What volunteering in Nepal taught me about privilege

2015 was an unfairly cruel year for Nepal. A shattering 7.6 magnitude earthquake on April 25th that killed nearly 9,000 people and caused an estimated economic damage of around 6.7 billion US dollars shook this undeveloped economy that was on the way to become a developed country by 2022. Supplies of petroleum and other essentials were recently blocked by an unofficial oil embargo from India, testing the nation to the best of its abilities. The Nepalese black market blossomed as the people shifted their cooking to outdoor fires and replaced their personal means of transportation for crowded bus roofs. To add to the disappointment, tourism dropped to less than 50 per cent as the avalanche on Everest halted all expeditions during what was nicknamed the “Black Year”.

I had postponed my trip to Nepal in July due to my parent’s concern for the earthquake after-shocks, but I wasn’t going to let the fuel crisis get in the way of my trip this winter. I landed at the Kathmandu airport on December 29th with my brother and two friends, mesmerized by the fan of mixed currency we received as change for our Visa application.

We were greeted by our loyal driver Suriya (meaning sunshine) who introduced himself to each person we met as our “Nepalese Uncle”. Together we’d travel in his miniature Suzuki around the capital in the surrounding cities and on eight hour journeys to lake district Pokhara for our 10 day stay.

The highlight of our trip was a visit to an orphanage in Phutung (about 45 minutes from Kathmandu) where my father had been helping out for some time. We arrived on New Year’s Day, hungover and tired. In hindsight, dealing with 22 children who were unaccustomed to foreign visitors, or any visitors at all, would have probably been smoother without a hangover. Before we even had the chance to display the goodies we’d carried for them from Italy, they challenged us to a soccer match, as they adorned the oversized jerseys they had just been gifted.

We must have been quite a show since all our “brothers” did was laugh at our consecutive failures. In the evening we attempted to cook pasta for the lot of them on the outdoor fire, as we tried to elegantly eat the rice and momos they made us with our (heavily sanitized) hands.

When we left they filled our pockets with thank-you notes and drawings of Messi and Suarez.

During our travels to remoter villages we saw entire neighborhoods in the outskirts of Kathmandu shattered to loose bricks and scattered with temporary tents and mobile hospitals. Taxi drivers and regular drivers lined up to buy whatever fuel they could afford. Hotel managers relied on the “electricity shortage app” to alert them when the few daily hours of power would be. Windows on buses covered with metal cage-structures to protect passengers from stone-throwers on the Indian border. Local shops displayed signs advertising 50 per cent off “Eathquake Sales” to attract the few visiting tourists.

But we also saw wide smiles and celebrations, we heard street music and chatter, we were offered free cookies and oranges from meditating yogis.

Coming from a prosperous and culture-filled city like Milan, where lamenting about “daily struggles” is a given, I was taken by surprise. It may be the Hindu and Buddhist teachings of escaping attachment from everyday trivial desires that have made them a generally happy population. It may be the sheer excitement they felt at meeting a few tourists who would contribute to their economy in the smallest of ways. But the Nepalese people were filled with an energy that no earthquake and no embargo could destroy.