<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cac9c7e80680e0bd4a3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="1276"/><figcaption>Ajay Shrestha in his cricket jersey during happier times. All photos: courtesy ANIL SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>I left for the UAE six years ago. It was a struggle to adjust to the new environment, but the country gave someone like me who had arrived with no experience a platform to work hard, and make a decent living.I started as a crew member at a restaurant, and by the end of six years, was working as an assistant manager making five times more than my starting salary.I did not have any reason to leave the UAE given my job security and attractive benefits, but my younger brother, Ajay, who was based in Malta wanted me to join him there.“Europe is Europe,” he used to say.My only motivation to go there was to be with my brother. Why live in two separate places when there is opportunity to be together to support each other, to celebrate festivals together, and create some semblance of a ‘home? My mother also loved the idea of her sons being together.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721caf9c7e80680e0bd4a4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1600" height="1200"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>He helped me find a job in Malta, also in the restaurant line. The salary was not all that different from what I was making in the UAE.When I joined my brother in Malta on 31 January  this year,  it had been three years since I had last seen him. We were thrilled. What I did not know then was that it would be a reunion that would change the trajectory of our lives.In addition to the excitement to see me, he was also looking forward to his trip back to Nepal on 1 March. He was already in holiday mode, excited to be back for the first time since he got here.A cricket fanatic, he had set aside a 1,900 euro fund to organise a game back home through a cricket academy in Bardia that a common friend had set up.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-1/">Diaspora Diaries 1</a>, Nepali Times<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cb39c7e80680e0bd4a5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A mother’s boy, he was trying to decide between different mobile sets to buy for her, and also for an uncle.He worked as a bike delivery rider in Malta and in the morning of 16 February, he was scrolling through his phone when he got a delivery request and decided to take it up. Every extra euro would help, he said.I was playing a game on my phone and barely paid attention as he left the apartment. He later called from below the apartment to ask me to pass his power bank that he had left. As a delivery boy, it was an essential he could not afford to leave behind.He called again me to tell me to throw him his purse from the balcony. He caught it with a grin. Sloppy boy, I thought.A while later, I got a call from a fellow Nepali. He told me to go to the hospital because Ajay had met with an accident, about three kilometers from our apartment.I could feel my soul leave my body when I heard the news as I rushed to the hospital. As soon as I arrived, I was told by the doctor that Ajay was no more.The fact that he had come back twice to take his phone charger and wallet still haunts me. He had died on the spot when a truck hit him. Perhaps if he had not been delayed by those couple of minutes due to his absentmindedness, he would still be alive. The difference a few split seconds would have made.Needless to say, I was shocked beyond belief. How could this have happened? My eyes hurt to see my brother as he lay there in the hospital, as if we was in peaceful sleep. He looked normal and was still warm.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-2/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Diaspora Diaries 2</a>, Nepali TimesMy mother back in Nepal had to be rushed to hospital as she collapsed after hearing the news. This added to my grief and worry.In that abyss, I felt numb, unable to process what was going on. It had been only 17 days since I had arrived in Malta. Everything was a blur.Back in my brother’s apartment as I wept, I could not comprehend what was going on and what was next. I had to figure out how to take my brother’s body home. I did not know anyone there, or how the system worked.Friends came to the apartment to pay their respects. They were all in tears, and hugged me, brought me food and made sure someone was always at my side. I have no idea who these people were, but they were all Ajay’s friends and they were there for us, and to support me.Growing up, I was always the quiet one, and Ajay the more outgoing sibling. I used to be known as ‘Ajay’s Dai’ rather than Anil. Even in his death, I was ‘Ajay’s Dai’, surrounded by his friends, in an unfamiliar country, among unfamiliar people.It was also evident how much goodwill Ajay had garnered in Malta. I had at least five Nepalis who came to me to repay money they had borrowed from Ajay. They didn’t have to but they did. They were in tears.Many recounted memories of how he had helped them when they were struggling financially. In the following weeks, there were football games organised in his memory with moments of silence in his tribute. My brother, he had left a mark among many.