I love that water too*
Sunday, March 22, 2009 at 03:21PM 
Juntara's village in Odanoku, Kalikot
Dear Juntara,
It was just a week ago that Kate and I packed up our backpacks and left for your village. Kate brought your school backpack from London, filled with all the gifts you chose for your family. I packed our clothes, a jar of peanut butter, my laptop, and one bright yellow photo album inscribed with the words “sweet memories” and pictures of you- my dear darling girl.
You wouldn’t have liked the bus ride. Those big red double-decker buses in London spoiled us for sure. I almost forgot what a Nepali bus ride was like until I was sitting on it– jam packed with people, animals, interesting odors, mostly broken seats, lots of dust, and not an inch of paved roads. I think our butts were jumping off the seats more than they were actually sitting on them. (We are definitely more of the red-double-decker-comfy-cushioned-seat type of gals aren’t we J? What can I say?)
It was actually somewhat of a relief when the road ended and we had to get out and walk- a relief until the end of the second day of walking when our legs felt like rubber and we got to the base of Mount... (you know exactly which Mountain I’m talking about) and it looked like we were about to climb Mount Everest. You should have seen the look on Kate’s face when I told her, that yes, that was the one we had to climb. Priceless J!
Everywhere we stopped, each little hut and home, and village people asked about you. They all remembered you Juntara– how you had walked that same path just a few months before on your father’s back wrapped in a shawl, singing the sweetest songs. You sure knew how to make impressions on people didn’t you? Even after just a moment in passing, people remembered you and thought of you while you were gone.
When Kate and I finally made it up the top of the last big mountain the wind was blowing and the sun was shining and we looked down into a big green valley with patches of snow and a small fresh spring running down the side and started hiking down, down, down, stone by stone, step by step and it was beautiful and all worth while. I got off on the wrong track and hit a huge slope of mud. I started sliding and before I knew it I was on my butt covered in mud with nowhere to go, neither up or down. I’d get up and start sliding again and falling again, and get up and start sliding again. Kate just about peed her pants laughing and Daju kept yelling about my computer and I was covered in mud from head to toe like an Amazon woman.
We got really far that day and stayed in a tiny mud hut on the side of a mountain with a little old lady that Kate said “reminded her of a witch.” The woman gave us a piece of plastic tarp to sleep on and our bodies were so sore, we didn’t know whether to laugh or cry so we just huddled close together by the remnants of a fire to keep warm. I'm pretty sure the last thing Kate said to me before I fell asleep was “I think there are lice climbing all over my body.”
We woke up at dawn the next morning and kept going down and down and down some more until finally Juntara, we came to your Odanoku- the most precious little village tucked between a pine forest and a rapid flowing river in the center of a green lush valley. We sat on a rock and I pointed out your house to Kate, noting the fresh grass roof that your brother and dad just put on a few weeks ago while awaiting your arrival.
Your mom and dad were sitting inside by the fire, just the two of them, and when they saw us they started to cry and so did we because we miss you so much and it’s so hard and so painful not having you here with us, and there were no words, just tears and sobs, and cries out to God.
When things were quiet, we took out your pictures and your mother flipped through each one putting her fingers on your face and she said the same thing we all did, “you were just so happy, you were so happy in every picture.” Your Daju and Bauju and all your didis had gone to plant corn and we waited until the evening until they came back to meet them all. We walked up to your school, and around your village, and retold your story to the hundreds of people in your village. The evening before we left your whole family arrived, even your big didi all the way from Katampur with Rahdika. We talked and told stories and watched hours of your videos, and listened to your songs. Everyone loved the necklaces you made for them… each one different and unique and perfect. Everyone was amazed by your English and I translated what you were saying into Nepali. “My Daju is so nice, I love him, I love my mother and my father, and my sisters. I love my family.” They heard you say this again and again and they know how much you loved them Juntara. And they know you knew they loved you because you said that too. Your mother asked that we show your videos to the entire village and that night we set up a movie theatre outside with my little apple laptop propped up on an upside down straw basket. Your whole village watched in silence under the moon and the stars and not a dog barked and not a baby cried and all we could hear were your songs and your words and everyone listened with tears streaming down their faces.
In the morning we woke up and ate fresh fish, and your favorite beans, fresh greens, black tortilla, potatos, and red rice… all your favorite foods that you’d always talk about missing so much, harvested by your family. You were right about the water in Kalikot, it does taste fresher and cleaner and cooler. I noticed the taste of the water this time and I love that water too.
We left that morning and it was sad because part of me felt like it had to be the end of your story. But then I laughed at how silly I was being because you’re here and you were there every step of the way. I feel your presence in every footstep. I can still hear your giggles and Kate and I both swear that we wake up to you sleeping in between us every night. Your story is far from over sweet little J. Before I left I told your mother that you could see again and that you were watching us and with us and I’ve never been so sure of anything in my entire life. I've never been so sure.
Reader Comments (6)
Thank you, thank you, Maggie sweet. I can't imagine a more beautiful telling of your journey. My thoughts were with you everyday (I'm so glad it went so well - though not without adventures!) and I too am so sure of Juntara's presence with you. The only real thing in life, after all, is Love; when you share that so purely with someone as you did with Juntara, it is there, connecting, always, no matter what appears to separate. Enjoy now please all the little earthly hugs of more little beings who love you so dearly. And rest.
Much love to you and Kate.
This letter to Juntara is very touching and so full of love. It is not surprising that both your trip's blogs (Maggies' and Kate as well) are so intense and so wonderful. Although it was for a very short time you have become Juntara's surrogate mothers. It is so nice to see her family and her dad in his environment.
We can now understand why London was so painful for him. And we can imagine that the water is so much better there. You made it so clear, so wonderfully palatable. Thank you so much for bringing so much to their live and to ours. It is refreshing to know that both of you are making a little bite (quite a lot in fact) to make their world and ours so much better.
With loads of love and admiration from London. Hope to see you soon.
Maggie ..thank you so much for sharing this chapter of J's story with us. We think of her often, and Stella gets so much joy from her songs and giggles. We are all lucky to have known her even a little. I am in tears again thinking of everyone in her village watching her videos. I am so glad you can feel her with you - love is pretty amazing that way.
thank you so much for sharing such a private moment with J's family. the tears are just flowing reading this - the celebration of her life that you shared with her village - her family. you and kate are angels - no doubt in my mind you are angels here on earth....
thank you
laura
that last line grabbed me, and hasn't let go.
Maggie, you are truly amazing. this post has reduced me to tears.