Bhotang

I had tried to write my introduction to this blog several times, but it wasn’t successful. I will keep it short! In a nutshell, I felt totally unenthused, disinterested and quite depressed on the road to Bhotang. It is fair to say that I did not want to go, and the first two days did nothing to bolster my spirits. Perhaps, in fact they only sought to worsen them. There were many reasons for this, both locally driven and stemming from the UK, on a professional level and personally too.

So that I can continue, I am just going to fast forward four days, through the darkness and into the light so to speak.

Having been in Bhotang just 24 hours we lost power. The power outage continued for some time, but despite the lack of light and obvious non-existent phone or laptop, I was beginning to really enjoy my homestay atmosphere. My homestay ‘Mum’ had gone to Kathmandu to visit her youngest child on my second day and so my homestay ‘Dad’ and neighbours were responsible for my meals. The dishes cooked were so similar to Sunita’s back in Kashyem, it was great to be back eating the food I have come to love. Aside from the meals, it was a very different homestay. I was in a concrete house, with a large bedroom and a western toilet and indoor washing facilities. Mira (Mum) and her husband speak almost no English and so the conversations were often funny and probably misinterpreted. But we managed. I learned a few new Nepali words and was also encouraged to try out the local dialect, which is Tamang. Tamang is quite closely related to Tibetan I am given to understand. I lived on the third floor of my homestay, pretty much by myself except occasionally when the other room was used, which I think was just once in my whole time there.

(Meera and her husband)

Bhotang is (or rather will be) a beautiful little town on the side of a hill in amongst mountains. If I thought Kashyem was rural, then Bhotang is even more so. Closer to the Himalayan mountain range, in the shadow of Langtang Lirung (at 7,225m tall), the plunging valley and mountains, opposite the village, house much smaller communities than Sikkim (over which Kashyem looks). Snowfall on the mountains that are all around created freezing drafts that blew off the nearest mountain and, despite bright sunshine during most days, it made for cold evenings and nights. I was but a stone’s throw away from the border with Tibet and some of the people I met in Bhotang have travelled one or more of the passes that carry travellers through the mountains and into the colourful and ancient traditions of the Tibetan people.

(Main road through the village)

(View from outside my bedroom on little terrace where I hung my washing)

(View in another direction)

It is fair to say that Bhotang is, itself, currently a building site. Dozens of make shift houses (both corregated iron and emergency shelter type construction) still exist as temporary homes and next to the vast majority, more permanent, steel and concrete ones are being erected. The devastation from the earthquake is still apparent and the concept of the immediate aftermath does not bear thinking about. Each family in Bhotang has been given 3 laks (300,000 Nepali rupees) by the Nepali government to build their home. The town is quite the most amazing sight as dozens of similar structures at first storey stage are springing up between the, already sandwiched, more temporary housing. All this perched on a mountainside, surrounded by small fields of crops, that are irregular in shape, cut into the mountainside and appearing as ‘steps’, when viewed from a distance. It really would be something to return to this community once all the building has been finished.

(The start of new buildings, mixed with the corregated tin of others and a few with first storey completed)

(Old home being dismantled - all the parts are re-used for other things)

The main way of making a living in Bhotang is through agriculture. Both maize and millet are grown – six months of the year for one and then six months of the year for the other. Cows and water buffalo are still used as plough animals to cultivate the small patchwork of fields that cascade down the mountain. There is one main, dusty road that winds its way through the village. The road comes in (there is no road out – it stops just after Bhotang) and has been created mostly by the remnants of landslides along much of its local stretch. Unlike Kashyem, the road is fairly level, following the same contour along the mountainside, with the town situated along the road rather than up and down the side of the hill as in Kashyem. My homestay was a twenty-minute walk away from school and I returned home for lunch each day so managed a little bit of exercise – which was more than necessary! I also got very dusty.

(Some fields with fresh green crops and others with straw ready for burning to enrich the soil)

(Working animals taking a break)

(Meeting the locals)

Shree Bhotang Devi Secondary School is also, partly a construction site. With two new buildings complete, the third was almost finished when I arrived. Some lessons were still taking place outside, which was fine as, on a sunny day, it was definitely the warmest and most pleasant place to be. The new toilet block had had its foundations laid. The school is government run and so my role at the school was going to be very much classroom teacher rather than trainer. The school has several agencies working with it including Teach for Nepal who have three fellows working at the school, each for a period of two years. HELP, the organisation I was associated with, through Mondo, also finance one teacher, but it is fair to say that Mondo have a more logistical role here and have invested heavily in the infrastructure of the school site.

