The road less travelled: Gaikhur Clinic

Yesterday, I set out for the second time to visit Citta's clinic in Gaikhur, Gorkha district, Nepal. I needed to see how it was running, assess the future needs of the community, and visit with the community leaders. To start with, I'd like to recall our first attempt to visit Gaikhur clinic a few weeks earlier. My sister Teri (who's on the Citta Board), Lina Bertucci (a photographer from New York who was in Nepal photographing the women in the Bhaktipur center), Karuna Mala (one of the women from the Center, originally from Gaikhur, and whose son was still in Gaikhur deathly ill with a fever), and I, all braved the riot ridden, unstable environment to get there. To explain unstable, Nepal has been facing major power cuts, up to eight hours a day. The lack of electric needed to be supplemented by generators for restaurants, hotels, etc. But now, due to Nepal's inability to pay its debts for diesel fuel imports from India, they have drastically cut Nepal's fuel supplies. The country is now paralyzed for most the day since there is no fuel for the generator's either!

Teri, Lina and I set out in a Jeep borrowed from a Nepali school organization in Bhaktipur. The Jeep had been donated by a Norwegian organization; due to fuel costs it just sat unused. The school staff thought if we could fill the tank, we can use it. On the way out of kathmandu, we passed kilometers of empty vehicles cueing for the entire day just to put a few liters of fuel in their tank. Not luxury vehicles either, but transport vehicles for goods to supply the country, local buses for people to get to work and Ambulance. After climbing the intense hairpin turns in the road winding out of the Kathmandu valley, we were on our way! Three hours later, and three flat tires later, we were nearly to Gurkha when traffic came to a complete standstill. We could see the traffic line into the horizon ahead of us. Hundreds of people were abandoning vehicles and started walking. There is only one road through the country. We overheard someone later say there was an accident between a bus and a truck. The truck driver demanded payment for his vehicle, blocked the road with cement, and sat on it. Then groups gathered, tensions mounted and riots broke out. We had to turn back, leaving Karuna Mala behind. She broke out in tears from fear her son was alone sick, and decided to continue onwards by foot. We were on bated breath the entire way home, hoping our bandaged and glued tires would hold until we reached Kathmandu.

Yesterdays visit to Gaikhur was organized by Dr. Yeshe Lodoe Lama (the Doctor from Citta's Humla hospital and the president of Citta Nepal). Also joining Yeshe and I was a young man named Morton from Denmark who worked for a Danish Organization in Kathmandu taking care of children from Gorkha district. Morton was sent to visit our facility in Gaikhur. Yeshe scored us a 4X4 Vehicle that could withstand the rough terrain. Due to fuel shortages the owner demanded 8500 rupees (135.00) to use the vehicle and its black market filled tank. As we left Kathmandu again I was shocked at how little traffic there was on the road and how unpolluted the air smelled. Yeshe revealed there was a strike in the southern part of the country due to political unrest and all roads were closed in the Southwest of Nepal for the day. For once the strike worked for us! We drove unhindered through the beautiful valleys. After three and a half hours we left the paved roads. Now we had to climb the mountain's newly built dirt route to Gaikhur. The young driver, Hari Tamang, was driving fearlessly over the ruts, rivers and blockages.

We were nearly to the top of the mountain when we met a hairpin turn unlike any other. Hari flew around and came to a halt, unable to turn so sharp. He backed up to make the turn when Yeshe yelled out "enough, enough, OK, OK." but Hari didn't flinch, he was in brave mode and inched back a little further. I could feel the vehicle start to slide slowly backward so I turned back to see behind the vehicle. There was a sheer drop off a steep, terraced slope. I immediately jumped out of the car and everyone in the back of the vehicle looked at me like I was out of my mind. Then everyone felt the car slide again. In seconds they abandoned ship. The wheel's were miraculously two inches from the vehicle rolling off the ledge. Luckily, there was a winch on the front of the vehicle; the motor, of course, didn't work. We quickly unwrapped the cable from its drum and tied it to a tree on the hill side. The cable kept the car from falling of the ledge. Villagers started to gather, half of which were completely drunk on local Raksi wine and quite a nuisance. It took a few hours to secure the vehicle. In the struggle to get the vehicle on solid ground the brake was somehow compromised and didn't function anymore. We left it behind and ventured to the village by foot. The digging, hauling of rocks to put under the tires, and the unwinding of the greasy winch left me filthy and hours delayed for a one day meeting. We were all a little disturbed when we gazed over the hill into the abyss that may have been our permanent home. I also noticed the vehicle was aptly labeled in big letters on its side, OFF ROAD.
































