Sometimes you just never know...

...the impact you can have on one's life!

Jumping right into teaching English as a second language in a foreign country to brand new students with brand new co-teachers in very bare classrooms with very limited resources would be a severe understatement if I called it a challenge.  But when the native teachers know you are there to help, the students and their well-being are in your best interest, very quickly you become one of them.  Very quickly do students expect your presence every day, and when you don't show up, they are very upset and want to know where you were.  Essentially, we became one big family.  A school family, if you will, where every morning I could expect a genuine "Namaste", or "Namaskar", which is the Nepali word for this humble greeting.  The headmaster's stoic presence, barely giving me eye contact on my first day, might be indicative of fleeting volunteers, incompetent or unreliable help, a distrust for a Western presence.  Even he smiled from time to time and asked how I was doing.  When you can touch, what appears to be, the hardest of hearts, you know you're making a difference.  You know you're setting the stage for future partnerships and friendships.  You know you finally belong.

I'll be honest; I did not always know if my presence made a difference in anyone's life, and just when my spirits would let down, one of my level 2 students would walk me home, another student would draw a beautiful flower for me and tell me how much they love me, a teacher would sit down and tell me about their family and their children, a complete stranger on the street would smile and acknowledge that I was a part of their community.  It's those little signs that say, yes, we are so happy you are with us!  Days can go by without that sort of gratification and I guess I wasn't sure what my last day would look like.  I knew, with time, that my teaching experience became more enjoyable, easier, friendlier, with smoother transitions.  I knew my students and I had formed bonds that made learning so much fun!  But what happened today caught me by surprise and brought uncontrollable tears before my level 12 students.  I simply couldn't stop and some of the girls also began to cry.  Here's how the morning went:

I woke up around 3 am and was awake since then, thinking of everything I had to do to make my last classes perfect with my students and teachers.  I printed certificates of appreciation for all of my students' hard work and amazing energy in the past 6 weeks of my experience at Kitini.  I printed letters to my co-teachers and a letter to the headmaster and the staff at Kitini.  I still had copies to make and as load shedding can be an unpleasant surprise, the electricity can turn off just when you think you have 20 more minutes.  Due to the tragic landslides that have just occurred in Nepal, load shedding has become a little more unpredictable, so at 7:45, I ran to the stationary shop while there was still time.  I ran back after about half an hour's worth of copying, did finishing touches on my lessons, got ready, are too much daal bhat, and off to school I went.

I walked to my level 12 class and I noticed a certain quietude amongst my students.  They would stare at me, look down, no attempts to answer any questions, so I asked, "why are we so shy today?"  Their response?  We are going to miss you so much and today is a very sad day for us.  So as I continued to pry thoughts and words from them, I tried to fill the silence with how much they mean to me.  One of my students, Baburam, sang a beautiful Nepali song about marriage and the family and the important roles that parents will serve for their children.  A stunning and very trained Nepali voice.  Then his friend, a bit more shy than his dear friend, was encouraged to sing a Nepali song and it was one of the most beautiful, passionate voices I've ever heard.  You could feel the words as he closed his eyes and let his voice carry the way.  He sang a song about all of the trials Nepal faces and how he wishes for peace and harmony for all of his country.  Next, Sharmila pulled a beautiful bouquet of daisies she arranged for me.   My host teachers and headmaster soon joined us, but not just to administer the certificates I made for my students, but they brought me a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, an honorary scarf, and said many kind words.  We then gave each student their certificate, took pictures, and then Saroj had one male and one female stand up to day what the class has meant to them.  After they left, Asmita read me a poem she made for me and it was just as she finished, tears ran down my cheeks and I couldn't stop.  One of her lines in the poem said I was always smiling.  As I began to cry, she told me I was making her out to be a liar because I wasn't smiling anymore, to which we busted out laughing.  

There's never really a perfect time to say goodbye.  There's always that moment that you wish you could just hold onto, stop in time, never let go.  I felt that at that very moment, but as anything, time must move on and we have to trust that our memories, fond moments, and even keeping in touch, if time allows, will guide us into our future.  That guiding light will remind us how much life is worth living.  We may cry (a lot!), and, if the culture allows, we may embrace one another, but life is the opportunity to connect and reach out to our brothers and sisters all over the world.  We mustn't forget our own and we mustn't forget about those that co-exist all around us.

So, knowing there is never the right time, we all agreed that this was it.  They would go home and I would continue my last day school.  We couldn't say enough goodbyes and share enough farewell smiles, but time continued to push on.  

When I came to the teacher's room, my level 2 co-teacher kept telling everyone how sad she was sad that this was my last day.  In fact, the teachers kept using the word "bored", which didn't mean that she wasn't interested, but rather she felt no sense of ambition for the day because she was so sad, already feeling the void of my absence.  