Some things to note about the school:

- English is the third language spoken in Bhotang. Tamang, Nepali, English

- Only English is taught in English – all other subjects are taught in Nepali

- Some staff carry (and use) a stick

- The school has 500 pupils

- Some of class 8 (63 pupils) were still learning their ABC

- School operates for six days a week – just like the Nepali working week. Saturday is a ‘holiday’

- Teachers are linked to a number of different agencies alongside local ones managed by the school directly

The stage was set. Having been told that the three Teach for Nepal fellows would keep themselves to themselves, my (inflated) reputation must have preceded me as they were all very keen to work with me. The word ‘observation’ brings fear to most teachers I know, but even a request ‘to be observed’ was made! It was a really good start, because if Pratik, Rajinder and Ramish had not been so welcoming and engaging, I am not sure how I would have survived the first three days. As the English teacher for Classes 7-10, it was Pratik I worked with most closely and we set about planning our ideas as to what priorities existed for his classes. Shortly after though, our plans were postponed. A huge learning fair, involving five schools and many communities was being held at the school one week after my arrival. There was much to prepare, and lessons were put on hold, so students could help clear the playground, build the stage, build and prepare stalls, make posters, collect the necessary things from around the town and get the show on the road. Classes Nursery to 6 were given the week at home and classes 7-10 joined forces with teachers to do everything that needed to be done. Having become very used to this kind of approach I jumped in and did anything I could to help. It ended up being quite a lot. Rajinder knew I had been an event manager and so he went through the floor plan and itinerary with me to see if I had any suggestions or comments. From then on Pratik and I worked with some of the students from Class 7 on making and preparing games, posters, songs and things for the ‘English Stall’. I also helped rehearse with Class 10 for the song they would sing on the stage at the event – although I took no responsibility for the outcome (he says smiling). Again, watching the playground transform over the week was quite spectacular. The ever-versatile bamboo was put through its paces and triumphed every time. All we really needed was the weather to come good. A couple of days of cloud and wind, with snow falling on the mountains had made the last couple of days of preparation quite chilly.

(Third building - closest to us - having final work done)

(Assembly amongst the bricks and cement)

(Stage construction)

(Bunting goes up)

(Bamboo begins to form the basis of the exhibition spaces)

(Everything begins to take shape)

(View from the school gate)

(View across the back of school)

(Exhibition spaces complete with covering, ready to be filled)

(Stage ready to go)

(Where are the people?)

(Final preparations)

(Our English stall)

Perhaps my first week was not exactly what I expected, but it gave me a chance to settle into the school, meet many of the children and chat to some of them individually, helping them with some of their own individual questions where I could. And, just in case you thought there was no teaching at all, my first lesson was reading comprehension with Class 8 – you know, the class that has 63 students! You can ask me how I got on one day – after I have recovered!

After five days of that first week, power returned to the little town and I hurriedly charged everything. It had been quite nice reading and playing patience with cards, but it was equally as good to reconnect with my parents and one or two people back in Kashyem, who had sent messages wondering where I was.

To be fair (excuse the pun), the fair went really well. It was incredibly busy with about 1,500 people from across many villages turning out to attend the event. The stalls were rammed for the entire four hours they were ‘open’. The weather stayed fine, and the day went without a real hitch. Even the power stayed connected for the entirety which meant the sound system kept us all informed as to what was happening (not me of course as I don’t speak Nepali). I still look at the photos and am in awe of what was built and achieved just to prepare for the event, let alone for it to be held. Much like the building of the stage for the Annual Day at New Rise, lessons at Bhotang stopped for a week, but the children here are, perhaps unsurprisingly, much more focused on everyday jobs and skills that will enable them to engage in their day to day life – formal education, although seen as important, can take a back seat.

