insecticide resistance, the high costs of materials and wages, insufficient community participation and coordination with the health sector, and, crucially, the spread of haphazard urban development. Narrow control programs inevitably run into trouble.The World Health Organisation (WHO) stresses both micro and macro efforts to fight dengue. Individual families can put tight lids on water containers. They can eliminate breeding spots such as empty cans, bottles, and tires. It also says community engagement and building country capacity for environmental management and disease surveillance is important.“Locally adapted vector control measures such as household water storage management and, more importantly, engaging individuals and communities to manage their immediate environment are essential to controlling the spread of the disease,” says Raman Velayudhan, head of WHO’s Vector and Ecology Management Unit.School-based awareness programs, The Lancet authors noted, can help block dengue's spread. ‘Students are good learners and can be taught to effectively use repellents and mosquito nets and get rid of water collections near their homes and schools; students will then spread this information to their parents.’ Several countries have implemented successful school programs.Historian Frank Snowden sums it up: "Dengue takes full advantage of societal neglect and the absence or cessation of vector control programs."Tom Robertson, Ph D, is an environmental historian who writes about the history of malaria in Nepal. And just wrote a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/big-story-of-small-pox-in-nepal/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/big-story-of-small-pox-in-nepal/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1590920172779000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFk193f6QnfjiWqivawrVZt2FPA4A">five-part series on smallpox</a> for Nepali Times as part of his History of Disease column.

Tom Robertson

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The dangers of the dengue virus