Shortly after, I moved onto my level 3 students who were unusually quiet.  They did every assignment and activity so obediently and quietly and when I asked why they were so quiet, they mimicked invisible tears coming down their cheeks, saying "we're sad".  As some students played games I created for them, others wanted to use that class time to write me letters, provide me tokens of their love.  The human touch is such an integral part of our survival and well-being and students couldn't stop holding my hand, touching my arms, standing side by side as if we were attached at the hips.  It was such a sentimental class and when it was time for photos, students couldn't get close enough, all of them pushing each other to be right on my lap.  Even my co-teacher kept saying she was sad and she was going to miss me so much.  She learned so much from me and she explained how I've taught her so much and helped her out and she was going to miss it all.

I moved onto my level 4 and they were really gearing up for the game they were about to play, Jeopardy!  Boys versus girls.  I don't think you could ever find a more competitive match, especially when you separate the teams by gender.  It is fierce!! They will literally crawl over each other just to whisper their ideas to give them the best chance of winning!  They keep a watchful eye and make sure that each side has the same time to think of their answers and will let us know if we're slacking as the hosts at the front of the room.  Wow, it was intense and I laughed so hard SO many times!  There's nothing more exciting than hearing the loud screams and clapping of my students when they answer the question correctly and are awarded points!  They are so proud of themselves and so motivated to do the best they can! It turned out that, yes, the girls won again!  The boys were so disappointed in themselves, but still kept a good head and finished with such admirable sportsmanship!  Although the girls received prizes, the boys were still given chocolates for their hard work and efforts in the game.  Even to see my co-teacher so involved and excited to be a part of this game was absolutely wonderful!  I had him engaged as well!  I gave him my Jeopardy board and questions and showed him how to use it for review, a learning tool, and he was so excited!  The bell rang and it was time to say goodbye.  We took more photos, but, again, it just never seems like it's enough, but time gives me no other choice.

I usually head home for some tea and snacks after my level 4, but the male teachers invited me to have tea and lunch with them.  It's very rare for females to have lunch with males- Nepal is a very gender-separated society, but we packed the tea house and there was no different treatment, feeling so welcomed and then they paid my bill.  Just before it was time to head back to the school, one of the male teachers, who barely said a word to me, but always exchanged a "Namaskar" every morning, caught my attention.  He stood tall and looked up to the sky and said "If God allows for me, I will see you again."  I replied, comfortingly, "we will see each other again."

We headed back to the school and one of the female teachers, who had just started opening up to me, sat down with me and used this as her last opportunity to ask me as many questions as she could think of, share as many stories and cultural aspects of Nepal, telling me that the Nepali teachers' English is very poor and they don't practice it in fear of being wrong or sounding incompetent and the only time they will use it is in their English classroom for about 20 minutes, if that.  She told me her daughters, who speak very well, tell her her English is poor and they can't understand her.  I was confounded by this because I thought she spoke rather well for someone who doesn't practice.  I wanted to freeze in that moment to tell her she speaks better than she believes.  She must practice, even if she talks to herself while walking home.  She has such great enthusiasm to learn and with that, she became embarrassed and headed out to her next class.  That was our unofficial parting, but she was so sweet and was so excited to learn so much about me and knew that I didn't judge her speaking skills, but I wanted to listen and learn as much as I could from her.  She will forever remain in my heart and her smile will always brighten my day.

From there, I headed to my level 2, my last class of the day.  My co-teacher waited for me and we walked into class together.  I shared some words with my students and my co-teacher and she translated.  I gave them their certificates, pencils, chocolates- I couldn't shower them enough with simple gifts that they will treasure and remember!  When we described what the certificate said, you would have thought I handed them a delicate flower.  They took such good care of it, protecting it from the others, from dust, pencil marks and smudges.  This will be something they will be proud of for years to come!  The students then shared their tokens of love, a beautiful pink rose, a red flower, arts and crafts they created, a glass box with little figurines and a big heart inside and then my dear co-teacher said "I'm really going to miss you.  Please don't forget me.  I hope this will help you remember me and us at Kitini.  Here is a token of love from me."  It may have been the most English I've heard her speak to me.  She was clearly touched by my presence and I didn't know until this very moment.  She brought the disciplinarian in to take pictures with her camera.  Her gift was a wooden frame with a maroon background and a golden Ganesha inscribed on the maroon.  It was so precious and so fragile.  I loved it and was so emotionally moved by her thoughtful gift.

Since it was the students' day, they decided what song we would sing as our last song together.  They, unanimously, all shouted "BINGO"!  When we sang it together, even my teacher joined in and I wish I could have recorded their voices.  So beautiful, so full of energy and a sound that rings harmoniously in my mind.  We handed back some of their other assignments and we did some fun activities and it was soon time to leave.  We took so many photos together and just as the bell rang, students stayed another 5-10 minutes just to be with me.  Some waved, gave me a high five, all smiles saying "Bye Teacher! See you tomor..." and, in mid-sentence, when they realized I wouldn't be there tomorrow, their smile faded and they walked out the door.  Three of my older students stayed behind, helped me pack up my bag and just stared at me.  They wanted a hug.  It's not tradition in Nepal for teachers to hug their students, let alone friends with friends or family, but it's just an understood bond, love, and connection that doesn't have to be mentioned or shared.  It's known.  But when I embraced these girls, one just held on so tight.  She was my classroom leader and she helped me out so much and for that I am very grateful and I will always remember how beautiful and bright she is.  Her name is Sarmila.  