(Dancing on the stage)

(Flooded with customers)

(Busy playground)

(Pratik and Rajinder - Teach for Nepal fellows)

(The community dancing that follows every great event)

I ended my first week on a much more solid footing. For the first few days, I had wanted to climb aboard the bus, head back to Kathmandu and then possibly, back to the UK. There were, as I said, many reasons for this, and some are still quite pertinent. The level of English in Bhotang is, understandably, also quite low – it is their third, if not fourth (Hindi) language – which made conversations with the general consensus very difficult. However, there were a few people that made me feel incredibly welcome and were so enthusiastic about what I had been able to offer in those first few days, that I am glad I persevered. Once the power was back on, the messages I had received from staff and students back in Kashyem, wondering where I was on my journey and how I was getting on, also served as a reminder of just how much I missed being in West Bengal and the exciting challenges that waited for me when I returned.

I ought to mention that, following three and a half months without television or regular access to any kind of news, I began watching the BBC World News channel at my homestay during dinner (when power allowed). Of course, Brexit dominated the news that came from the UK. What a shambles! However, the news from home and other parts of the world for that matter (Trump just about to declare a national emergency so he can get around protocol for raising funds for his wall), might have made for depressing viewing if it had not, overwhelmingly, helped me to feel much more connected to home, during, what was, a predominantly lonely and isolating time in Bhotang.

The three Teach for Nepal fellows continued to be welcoming and hospitable and were really eager to learn as much as possible. Towards the end of my second week they had training in Kathmandu for four days and left their classes in my (capable?) hands for six (one day to travel there and one day to travel back). The level of English made this a pretty daunting task as I had no way to translate the pertinent or technical parts of what I was trying to teach. Differentiation was challenging to say the least. With Class 8 for example, whilst some young people were working on adjective, verb, article and noun, others were looking at pictures of nouns and learning the English word. Grouping 63 students effectively, with a language barrier, logistical restraints and little evidence of their understanding, was either going to make me laugh or cry. Luckily, for me, it made me laugh, not least of all, because I just pictured any one of a number of my teaching friends observing the lessons I was attempting to teach. I have to say that, for most of the time, you wouldn’t have known there were 63 of them. They were very well behaved. Teaching Class 8 was, in fact, a highlight of my time in Bhotang and a pleasure. I have never taught so many children and their focus and attitude were both so positive. I believe that all of the children learned something during my time there, whatever their academic ability. Oh, and the reason that Class 8 is so big? It is a bottleneck situation. At the end of Class 8, students have district examinations. If they do not pass, they do not progress to Class 9. This could be one very real reason why they were so well behaved given their number. They all really do want to move to their next year group.

My biggest challenge was teaching Class 10. I had them for 3 x 45 minute lessons a day while the Teach for Nepal fellows were away. Class 10 lived on the premises whilst revising for their exams and I really felt that they were being pushed to the point of exhaustion. They studied from 0530 – 0900, then had timetabled lessons and then studied into the evening. Some of them actually lived just a stone’s throw away from the school. When I asked why they had to be at school 24/7 the answer was “because I won’t study at home.” Knowing how to pitch the lessons – we did tense, articles, direct/indirect speech, voice etc – was a constant internal battle. Learning some of the more technical vocabulary as I went, the lessons became as interactive as I could possibly make them, but I had to sympathise with them being tired. Of course, as English is their third language, it can be very difficult for them to pick up – remember it is the only lesson taught in English. However, I also found that the young people in Class 10 were neither as warm or as friendly as those in the other classes or indeed, those I had left in West Bengal. Knowing that Class 10 students back in Kashyem were also at school (during their holidays) to revise for their exams, almost had me heading back early as I really felt I would be of more use there and my teaching would be more warmly welcomed. Never one to give up (on much anyway) I persevered. As I have mentioned, my most fruitful lessons during my time in Bhotang were with Class 8. I even started morning work with them, so we could cover reading comprehension in one lesson before school started and then grammar in a second lesson (their timetabled one).

(Foggy assembly)

(Class 10 - a five minute break gave them chance to catch up on forty winks)

Some of Class 10 began to warm a little, those that really felt college in Kathmandu was an option for them, those that (like me) did not like the idea of just wasting time and, even one or two, who clearly found the lessons challenging, began to focus and engage with the, very different, style of teaching I was delivering. As well as the 24/7 school-based revision as a reason for the lack of enthusiasm, there are others. One is the sheer lack of expectation – a pass mark is 33% (in all subjects – Nepali or English taught) - hardly the high expectations teachers should have of their students. Due to the Class 10 students being at school 24/7 the line between the behaviour they may exhibit at home and that at school has been erased – the boundaries and rules at school have weakened and on occasions it definitely felt as though Class 10 were in control, dictating the day, not the adults. This part of my incredible journey has given me so many other things to think about when engaging a group of students who: were not my usual taught age group; had such low motivation; had a low level of language and who were exhausted. In contrast, Class 8 and 9 (and even 7) really tried with their English and had a much better handle on the aspects of a sentence and tenses. Their enthusiasm and behaviour were also much stronger.

