Day 5: The Rat Race to Sight

      Today started before the rising of the sun. Waking up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes I peered out the corner of my window to see the deep blue street below, empty, except for some street dogs wandering in the morning haze. I could hear roosters crowing in the distance and water dripping from the heavy rain the night before. My small travel clock illuminated the time. 4:40am, with that I jumped up, hurrying through a freezing cold shower, and grabbing a poptart, brought with me from America, then skipping my way down the 3 flights of stairs to Khai waiting for me at the bottom. We then set off on our journey, todays project: taking 9 children from the Buddhist Child Home orphanage to the hospital for eye exams. Khai had just been in Nepal last March and had brought about 7 children to get eye exams, arriving back to the orphanage with 4 kids with new glasses. Since then he had raised more money with his organization in Germany and was prepared for the next lot of kids.

Upon arriving at the orphanage we found the children half-awake and not yet prepared to leave, to Khai’s great disappointment. The reason for the rush was because you were seen for exams in the order of the ticket number you would get according to how early you arrived at the hospital. Finally, after some preparation we are ready to leave, cramming the children into taxis with us like crayons in a box, and cruising over to the hospital.

            Now for the waiting game. First we had to wait outside for the front gates to open, then we were filed into a large waiting room full of chairs in lines all pointed towards a single tv, playing only infomercials for skin whitening creams. The children, restless and bored looked to us for entertainment. I pulled out my phone as an offering, the children swarming over Angry Birds, a very big fad here. Khai 1-ups me, pulling out a deck of cards, drawing the attention of the whole room with some slight of hand, entrancing them like a Vegas show. After some time things start moving, the little boys that have made themselves part of my lap start to stir, excited to be examined and tested. Like balls in a pinball machine they flew off in every direction, being tested in one room, asked to read a chart, look into a machine, then sent off to another room. Some had long lines, their waiting areas full of crying babies and napping elderly. We helped lead them best we could from floor to floor, room 104 to 40, and then back to 104 again. This went on for hours, chasing down the younger ones and speaking in broken English to the older ones. My mind wanted me to believe it was all just a dream, a strange sleepwalk through hallways and crowds of strangers, as if to symbolize my search for a direction in life. Then just like that they were done, wandering out of their last assessment, clutching a small receipt either prescribing them glasses or eye drops.

Lucky for us only two needed glasses this time, Khai taking those two in one taxi and sending me and the two remaining in another, all of the rest of the children having left earlier with one of the orphanage directors. I feel the weight of this day pushing down on me, all of my energy deflating out of me like a balloon with a small pinhole, not big enough to see until you are left with a limp form. We cruise down the dusty road, our cab driver suddenly slamming on the breaks, pulling me back into reality, not surprised to find us nearly touching the back wheel of the motor bike in front of us. Unfazed, our driver, a scruffy man around 40 years old, reaches forward, stabbing the play button with his oily finger. I wait for some Bollywood beats to flow from the speakers, but instead am surprised by a familiar tune. Suddenly our small tin-can of a car transforms into a club, the song of choice, only the most bumpin’ Justin Bieber, Baby remix. The children perk up to this electronic tornado, first starting out with a quiet hum, but slowly, as our car jumps from pothole to pothole their voices become more confident. I look around trying not to laugh, seeing now that I am the only one not singing, the song coming to the end, only for the cab driver to enthusiastically “pon de replay.”

Once back at the orphanage I am offered a plastic lawn chair where I wait for Khai to arrive back with the others. The children swarm, climbing on my limp, tired form like a new playground installment. The little girls chat with me in Nepali, not pausing for a reply, playing with my hair, strange and straw-like compared to their dark, smooth locks. I am handed a scorching metal cup of tea, a customary service everywhere you go here. Khai comes wandering through the gates with worn children in tow, his exhaustion being hidden behind the little Nepali he knows and never-fading smile.  We then find ourselves on the floor of the living room, a wet-bottomed child on my lap and a full game of memory spread out before us. Now taking on the appearances of fading ghosts we say our goodbyes and jump into a microbus heading for Boudha. There we climbed to a rooftop restaurant, my first experience with one, admiring the beautiful view and chomping down on a Nepali-style veggie burger. Finally arriving home and passing out till the sun had set and dinner was on the table, but knowing that a good thing had been accomplished.