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-3/">Diaspora Diaries 3</a>, Nepali Times<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cb79c7e80680e0bd4a6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="720" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>These stories of death in a foreign land are common. It is a familiar sight for us Nepalis to see coffins arrive at Kathmandu airport. Most of them are on flights from the Gulf, where I spent six years.But this was the first fatality among Nepalis in Malta. Even the Prime Minister of Malta and the Mayor reached out to me and extended their condolences. The Nepali community there was stunned. Nepalis and Maltese friends crowdfunded for his repatriation, to support our family, and raised nearly Rs2.8 million with which we could send the body to Nepal.How do you describe the feeling of being on a plane with your brother in the cargo hold in a box? How can you talk about bringing a younger sibling’s body home to your parents?<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cb99c7e80680e0bd4a7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="720" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>On the flight back home, I kept thinking about how my brother had brought me to Malta just weeks before he died. It was as if he had wanted his elder brother to take care of him, and bring him home.Had I been in the UAE, there was no way I would have been able to go to Malta to do that. The longer the wait, the more difficult it would have been for my parents, since seeing my brother’s body and completing the final rites at least provided them a sense of closure.Here in Bardia, the days are passing slowly. My priority is to take care of my parents who are distraught. My mother is almost  unrecognisable with shock and loss of appetite. She has no more tears left to shed.Things were just starting to look up for us. Three months ago, we bought our father a scooter so he could get around more easily than in his bicycle.My brother and I had just moved in together in Malta, and this happened. Nothing makes sense. I now want to find ways to keep my brother’s memories alive, and to fulfill his dreams.We organised the cricket tournament in his memory, and the finals were on Monday. A team from Banke district won.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-4/"> Diaspora Diaries 4</a>, Nepali Times<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cbc9c7e80680e0bd4a8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="750" height="403"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Both us brothers were very fond of cricket growing up, perhaps because India is right across the border. But back then we could not even afford the basic equipment.We played with a tennis ball, and even that was expensive. We made our own bats. My brother had wanted to make sure that children of our home village would not have to suffer the same deprivation.Just a month before his death, my brother had sent another Rs15,000 to the sports academy to organise the tournament.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cbf9c7e80680e0bd4a9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="958"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>On the opening day, I wore one of his favorite jerseys that said ‘AJ’ on the back. It is the little things that remind me of him, and make me suddenly burst into tears without warning. There are many memories of our childhood that make me feel simultaneously close to him, while reminding me of the cruel reality that he is not around anymore, and he will never be.The jersey is among his possessions that I brought back with me from Malta, leaving nothing behind in his apartment that I gave up before returning.I don’t think we will ever learn to move on from this loss. But perhaps one day we will learn to live with it.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-qatar-job-mirage/">The Qatar job mirage</a>, Nepali TimesTranslated from Nepali. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

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Fate joins, then separates, siblings

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181124/636be27f9c7e80680e083eafjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="595" height="501"/><figcaption>Illustration: SAMBHRANT BISTA</figcaption></figure>Nepali emigration conjures up images of migrant workers at construction sites in the Gulf or security guards in Malaysia. Falling between the cracks are the increasing numbers of Nepalis now in Europe.The volume of Nepalis going to Europe pales in comparison to migrant workers headed to West Asia or Malaysia annually, but their presence has been highlighted during the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepali-diaspora-hit-by-covid-surge/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepali-diaspora-hit-by-covid-surge/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1606375552722000&amp;usg=AFQjCNG_IuXzwm4IQtnSt0ZZ_O7yzT4E-w">Covid-19 pandemic when many Nepalis fell sick.