Looking back my first day of solo teaching was, in fact, a pretty successful one. I targeted most lessons correctly, except for maybe Year 9, who I felt knew much more about some of the grammatical aspects of English than I had been led to believe. Still, the lesson gave me a good insight and homework would prove just how much of the learning was repeating words from before and how much was real knowledge. It does seem that the engagement of Teach for Nepal fellows has had a strong impact on some lower years who, as they get older, will benefit from more discreet English teaching at a younger age – perhaps this is another reason for what could be missing for Year 10 (Teach for Nepal have only been here for a couple of years so Class 10 have not benefitted as much from the stronger quality English now being taught). For my part, I began to slow the speed at which I spoke and really focused on one or two core lessons, such as tense which might help them increase their marks across exam questions rather than trying to cover too many different subjects which would only score them 1 or 2 marks per answer.

Watching BBC World News for just half an hour – the plight of the people of Yemen, the floods in Lebanon or the washing away of houses along the Mekong river – was a very easy reminder that, despite the bumps and twists, I was privileged to be in Bhotang, living in the community and regardless of the negatives, there was still so much to be positive about. Not least of all the fact that learning was going on. By the middle of week two, one student (related to Mira) had come to the homestay to have a conversation in English and find out more about tenses and other grammar aspects. It is also true to say that I had found my feet a bit more. My evenings were spent planning and thinking of ways in which to progress the students on from what they had achieved during the day. I have always maintained that I am, first and foremost, a classroom teacher and I don’t think I ever want that to change. By week three, I have to admit, I was feeling much more positive and, thanks to some of the classes I was teaching, much more useful.

On a personal level, along my walk to school there were five homes (out of perhaps 50) that I was guaranteed a response to my Namaste and at three, a conversation in basic Nepali or English – sometimes a combination of both. It wasn’t a great response rate, but I think I partly understand the reluctance to engage. In 2001, I cycled the banks of the River Nile from Luxor to the Aswan Dam and back again. It was in aid of the National Deaf Children’s Society. All the way we had armed guards protecting us, driving up and down the line of cyclists. One of the reasons was a, then, recent attack on tourists at a famous Egyptian site, but the other was cited as ‘hostile’ locals. Understandably, unable to comprehend a bunch of Westerners cycling through their country, raising money for others, when they themselves had so little, was just a little more than irksome for the local people. Stones and sticks were often used as missiles to try dislodging us from our bikes in some of the more rural villages. Whilst this is perhaps an extreme example, and no doubt things have moved on in the last 18 years, there must be those people who find it hard to understand my being here. With little to no concept of what my life might entail. Add to this a self-consciousness about the English language and it becomes clearer why people may seem standoffish. Luckily for me there was always a child – usually aged between 4-7 – somewhere along my route who put their hands together and said, “Namaste Sir”. Often smiling through sun baked, sand smeared skin, with nose running from the cold, these bright, happy voices were enough to make me feel like the most welcome guest. It also clearly put one or two of the parents to shame too as they hurriedly followed their child’s example.

There were definitely a few occasions that bucked the normal trend – whilst out walking, a man stopped me and spoke very good English, asked me where I was going, where I was from…and at the fair a health care worker from the Health Point in the town, practised his English unashamedly, which was great, as he seemed to really enjoy the interaction – but these occasions were few and far between.

(The health point has just been donated two new buildings by the Red Cross of Japan. The buildings had just been handed over – 12^th January – and were about to be cleaned and put to use when I visited and took these photos. This is the only health facility in the town. It has basic healthcare provision and a good maternity room for delivering babies. A broken bone would require a visit to a larger facility about an hour away – along the very bumpy road)

