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A man with short brown hair and a white shirt under a jacket looks pensively out a doorway. The background is dimly lit.

Narendra Bahadur Shahi

I do not remember father.

“I was too young to remember when he died. But I have memories of mother. During those times when someone was sick, it was normal to summon the Dhamis and Jhankris before taking them to the doctor. There were no doctors and even if there were, they were far away in the district. I was 9 when Mother died. I was a herder spending most of my time in high altitudes with the cows, buffaloes, and goats. Not long after mother died, my elder brother died too. He had started to have pain in his ears. 5 days of sickness and he passed away. We all went very quiet then for it was a time of grief. After such a tragedy, my sister must have thought that if she left me then I will die too. So eventually she took me with her. Her argument with her husband was that I was too young to be left alone and that I would die if she abandoned me to fate. In my sister’s house, my life was not easy. One had to really struggle to survive – plowing, digging, firewood, grass. I did not carry manure. They say it is a sin for a sister to ask her brother to carry manure. I did spend some time in school. Until class 8. And then I had to quit because I did not want to burden sister with the expenses of my books and uniforms.

I went to India at the age of 14. Sister had repeatedly asked me not to go. She said, ‘I have taken care of you all this life. And now you want to leave and go live with strangers and taste rice cooked in a strangers kitchen?’ I knew she loved me and wanted me to be safe. But I had to go. I had to start making money. At 14, I knew I wanted to have a family and live happily. Someone in the village that I knew took young men to India for labor work. My friends had also decided to leave for India so I went along. I had 1000 rupees with me for the bus fare. That was the only money I had. I found out after I got on the bus that we were bound towards Simla. There I worked picking apples, digging potatoes, feeding cattle and chasing away birds. I missed home. And I missed the yelling of my sister. I missed her words of motherly love.”

A person holds a colorful portrait photo showing a family with four children and two adults, standing in front of a painted backdrop with mountains and trees. The image is framed with a decorative floral border.

“When I returned home from India, I had saved some money. With that, I was able to get married. I was only 16 then. No one told me that I was too young. And I did not have the maturity. Maybe if I had continued with school, I would have known that getting married too young is not a good thing to do. But as I had wished, I started a family. My wife was a good person. She stayed home and took care of the family while I wandered looking for work. Somehow, we managed. We had a son and two daughters.

One day, my wife complained of pain in her chest. We tried consulting the local shamans but she had already started losing weight. Her worsening health worried me. And I was worried that I had no money for her treatment in a hospital. So I spent a few weeks meeting friends and relatives and asking for a loan. When I collected enough money, I took her to the hospital in Kathmandu. The doctor told me there was an infection and that germs had nested in the corner of her heart. ‘Please take this medicine and cure her’, said the doctor to me. ‘Bring her back when the medicines run out’. I could not go to work regularly because I had to look after my wife and our children. I had to do the housework and whatever labor work I could find. But I never thought of accepting defeat. For all humans, there is always hope for happier days. My wife’s health did not improve. I loaned some more money and took her back to Kathmandu. The doctors did several tests while my wife was admitted. Anxious, I would wander around the ward, praying. But the doctors finally confessed that she could not be cured and it was very late. After a few weeks, she passed away, leaving me and the children alone. I cremated her in Bheri.

How do I express how I felt in my heart when she passed away? I could not sleep at night. I would wake up at 2-3 in the morning. I would see my children spread out near me and cry when the world slept. Because I had lost all the sleep I would start cooking for them in the early hours so that when they woke up there was food ready.”

A man sits outside a house holding a young girl in a white shirt on his lap. An older child stands beside him, leaning against the wall. The setting appears rural, with a yellow and green building in the background.

“These children are my everything. I am very happy that my son is going to Kopila Valley School. The sirs and madams there came to look at my house and decided to help me. But I still have a lot of problems I need to take care of. The loan that I took for my wife is still pressing me and I am working on repaying that. And by God’s grace, I will be able to. With my wife gone, I felt like I have lost everything but I know I have to stay strong for these children that surround me. My eldest son is smart and he talks to me like he is a grown-up man. And we share things with each other. The others are not so mature to understand the complicated system of life. In this hut, there is scarcity but we are managing, little by little. I go to work and do not want to spread my hands in front of other people all the time. I don’t want to be asking for help all the time. I have able hands and feet to feed myself and my children. I have not accepted defeat. I never will.” (Narendra, Junichandi GP 2, Jajarkot)

This month, we’re collaborating with our friends at Stories of Nepal to tell the stories of the families we serve. Each subject has children enrolled in the Kopila Valley School, and has agreed to share their journey with you.

