The Gauntlet

Friday the 16^th, the first night away from the security of in-house Peace Corps staff, and the day we arrived at our training host families' houses, I was unlucky enough to succumb to the worst bout of diarrhea I’ve had since my Clostridioides difficile infection in 2019. In fact, it was so bad and so similar that I was afraid I came down with another infection.

Fortunately, it wasn’t that. It was, however, still awful. I’ll leave most of it to your imagination, but I did narrowly avoid fainting on the toilet, which I consider an achievement. I proceeded to pass out on the floor of my room and endured a very bad night. The next morning I had some calls with the Peace Corps medical doctor and ingested a cocktail of over-the-counter diarrhea meds which left me feeling pretty alright by Sunday evening. I have a new and profound gratitude for immodium, Pepto-bismol, and rehydration salts.

***

A couple of my trainee friends stopped by the morning after my bad night, knowing I had not been feeling great. “How are you feeling?” they asked from the road. I said, laughing: “I feel like [bleep].”

It was our day off, and they planned to go for a small hike to a temple in the neighborhood, escorted by an enthusiastic host brother. Since I was able to hold things in by then, I decided I would try to hike up with them and see how far I got. I barely made it a half mile up the hill before I sat down for a long rest and waved them on. I tried again after a while, and struggled miserably; so, finally, I swallowed my FOMO and took a nap in the dirt.

Some time later an old man walked down the hill. He asked me some questions I didn’t understand and then asked me why I was lagging behind and not with the other foreigners he had seen at the temple. I responded as best I could, pointed to my stomach, and gesticulated emphatically. 

He nodded with sympathy. “You know, it’s really not good for you to hike on a full stomach.”

For some reason, this mountain of feed bags was blockading the road up the mountain.

I gave up the hike shortly after this point.

***

We had been cautioned about the ubiquity of gastrointestinal illness. It is a reality of life in Nepal, Peace Corps notwithstanding. GI issues account for the majority of volunteer-related medical cases; and although Nepalis are accustomed to the water here, they still get sick to waterborne illnesses and organisms. Nepal is a country undergoing rapid development and change. Despite drastic improvements over the past several decades, there remain challenges that we are beginning to understand as we undergo training and community integration. For better or for worse, I happened to experience this one immediately. It seems to be an established rite of passage.

So then, a day after getting over my stomach, I started menstruating; this isn’t normally something that concerns me, except that it warranted some cultural navigation. Menstruating women can be given differential treatment, which, when it exists, can be isolating (at best). This originates from the concept that menstruation incites impurity. Caste, age, and culture play a role in the treatment of menstruating women from family to family; however, traditional roots run deep. We were briefed on this topic in Kathmandu by Nepali PC staff and I found it to be an informative discussion. Within the group of trainees at the time, the nervousness about how to handle menstruation during service was palpable.

In my case, after disclosing my period to my aamaa (mother), she informed me that I was forbidden to enter the kitchen or entertain physical contact with men (however brief or platonic) for four days. My first night of bleeding, my host parents joined me on the balcony for dinner instead of leaving me to eat alone outside, which was very sweet. And the ban on physical contact seemed to extend to items that I touched: another day, I was late for class and didn’t have time to drink the morning tea my buwaa (father) had poured me. He said he would drink it, but by rule couldn’t touch the cup I had touched; so he placed his cup on the floor and I crouched down and poured the contents of my cup into it. Generally speaking, my aamaa and buwaa seem to respect these traditional norms, but don't seem to adhere to them on a very strict or moral basis. This is not true of all families.

My host family's kitchen. I was forbidden from this space for four days after starting my period.

With all that said, it's been four days since we’ve arrived at our PST sites and it feels like all the trainees are starting to settle in as a group. Learning and interacting with Nepalis and their culture is wonderful as we mime, blunder, and question our way through basic engagements. I can confidently say that I understand a maximum of 2% of what is said.

Each of us has a host family that we are staying with. There are different family dynamics, but a family generally includes a mother, father, children, and may include one side of the family or elder family members (e.g. grandparents). In my host family I have a hajuraamaa (grandmother), an aamaa (mother), buwaa (father) and two younger brothers, or bhai, aged 24 and 21, who are away from home: one stays in the capital city for work, and one lives in Australia for school. I already love my host family and am not looking forward to leaving them in August. They are goofy, fun, and surprisingly chill and aware of our differences in culture. They give me lots of space, whether by choice or force (they are always busy doing things) which feels like a luxury. I'm looking forward to getting more comfortable with the language and connecting with them on a more complex basis.