</a>Romania, for instance, issued 29,800 work permits to foreign workers in 2019, of these <a href="http://igi.mai.gov.ro/ro/comunicat/evaluarea-activit%C4%83%C8%9Bii-poli%C8%9Bi%C8%99tilor-inspectoratului-general-pentru-imigr%C4%83ri-%C3%AEn-anul-2019" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://igi.mai.gov.ro/ro/comunicat/evaluarea-activit%25C4%2583%25C8%259Bii-poli%25C8%259Bi%25C8%2599tilor-inspectoratului-general-pentru-imigr%25C4%2583ri-%25C3%25AEn-anul-2019&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1606375552722000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHo3EEdFx0D72F_IUyvC6hhsutQ-Q">4,324 were to Nepali workers</a> -- the second highest nationality after Vietnam.Similarly, <a href="https://wbj.pl/more-asian-workers-in-poland/post/126282" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://wbj.pl/more-asian-workers-in-poland/post/126282&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1606375552722000&amp;usg=AFQjCNH90CN2BaZ6jXnfdV3MmvpL9h9EAQ">in Poland</a>, of the 69,000 work permits issued to Asian workers, 9,200 were granted to Nepalis who now make up the highest nationality. In 2019, the 2,273 Nepalis officially residing in Malta made them the fourth largest non-EU nationality on the Mediterranean island.The Honorary Consul General of Nepal in Romania, Nawa Raj Pokharel, is one of the 500 plus Nepalis who has tested positive after the onset of the pandemic. He spoke to Nepali Times from his hospital bed on Tuesday.“Workers in restaurants have been vulnerable to the economic fallout, but those working in warehousing, agriculture and construction have continued their work,” he said. “I have helped place workers who lost their jobs because of business shut-down or wanted to change employment with new employers. Unless workers are undocumented, they are eligible for unemployment benefits.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181124/636be2819c7e80680e083eb0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="1375"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181124/636be2839c7e80680e083eb1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="1375">A Nepali migrant worker in a park in Romania this summer, and a Nepali worker in a subway in Bucharest. In 2019, Romania issued 4,324 work permits to Nepalis, many of whom are now sick because of Covid-19.A Nepali who spent two years in Qatar paid a recruiter Rs550,000 for a construction job in Romania. Although he was promised a monthly salary of up to Rs150,000, he barely makes Rs60,000 as a steel fixer at a construction site in Bucharest. Recently, he tested positive for Covid-19, and his medical expenses are being borne by his employer.“At first, I thought it was just regular flu as my job requires me to work outside in the cold,” he told us on the phone. “Manpower companies in Nepal exaggerate earnings and made us falsely believe that access to other Western European countries will be easy once we are here.”Another Nepali worker paid Rs450,000 for a job placement in Romania, and says he could not afford the recruitment cost for other Schengen countries which was up to four times higher. Although he is getting unemployment benefits, he is worried he cannot pay back the loan he took to pay recruitment cost.He says: “My eventual dream is to make it to a Schengen country.”Consul general Pokharel, however, says he advises Nepalis here not to try to cross over into Schengen area no matter how much agents try to lure them. “About a dozen Nepalis have been deported after they attempted to cross over on their way to Portugal, three of them recently,” he says. “They will be banned from entering any European country for the next five years. It is not worth it.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181124/636be2869c7e80680e083eb2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1175" height="601">In Poland, Rita works at a call centre servicing customers in the UK and US and is lucky to be able to work from home through the pandemic.“I make less than what I made while working at a restaurant,” she says. “But I am significantly happier because the 12-14 hour shifts were physically taxing. Now, I feel more relaxed and am excited about my work.”Ramesh works in a meatpacking company in Poland which closed down for three months this year during the pandemic. Luckily, he was provided 2,080 złoty ($555) a month to pay for rent and food. He says: “That is when I saw the merit in paying regular taxes and the benefits of having strong social protection.”Most European countries are going through a second wave this winter, and cases have exceeded 16 million with 371,419 deaths. So far, Poland has seen 876,333 cases, Romania  422,852 cases, Malta 9,137, and Portugal 264,802 cases.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181124/636be2889c7e80680e083eb3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1022" height="722">Unlike Romania, Poland is a transit country for many Nepalis who are headed into western Europe – most of them to Portugal given foreign workers can get residence and citizenship after five years. In fact, all roads in Europe seem to lead to Portugal, where there are now 16,849 Nepalis residing legally.Twenty-year-old Hari is one of them, and he also spent nine months working as a mason in Poland first before moving on. His roommate, Manab, 23 year old Nepali paid Rs1.5 million to a recruiter to get him to the Czech Republic, spend a day there and headed out to Portugal where he believes there is a clear path to citizenship and a better future.Officials records show that last year alone, 1,287 Nepalis acquired Portuguese citizenship – making them the <a href="https://sefstat.sef.pt/Docs/Rifa2019.pdf" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://sefstat.sef.pt/Docs/Rifa2019.pdf&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1606375552722000&amp;usg=AFQjCNH-PFtiSt_DjKf5MBr5tMgZMfo8SQ">ninth