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a66f29c7e80680e0599b1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1062"/><figcaption>Photo : SONIA AWALE</figcaption></figure>Nepal is stepping up preparations for its 10-year census in 2021, which is slated to be the most hitech in history and will go beyond simply counting the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nepals-changing-demography-is-having-profound-impact-on-politics,2693" target="_blank" rel="noopener">country’s population</a> to surveying households in order to chart the country’s path in the coming decade.Read also:<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=38051&amp;preview_nonce=38f8426e6c&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal in 2030</a>, Sanghamitra Subba<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=38046&amp;preview_nonce=d2d7129548&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">A future written in the stars,</a> Sanghamitra SubbaEnumerators from the <a style="letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://cbs.gov.np/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Central Bureau of Statistics</a> (CBS) will be using tablets to enter data during a pilot census in 14 districts next month. The actual census in June 2021 is expected to give an accurate picture of Nepal’s demography and how it has progressed in <a style="letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/this-is-how-to-upgrade-nepals-rural-health/">health</a>, <a style="letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">education</a> and development.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=38023&amp;preview_nonce=024823c344&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Towards 2030</a><a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=38038&amp;preview_nonce=e8166bf726&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Another decade to get it right,</a> Editorial<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=38073&amp;preview_nonce=5c5e53a600&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">How will Nepal develop in the next decade?,</a> Sonia AwaleFor the first time, data will be collected at the lowest administrative unit, the ward, and also include information on housing, migration, jobs and income. The census will cost Rs4.5 billion and employ 43,000 enumerators.“Previous censuses only went down to the district level, and enumerators used two forms: a short form for every household, and a long form used on every eighth household,” says Bijay Thapa of the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA), which is collaborating with the government on the census. “After federalism, local governments also want disaggregated data and we will have detailed information on every household.”Next year’s exercise will also count the number of old and new buildings and note whether they are residential, official, commercial or unused. It will include a community survey, one of the first in the world, to assess availability of government services, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/disastrous-management-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">disaster preparedness</a> and access to natural resources.“This will help us determine if people are making the best use of government services,” says CBS Director Dhundiraj Lamichhane. “Nepal has categorised 276 municipalities as urban, but we do not know if the resources available match the international criteria for urban municipalities. This survey will help us determine that. If successful, it will be a model for other countries.”Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=38051&amp;preview_nonce=38f8426e6c&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal in 2030,</a> Sanghamitra Subba<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=38051&amp;preview_nonce=38f8426e6c&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">A future written in the stars,</a>Sanghamitra SubbaLamichhane said the questions enumerators will ask have not yet been finalised, but there are demands from various communities to include ones on mother tongue, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-right-of-passage/">disabilities</a> and sexual orientation. Activists say there are 900,000 <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Night-and-%20Day,3145">LGBTI people in Nepal</a>, but the 2011 census showed only 1,500 so the figure was not included in the results.“This time they want more detailed questions to reflect their diversity, but we think it is better to do a separate survey,” says Lamichhane. “Various castes and ethnicities are also demanding to be included, but we will only do so if recommended by relevant government bodies.”Going by past trends and other sample surveys, experts have already projected results of the 2021. Nepal is expected to continue showing improvements on most indicators, including birth rate, population growth, health and education. However, they say some indicators, like the sex ratio and migration, may not show progress.One of the reasons Nepal’s <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/migrating-males-and-population-decline/">population growth rate is low is because of the absentee population</a>: 1.92 million according to the last census. And there is no reason to believe that the percentage of migrants will decrease or even stabilise in next year’s count. However, internal migration is expected to slow because of more education and employment opportunities at local levels.Nepal’s current sex ratio is 94 males per 100 females,<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a66f59c7e80680e0599b2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="461" height="500">and the sex ratio at birth is 106 males per 100 females. This is considered normal, since there are usually slightly more male children born than females, but females tend to live longer.“Female foeticide is growing even though it is illegal. The next census may show a greater ratio of male babies born to female ones, and we estimate the sex ratio at birth to rise to 110 males to 100 females. Additionally, the national average may hide greater discrepancies in certain districts or cities where female foeticide is more rampant, and we need to watch out for that,” explains Tirtha Tamang of UNFPA.Demographic indicators like birth, fertility and death rates are all set to decrease, which means that Nepal’s population growth rate will continue to slow. The 2021 census is likely to show a wider ‘youth bulge’ in the population pyramid. Although this provides a ‘<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/editorial-reaping-demographic-dividend,3621">demographic dividend</a>,’ with a bigger workforce that could lead to a development boom, Nepal must be able to cash in on this window of opportunity in the next 10 years. Given the current quality of governance, experts doubt it will happen.Nepal’s youth advantage will last till 2047. After that, the country will be grappling with the complications of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/need-to-prepare-for-ageing-society,3624">an ageing society</a>. In fact, Nepal will start losing some of its youth power about 2028, when the population over 65 will be more than 7%. The next decade is key for Nepal to use its demographic dividend to provide jobs at home and boost economic growth.Despite improvements in education, health, life expectancy and income, the country may not be in a position to make the best of its demographic dividend because of the skewed sex ratio caused by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/irresistible-forces-wage-differentials-and-demographic-trends/">outmigration</a>. According to a report by the National Planning Commission, the country sorely needs to invest in policies that make the best of the potential of youth.Says Lamichhane at the CBS: “If young Nepalis at the peak of their abilities <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/migration-certificate/">continue to leave the country</a>, then Nepal will not make great strides in development. In the next decade we need policies to modernise agriculture and improve infrastructure if we want to retain our youth and have them contribute to the country.”<h2>21 of Nepal’s most endangered languages</h2>When Nepal’s last census was published in 2011, language became one of the most hotly-debated indicators. Many doubted that the census accurately reflected the status of Nepal’s languages. This time, the Language Commission is working with the Central Bureau of Statistics (CBS) to make a more comprehensive tally.The 2011 census counted 123 languages spoken in Nepal, including foreign languages like English, French, Spanish and Chinese. Also, there was a belief that many people who had forgotten their ancestral language nevertheless registered those languages as their mother tongue, leading to higher numbers of speakers of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Mind-your-languages,133" target="_blank" rel="noopener">endangered languages</a> registered than in reality. The Kusunda language, for example, has only two speakers left, but the census records 28.“The languages should be categorised as foreign and native to Nepal, so that we don’t count European languages as our own,” says Bharat Tripathi of the Language Commission. “Also, the last time there were only two questions asked about language: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13412#.XftV_JMzaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">mother tongue</a> and second language. This time we want to change that to: mother tongue, second language and ancestral language.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a66f79c7e80680e0599b3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="947">While the CBS is still debating these suggestions, it has agreed to include six more languages newly catalogued by the Language Commission, bringing the total to 129. “We investigated Rana Tharu, Narafu, Chum, Nubri/Lharke, Poike and Serake languages in the past year. Through linguistic methodologies, we have established that they are distinct languages,” says Tripathi. “This year we have received claims from speakers of Marek Yakhya and Walung languages in Taplejung — we are in the process of investigating them.”These languages are usually spoken by very few people, and are added to the list of endangered languages. The commission has identified 37 languages spoken by fewer than 1,000 people, and placed 21 of them on that list, but there may be many more hidden among less populous communities. The commission is working to document these 21 languages by collecting their grammar, determining their alphabets, writing their language histories and documenting the available folklore.It is doubtful if all of the 129 languages will survive even till the census in June 2021. But most certainly many will be gone by the 2031 census.

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Nepal in the 2020s

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

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.

