Murphy's Law

Now is the time for me to eat my words of "writing every week" and " consistently keeping this blog updated about my life in Bhutan for my friends and family"

I will tell you the end result at the start, and then go through the chronology of events.
There is no longer a road to my placement and there is no longer electricity. It has been about 2 months since the loss of both, and things don't look like they are going to be fixed very soon.

Late June: We were entering the nitty-gritty of monsoon season, where you can't see more than 2 feet in front of your face (which the kids love because then you cannot monitor their SUPW properly), the clouds come into the classrooms unless you close the windows, and there is perpetual rain. Sometimes a light misting, sometimes torrential downpours, but rain. Every day. All day. In some places in country monsoon is not that dramatic, but this june, in southern Gasa, it was.
The torrential downpours led to landslides, which destroyed many things...but the most important were the paddy fields of Damji village (the village by my school) and the road to Gasa. The slides made the road impassible, and with the added twist of the fact that 2 bridges were completely swept away as rivers that used to be describable as "cute babbling brooks" were transformed into "raging whitewater". Fortunately the only casualties of life were a few cows. But it was horrible. One of our students got attacked by a very upset bull as she was trying to untie it to let it run away to avoid the slide, and several angis (grandmothers) in the village, after watching their family's ancestral land that was their key to feeding their families and making a living literally fall off the side of the village edge, have fallen very sick.
Along with the village, and the bridges, all of the electric poles were washed away as well, leaving us with no electricity. Fortunately, someone was able to repair the "shortcut" and we were able to escape for vacation. Considering that I spent the 2 weeks before vacation listening to landslides continue to fall, and to people telling us how the school was going to be buried in one and/or we were going to starve to death as no food could now be brought up to the school. Being told how your life is in danger and the very realistic reasons why is incredibly stressful.

Beginning of July: I had an absolutely wonderful and restful vacation, full of siteseeing, exploring new parts of Bhutan, and catching up with the wonderful BCF teachers who I have not seen since February. I will write more about it sometime. It was a blast.

End of July: I returned to my site, fording rivers, and climbing up landslides. Fortunately we had electricity. For 2 wonderful days. And then, on a perfectly dry sunny day, another slide destroyed enough of the electricity poles and routes to put us back where we were the day of the first landslide...and with even a less realistic chance of getting it fixed. The power company has wisely decided to create a new power line, but, as the Bhutanese say, "it will take some time"

Beginning of August: Same as July, no electricity. But the weirdest thing happened- I stopped caring about it. I stopped being upset, and miserable, and panicky. I developed a really nice routine, and began drawing again. I read voraciously, and go on long walks and just listen to the scenery. Now that people aren't saying our deaths are coming for us, and we don't hear landslides every day, this is honestly the most peaceful I have ever lived.

And, thats where and what I am these days. This is the situation, and the fact that I have learned how to survive, and possibly even thrive in this, is a great personal feat. I am in the city for the weekend, and will have my fill of western foods, TV, internet, and then I will return to my peace- my soundtrack of birds and wind and rain, and students singing their prayers for the meals. I will return to the ultimate comfort of being curled up reading a good book by candle light. This is a very special situation and time in my life, and I will never forget it. And now, I embrace it.