Notes from the Field

Yesterday before it had rained in the mid-afternoon I took a break from my laptop, and sat with the women who run the cafeteria under the trees that are adjacent to it, on the little plastic seats where a mix of students, faculty, and staff seek solace from the sun. One of the women who runs the cafeteria is particularly friendly to me, but I find her Nepali perhaps the most unintelligible of all, and so we often pass the time asking one another questions in Nepali, and not understanding one another’s questions or answers.

Still, it’s a nice place to sit and be outside for awhile, and on this particular day (Sunday) they were serving a momo mid-day snack. Momo is a tasty treat for Nepalis that excites them the way Americans get excited about pizza, and consists of a vegetable or meat dumpling dressed in achar, or pickled sauce. The momo is from the Tibetan tradition and I believe came over with the refugees here. Today’s sauce was particularly good, a tomato achar somewhere between a more flavorful hot sauce and homemade ketchup.

As I sat there and pondered the clouds, looking for rain, Deepak came along, ordered some momo himself, and began to finally translate for the didi (older woman) who works in the kitchen. And I was really surprised by what she said.

The woman said that she was wondering if I would be able to help her pay for school for her son, who is her only child, and fatherless. I was flabbergasted, although perhaps unnecessarily. After some clarification through Deepak (who was himself put in an uncomfortable situation), I ascertained that this woman thought that perhaps I could help by finding the money from an NGO, any NGO, or through some grant, or scholarship, or agency, or really anything that might be affiliated with my country and the resources those from within it commandeer. When, curious, I asked Deepak how much money she needed, he told me 5,000Rs per year to send the boy to school, including the cost of attendance, books, and the schoolbus. Which sounds like it must be a ton of money, right? It’s $66 USD.

And my first thought, of course, was to play the hero. I could go to my room right now, and get that money. I had it, this incredible sum that this poor woman (who is in fact very poor) needs, on hand, and could dispense it to her at will. The only impact to me would be not being able to travel to Kathmandu in order to take a weekend off in the middle of the summer. Instead of the amount she needs per year, she said, the cost of attendance alone would also help her. That amount is 1,500 rupees per year, or 6,000 more rupees for him to finish through grade 10, which is when the school here ends. For $80 right this second I could walk over to the school’s administrative office, pay out $80 right now, right now, and guarantee this little boy four more years of his education, through which he might someday be able to work in a good enough job to give his mom a break from washing cafeteria dishes, and move them out of the cafeteria itself, where they sleep on the tables during the night.

I can hear my big-hearted friends pulling out their checkbooks right now, and with a grin imagine in particular Caroline and Sarah, and Jose, running the diminuitive numbers, as they are each tremendous for being doers when they see an opportunity. I know what you are thinking, and love you for it, but it’s more complicated than that.

When the woman asked for support for her son, she was sitting next to another woman, who also works and lives in the cafeteria, and who has five children, herself. That woman had managed to obtain support for her childrens’ education through an NGO in Lakeside, because she is so poor, but she also has put 2 or 3 of these children in an orphanage, because she cannot care for them herself. And so the question grows. Do I give this second woman money for her children, too? And if so, is it money to live on (so she can get her children back) or money for their education (which is currently paid for)? Why can’t the first woman get money for her own child, if the second woman did? Is she not poor enough? Does that mean there are other even poorer families, who might need it more?

And if I go back to my room and bring out the money to pay for one or both, then what will happen if they tell their friends, the scores of other staff who make this campus what it is, but who also live in the modest staff apartments on campus and struggle to provide for their children and families? Where is my line? Who do I help?

And it is here where I take my leave of the woman, promising to think it over and try to come up with who I know that might be able to help. Even though I am the person I know who might be able to help. And the question expands again: what is the scale of the aid I would hope to be able to provide? What is meaningful help? How do you decide, in the face of so many with limited resources, who is most deserving? Is it the woman who is brave enough to ask when she sees the slender possibility of a chance in front of her, or is it based on some kind of merit scale? And who gets to decide?

There are two directions I want this post to go in. One is about my own future, and one is this woman’s. I will wait on the part about my own future, at present, and instead ask for your advice.

To be explicit: I don’t know what to do here, with this question, and the kindly mother in question keeps shooting me hopeful looks whenever I enter the cafeteria. Do you save, or help, the one woman or family you know? Or do you create the foundation or organization that can work to help so many others, and start with that self-same funding you didn’t give to the woman who asked? How do you decide? And if you help the one, then why not the other? And if not the other, why not all? And if not all, then how do you decide who is “worth” helping? And if you decide who is worth helping based on a meritocracy, then how do you justify that first bit of funding, given because your heart was weak, and open, and willing? Where in the process of giving aid to people who need it do you begin to take away their ability to help themselves? When is aid an encumberment, and not a support? How do people learn to help themselves?

I don’t have the answers. Right now, I am overwhelmed by the scope of the questions. I invite your insight. I know any one of you could fund this kid straight through high school, and that any readers here would, at the drop of a hat, and in particular at my request. My question to you now is, should we?

And to those who see it in the cards already, the flip side, the “me” in the question is…I have been contemplating starting my own non-profit, both focused on conservation and poverty alleviation, possibly in collaboration with Kanchan. Yes, you probably saw through it. Would you help me do it, if I tried? If your gut answer is yes, do you mean it, in terms of a long-term commitment? What if it meant a three year investment? What if I wanted you on my board? What kind of help are you yourselves able and willing to provide? Where are your own lines?

There are no wrong answers, only an abundance of thoughtful questions – xonsider this a thought exercise. Right now that’s all it is, but it does strike me that it could easily become much, much more.

-M-