Sacred seed feeds boom

Dimar Chaudhary was born and raised in Old Padampur, the village inside what is now Chitwan National Park before it was dsignated a protected area. His Tharu community, as well as other indigenous groups, traditionally relied on Chitwan’s jungles and rivers for generations. Chaudhary himself had grown up collecting medicinal plants and wild vegetables, gathering wood, and grazing cattle in the forest. Chitwan, along with much of Nepal’s Tarai, was plagued by malaria until a US-supported DDT spraying campaign to wipe out the disease in the district in the 1950s. This opened the valley up to trans-migration of farmers from the hills. Before that, Chitwan was inhabited entirely by indigenous people: 90% of the district’s population was Tharu, and the rest were Bote, Mushar, Darai and Majhi communities. In 1973 Chitwan National Park became Nepal's first protected area and in 1996, the Nepal government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management. Old Padampur was subsequently relocated outside the park. Ntional parks formed buffer zone user committees (BZUCs) to manage and oversee community forests. Hundreds of thousands of local people were directly involved in managing buffer zone community forests across the country. Over three decades, these forests have not only made conservation collaborative, but also helped to mitigate wildlife-related crimes and human wildlife conflict. In 2014, 2015 and 2016, Nepal achieved zero poaching for its three flagship species: rhinos, tigers and elephants. But while these user communities have made wildlife conservation participatory, the process hasn’t been inclusive of Nepal’s indigenous and underserved communities. In 2022, WWF supported Community Conservation Nepal to collect data on natural resources used by Tharu indigenous people before the establishment of Chitwan National Park. The project also looked into the inclusion of indigenous, women, Dalit and disabled communities in the Baghauda, Paachpandav, Meghauli, Mrigakunja, and Amaltari Buffer Zone User Committees (BZUC) as well as the Someshwor, Gardi Chure, Radha Krishna, and Baghmara Buffer Zone Community Forests (BZCF).  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977" data-rendition-name="original" width="1342" height="941" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC map"></figure>  BARRIERS TO INCLUSION The survey found that women are underrepresented in all the BZUCs despite women user groups being larger. Nepal’s Buffer Zone laws dictate that each BZUC has 13 members. Each BZUC is made up of nine units, and as many representatives are elected from those units. The elected members have the authority to choose the remaining four members. This meant that indigenous peoples, marginalised groups, and women have a far lower chance of being elected. Indeed, out of the total members, Paachpandav and Mrigakunja BCUZs had four women, Meghauli had three women, and Baghauda had only one woman, whereas Amaltari user committee had no woman member. In contrast, the BZCF are relatively more inclusive of women, with two out of four surveyed BZCF comprising half women members. Additionally, some grassroots user committees are made up entirely of women. Most women members of the user committees are not appointed through elections, but chosen by elected male members, and are not given positions of leadership. “Women have been the ones protecting the forests ever since the concept of forest conservation initially emerged,” one female participant told us during a focus group discussion. People would get angry when the women stopped them from cutting down trees and grass, and grazing cattle in the jungles, she recalled, adding, “We were dedicated to the user committees. However, we are no longer involved in the committees, nor are we invited to meetings.” When asked about the absence of women in the user committees, one BZUC chairperson responded, “There are only men here because they won the election. Women are unwilling to run for the election. How will they fit into the committee if no woman has ever run for election?” However, not only are women deprived of the chance to contest elections, the chances of them winning polls are also very low because a majority of the positions in the committee will already have been allocated by political parties to their male cadres. Women from marginalised communities face further hurdles.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43" data-rendition-name="original" width="959" height="508" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC "></figure>  “No male member from the Musahar community has been elected in the user community, if they had, they could have suggested that women from our community be included in the committee as well,” said a female participant from the Musahar community. While the native Musahar and Bote people lack representation in the BZUC, indigenous people did make up the majority of the members in the committees, while Dalit members were included in some collectives. However, only one committee is led by an indigenous person. The others are chaired by upper-caste hill migrants. In addition, no committee had any representative with disabilities. One of the key reasons for the under-representation of marginalised communities in Nepal’s BZUC is its non-inclusive policy. When Nepal’s Constitution was promulgated in 2015, residents living in proximity to protected areas across Nepal had hoped that policies relating to buffer zones and their governance would be reformed to reflect Nepal’s new socio-political reality. But this has not been the case. However, this has not discouraged indigenous Nepalis, who have continued to demand buffer zone policy reforms that ensure the inclusion of women, indigenous and marginalised communities. In addition to policy revision, it is necessary to reform the buffer zone election so that it is more participatory for underserved communities. Reforms should also regulate the number of members in a user group. Similarly, the budget allocated for buffer zones must be used on activities that benefit conservation instead of local infrastructure development. Women, people with disabilities, indigenous and marginalised communities should be the primary beneficiaries of budget dispensation. Crop damage compensation, which currently is Rs10,000, can be increased by five times to Rs50,000. Policy revisions should ultimately guarantee the rights of indigenous communities like the Sonaha, Bote and Musahar to practice their culture and traditional livelihoods and receive a formal education. Buffer Zone User Committees must apply indigenous conservation practices for park management. Birendra Mahato is an elected member of the Ratnanagar Municipality Ward 6 and Founder Chair of the Tharu Culture Museum Research Centre in Sauraha.

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Sacred seed feeds boom

Parks by the people and for the people