On Tuesday 15^th January it was the Tamang New Year. We had a holiday from school and I took a walk along the road (which turns into a path) for a few of hours, walking quite far towards the mountains. The views were stunning and the way the mountain road weaved in and out gave a fresh perspective on the same view at almost every turn. The tradition at new year is for people to visit their relatives and greet them with a bow similar to those I saw at Dusshera where the elder then puts their hands on the head of the younger. Small celebrations of dancing could also be seen around the town. One gathering I wandered past had two men in brightly colourful outfits dancing around a haystack and beating a drum. It was lovely to watch, but I couldn’t find out much more about what the dance represented. In contrast to Kashyem, where someone from the community would always try to explain what was happening, people in Bhotang were much quieter. A shopkeeper who has her business below the homestay and speaks very good English helped me out on such occasions to explain basically that the celebration was a party for New Year. The next day I found out that, rather than having anything to do with New Year, the men dressed up were witch doctors. They had been in isolation studying in a cave for a length of time (not sure exactly how long). It just so happened that New Year’s Day was the day they felt compelled to emerge from the cave and share the news of the knowledge they had gained whilst being away. The dancing and chanting around the streets of the town was in celebration of the new knowledge.

The six-day working week came in very useful. With very little else to do in Bhotang (the nearest ‘place to visit’ is an 8-hour hike away and as it is ‘off season’ the barn in which hikers stay is closed), work kept me occupied and focused. During the 22 days in Bhotang I was away from school for just two days. I enjoyed walking to some local temples and monasteries and just generally mooching on those days, but being at school definitely gave me a purpose, which would have been otherwise lacking.

(I never did make it across - three times I tried, but my fear of heights got the better of me - I took the road around)

(Sugar beet)

(Remind you of anything from my recent past?)

(When you live your life above the clouds)

(View from school playground on my final day)

Of course, I could always rely on there needing to be a bit of washing done, and in Bhotang, boy did things need washing! The road and town were so dusty clothes turned the water a very dark brown. I washed socks separately. I ended up using just a set number of clothes, wearing things for a few days, washing them and then wearing them again. In retrospect, I needn’t have taken my whole rucksack with me, but its just another one of the lessons I have learned. The water was, literally, as close to freezing as you can get – without it actually being frozen obviously. But, on a positive note, the water was so soft, after washing (and once the hands had warmed back up) my hands felt great. Not to put too fine a point on it, washing myself was not a very regular occurrence. I think part of my stay in Bhotang was the longest I have ever gone without washing, since my trek in the High Andes back in 2006. ‘When in Rome…’ I remember wondering what was so different about Kashyem, where I washed much more frequently. I came up with three main reasons:

1) It wasn’t so dusty and dirty. In Bhotang, it would take approximately three minutes of walking for you to be ‘unclean’ again - it almost begged the question "Why bother?"

2) Cold water. The water in Bhotang was very cold – coming directly from the snow topped mountains, it was like ice.

3) Heating. My homestay in Kashyem was far more rural and we would boil water over a fire, but in Bhotang, the only way to heat water at my homestay was gas which is a precious resource for people to, first and foremost, cook with.

It would be fair to say that, whilst working hard, there was a part of me that was just waiting to leave Bhotang. A Nepali family whose two children had attended the British School of Ulaanbaatar had got in touch through a friend in Mongolia and invited me to a family wedding and to stay with them (their home is in Kathmandu). Raj had been in pre-school/Reception in Mongolia and his sister in Class 2/3. It was a really kind invitation and it fitted totally with my plans for returning to India. I was acutely aware that my own company was beginning to become a little tiresome and to have something exciting coming up provided me with a great diversion, especially as communication was sporadic thanks to the cutting out of power and the lack of phone reception.

Pratik’s return to Bhotang was a highlight of the start of my final week. He was excited to see all the colourful posters and work the students had done and I was glad to have someone to talk to about the learning and the progress of the students. It was great to begin team teaching again and I was eager to show him just how much Classes 7 and 8 had achieved. It was a really strong final four days and I was glad I stuck to my plan and stayed.

Ultimately, during my time in Bhotang, I confirmed many things I already know about myself and learned new things. For instance, whilst the lack of power was difficult due to the communication problems it created, it was really only a problem because of things that needed sorting back home (some of those problems from the start of the blog). In essence, if there had not been a necessity for communicating with home, I actually enjoyed the time to read, think, walk and not have the pressure of engagements, things to do or even, dare I say, responsibility. I lost myself in some of the legends and beliefs of a book on Nepali traditions and stories Satish had given me before I left India. I had a go at writing poetry and doodled thoughts and pictures. But at the same time as this, I realised that I am so totally and easily distracted. Without phone or internet or engagements, my attention span is actually pretty good. But, boy, as soon as the diversions come back on line, I can barely spend more than five minutes on any given task. My mind harks back to a secondary school teacher whose English report read something like “if Mark spent half as much time focused on his work, rather than on what is going on outside the window, he would achieve much more.”

