Didi Behini Group in the Village

Didi means older sister, and behini means younger sister in Nepali. Once a month the women from the Vineyard here in the city gather together with women from one of the villages outside the city. This month it was in Kortigauw (no idea about the spelling or even a good pronunciation of it). Alana and I had been invited to go along, so Tuesday morning, we headed over to the Vineyard here in Patan to meet our didis and behinis there and leave together for this gathering. Most of the day was a complete unknown for me. I knew it was a women's gathering in a village outside the city, and that's about the extent of what I knew.

Only a couple of the women speak any English, and even those who do speak it, don't feel confident using it, so there were a lot of smiles, giggles, and nods throughout the day, and though it felt awkward at the beginning of the day, by the end of the day, it somehow communicated much more than words. Puja was one young woman who felt comfortable speaking English, so she ended up translating (loosely) some things for us throughout the day.

As we were waiting for some signal to depart, a flatbed work truck pulled into the church courtyard. One of the ladies grinned and said, "Our taxi." They started giggling, so Alana and I thought it was a joke. Turns out, it was not. We needed to take three sewing machines (the old-fashioned ones that you pump with your foot so are all part of a table) and some other things along because they were going to start a training for some of the women in this village to learn how to do sewing/tailoring. So, we piled three sewing machines and table, one large desk, two chairs, and 14 of us women into this truck and headed out on our adventure. By the time we realized just how this was all going to play out, it would have been awkward to get up and take a picture, but this shot shows our ride.

So, off we went through the chaotic streets of Patan! I have gotten some strange looks being here so far, but it was pretty amusing to see people's faces when they looked over and saw two white girls jammed in the back of a work truck with a bunch of furniture and Nepali ladies having a worship sing-a-long! I can only join in on the parts that repeat "hallelujah" and "dhanyavad (thank you) Yesu (Jesus)" and such, but we just clapped along joyfully. At one point, I thought I had found a part I could do when Sarita and some others started in with the interjected "Ho, ho" and rolled r's and "hey, hey" and such, but it turns out you sort of need to know the song to throw those in at appropriate times. :) The lady sitting on the other side of Alana seemed to think she could help her sing along if only she could look into her face and sing loudly and intently. I don't think it worked, but it was amusing. The great thing was that we were all amused--by each other, by our ride, by the jostling around and getting tossed into each other!

As we got to the edge of the city, we went past a bunch of older Newari style buildings with the intricate woodwork and blue doors and windows and then started to see the terraced fields and brick making ovens and open spaces. Then, up the mountain we headed. A big jostling truck full of singing ladies and furniture up a narrow gravel and dirt mountain road. The key is not to look down. Now, that is a ride for you! One of the girls pointed up toward the top and said, "There is where we go." I have to admit, I doubted our truck a bit, but we made it up to the top in one piece and didn't even lose the guy who was standing outside and hanging on to the door!

We unloaded the furniture at the site where they will do the training, and we gathered together and prayed over the place and over the ladies there (most of whom had met us at this spot) for this time of training for the next three months. Then we walked along the road to a home where we were being hosted for the gathering. It was a packed dirt floor with some straw mats and no lights, and we all just gathered around to sit together on the floor. Altogether, I think there were about 25 of us. We chatted a bit, and I discovered that Puja (the one speaking English with us) has two children who are 14 and 11, and there is no possible way she is older than me, if as old. She grew up in an orphanage, and her husband left her soon after her daughter was born. One of so many difficult stories.

We worshipped together with a few raggedy shared songbooks, and then Umla (one of the ladies from the city) gave some teaching. I understood very little of it at all, but it seemed to be an encouragement to the women. Then the ladies shared their prayer requests, and if the surroundings didn't emphasize it enough, I was struck by the difficulty of many of their lives. So many wanted prayer for their family members to know Jesus, and quite a few are the only believers in the households. One very tiny elderly woman shared that her husband gets angry that she goes to church; he beats her and curses at her. She broke into tears as she said it. They wanted us to share our prayer requests as well because they said they need to be praying for us, too. Before we started praying, they said we were going to take the offering. A moment of panic hit me. What in the world is an appropriate amount to put in for such an offering? There is so much need, and I have much to give, but it would be very awkward to put in a large amount as they put in their little amounts. But, at the same time, they do know that Alana and I have more money as Westerners, so I don't want to be the stingy foreigners who don't give. It would be obvious what we had given because it would be notably different than anything else put in. I prayed and reached for a bill from my wallet. Thankfully, I confirmed with Alana that we had both put in the same amount, and we hoped it would be a good balance of the dynamics for us.

