Walking through Lukla today, for the first time I have discovered a dark side of Nepalese life, or so it seems.  Perhaps I just don’t understand.  A girl, around fourteen years of age, squatting on the side of the trail was being tormented by a large gaggle of young children.  She was in abject misery as she rocked back and forth, crying, tossing small rocks and hurling epitaphs at the group of children.  It was difficult to tell if she was sick or deranged; but, she did seem to be in need of some kind of help.  There were four or five village women gathered, speaking amongst themselves.  But, no one moved to help her or to intervene with the young children that were teasing her.

I did not know what to do.  I could not ask her, and certainly did not understand what was being said.  One of the shop keepers came out and gave her something hot, perhaps tea and showed her this kindness, but the general situation stayed the same.

I went back to the Tea House to find Dawa and to explain to him what was going on. He laughed (which is the Sherpa way), and said "Ke Garne" which roughly means "that’s the way life is and what can be done about it".  That went against my American way, which says "one can always do something".  Being the good guy that he is, and after a little prodding, Dawa volunteered to go speak to her and find out what was wrong.

She was gone.  The children were gone. The women were gone.  The show was over. Seeing my disappointment, Dawa did some detective work and found out the sad story.

She lived close by in the home of an old peasant woman who was taking care of her, feeding her and providing shelter.  She had no money, and no way to earn any.  She had no family to help her in any way.  She was married, but her husband left her when she had a miscarriage.  She is blind in one eye and lame in one arm, and thus cannot work.  She has and owns nothing.  She like so many in the world today has no future and no hope.  Talk about a heavy weight on one’s shoulders.

          Dawa asked me if I wanted to go and visit her where she is staying.  All of a sudden the reality of the meaning of "Ke Garne" made itself known.

           What could I do?  I, with limited resources and in a strange land.  But I started this and felt that I must take it to where it would lead.  And in any case when good judgment fails me my curiosity always takes over.  So we headed to the hut, downward, off the trail amongst the potato fields.

           The hut, owned by the old woman, was surrounded by a small patch of ground where potatoes could be grown.  The door was low, and inside it was black as night, windowless, cold, and sooty.  The hard packed dirt of the interior reflected the coldness of the stone walls.  The young women was sitting on the earthen floor with her feet in the hot coals of the fire for warmth, the muted, dancing light playing with her sad features.  The old lady, sitting in a corner, was deep in the shadows. As my eyes adjusted to the smoke filled hut, Dawa translated what came to my slightly panicked mind.  I said, that her sadness was my sadness....and that I wanted to bring a little sunshine into her life.  She would make me very happy if she would allow me to give her 300 rupees.  She wrestled with her natural pride, and against the desire to have so much money.  The old women’s eyes widened.  The young woman and Dawa exchanged some words and then she accepted.  She looked at the money, and the empowerment that money can bring, even if only fleetingly, lifted her spirits and mine too.  The money represented only seven dollars to me but to her it represented a need possibly fulfilled.  There was no thank you. For, in this society, it is truly more gracious to give than to receive.