The speaker was a young Austrian girl called Esther. She had been volunteering at the local Government school with her English friend Kate, and a tall and skinny German lad called Clarence. It was late at night in the guesthouse, and we were drinking rum to celebrate them all having finished their stint.
'You see the parents beat the children', Kate picked up the story. 'Once a girl came in with a huge black eye, but she wouldn't speak about it. I saw the headmaster beat a child because her father was too drunk to bring her in on time'.
'Physical punishment is very normal here', Clarence agreed. 'They have a lesson on morality, how to behave. There are pictures in there of children being beaten if they are not polite'.
'Ha! those books on morality are a joke' Kate chipped in. There are some very strange stories. One was about a father calling his son in prison asking where he should plant the potatoes. The son said to dig up the bodies in the garden and hide them somewhere. The Police came to find the bodies, they dug up the whole garden, but couldn't find them. However, they left the garden in the perfect state to plant the potatoes'. We all laughed at the strange tale.
"What are the kids like?' I asked.
'Naughty! They cant pay attention. Five minutes thats it. They have to be there, but often they don't have a teacher, so they don't know how to behave in a classroom'.
'Sounds just like kids at home', I laughed too.
'As well as the naughty ones, you get the girls flirting with you'. Clarence rolled his eyes. 'Its not just them, its the fathers trying to set you up with them here though!'
'Ha, you should try being a girl here. Every sleaze bag tries it on with you'. Kate poured more rum for us all.
It was a nice atmosphere, and they welcomed me into their little circle. The negative comments were just letting off steam. WHen you live and work closely with kids, and adults, you need a safe place to get the minor irritations and frustrations out so you can do the good that they did with a clear conscience. Reminded me of staffrooms back home.
'But the tourists! Urgh, The ones who stay up at the Old Hotel. Coming in to the learning centre, sniffing round, offering advice. THey say you can teach them German. I can barely teach them English!'. Esther, the Austrian girl harrumphed.
'But has it been worthwhile? The hard work, the lack of pay?'
'Oh without doubt. I would do it again. And this is a good place. I could have stayed in Kathmandu or at an Orphage in Pokhara. The capital is too busy, and at the orphanage the director ran off with all the money!'.
We drank the hotel dry of coke, polished off two large bottles of rum and kept the waitress up well passed her bedtime. We talked of more strange stories in Nepali schools, the German Oktoberfest, pony trekking in South America and how to party in Pokhara.
I would have loved to stay longer in Bandipur. It was a fascinating and beautiful little town, full of charm, but also I was able to see parts of the real life and story underneath. Another time, another me would love to have stayed to volunteer at the school and see more.
But this me had a bike, a road and a destination on the morrow. I left the teachers with their rum and crawled off to bed.
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