biggest nationality in the country</a>.The dream of a EU ‘red passport’ however comes with a price, many Nepalis have it difficult adjusting to the language, culture, and grueling hard work in a farm. The recruiter usually takes a cut, but there is not much they can do about it. Most Nepalis soon move on to Lisbon and other cities to work in restaurants and cafes. Because they are eligible for unemployment benefits, many have got 70% of their salaries for five months of the Covid-19 lockdown.In March, Portugal decided to temporarily give migrants the facilities of full citizenship so they could access health and public service, a step which has received accolades globally. The country also <a href="https://www.theportugalnews.com/news/2020-11-05/provisional-legalisation-of-246000-migrants/56546" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.theportugalnews.com/news/2020-11-05/provisional-legalisation-of-246000-migrants/56546&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1606375552722000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHp4gTbHiGQ8B7l8TflNKdwILbDkA">temporarily regularised the status of 246,000 migrants</a> till March 2021, among them some Nepalis.With its mild climate and opportunities in the service sector, Malta is another destination for Nepali workers who want to use it as a stopover to western Europe. However, it is not as easy to obtain citizenship in Malta compared to Portugal.Nepalis like Ram, who worked in a store in Valetta have received unemployment benefits during the pandemic. Nepalis working less than 100 hours a month are eligible to get €600 from the Maltese government.“I am here just to earn and return home,” Ram told us over the phone. “My residence card allows me to visit other Schengen countries which is a bonus, but there many other Nepalis who are just waiting to secure a future in Europe for themselves and their families, and for them ease of obtaining citizenship plays a role in country selection.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181124/636be28a9c7e80680e083eb4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="683" height="910"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Ironically, Nepali workers in Romania, Portugal and Poland are filling in for nationals of those countries who have themselves migrated out. The Poland-Germany, Romania-Italy and Romania-Spain corridors are in the ten largest migration corridors globally, leading to significant worker shortages in these countries.During the pandemic <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/apr/15/romanian-fruit-pickers-flown-uk-crisis-farming-sector-coronavirus" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/apr/15/romanian-fruit-pickers-flown-uk-crisis-farming-sector-coronavirus&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1606375552722000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHxZtaOX3Itj_NlB_vvHtGAirzPtw">Romanians moved westward</a> to fill worker shortages including via special agriculture worker chartered flights to the UK and <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/18/world/europe/coronavirus-german-farms-migrant-workers-airlift.html" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/18/world/europe/coronavirus-german-farms-migrant-workers-airlift.html&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1606375552722000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEKLJdVi2grvYIc1QSEDB40ulb1mg">Germany</a> to pick fruits and vegetables. The worker shortage they leave behind is being filled by migrants from countries like Nepal who pay big recruitment costs for job placements, and whose ultimate dream destination also happens to be the same western European countries.Nepalis took labour approvals to migrate to 127 countries in 2019/20, of which 94% was to the Gulf and Malaysia – most of these were intermediated by private recruiters. While 747 recruiters mobilised workers to Qatar and 497 to the UAE, the number of recruiters that placed Nepali workers to Poland, Portugal, Romania and Malta were only 66, 9, 14, and 9 respectively. (See chart)<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181124/636be28d9c7e80680e083eb5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="874" height="635"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“Compared to our traditional destination markets, the recruitment process for Europe is cumbersome and lengthy, while chances of visa rejection are also high for Schengen countries,” says Sujit Shrestha, General Secretary of the Nepal Association of Foreign Employment Agencies (NAFEA). “This has deterred recruiters. Workers have to travel to India for their visas, which further complicates the process and makes it costly.”Non-Schengen visas for countries like Romania and Cyprus are almost guaranteed once the documentation is complete, but it takes months. The absence of Nepali missions in these destinations deters some employers as recruiting Nepalis requires mandatory demand verification from concerned missions.Shrestha is coordinating with the Foreign Ministry and the Labour Ministry to diversify recruitment to higher earning countries with strong labour protection as a priority.He says: “There is a good case to be made to simplify the process. There are significant employment opportunities in European countries that we can benefit from, but the procedural hurdles are too many.”