“I do not remember father. I was too young to remember when he died. But I have memories of mother. During those times when someone was sick, it was normal to summon the Dhamis and Jhankris before taking them to the doctor. There were no doctors and even if there were, they were far away in the district. I was 9 when Mother died. I was a herder spending most of my time in high altitudes with the cows, buffaloes, and goats. Not long after mother died, my elder brother died too. He had started to have pain in his ears. 5 days of sickness and he passed away. We all went very quiet then for it was a time of grief. After such a tragedy, my sister must have thought that if she left me then I will die too. So eventually she took me with her. Her argument with her husband was that I was too young to be left alone and that I would die if she abandoned me to fate. In my sister’s house, my life was not easy. One had to really struggle to survive – plowing, digging, firewood, grass. I did not carry manure. They say it is a sin for a sister to ask her brother to carry manure. I did spend some time in school. Until class 8. And then I had to quit because I did not want to burden sister with the expenses of my books and uniforms.

I went to India at the age of 14. Sister had repeatedly asked me not to go. She said, ‘I have taken care of you all this life. And now you want to leave and go live with strangers and taste rice cooked in a strangers kitchen?’ I knew she loved me and wanted me to be safe. But I had to go. I had to start making money. At 14, I knew I wanted to have a family and live happily. Someone in the village that I knew took young men to India for labor work. My friends had also decided to leave for India so I went along. I had 1000 rupees with me for the bus fare. That was the only money I had. I found out after I got on the bus that we were bound towards Simla. There I worked picking apples, digging potatoes, feeding cattle and chasing away birds. I missed home. And I missed the yelling of my sister. I missed her words of motherly love.”

A person holds a colorful portrait photo showing a family with four children and two adults, standing in front of a painted backdrop with mountains and trees. The image is framed with a decorative floral border.

“When I returned home from India, I had saved some money. With that, I was able to get married. I was only 16 then. No one told me that I was too young. And I did not have the maturity. Maybe if I had continued with school, I would have known that getting married too young is not a good thing to do. But as I had wished, I started a family. My wife was a good person. She stayed home and took care of the family while I wandered looking for work. Somehow, we managed. We had a son and two daughters.

One day, my wife complained of pain in her chest. We tried consulting the local shamans but she had already started losing weight. Her worsening health worried me. And I was worried that I had no money for her treatment in a hospital. So I spent a few weeks meeting friends and relatives and asking for a loan. When I collected enough money, I took her to the hospital in Kathmandu. The doctor told me there was an infection and that germs had nested in the corner of her heart. ‘Please take this medicine and cure her’, said the doctor to me. ‘Bring her back when the medicines run out’. I could not go to work regularly because I had to look after my wife and our children. I had to do the housework and whatever labor work I could find. But I never thought of accepting defeat. For all humans, there is always hope for happier days. My wife’s health did not improve. I loaned some more money and took her back to Kathmandu. The doctors did several tests while my wife was admitted. Anxious, I would wander around the ward, praying. But the doctors finally confessed that she could not be cured and it was very late. After a few weeks, she passed away, leaving me and the children alone. I cremated her in Bheri.

How do I express how I felt in my heart when she passed away? I could not sleep at night. I would wake up at 2-3 in the morning. I would see my children spread out near me and cry when the world slept. Because I had lost all the sleep I would start cooking for them in the early hours so that when they woke up there was food ready.”

A man sits outside a house holding a young girl in a white shirt on his lap. An older child stands beside him, leaning against the wall. The setting appears rural, with a yellow and green building in the background.

“These children are my everything. I am very happy that my son is going to Kopila Valley School. The sirs and madams there came to look at my house and decided to help me. But I still have a lot of problems I need to take care of. The loan that I took for my wife is still pressing me and I am working on repaying that. And by God’s grace, I will be able to. With my wife gone, I felt like I have lost everything but I know I have to stay strong for these children that surround me. My eldest son is smart and he talks to me like he is a grown-up man. And we share things with each other. The others are not so mature to understand the complicated system of life. In this hut, there is scarcity but we are managing, little by little. I go to work and do not want to spread my hands in front of other people all the time. I don’t want to be asking for help all the time. I have able hands and feet to feed myself and my children. I have not accepted defeat. I never will.” (Narendra, Junichandi GP 2, Jajarkot)

This month, we’re collaborating with our friends at Stories of Nepal to tell the stories of the families we serve. Each subject has children enrolled in the Kopila Valley School, and has agreed to share their journey with you.

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