Can’t view the above YouTube video of street kids in Pokhara, Nepal learning to drum? Click here.
The dangerously handsome man sitting at an adjacent table in the Pokhara coffee shop nodded as I wrapped up my interview with two young girls who’s had an abhorrent experience with a local volunteer operator. A jumble of dreadlocks peeked from beneath Hugo Caminero’s rainbow knitted skullcap as he leaned across the aisle and admitted that he’d been eavesdropping. Hugo was also working with children in Nepal, but he’d created his own program rather than pay a firm to arrange a volunteer opportunity. He flashed a seductive smile through his two-day stubble. Would I like to accompany him the following day to see for myself?
Hugo, drummer for the popular Spanish cover band RETO 999, was inspired by the philanthropic works of Carlinhos Brown, a Brazilian percussionist who was born in Candeal Pequeno, a small neighborhood in the Brotas area of Salvador de Bahia, Brazil. As a child, Brown played in dirt streets where human waste flowed; when it rained, excrement and mud washed into the homes. Yet it was the rhythm and percussion sounds from these same rough streets that brought him fame. Hoping to give back, Brown opened a music school in Candeal and formed the musical group Timbalada, recruiting more than 100 percussionists and singers called “timbaleiros,” the majority of them young kids from the streets of Candeal. Timbalada eventually recorded eight albums and toured various countries around the world. Today, largely through the efforts of Brown and Pracatum Social Action Association community action organization also set up by the drummer, the streets of Candeal are paved and free from sewage.
Can’t view the above video of teaching drumming to street children in Pokhara, Nepal? Click here.
Taking his cue from Brown, Hugo bought a dozen drums, flew to Pokhara, and began looking for an orphanage where he could put his skills to use. One day he knocked on the door of the Protection and Rehabilitation Centre for Street Children and soon he was tutoring kids for an hour or so each afternoon in simple rhythms they were sure to master. At a jam session in a local bar one night he met Kim Jinuk, a Korean guitarist, and Pablo Etayo, an amateur musician from Basque Spain who had studied music therapy. And then there were three.
The next afternoon, Hugo led me through a maze of Pokhara’s dirt back streets on a shortcut to the highway, where the inconspicuous centre concealed itself behind a low concrete wall. A door cracked open we were ushered inside, where raggedy urchins immediately latched onto our legs, our clothes, whatever they could grasp. They bickered and pummeled one another; one young boy performed backflips from a nearby bench hoping to win our attention. Utter chaos reigned until Hugo broke out the drums.
Forming an orderly circle in the center of the courtyard, the children focused on Hugo as he drilled them on their respective parts.
“Ick, dui, tin, char!” One, two three, four.
Within minutes the undisciplined mob was transformed into a cohesive unit, automatically working together for the good of the group. It was quite remarkable to witness and it wouldn’t surprise me to see these kids performing in a major parade someday, featured as one of the world’s great rags to riches stories.
My life changed for the better when I deserted corporate America to pursue my true passions of travel, writing and photography but over the past few years I’ve often felt there was still a piece of the puzzle missing. There was something more I was meant to do; I just wasn’t sure what it was. And then I arrived in Nepal.
As my three week visit stretched to three months, I became acutely aware that behind the veneer of beauty lay excruciating poverty. Here was a place where I could do some good, I thought. I began researching NGO’s (non-governmental organizations) and learned it was quite simple to create and register one in Nepal. Combining an NGO with a 501(c)3 non-profit organization in the U.S., which would allow people to make tax deductible donations, seemed the perfect way to help Nepal and satisfy my desire to give back.
As I toured the country I broached the subject of NGO’s and volunteering with everyone I met. My first inkling that all was not as it seemed came from a guide in Chitwan National Park. Morally opposed to riding elephants, I instead opted for a walk through a nearby village to learn more about the local Tharu people. My guide, who lived in the village, warned, “Maybe 75% of orphanages are not real.”
He told me about a group of Polish tourists that had established an online relationship with an orphanage prior to traveling to Nepal. Upon arrival, they hired my guide to help purchase bulk food and supplies, in addition to a cash donation they planned to make. Although he warned of potential fraud, the Poles insisted that this particular orphanage was legitimate. Several weeks later, long after the donors had returned home, my guide stuffed his pockets with chocolates and returned to the orphanage. As the children clamored around him, fighting for candy, he quizzed them. What had they been given to eat over the past few weeks? Had they received new clothes? School supplies? None of the children had new clothes or supplies and they had been fed only dahl bhat (rice and lentil bean stew), as usual. He later learned that all the fresh foodstuffs and a good deal of the bulk non-perishables had been sold off, with the cash distributed among the orphanage owners.