Upasana Khadka

Europe now favoured destination for Nepalis

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

Singha Bahadur Lama worked for six years in Malaysia, but back home in Nepal he is now earning more than he ever did overseas. Here in his village 60km east of Kathmandu, Lama now harvests Buddhachitta seeds from sacred trees that grow in the mountains, and turns them into prayer bead necklaces revered in Tibetan Buddhism. The Buddhachitta tree (Ziziphus budhensis) is indigenous to Nepal and grows in the mountains of Kavre district, and demand boomed after the Dalai Lama proclaimed that the seeds found in Nepal were the best. People from Kavre had gone to Bodh Gaya 12 years ago and presented the Dalai Lama with Buddhachitta prayer beads. Not long after, while speaking in Taiwan the Dalai Lama told followers that the seeds from Nepal had special powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8" data-rendition-name="original" width="737" height="536" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama shows a visiting journalist different types of Buddhachitta seeds. Single-faced beads are the rarest and most valuable, as are the smallest 8mm beads. A prayer necklace made of 108 beads would easily cost Rs1.5 million (over $10,630). “We cannot say if our trees will give smaller beads or even how many faces or clear eyes, it’s all natural,” says Lama, who now works as a consultant, advising people all over Nepal about planting the tree, and has since spread it across the country. Four years ago, a Chinese middleman made 7mm plastic cups to cover the seeds, hoping the trees would produce smaller pods. It did not work, and the trees died. Such is the demand for high-quality Buddhachitta beads that a group of 20 men employed by a Chinese dealer cut down a tree along the Rosi River last year. The harvest from that tree had made $212,600 the year before. With that kind of price, the trees are in danger of being chopped down. &nbsp; Lama himself used to make Rs10 million ($70,880) from the seeds of each tree. With this money, he built new houses and sent his daughter to Japan, all with Buddhachitta income. But the market for the seeds is volatile.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama invested Rs10 million when prices were high ten years ago, but he lost most of that when the prices collapsed for bigger seeds.&nbsp; He adds: “That year the demand was only for small seeds, and it has only been three years since the prices have risen again for seeds that make no sound when you shake them.”&nbsp; HISTORY Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche left seeds of Buddhachitta while meditating in the Temal region of Kavre district in the 8th century as a blessing. He is known in the Himalaya as the ‘Second Buddha’ whose birth was foretold by the Buddha himself, and spread Buddhism in Tibet. Now, almost every household from the Tamang community here has on average 50 trees. The tree thrives on gravel and sandy soil, needs to be protected from excess water, and can grow up to 10 meters high. It starts bearing fruit annually from its third year and one tree lives for 90 years. The fruits are handpicked every June and July, and then have to be processed by boiling the seeds to remove their hard outer skin. The seeds are then dried in the sun for a few days.&nbsp; “Our families have been growing Buddhachitta for generations, but it started becoming hugely profitable only about 12 years ago, it has become a cash crop and has even replaced staples like maize,” says Dev Lama, 55.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Dev Lama</figcaption> </figure>  What helps is that Buddhachitta is not a high-maintenance crop, it just needs some weeding, watering, and protection from hailstorms and pesticides. Once it matures, it does not need much care, and farmers intercrop it with other grain.&nbsp; “You don’t have to work on it every year like maize, which needs to be planted year after year,” explains Shova Shrestha, 33. “We also continue to grow other vegetables and spices, all of which help to preserve soil nutrients.” Generally, farmers do not sell directly to Chinese traders but deal with local middlemen who take a cut before they take it to the Chinese traders who lodge in Kathmandu during the harvest season. But the bulk of the profit is made by Chinese wholesalers across the border. &nbsp; And now with the proliferation of the plant, and with nearly every family growing several trees, farmers sometimes struggle to find buyers and are often severely short-changed, as was the case with Maiya Tamang’s family.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Maiya Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  “I wasn’t home that day two years ago, but my sons later told me that my husband sold an entire tree for just Rs1,500,” recalls Tamang, 60. “We asked him why he sold it for a price that wouldn’t even buy a sack of rice, and he just shrugged.” Tamang did make a profit two years ago, but last year’s crop was destroyed by a hailstorm. Despite this, the bead business has augmented the income of a family dependent on subsistence agriculture. &nbsp; A neighbour, Sonam Tamang, had a few Buddhachitta trees in his backyard and has bought saplings from a nursery to expand. Saplings cost Rs500, but it is double that for plants that give high value seeds. Says Sonam Tamang: “The middlemen sometimes cheat us by offering much less than the seeds are worth, and they don’t allow us to speak directly with the Chinese buyers. But even if we did, there would be a language barrier.” Meanwhile, Singha Bahadur Lama who started out as a Buddhachitta farmer now owns a nursery and is a dealer in saplings himself. Some Nepalis have tried to sell directly in China, but face added costs of travel and hotel while there. &nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.

