NEPAL 2: The Shoebox

“Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.”

~ Maria Robinson

“Nothing is free.” I tilt my head towards Justin, eyebrows cocked, a challenging sideways smile across my face.  I thought I would be so kind as to grace him with my wisdom.  “True.  But you need to learn to see the best in people.” He remarks unmoved and unimpressed by my words.  Yesterday, we had been approached by a young man eager to ‘practice his English’ with us while showing us through the city; only to have him whisked suddenly away by the Nepalese police moments later.  Today, we meander through the city to gather the remainder of the items needed for our trek.  Through the crowd, a familiar face beams with recognition, and all too quickly our smiles return the greeting.  Our friendly ‘tour guide’ quickly takes his place at our side, and continues right where he left off the day before.  He tells us of his trouble with the police, and how he looked for us for two hours, but we were nowhere to be found.  We walk from one shop to another looking for gas, a skirt, and a few other supplies; it has been tremendously difficult to find fuel, and we are running out of time.  No fuel = no food, no food = well, you get the point.  Rubbie, our tour guide and new found friend, tells us that the next town over is less touristy thus less expensive, and has everything we need.  He can take us there no problem.  Inside I roll my eyes, and think ‘I bet – for a price.’  Justin looks to me, and I am more than happy to escape the crammed streets of Thamel.  “It is an hour walk.” He informs us.  “No problem.” Justin replies.  And so, we walk on.

We meander through filth ridden streets in the sticky, humid conditions.  The roads here resemble our forest service roads back home, and I wonder how I haven’t witnessed any accidents since we have been here.  We wander around past cows eating trash, barefoot crowds, and hundreds of mangy mutts with open sores and missing clumps of hair.  About twenty minutes into our walk, Rubbie speaks of a shoebox, how if he only had one he could feed his family and all of his problems would melt away.  We pass popular temples, and he offers to show us around.  I already feel my blood sugar dropping, and feel an urgency to get back as soon as possible as I believe the more time we spend with him the more obligated we will feel to give him some of what very little we have - so we refuse his offer.  We continue walking, and Rubbie speaks about his home and his responsibilities as the sole provider for his family.  A young man of perhaps twenty, it seems a heavy burden to bear.  We draw nearer to a city, and he asks if we would like to see his home.  Our curiosity gets the better of us and we agree.  Generally, I ask Justin to keep me in front of him as I feel safer there, but this time I fall behind as we take a sharp turn into a bleak alley.  Rubbie must sense my hesitance, because he turns to reassure us that everything is okay, and that we needn’t worry.  We draw near to what would resemble one of our ‘tent cities’ back home, and in anticipation I put on a strong front and a hard heart to deal with what I was about to witness.

Justin’s natural inquisitiveness pulls him in, and I follow refusing to relent regardless of the sights and smells.  Thick bamboo stocks crudely fashioned together form the outline of boxes just big enough to stand up in.  Tarps drape across the top of the bamboo huts promising shade, but minimal protection from the coming rain.  Young children run through the mud and gunk, bottomless and shoeless.  Even typing this now, my heart breaks, my throat tightens, and tears prove that somewhere beneath my hardened exterior is a heart.  Without shame he proudly shows us where an ‘American’ is building them a ‘toilet’, and had recently developed some form of water system.  Although by system, I mean a hole in the ground with a hand pump that produces muddy water that wouldn’t be fit for a dog.  We are greeted warmly by all we pass, and we walk on through the community.  He sweeps his hand wide towards one of the huts and with a large grin announces we are at his home.  He presents us to his sister, her daughter of about two, and her mother-in-law who is lying on a raised particle board bed rocking a tiny hammock with a one month old asleep inside.  Rubbie offers us tea, and his sister eagerly grabs all of the necessary components.  We try to refuse given it is probably the last that they have, but he insists and we graciously accept.  His sister lights a small plastic bag, and brakes of some near-by particle board to create a fire in a small pit in the floor.  A tiny fire boils the milk, and soon we have hot tea in our hands.  

He offers us a seat on the opposing raised bed, and humbly asks if we would like to see the shoebox that could change his life.  Justin agrees to view it, but makes no promise to help obtain it.  A well dressed man from Punjabi enters the room with a neatly painted shoe box formed of high-quality mango wood around his neck.  In broken English, he begins to describe the contents of the box: multiple colors of shoe polish, string, heavy metal tools to fashion new shoes or repair old ones, and multiple brushes to complete the shoe shine kit.  “How much?” Justin inquires pointing towards the box.  “16,000 rupies (approximately $240 USD) for everything, or 10,000 rupies (approx $150 USD) for just the box.” He replies.  Our eyes widened, and we both whistle in astonishment.  We want to help, but that is more money than we have to give.  Justin and I look towards one another and ask if we could step outside to talk. 