So, however the three weeks started, I fared pretty well in the main and know, at the end of my time, most of the children enjoyed their learning and many showed some level of progress whilst I was there. Class 8, with no prompting I am told, brought in colourful scarfs to hang around my neck and then proceeded to sing a goodbye song that had been taught to them by a previous volunteer – although not until after I had sung to them (rendition of my best kareoke Maria, by Blondie). One of the students got up and said thank you and how much they had enjoyed the lessons – I should point out that this was just me and the class, no other teachers or staff spurring them on or prompting their words. In Class 9 more kind words and a round of applause. It was a very special end to the three weeks and on a day when I captured possibly the best view from my homestay terrace.

On my final evening the three Teach for Nepal fellows took me out for dinner to a small restaurant overlooking the valley. It was a very clear night. The stars were out, beautifully visible in the dark village. Laid out in front of us was a carpet of stars as the lights from many different villages looked like they were sitting in an awesome lake reflecting the heavens in the wide valley that disappears off in the direction of Kathmandu.

The following morning, I jumped on my bus – local bus. At a cost of 320 rupees (not quite £3) I would be travelling to Kathmandu as a local. An 8 hour journey, it mirrored the journey to Bhotang, although that was made by jeep. Not altogether any less comfortable, the bus seemed to absorb more of the bumps than the jeep, it was a different way to view the ever-vertical drops and plunging valleys. There were a couple of issues on route – a patch of wet mud that had one bus, two lorries and two jeeps stuck before us. All hands to the grindstone as gravel and dry soil was piled onto the wet road. Off we went again. A broken down bus, blocking the single track road, precariously hanging, its passengers seemingly oblivious to the death drop that was less than a metre away. A few bangs later and off we went again. Only twice did my stomach lurch and I thought, this might be it! Once, as we reversed back as a jeep slid down towards us through ‘thick, oozing mud’ (We’re going on a Bear Hunt the only way to describe it). The bus looked like it had driven off the side, we must have been so close to the edge. It wasn’t even as if I could move to the other side of the bus – there were too many passengers and we went around mountains both ways, so either side of the bus had spectacular, yet terrifying, views at some point. The driver had a tendency to keep turning around. I will admit, once or twice I wanted to use my own corporal punishment and slap him on the head and say, “Oi, eyes forward!”. But, the time he did it, as we approached a steep turn to the left and there was nothing in front of us but space, was really the only other point I felt unsafe. It was bumpy, it was crowded, it was cheap, music filled the vehicle and it was incredible. Eating momos for lunch in a little village halfway en-route I had never felt quite such a part of everything.

The school chairperson was a friendly man I had met a couple of times in my first week at the school. He was there for the fair, but he left after. A letter of thanks had been given it to me, but it needed his signature too. As we entered Kathmandu (where he lives) I was told to get off the bus. In true, completely unknowing, fashion, I hauled myself through the crowd, recovered my rucksack (from under three sitting humans and two bags of rice) and practically fell off the bus. Three people stood smiling at me – I didn’t know any of them! How trusting I was. To be fair, I knew I would probably have to get off early, but no real idea of when. After about 10 minutes the chairman (brother of Mira) arrived. In that time, I also realised that I had left my new Nepali coat, hat and pair of gloves (cheap UK ones) on the bus in the rush to get off. No matter, I would just have to get a new one. The chairperson took me to a little shop (belonging to his other sisters). I met his wife and mother in law and was given tea, whilst he signed the letter I had bought. Such is the significance of the letter thanking me, to the people I worked with, that it would not have felt right to them, if the signature was not from him himself. As they organised me a taxi, gave me their own scarf for a safe journey and invited me back to stay with them in Nepal, I couldn’t help wonder whether I had made a mistake in the way I felt about my three weeks in Bhotang. Perhaps the memories are still too fresh, perhaps I had been in the wrong frame of mind when I arrived or perhaps, I have a rose-tinted view of life in Kashyem, especially at the beginning. I guess only time will time. For now, I am walking away taking only the positive memories and learning some important lessons about how I make judgements and how to ensure I am always empathetic towards the people I am with and the situation I am in.