Daily Archives: November 18, 2010

“Bhutan bhoth acha th'hah”

Posted on by

Which is to say, “Bhutan was very good,” according to Phul and Gopal who related their memories to Sam and I as the four of us shared a plate of sliced apples and bread on the couple’s carpeted bedroom floor. Our refreshing snack must have sparked the involved discussion that ensued as the couple began to describe the peaceful landscape of a previous life. Phul and Gopal explained with great effort, detail, and persistence an impossibly complex process that Sam and I ended up guessing was probably the cultivation of wheat or a similar crop and its subsequent baking. There was grass everywhere, we learned, and the family lived on flat land, far from the mountains. The food was good and abundant. “In Bhutan,” Gopal explained, “every fruit and vegetable was available except ungoor—“grapes;” (and a particular vegetable that I’ve forgotten at the moment). But that could hardly have mattered, it seems. The calm that enveloped Gopal as he merely reflected on his Bhutanese memories suggested that they occupied a part of his life-history that was deeply missed. Phul was equally moved and began to speak quite rapidly and eagerly (as she often does) in pure dialect for a few minutes on a subject of which I haven’t the slightest idea. I didn’t catch a single phrase or even a word of Urdu, though I longed to comprehend her story.

We decided this would be a good opportunity to work on our “grocery store” vocabulary, since they were interested in learning the English names for the various fruits and vegetables they had been describing to us. Gopal was particularly keen on learning how to pronounce “mushrooms” correctly (he pulled out his container of mushrooms from the fridge just to be sure). On a previous visit, we had taught the couple the English word for elaychi—“cardamom,” a popular plant that is dried and chewed on by many adults, and/or is added to a variety of South Asian cousins—including chai. I was pleasantly surprised that Gopal remembered how to pronounce “cardamom,” a word that I often mispronounce myself :)

Eventually, the topic of the family’s resettlement to Chicago came up. Gopal, as with any subject it seems, had much to say about this. This was actually a pretty comical narrative at certain points, especially when Gopal relived his horror of interacting with a bhoth’he mota, “extremely fat” policeman which he assumed, at that time, was a manifestation of the policeman’s extreme strength. Apparently, policemen pathleh hai—“are thin”—in Nepal and Bhutan, hence Gopal’s shock. Sam and I explained that his apparent overweightness was a result of his eating too many sweets, not of his supernatural strength; he seemed to register the concept, and was finally at peace with the situation.

We also learned of Gopal and his family’s experience at the airport and the tremendous confusion that is felt at both ends (both for the refugees and the various airport personnel trying to assist). I was disappointed to learn of the great ordeal that refugees go through at airports and the fact that all staff members aren’t properly briefed on how to deal with newly-arrived refugees, or at least on which direction to point them toward. Anyway, Gopal said that the moment he saw his son (who had come a few months prior) and Binod from the ECAC waiting for him “downstairs,” his anxiety diminished and he was “very much happy” (as stated in English).  He says he is truly happy to be here, but that the only problem is that he can’t speak English.  Before leaving we tried to convince him that English will come to him sooner or later, we promise.  With his diligent personality and passion for learning, I don’t doubt that it will.

A journey begins with the first step

Posted on by

During the 4th visit to our family, was made a major breakthrough which I will go into further detail a little later.
When we entered the apartment I saw Nani in a bouncing toy, laughing joyfully while watching her father sit at the table eating noodles. Oh yeah, there was a table! This was the first time I had entered the apartment and there was actual furniture. Although it was limited to a card table and a few folding chairs, I could tell by the look on Narayan’s face that he was very proud. He was finally able to ask us to have a seat and actually offer us chairs to sit on. As we sat down, we were also greeted by Narayan’s wife. Although Narayan does have conversational English skills, I wasn’t aware how of how misunderstood we were when we first started meeting with him. Narayan said, “When you first come to meet me, I could only understand you 20 percent. Now after meeting you for a long time I understand you 90 percent. It is much better now.”
We were served a dish of what looked like Ramen Noodles, but had a much stronger aroma and was much more heavily spiced. The seasoning that Narayans wife put on the noodles was not the typical salted MSG that comes in the package, but was a mixture of curries and spices that spun the typically bland noodles into a wonderful pseudo-South Asian dish. I have to say that it this was probably the best Ramen I’ve ever had. The wife explained that the same type of noodles were also served in the camps and that’s how they prepared it.
Apparently before the influx of Nepali refugees to America, the camps were very crowded. Narayan explained that there were food and water rations distributed on particular days, and that it could take anywhere from 1-2 hours of waiting in line before one would receive their portion. Once a considerable amount of refugees began leaving the camps and were accepted into U.S. resettlements, the wait time for these rations decreased significantly to about 15-20 minutes.
Rewind prior to us entering into the apartment building, Adrianne and I had decided that this would be the visit where we were successful in coaxing Narayan, his wife, and Nani out of the apartment first the first time.
We also wanted to finally get Narayan’s resume typed, because we are obviously aware of the job time-crunch that newly arrived refugees are pressured by.Adrianne and I tried to stress the importance of having Narayan write out his work history so that we could finally begin the job-search process, but he seemed very reluctant to even discuss it.
Every so often Adrianne or I would drop hints, such as mentioning how warm the weather was for this time of year, or how convenient it was that we were so close to the beach on such a nice day. After what seemed like two hours of persuasion, we were finally able to convince our family to leave their home and walk to park nearby.
On our way to the park, Narayan began opening up about his family’s refugee status and some of the struggles that many of his family members are still facing in the camps. One of Narayans brothers was denied approved for resettlement in American. While in the camp, his brother fell love with a Bhutanese woman, and a short time after married her. These relationships between refugees and non-refugees are strongly discouraged and heavily looked down upon, and so the country is very strict when dealing with these cases.
If a Nepali refugee marries a non-refugee Bhutanese, the refugee’s resettlement process can be halted or even blocked entirely. In order for the Bhutanese citizen to be able to join their spouse, they are forced to renounce their identity as a Bhutanese citizen thereby also becoming a refugee in their own country.I’m not sure how common it is for Bhutanese citizens to actually follow through with this process, but it didn’t seem as though many were granted eligibility even after initiating the necessary steps.
As disheartening as it was to hear Narayan speak of these injustices as a typical theme of everyday life, I realized that this is the reality for millions of people throughout the world. But then I must also ask myself, what do I do with the knowledge that I’ve been given this semester? Should I be satisfied with the blog that I’ve written for the past few weeks, and then drop off the radar once the semester is over? Sometimes I do question whether or not the progress we’ve made with the family will sustain their growth and will keep them motivated to continue on in our absence. As of now, all I can do is hope for the best.
“We have no rights in camp. That is it.” -Narayan