I arrived to the clinic and met with Kedar. Everything there was working wonderfully at the clinic. All the surrounding communities relied on this facility for medical support. Dr. Yeshe saw patients with Kedar and we discussed the clinic and its upcoming year. But time ran short out and our near death experience had no light at the end of the tunnel.


The sun was quickly setting and we needed to get down the mountain by foot. We ate Dahl and rice at a neighbor's home and started down the stone path. As the light dimmed we used our cell phones as torches to light the steep path. We reached Turturre, at the base of the mountain in complete darkness. Everyone was asleep. We finally awoke some jeep driver and convinced them to take us to Dumre, the next town 28 kilometers away on the main truck road. There we could find a bus or another vehicle to take us to Kathmandu. The driver agreed to take us for a large sum of money due to the fuel shortage. Nearly three quarters of the way Dumre we stopped. The driver put his head on the steering wheel and began to laugh. We asked what was so funny?......... they ran out of fuel. We waited on the roadside until another vehicle passed and they also agreed to take us to the next town, for the same large sum. The driver was 13 and the attendant, bijesh, was 10?

We finally reached Dumre on the main road and saw a very dented over-decorated "local" bus coming at us. It was heading to Kathmandu! There was something depressing about such a dirty, broken down bus draped with plastic flowers and paintings. It was like bad makeup on an old clown. We didn't have much choice and jumped through the door as the bus slowed down. There were no seats and we had to climb over large canvas wrapped boxes filling the central passageway. Morton and I were told to sit in the back. It was eight people across and barely enough room for five. Every time the bus hit a bump, which was frequent, I could feel my spine jolt like it was a separate entity in my body. Also prevalent on this bus, was the unfortunate habit of not well travelled villagers to vomit on you. They seem to try synchronize this habit with hitting large potholes. I jumped up to avoid one such outflow in the dark. I thought maybe I could use this event to gain leverage to finding a better seat.

At the next rest spot I spoke to the conductor. By rest stop I mean a small thatched hut on the roadside with a fire to make tea. Everyone tried to get the prime seats on the wooden bench huddled around the fire. There was just enough room for the women working there to keep the tea flowing. The stops were so frequent that the three hour trip to Kathmandu was scheduled to arrive seven hours later! I found the conductor in the back of the hut with his army friends drinking DUM (a Nepali brand of whiskey). I asked him first why so many stops? He spoke some English and said "the people are too poor to get a room to stay in Kathmandu, so whatever time we leave, we arrive at 6 am. It kind of made sense, but it was excruciating to experience. I told him I was vomited on and I would like to move to a real seat if possible. The story didn't seem to phase him. He just asked me "you like like Bob Marley?" I think he was asking me if I would like to smoke something with him. He was so drunk I decided to just go back and sit on the people in my space in the back of the bus until we reached Kathmandu.

When I arrived to the hotel, I was so exhausted I decided not to go the center in Bhaktipur as planned. Sushila, one of the women of the center called me, I thought, asking where I was. What she asked was, "what should we do?" Apparently, there was a police curfew in Bhaktipur due to someone getting killed the previous night. Riots broke out. Sushila said the situation was dire and the women wanted to leave before things turned even worse. Suddenly, the phone line cut and I've been unable to reach them since.

I just thought this little chain of events was a nice insight into the fabric of the Nepali situation at the moment.