We began to pray. It started with everyone praying aloud at once, which is common for them to do here. Then some women got up and began to go around and lay hands on the other ladies and pray for them. One women, clearly a leader/elder of that community, went around and laid hands on each and every woman there and prayed for them. I don't know what she was saying, but there was such fervor and sincerity in her prayers. It was so beautiful watching them all minister to each other and to receive from them and to be able to pray, knowing that God knows what each of us is lifting up to Him, even if we have no idea from each other!

Then came lunch. I had been nervous and asked for much prayer about lunch. Normally, I would never turn down a single thing put in front of me in someone's home, even knowing there may be consequences later, and I have been very thankful that God has given me the ability to eat pretty much anything pretty easily. With the pregnancy, however, I don't feel quite as free to take some of the chances with food and drink, but I just hate the thought of offending anyone with what they offer to me, especially knowing that they are offering so graciously and sacrificially out of very limited resources they have. They had made so much good food for us! We had a big plate of pounded rice (which is like a dry crunchy cereal) and several food on top and around it. There was some sort of beans in a tasty sauce, some vegetables, and something we weren't sure what it was. Then on top of each plate was a fried sweet bread ring that they called something that sounded like "sail." Apparently, it is usually made for festivals and special occasions. This emphasized how special of an occasion this was to them!

I asked Alana if the unknown saucy cubes were meat, and she said she had eaten one and thought they were made of soybean, so I went ahead and ate one. Honestly, one of the harder things I've eaten. The taste was fine; it didn't have much taste to it at all, but I just kept chewing and chewing, thinking that at some point I may just need to swallow it. Turns out it was "buff" (water buffalo). Meat seemed a little less safe to eat, though I know it is costly. Thankfully, there was only a bit on my plate, and it seemed not to draw notice to leave the few bites there. I did have to pass on the drink, as it was some sort of yogurt drink that Alana later said smelled and tasted like curdled milk. The couple of ladies around me seemed to understand with me being pregnant, and again, it didn't draw attention, thankfully. The vegetables turned out to be "pickle," and was like a spicy salad. I thought I was eating a slice of okra, but it turned out to be a slice of a chili! Couldn't quite contain my reaction on that one, but they all seemed amused by it! Since the veggies were raw, I thought about it later that it might not have been the best idea, but all through the meal, I just kept praying for protection for the baby and thanking God and asking Him to bless these women for their gift to us. Glad to report that I have had NO digestive backlash from the food! :) It really was (with the exception of the meat) quite delicious.

The woman who had prayed over each of the women started to tell us (which Puja translate) that they are brown, and we are white and have come from such a long way, but God brought us together, and we are a blessing for coming with them. We worship God, and He is the same God, the one God, and it joins us as sisters. At one point, she came over and hiked up my skirt and put her foot next to mine. She point to hers and said, "kaalo" (black) and to mine and said "seto" (white) with a lot of emphasis, and all the ladies laughed--my pasty white foot next to her dark one. And there is even so much more that these ladies' feet speak of. They are worn and dusty and show the difficulty of many of their lives. Even those who have loving families work so hard and walk so much on dusty rough roads. I had just been thinking the other day how little care I've been taking of my feet and feeling like they are pretty gross right now, but one of the ladies had commented to me in the truck as she touched my foot that it was so clean and smooth. It gives a little glimpse into the challenges of life that so many of these women face. But they are faithful. This women who was a leader there in that village is one I have seen every week here in the city at the Vineyard. It took us nearly an hour on that truck to get there, and I know most of that mountain road has to be walked before they can catch a bus. It must take at least 2 hours each way every week!

And, in the midst of so many things that are different, we all just enjoyed each other. We laughed. And smiled. And sang. And we had such a fun day together.

What seemed like a challenging ride for our truck going up turned into a roller coaster ride on the way down! Much more laughing and bouncing around into each other.

My butt is very sore today, but I am so thankful for such an unforgettable and lovely day with such beautiful women! I could hardly say anything to them, but I know for certain, they are my didis and behinis!