My co-teacher came back for pictures of just the two of us.  She also took that moment to share other photos on her camera, tell me about her husband, her two daughters and her son.  She looked so young to me, which may explain why I was taken back when she said her eldest is twenty years old!  Her husband is the president of the Rotary Club here in Lalitpur.  She spoke with such pride and love and I didn't want her to stop telling me her story.  But time interfered and onward we went.  She stood in the middle of the classroom and just looked at me.  I told her if she was okay with my giving her a hug, I'd like to give her a hug.  She just smiled and when I embraced her, she held tight and then quickly broke away.  She was crying.  As she wiped her eyes, she said "I'll see you" and she left the classroom.

My day wasn't quite over, even after all of these mixed emotions.  I headed back up to the office for an official farewell from my headmaster, some additional permanent male teachers, my assistant headmaster and my host teacher.  They wanted me to share some things I've observed about Kitini, some good, some bad.  I really emphasized how everyone has been so kind to me and how bright their students are and that it doesn't matter where we are in the world, but, as teachers, we have to keep working hard.  We can't settle for what's comfortable, what's easy.  We have such a huge responsibility and it's the future generations of our country.  If we give everything we have to the learning, inspiration, and hope of our students and to each other, the future of our countries have no choice but to improve, becoming better places to live.  We must help each other in these efforts and raise the standards for our students, our schools, and our communities.  All the teachers and headmasters present nodded their heads, listening intently.  I told them that a country, like the United States, has so many resources and I wanted them to keep in touch with me and let me know what they needed.  They were enamored by this and very humbled.  The headmaster finished our farewell by saying how I've made an impact on teachers and students here.  He was constantly checking in with my co-teachers to find out if I was successful in the classroom, what students were learning, and if their English was improving.  Everyone had learned so much as their skills were so basic and that the next time I come to Nepal, I must return to Kitini and teach again, for longer this time.  He stood up and I stood up and we exchanged a final "Namaste!"  He left the room and every remaining male stood directly in front of me and did the same.  One teacher, as he exited the room, turned around in the doorway and said "Please don't ever forget us."  I told him they will all stay in my heart forever.  Saroj spoke and said "if God hears my prayers, we will see you again in two years."  We all quietly left and just as I exited the campus one last time, the stationary shop owner quickly came over with a gift wrapped for me and said "Thank you."  He and his wife, too, exchanged one final "Namaste", along with the school disciplinarian.  I was floored, walking on clouds, but yet saddened this had all come to an end.  As I walked through town, I carried my flowers, my gifts and letters with such pride, humility, smiling at the genuine kindness I experienced in the past 6.5 hours.

From time to time I've wondered how my presence was received at Kitini.  Everyone kept telling me that if I was going to have any impact, I needed to be here for more than two months, more like six months or a year.  Perhaps that founded my skepticism and self doubt that I would accomplish much in my six weeks at the school.  But it all came to a head on my last day.  It wasn't about the gifts, cards, or flowers that told me I was appreciated.  It was the sincere expressions, the humility, the tears, the sincerity that conveyed just how much I was appreciated.  Sometimes it's not all about the lesson, learning and applying 100% of what is taught.  Sometimes it's reaching out with no expectations, expecting nothing in return, but giving it your all.  Sometimes it's the human touch that can impact a child in a way we'll never understand.  It makes all the difference in the world that you are there with them.  

The majority, if not all, of the students at Kitini, and other government schools, come from great levels of poverty, disadvantages, difficult living conditions.  Many of the students live in hostels; no parents, orphans.  Many students have come from their villages away from their families just to receive an education.  They are aware of its importance.  They can't afford private schools; in fact, they can barely afford the expenses of a government school.  But you would never know that by seeing the smiles on their faces.  An eager energy that when you walk into that classroom, you belong to them and that your presence gives them new light, a newfound hope, and a confidence in their learning they've never felt before.  I can't help but wish and pray that all of them will find a place in this world, guided by their education and natural talents.

And that's not just the students.  I'm talking about the teachers as well.  My rapport amongst the teachers grew so quickly and it was like I was getting to know a new teacher every day.  I've never experienced the sort of openness that the Nepalese share.  Back home, there's judging, bullying, petty cliques, and that's not the kind of atmosphere that's conducive to learning.  But the Nepali teachers share something different.  It's a school-wide camaraderie and as much as I may have had an impact on them, they've touched my heart and taught me so many things about life in return.

Even as I am typing this, one of my dear friends from Kitini just called Didi's phone to tell me she misses me and is thinking of me today and wanted to wish me safe travels and, if I had any time, to stop by for tea.  Her name is Sangheeta and I had the opportunity to have tea with her earlier in my stay, meeting her whole family, wishing time was on my side and I could squeeze in some tea time.  [sigh]

If God allows, I will, indeed, return again to see all of my friends and family I have here in beautiful, serene Nepal!