My guide explained that many orphanages solicit funds through websites that feature photos of destitute children and inspiring stories of rescues made possible by donations. Yet in truth, many of these same orphanages are non-existent. In the rare instance that donors travel to Nepal to meet their sponsor children, the owners of the “orphanage” collect children and put them on display for a night or two in a local home.
At this point in our walking tour he pointed to a decrepit house next to a brand new three-story concrete building painted in a trio of turquoise hues. The sign on the chain link fence surrounding the two structures declared that a new orphanage would soon open.
“I assume that’s one of the good ones?” I asked.
“No, the owner built the orphanage with money from donations but now that it is finished, he is turning it into a hotel.”
Two days later I boarded a bus with a slew of Brits who had come to Nepal to volunteer. After a weekend tour of Chitwan, they were headed back to Pokhara, where they were helping out at local orphanages and teaching English in government schools. After extensive research on the Internet, each of them had booked their trip through Personal Overseas Development (POD), a UK firm that facilitates volunteering opportunities around the world. Valerie Jamiason of Newcastle paid 750 British Pounds ($1087 U.S. dollars at the time) for an eight-week stint. Her package included pick-up at the Kathmandu airport ( I was picked up for free by my hotel), one night’s stay at a Kathmandu budget hotel (~$10), her bus ticket to Pokhara (~$6), and eight weeks stay at the Castle Guest House in Pokhara at what Val was told was POD’s special rate of $6 per night, for a total of $352.
POD does not require volunteers to have any prior teaching experience and they are given no orientation upon arrival. With no formal turnover process, fresh arrivals have no idea what the children have been taught previously and each new group is left to decide for themselves what to teach their classes. Tom, who had opted for a summer of volunteering prior to entering university as a pre-med student, focused on teaching his students how to tell time.
Two of my volunteer friends invited me to visit Annapurna Primary School with them one day. As I wedged into a miniature desk at the rear of the classroom, Val established a modicum of order among the raucous pack and began drilling the students. She placed a chalkboard eraser on the floor and in her thick Newcastle brogue instructed:
“Repeat after me. The duster (DOH stah) is next to the desk.”
“The duster is on the desk.”
“The duster is in the desk.”
“The duster is under the desk.”
Meanwhile, Michael reviewed homework assignments, explaining errors in his very proper Londoner accent.
Though the raggedly clad kids had level one English workbooks, the school administrator told me in broken English that they were lacking even the most essential supplies: pencils, erasers, and lined pads were all in short supply and since there were no funds for lunches, the students went hungry. As for assistance from POD, I was told that only the teachers were provided. With Continue reading
As I prepared to move on to Thailand, my brain started clicking through checklists. Still possible to get a 30-day visa on arrival? Check. iPhone unlocked and ready for a Thai SIM card for cheap calls overseas? Check. Adapter that would allow me to charge my electronics in Thailand? Um, no. These days, it’s not the security checkpoints or bad airline food that causes stress, it’s staying on top of the technology needed to work overseas.
There is a great deal of confusion surrounding the use of personal electronic equipment in foreign countries. With the exception of large appliances like washing machines, in the U.S. electrical receptacles (plugs) are wired for 120V; most other countries in the world, however, run on 220-240V, so to use electronic goods manufactured in the U.S. overseas, the first necessity is a converter that steps down the current. Additionally, every country has adopted a different design for its receptacles (plugs), so an adapter is necessary to make U.S. style flat pin plugs compatible with two-hole round pin plugs used in Asia, for example.
Fortunately, this whole issue has been simplified for me. The only equipment I need to charge is my Macbook Pro laptop, iPhone, and Canon camera battery, and all three have built-in converters. Figuring out which adapters I need is also a breeze these days, courtesy of Wikipedia, which has a comprehensive article on the subject, complete with photos of all the different types of plugs.
However, the question of charging electrical equipment is just the tip of the iceberg, technologically speaking, when traveling. What’s the best international calling program? How do you protect your private passwords when using an Internet cafe? What’s the best way to handle finances and currency exchange when traveling? How do you back up your valuable photos so you don’t risk losing them in the event of equipment failure or theft? If I researched all these questions I’d never have time to travel.
Fortunately, I don’t have to. My friend, Anil Polat, who is owner and editor of the popular Foxnomad Travel Tech blog, recently wrote a book about this subject, The Ultimate Tech Guide For Travelers. Polat is eminently qualified to author this manual, as he was a full-time computer security consultant making and breaking systems for some of the biggest companies in the world prior to becoming a digital nomad like me. He guarantees that travelers Continue reading