Nyatapola Guest House Bhaktapur Nepal Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Bhaktapur, Nepal

This, perhaps, is not my typical blog post, that is, assuming there is a typical one. Through my last two months of travel through India and eventually Nepal, I met a cornucopia of people.  Some touch you in ways unexpected and inexplicable; for those people, I try to do what I can, with the limited resources I posses. 

After an arduous bus journey – filled with all too cramped siting positions, Maoist bus strikes, random Kanye West being played on the home-built speaker systems of the local bus and a general experience that reminded me of my bus ride from Panama to Nicaragua – I finally arrived in the sleepy medieval town of Bhaktapur , located 13 kilometers east of Kathmandu

Having arrived all too early, it found everything was still closed; so, I began to walk through the city without any real direction or place to go, my only leads being a few names of guest houses I had written down from a borrowed, Lonely Planet guide. 

I would eventually reach Pottery Square, and, along side it, a woman opening the doors to her shop. She saw me and quickly asked me if I was looking for a place to stay; needless to say, I was much obliged.  The guest house she would show me would become my temporary home for the next week; a place that suited exactly my desires for a comfortable, quiet and peaceful place. 

Nyatapola Guesthouse

The Nyatapola Guest House has a home-stay feel with its six well-furnished rooms, an upstairs kitchen where you can find the family cooking/eating and a rooftop terrace where you can catch local families living out their lives and see snow-caped mountains on a clear day.  Two room sizes are available: single – which offers room for three people in a double and single bed, and double – a larger sized room fit for two couples in two double beds. The single rooms, of which there are three, face inward to an inner courtyard; it is thus very quiet, at night you can hear the laughter and peaceful chatter of families eating and getting ready for bed. Two of the double rooms offer a small balcony where you can take your breakfast as you watch the activity on the quiet street below.  Taller guests may not appreciate the beautiful Newa architecture of the house as they maneuver through the sometimes low ceilings and eventually shower. 

Being newly renovated in the last year, all the facilities are modern, comfortable and ecological.  The bathrooms are of western style and spotless; warm water is available 24/7 and is sourced from solar energy.   Furthermore, solar panels provide electricity throughout the day whenever the government elects to cut power.  Wifi is freely available throughout the guest house, and you can even use their PC if need be.

There is no restaurant in the guest house per se, however they do have a menu from which you can order various things. Room prices have breakfast included which often consists of an omelet and muesli/porridge as well as a local chai tea.  If you are staying longer, and you want to cook yourself, that is always an option; or if you want the real Nepali experience, you can join the family for a meal. Just be sure to tell them ahead of time. 

The unique element of this guest house is that it also has a wood shop and pashmina store on the ground and first floor respectively.   The owner’s family has a wood carving business, so you can be sure to get good prices on the products; you might even be able to get a discount if you are staying for a few days.  They will even give you a workshop on what it takes to be able to carve the beautiful hand carved pieces of wood.

Manika, the kind and happy-go-lucky woman that runs the guest house, is a breath of fresh air after two months in the devout Hindu city of Varanasi. She is a refreshingly progressive woman in a conservative country who knows what it takes to run a business centered around western service as her work ethic is complimented with a European MBA.  Her husband makes up the other half of the work team, and their cute, 10 year-old-boy offers great conversation with his surprisingly high level of conversational English.

If you decide to stay at Nyatapola guest house, I’m confident you’ll have as great a stay as I did; tell the whole family Namaste for me and that I sent them your way!

Nyatapola Guest House Bhaktapur Nepal Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

The Old Man and the Quail Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

I met him, dressed in white from head to toe, sitting inside the single-roomed, street-side tea shop of his son, the chaiwala, Parvej. There is a profound calm to him, a stark contrast to the hellishly-hectic market street just outside the shop. 

Like most men I’ve observed in India, he sits all day long lazily and contently shooting the shit with the rest of his friends, as a steady flow of chai streams in from his son’s homemade mud-fireplace stove. I see, what I assume is dinner, clucking quietly in the cage to my left. The Muslim inhabitants of neighborhood don’t find it unholy to take the life of a creature, as contrasted by the Hindus. The old man notices my gaze and then reaches over, taking one of the quail-like birds out, placing it gently in his lap. The animal seems remarkably calm; maybe the old man’s tranquil demeanor has transferred to the bird, maybe, after all, the bird is not intended for his plate. 