Sacred seed feeds boom

Dimar Chaudhary was born and raised in Old Padampur, the village inside what is now Chitwan National Park before it was dsignated a protected area. His Tharu community, as well as other indigenous groups, traditionally relied on Chitwan’s jungles and rivers for generations. Chaudhary himself had grown up collecting medicinal plants and wild vegetables, gathering wood, and grazing cattle in the forest. Chitwan, along with much of Nepal’s Tarai, was plagued by malaria until a US-supported DDT spraying campaign to wipe out the disease in the district in the 1950s. This opened the valley up to trans-migration of farmers from the hills. Before that, Chitwan was inhabited entirely by indigenous people: 90% of the district’s population was Tharu, and the rest were Bote, Mushar, Darai and Majhi communities. In 1973 Chitwan National Park became Nepal's first protected area and in 1996, the Nepal government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management. Old Padampur was subsequently relocated outside the park. Ntional parks formed buffer zone user committees (BZUCs) to manage and oversee community forests. Hundreds of thousands of local people were directly involved in managing buffer zone community forests across the country. Over three decades, these forests have not only made conservation collaborative, but also helped to mitigate wildlife-related crimes and human wildlife conflict. In 2014, 2015 and 2016, Nepal achieved zero poaching for its three flagship species: rhinos, tigers and elephants. But while these user communities have made wildlife conservation participatory, the process hasn’t been inclusive of Nepal’s indigenous and underserved communities. In 2022, WWF supported Community Conservation Nepal to collect data on natural resources used by Tharu indigenous people before the establishment of Chitwan National Park. The project also looked into the inclusion of indigenous, women, Dalit and disabled communities in the Baghauda, Paachpandav, Meghauli, Mrigakunja, and Amaltari Buffer Zone User Committees (BZUC) as well as the Someshwor, Gardi Chure, Radha Krishna, and Baghmara Buffer Zone Community Forests (BZCF).  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977" data-rendition-name="original" width="1342" height="941" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC map"></figure>  BARRIERS TO INCLUSION The survey found that women are underrepresented in all the BZUCs despite women user groups being larger. Nepal’s Buffer Zone laws dictate that each BZUC has 13 members. Each BZUC is made up of nine units, and as many representatives are elected from those units. The elected members have the authority to choose the remaining four members. This meant that indigenous peoples, marginalised groups, and women have a far lower chance of being elected. Indeed, out of the total members, Paachpandav and Mrigakunja BCUZs had four women, Meghauli had three women, and Baghauda had only one woman, whereas Amaltari user committee had no woman member. In contrast, the BZCF are relatively more inclusive of women, with two out of four surveyed BZCF comprising half women members. Additionally, some grassroots user committees are made up entirely of women. Most women members of the user committees are not appointed through elections, but chosen by elected male members, and are not given positions of leadership. “Women have been the ones protecting the forests ever since the concept of forest conservation initially emerged,” one female participant told us during a focus group discussion. People would get angry when the women stopped them from cutting down trees and grass, and grazing cattle in the jungles, she recalled, adding, “We were dedicated to the user committees. However, we are no longer involved in the committees, nor are we invited to meetings.” When asked about the absence of women in the user committees, one BZUC chairperson responded, “There are only men here because they won the election. Women are unwilling to run for the election. How will they fit into the committee if no woman has ever run for election?” However, not only are women deprived of the chance to contest elections, the chances of them winning polls are also very low because a majority of the positions in the committee will already have been allocated by political parties to their male cadres. Women from marginalised communities face further hurdles.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43" data-rendition-name="original" width="959" height="508" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC "></figure>  “No male member from the Musahar community has been elected in the user community, if they had, they could have suggested that women from our community be included in the committee as well,” said a female participant from the Musahar community. While the native Musahar and Bote people lack representation in the BZUC, indigenous people did make up the majority of the members in the committees, while Dalit members were included in some collectives. However, only one committee is led by an indigenous person. The others are chaired by upper-caste hill migrants. In addition, no committee had any representative with disabilities. One of the key reasons for the under-representation of marginalised communities in Nepal’s BZUC is its non-inclusive policy. When Nepal’s Constitution was promulgated in 2015, residents living in proximity to protected areas across Nepal had hoped that policies relating to buffer zones and their governance would be reformed to reflect Nepal’s new socio-political reality. But this has not been the case. However, this has not discouraged indigenous Nepalis, who have continued to demand buffer zone policy reforms that ensure the inclusion of women, indigenous and marginalised communities. In addition to policy revision, it is necessary to reform the buffer zone election so that it is more participatory for underserved communities. Reforms should also regulate the number of members in a user group. Similarly, the budget allocated for buffer zones must be used on activities that benefit conservation instead of local infrastructure development. Women, people with disabilities, indigenous and marginalised communities should be the primary beneficiaries of budget dispensation. Crop damage compensation, which currently is Rs10,000, can be increased by five times to Rs50,000. Policy revisions should ultimately guarantee the rights of indigenous communities like the Sonaha, Bote and Musahar to practice their culture and traditional livelihoods and receive a formal education. Buffer Zone User Committees must apply indigenous conservation practices for park management. Birendra Mahato is an elected member of the Ratnanagar Municipality Ward 6 and Founder Chair of the Tharu Culture Museum Research Centre in Sauraha.

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Sacred seed feeds boom

Parks by the people and for the people