Sabai Thiq Cha

It felt as if I was fighting back against a strong current. People spilled out beside me as I walked in the opposite direction of all those that had joined the circumambulations around this famous Buddhist stupa that towered above my anxious searching. It was 6:06pm and we had agreed to meet at the entrance of the Boudhanath at 6:00pm, but there was no sign of her.

I allowed my feet to steady and I stopped outside the entrance defeated. As I prepared to walk to a nearby restaurant to join my colleagues, I heard a voice behind me “Hannah?” It was a kind-looking Nepali woman, her head titled with question, the young man standing behind her who looked just like his brother. With relief I smiled and nodded enthusiastically. She gently wrapped an ivory khada around my neck, drew me into a tight embrace, and then led the three of us to a café with a window that returned the gaze of the all-seeing eyes of Buddha.

This beautiful, smiling woman was Lhamu and the young man with her was her eldest son, Gyalzen. Her younger son, Lhakpa, was a friend that I had met at Seattle Pacific University who is still in the United States completing his degree in Global Development. We had been messaging back and forth while I was getting on my flight for Kathmandu when Lhakpa suggested that I could meet his mother or brother while I was there. A single mother, Lhamu, runs her own restaurant in a mountainous region called Khombu, but during the winter months Lhamu escapes the colder temperatures by temporarily relocating to Kathmandu valley. For Lhamu and I to be in the same city at the same time was a sign enough for me that we should indeed meet, and so as I boarded my plane we confirmed the time and place.

Fitting with my past behavioral patterns of nervousness, as soon as we were seated I began hammering them with questions about Nepal, Khumbu, their families, their friends, and future plans - determined not to allow the silence to diminish the miracle of the moment. Gyalzen interpreted our responses between Nepali and English, Lhamu smiled and laughed as the translations reached my reactions, all while our hot cups of tea cooled in our hands.

After we had overstayed our time in the café, Lhamu suggested that I join them for three koras (circumambulations) around the Boudha before I met my colleagues for dessert. Lhamu walked prayerfully ahead, her expression serious and her hand brushing each prayer wheel into motion. While we walked Gyalzen spoke earnestly about his own views on religion and questioned me about what his brother's life was like in the United States. When we reached the end of the third kora, I reluctantly said my goodbyes and watched these new friends be swept onwards by the circling movement of the devotees, tourists and passerbys.

In preparing to write this blog post, this was the moment that kept resurfacing as I reflected on the beautiful and turbulent three weeks I spent in Nepal. There is nothing more important than meeting the people and seeing the places that shaped your friends and I remain amazed at the numerous details that aligned so that we could meet. But for reasons I cannot understand even now, when I rejoined the MCC South Asia staff sharing dessert, I felt an incredible sense of belonging to myself for the first time since leaving for India. Maybe it was the collision of my two worlds or the adrenaline of near misses, but that first night in Kathmandu was the first of many moments in Nepal where I felt incredibly content to simply be present.

The following morning, the MCC service workers from Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, China and my team from India arrived in Pokhara and began the first day of our South Asia Regional Retreat. For one schedule-packed week, we gathered together to explore the beautiful tourist town of Pokhara, to learn more about the different aspects of Asian cultures, to reflect on the challenges and successes of the past year, and share stories about how we have been shaped in our new cultural contexts. Every mealtime provided space for me to listen and learn from these experienced service workers who were passionate and compassionate about the countries in which they served.

While everyone else packed into a bus headed back to Kathmandu, Seorin and I headed off in a Jeep bound for Ulleri - a small town at the base of the Annapurna Circuit. Due to reservations about the low pay rates of porters paired with the gumption to do it ourselves, Seorin and I decided not to hire a porter to accompany us on our five day trek from Poon Hill to Australia Camp. But, despite our best efforts, we were immediately adopted by a young Korean tourist named Bosuk and a Nepali porter named Santos who kindly insisted that they accompany us to Landhruk.

Through the tedious rise and fall of elevation, ascents up never-ending stone staircases, and cautious footwork across remnant snow, the four of us were constantly laughing, joking, warning, complaining, explaining, and enjoying ourselves with one another in Hindi, English, Korean or Nepali. We roared after meals as we played card games, we supported one another as our backpacks became too heavy, and we backtracked until a lost camera lense was found. All these memories were backdropped by the crisp outline of the Annapurna mountain range and between meals of chowmein, momos and Korean food! Seorin and I could not have imagined better trekking companions to explore one of the most beautiful areas of the world.

In life's true form - as we left the hills and returned to Kathmandu Valley - the high of being in the Himalayas for five days was abruptly ended by the trauma of detainment at the Kathmandu airport. As Seorin and I were seated on our airplane headed to Kolkata, two official-looking men ordered us to collect our bags and disembark the aircraft. We complied. After being carted to different offices to sign documents, we were informed that India was no longer accepting South Korean passport holders to enter the country due to concerns over the coronavirus. As an American I was free to board the plane, but Seorin would not be allowed on a flight back to Kolkata.

After three painful days pleading with the Indian Embassy and waiting for updates on next steps, the decision was suddenly made to fly Seorin to Thailand before travel restrictions could be updated. Seorin is currently still in Chang Mai and I flew back to Kolkata alone soon after she arrived there. Due to accompanying Seorin in her battle to reenter our host country, arriving in Siliguri felt ridicuously sentimental in a way my host family may not have understood. We remain hopeful that Seorin will be able to rejoin her host family in Bhubaneshwar before the end of June but would appreciate any and all prayers that could be sent in her direction!