The following afternoon, I arrive just in time to see him leave, cage in hand, covered with a thin cloth so the birds cannot look out. I motion to Parvej with an aire of confusion and he responds walking. I’m intrigued but cannot go after him as I’ve already been handed my chai. The following day, I get my chance to go walking. Again the old man covers the cage, takes his cane and begins heading west about 30 minutes before sunset. We walk without saying a word, taking a small street through an even smaller village as we head towards open fields.  

We eventually reach our destination: golden-yellow fields of grain ready for harvest just outside the city.  He places the cage on the ground, uncovers it and releases what seems to be the larger male bird. To my amazement, it doesn’t fly or run off, preferring instead to stay near what I assume is his mate.

While his bird pecks around in the dirt, the old man shows me all the seeds one can eat in the surrounding fields. We find a woman working under broad shade trees, cleaning seeds.  She stops me before I’m able to put the seeds in my mouth, motioning that these are used for soap instead. She shows me a handful of her labor as the old man looks on approvingly with a smile only grandfathers are capable of. 

We return to the birds, the old man taking his time and soaking in the last warm rays of the sun before it dips into the fields. He opens the cage door, and without any hesitation the bird jumps back in. We begin walking back to the city leaving the fields behind us; we continue without sharing a single word, preferring instead to take comfort in our new-found closeness. 

The Old Man and the Quail Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Chaiwala Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Often times you don’t know that someone has touched you until the moment you tell them goodbye. For the few days I knew them, Parvej was my chaiwala, his father, my stoop companion. We had but few words we could say to each other, but with hand gestures and head wobbles we understood each other. 

Everyday he would great me with a large smile of red, tobacco-stained teeth; before I could get fully situated in his single-roomed, street-side shop, he was already handing me me freshly brewed chai, work he has done for the last 35 years. 

He never asked me where I was from, or to be my friend; maybe that’s why I kept coming back. He let me be, he let me exist without interruption. Everyday I would visit him, and each day his crimson smile would grow bigger. I will never see this man again, but there he will remain in my images and in my memories. I hope he treasures the portrait I printed for him as much as I treasure his kindness. 

Chaiwala Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

The Creation of Ganesh Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

I was recently moved by someone to get a painting of Ganesh the elephant-headed Hindu god; immediately, I knew who I had to go to.  Pyreula is a laundry man by trade, but has been doing water-colors for the last 17 years. Everyday, from 4 to 6 PM, he sits in the same spot, under the Cheta Singh Ghat, next to a decaying fishing boat, painting for himself and for the passing tourists. He chose this spot because of its location just in front a simple Hindu temple; a temple covered in his oil-painting representations of the Hindu gods. 

I asked him to create a happy Ganesh for me, with cheerful eyes and vibrant colors; and, as I sat there watching him work, for the first time in all my time in India, I found myself relaxing. The sun was already on its journey downward, a strong enough southern breeze was present, lazily agitating the Ganges, and it seemed everyone was indoors trying to escape the unbearably dry heat.  Watching the creation of Ganesh, through Pyreula’s meditated strokes of ink and color, took me away from all the noise, the chaos, the smells and the people. I felt as if I could lay down on that centuries old Ghat and go to sleep. 

What follows, is one of several creation myths for Ganesh, taken from here. 

The Creation of Ganesh Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Working through India Hospitality Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

I sit in a local chai shop because, for the time being, I’ve given up and need time to resource myself.  As I sit here writing, a group of almost 20 local inhabitants, young and old, begin collecting outside on the street, peering in and watching my every move; I’m beginning to feel a bit like the quail-like animals caged just in front of me.

An innumerable number of flies buzz around me hoping to land on something sticky-sweet; I brush those away that happen to land on any of my limited amount of exposed skin.  The chai is delicious, just sweet enough, naturally the chai I know from home bears no resemblance to what I’m drinking. 

It’s hard for me not to romanticize the work I’m doing: traveling to a far and exotic location, experiencing new cultures, and working in projects aimed to help India’s poor.  Naturally, there are challenges, many of which I felt prepared for and could easily take in stride.  Quitting my research job afforded me my two months time, all my savings afforded me the several thousand dollars to cover costs for airfare, visa, vaccines, supplies, living costs and photo equipment.  I was ready to live with the bucket showers of cold water, of using my hand instead of toilet paper and of sleeping on terra firma accompanied by malaria-carrying mosquitos; I was ready to eat with my hands when food was available and of operating in a world where I could not communicate with those around me.  However, that which I was not ready for was Indian hospitality and how difficult it would make performing my work. 