The head of the family

Posted on by

This last visit Meagan and I had with our family was just a very relaxed and easy going visit. We all just sat around the family room together and watched some Bollywood. The mother, as always, brought out something for us to drink. Lately, every time we visit I find myself just watching her go about the house and I’ve realized how much I admire her. She basically takes care of an entire family of nine people. She might not work and bring money into the house, but she does everything else. I know that usually men are considered the heads of the house but in this family it seems as if everyone is equal. But it’s obvious that the one person they all go to when they need something, (that doesn’t have to do with money) they go to her.  She is so soft spoken and quiet and yet she seems to be the one that holds them all together. She is always smiling and she makes an effort to listen to us speak, even though she has no idea what we’re saying. She has also often expressed how she wishes she could offer us more, at which time Meagan and I thank her as much as we can for whatever she has given to us in order to show how grateful we are. I know that she wishes she had never left her homeland so I can only imagine how hard it is for her to take care of her family in a foreign world and I just admire her for being so strong.

But anyways, that’s just what goes on in my head haha but the actual visit was just hanging out together and doing some math homework (gross). We’re going back tonight to possibly film them for my groups (PR) film project. Hopefully they are not opposed to being on film. I have a feeling that the kids won’t mind at all!

A Blessing of Another Color

Posted on by

During my third visit to the family, my partner a I discovered that we had arrived on Dashain, a day of spiritual and cultural significance to the Nepalese. This was the first day of the weeklong festival. Since the day was spent with close family and friends, we met our family at their parents’ apartment. As my partner and I entered through the doorway, we were greeted by several family members, a few that we had met before, but many that we had not. We were also joined another student who was a befriender to the parents of our family. I was introduced to Narayan’s older brother, who we learned had traveled to America 10 months ago, the same time as the parents. He had been successful in acquiring a job as a fry-cook at a new hotel in downtown Chicago. The younger sister, who we also met for the first time, is a junior at a local high school, along with her nephew who is a freshman. Another of Narayan’s sisters entered the apartment, who was dressed in a traditional red Sari.
All of them were marked with a red paste mixed with rice called “tika”. Although I consider myself an anthropologist, and in that sense understanding of the importance in showing respect for other cultures, I was a bit apprehensive in having tika put on my face; it’s spiritual significance clashing with my own religious beliefs. During our visit I was anxious, unsure of whether or not they would ask to put tika on my forehead (bless me), and whether or not I would accept it.
The wife of our family and the husband’s sister served us a dish of a type of flat dry rice that was mixed with sweetened yogurt. It was very tough to chew and even tougher to swallow. I had to let it sit for a while to soften before I was able to chew it, but all the while still smiling with

My partner and I noticed that Narayan’s mother wasn’t partaking in the festivities and spent the majority of our visit in bed. My partner and I were worried about the mother, us being told previously that they had taken her to the doctor the day before, she complaining of pains in her side. Narayan handed us the lists of medications that the doctor had prescribed her, one being baby aspirin, but the other being an antidepressant medication. We of course didn’t mention it to the family, us being unsure of what the implication of her pains had been.

My partner hinted that a change in tone would be beneficial, and so we decided to take a family portrait of the family. They insisted that my partner and I be a part of the photo since we were now also “family.” Nani (the baby of our family) of course took about 30 minutes to warm up to me and Adrianne again, but once she was more comfortable with our presence, the rest of the family was much more at ease. My partner expressed that she wanted to be “blessed with the tika. As she was being blessed, my apprehensions ceased, I also accepted the tika or “blessing.” Once this happened, the family gestured Nani towards us, saying, “Eee Eee,” meaning ‘look.’ She saw that we too had the red tika and giggled at her mother with approval. This moment was truly a blessing.