Namaste Nepal En
Today we are going to the Missionary Hospital 'United Mission'. It is some distance from the village, in an attractive valley and the road there goes through varied and interesting countryside. I'd really like to be able to give you an idea of it by giving an accurate description which is not boring instead of a limited and repetitive one, which seems to be all I can ever manage.
Each time I find myself needing to describe a scene, the following ditty comes to my mind: 'Son salito sul Gran Sasso, son rimasto ammutolito' [I climbed Big Rock mountain, I was struck dumb], which, although paradoxically, gives an idea of the difficulty of the undertaking.
It is only the truly great writers who are able to attempt the task of re-creating the emotions felt on seeing a certain landscape, by reconstructing it in words. And even they do not always succeed. I can remember on more than one occasion skipping pages of description in masterpieces of literature.
This is the time when the children come out of school: some of the older ones have climbed up onto the highest branches of a tree which stretches out over a precipice. I try to persuade them to come down, but they, in reply, laughingly throw a branch laden with fruit looking like our cherries, but far more sour and bitter, at me. It is precisely this fruit that they have climbed the tree for.
We pass herds of cattle returning to the cow sheds to be milked, women carrying basins of clothes washed at the spring, hoisted onto their heads.
We arrive at the hospital. Outside there's a terrific throng of people, due to the fact that for each Nepalese admitted to hospital there are on average a score of relatives who stay around the area. To show solidarity, of course, but also to swap news with acquaintances, to arrange marriages and business. This, too, is an important social occasion!
We go in and while Ante asks to see the manager to enquire whether there might be some chance of a job, I look around for one of the European doctors.
I'm directed to Dr. Alison, Irish. She's extremely busy, but nevertheless politely answers my questions.
I ask her what the most common illnesses they have to treat are. “Gastroenteritis”, she replies, “tuberculosis and fractures.”
These conditions seem to me a true mirror of the conditions in which the Nepalese are obliged to live.
Because she cannot give me more time now, she suggests I wait for her in the guest house of the hospital where I can drink tea while waiting, but Ante, who is disappointed that he hasn't found work, wants to leave. But what sort of work could there ever be for a naval engineer like him, here amongst the crocks?