“You can’t save them all.”  I look apologetically into Justin’s eyes.  I point towards the surrounding children, and try to be the reason amongst the emotion, “What about him? Or her? Who will help them?” He gently replies, “But if you could change the life of just one family – wouldn’t you? I could pray about it, but I already know what God would say.” An internal struggle rages deep inside me, and I come across much stronger than I anticipate regardless of my own walls crumbling inside.  I am not completely heartless.  I want just as much to cook an endless feast that would feed them all, provide medical care, clean clothes, and a dry, warm home to live in.  But truly, what can I do in the midst of this much devastation?  What can I realistically do to change any of it? My heart is breaking, but my logic was forefront.  On one hand I was raised to trust God, the general rule of good Karma and being kind to others - if you give to someone who is in need then you don’t have to worry where your next meal will come from.  On the other hand, I know exactly how much money we have, and we are already living penny to penny for the next three months with little room for error or reckless spending.  “You are a good man.” I place my hand on his shoulder, and look into his eyes – they give him away.  I know his decision is made, and I continue my speech. “And, you have already made your decision.  I support you no matter what you decide, but first let’s agree on a price.”  We play a little game when it comes to money, and how much we should spend.  We both think of a number and if we each come up with the same number then it is confirmation that we have come to the correct amount.  We agree to offer 6,000 rupies for the box, and settle at as much as 7,000 rupies.  Where the money will come from? Well, we will have to deal with that later.   

“You must do this alone.”  I inform him.  I cannot go back into that tattered home, this is something I feel he needs to do on his own. I sense the emotion and anticipation mounting from inside the hut.  Justin wisely pulls the 7,000 rupies from his money belt, and sets them aside in a separate pocket.  I stay outside and play patty cake with some of the children, while he ducks back inside.  A few moments later, I sense the need to return inside.  Justin sits on the bed looking slightly defeated as the man from Punjabi seemed disgruntled by his offer.  “You must understand that I don’t get anything out of this.” Justin tells the man firmly, but with a slight plea.  The sister sits rocking the baby on the bed, and watches wide eyed in anticipation.  I stand as an onlooker unnoticed from the sidelines.  Rubbie sits on the edge of the bed, hands pressed together with pleading eyes, and small imploring whispers.  “I might be able to do 7,500” Justin offers. He dares not to look towards me, as I raise my eyebrows in surprise.  Time stands still, as we all hold our breath waiting for his reply.  In frustration the man relents.  My gaze sweeps across the room as I try desperately to judge the situation.  Tears flood the sister’s eyes, and you can feel the air leave the room; everyone is afraid to breathe as though it might change his mind.  The man begins to empty the box.  A sigh of relief floods the room, and, I believe, inspired by Justin’s selflessness the man begins to ask Rubbie if he has everything he needs to be successful.  He adds the dyes, string, and some tools along with the box.  The man looks unyielding into Rubbie’s eyes, and tells him to work hard for his family.  Rubbie eagerly promises to do so, and continues to thank Justin and I for our generosity.

Rubbie walks us to the shop where we were supposed to buy gas, only to find it had closed.  The sky threatens to downpour, and I plead with Justin to get on a bus back home.  We duck into a little store and quickly buy formula and rice, and send them home with Rubbie.  He stands at the bus window, and reaches in to grab Justin’s hand, “I’ll never forget this.” He says, eyes filling with profound gratitude.  “Come back and see me.  You are family now.” Justin firmly and lovingly replies, “Work hard.  We will see you again someday.” The bus pulls slowly away, and we wave to Rubbie until we could no longer see him.  We look at one another, trying to read how the other is feeling.  You could see it in our eyes – Was that an elaborate scam? Or Did we just change the life of a family forever, by purchasing a man’s livelihood with the same amount of money that we would have spent later that day on a camera? “No camera.” I say. “No camera.” He answers.

The bus stops far from Thamel, and just as we step off the bus the clouds open up and the rain pours down.  We have hardly gone three steps before we are drenched.  “So much for good Karma!” I laugh. We continuing laughing as we run through the city towards our hotel.  At this point we are beyond starving, physically exhausted, and emotionally drained from the day’s events.

Were we scammed out of our money? Perhaps.  The risks did far outweigh the immediate reward.  We may never know if we made the right decision or not, but at the end of the day it was an experience that tested our limits as human beings, pushed us as far outside of our comfort zone as possible, and drew us together in a more profound way than a hundred comfortable years could have ever brought.  It shed light on the vastness of who we are, our trust in one another and in the power of giving, and that in the end we only take with us what part we played in this world and no other earthly treasures.