It was the last thing we'd expected, really. An excitable group of people with their tongues stuck out like a line of patients with tonsillitis, gesturing frantically for us to do the same. It had only taken one smile before the game was up: the white girl had something strange and shiny in her mouth - something to be glimpsed only when she smiled. We were the new kids in town, and realised with a shock that we had unwittingly introduced the concept of tongue piercing to this rural community. It might have only been my friend Salome who had half a ton of purple metal embedded in her mouth, but months later we heard that other westerners had been cornered to open their mouths and bare all, too. These Nepalis did a good line in nose-piercing, but tongues, it would seem, were a whole different kettle of fish.
This was Ilam in the east of Nepal; twenty four bone-shaking hours on a bus from Kathmandu, and home for the next five months. We - three Brits and two Nepalis - were working for Students Partnership Worldwide - a youth charity that works in developing countries in Africa and Asia. Gap years are big business these days, and there are countless organisations that offer the whole 'chance of a lifetime' package for those willing to sign on the dotted line. However, what distinguishes SPW from most is the emphasis placed on partnership, with overseas and local volunteers working together. While this certainly made communication easier for me, the main point is to give young people from developing countries the chance to play an active role in their country's future.
Issues such as AIDS, population growth and the environment can all pose huge problems for developing countries, but are often not addressed adequately by governments. SPW works to raise awareness of these problems in young people through peer-group education. In a local government school, we taught classes on migration, pollution and deforestation, with the aim of getting the students actively involved in the work. One particular favourite was a variation of British Bulldogs. Half the class took on the role of trees, the other half of soil. Somewhat bemused, the 'trees' stood in the middle of the field while the 'soils' tried to run past them, with those 'soils' that were caught becoming trees for their next turn. The point was to demonstrate the concept of soil erosion: the fewer trees there are, the more soil that is able to escape. Despite the chaos - sixty eleven year-olds running hell-for-leather isn't easy to control, particularly when there's a downward slope involved - I think the point was made: plant more trees!
More difficult, perhaps, was the community work we did, which involved initiating various Appropriate Rural Technologies. Our work focussed on introducing an alternative design for a stove, which used a chimney to filter smoke outside, thus reducing respiratory diseases. We also designed and built pit latrines that kept waste underground and prevented it getting into crops and water sources. While we didn't have the skills or resources to do everything, we could do small things like repair the water piping to the toilet block so that people could wash their hands.
Development work, however small-scale, isn't easy. It can be slow, and very frustrating. Things happen slowly in Nepal, if at all, and the most important lesson I learnt was that it's not my role to make it otherwise. As a graduate who's taken two gap years, I'm frequently asked when I'm going to get a 'proper' job. True, my ability to weave a bamboo wall might not jump out as the most obvious of transferable skills, but I know I've come away far more aware - and tolerant - of other people. I hope the community I worked in learnt something from us too - more than just a newfangled oral fashion, anyway. This kind of first-hand experience of another country is something you just don't get in the classroom - or lecture hall. There's a lot to be said for University or a good career. But it can always wait another year.