Even though Derek and I scheduled three week-long journeys, only one of them involved the field work I’m interested in; needless to say, I was eager to be productive during this week.  Inevitably, you need to spend a considerable amount of time in the field for this type of work: time to get acquainted with the project, time to meet the people involved in the project, etc. – time is a luxury I did not have.

After a day previously filled with miscommunication — one in which instead of going out to see field work, I was taken along to a meeting with a local health official that was held entirely in Hindi, and in which I was asked to photograph staff and posters hanging on the walls — I tried to communicate my desire to see actual work occurring in the villages between an ASHA and her client.

“Yes. Yes.“, Manoj, the director of the local CRS office tells me, accompanied with the ever present and noncommittal head wobble unique to Indians.

So, I found myself eagerly holding on to the back of a motorcycle, with all my photo-gear strapped to my back and 2L of water wedged between me and the driver: a kid my age responsible for facilitating health and nutrition education in the surrounding rural villages of Kaushambi.  We are headed out to observe how anganwadis council expectant and current mothers on particular topics such as which foods to eat and with which frequency.  We arrive and I am first show a tiny village school being headed by the woman who will be doing the counseling I’m interested in seeing.

I am shown the records books where weight vs. age of every child is tracked for the first five years of the child’s life, as well as the records of the vaccines these children receive for free through a government initiative.

Eventually, as the counseling is set to begin in another location, we leave with an informative flip book in hand: the teaching aid for the anganwadi.  After a short walk through the humble village made entirely of mud and brick houses, we reach the mother of a 14 day old child.  The anganwadi begins counseling to the mother, baby in arms, and I begin to observe as I formulate my approach to the images.  I fire a few images off to set exposure and before I know it, the session is over.  I can’t help but feel this encounter was, in some way, staged just for me, as I leave unsatisfied with the few images I was able to capture.

We walk on further, this time meeting an expectant mother entering her third tri-mester.  The anganwadi and the mother-to-be sit down as the anganwadi shows her, on one of the pages of the flip-chart, the fruits and vegetables she should be eating at least 4 times a day.  Again the conversation takes all but 2 minutes.  Again I can’t help it but feel that I am a foreigner being led through some some tour of pre-organized sites.  I crave to see real work occuring, work unaffected by my presence.  

Again we move, this time to a group meeting where my young driver begins to speak of various nutrition and health topics such as the importance of taking iron and folic acid supplements for pregnant women.  The meeting goes on for an hour or so and I’m finally beginning to feel satisfied as I’m documenting real field work.  The meeting adjourns and we are headed to the CHC: community health center.

As we arrive I see that some sort of meeting is taking place at the health center, I don’t quite understand which, but I’m eager to go see a hospital and potentially document another side of how these woman are involved in the healthcare system.  I walk into a room filled with about 150 women, all community healthcare workers, and I’m asked to come to the front of the room where I’m given a seat directly in front of the eager on-lookers.

The meeting commences and the only parts I understand are my introduction as the American, professional photographer.  Before I know it, I am asked to give a a speech about my experiences in the field. I feel a mix of honor to be asked to give the speech as well as frustration as I feel I’m being further paraded around as the trophy tourist.  I begin, but my speech is abruptly cut short and we move down to the hospital director’s office for yet another meeting.  I am urged in and asked to take photos of the director with Manoj; I respectfully decline as I feel my frustration spike again and instead ask that Manoj’s driver take me back to the office so that I can meet up with Derek.

“Yes. Yes.“, the head-wobble again and before I know it, I’m cruising in a large SUV back home with hopes I can still get a group photo with Derek and the group of women he is advising.  We drive for 10 minutes before stopping at a large hill next to the River Ganges – we are not at the office.  The driver urges me up the hill with several waves of his hand.  Upon reaching the summit I understand why I’m taken here: the location of some sort of ancient, ruined temple. I walk around, trying to take advantage of the situation, eventually heading back to the vehicle after getting my fill of images. 

We are off, again, and heading towards what I skeptically think is the office; before I know it, we are back at the hospital, the others still busy with their meeting.  I do the only thing I can and set out taking photos of my surroundings and end up walking around an abandoned and very destroyed cemetery.

I exhaust the location for photographs and head back to the hospital only to wait in the director’s office for the meeting’s end while constantly being visited by eager people wanting to know where I’m from, if I’m married, and if I’m veg or non-veg. 

With the meeting ended, we finally head back to the office; I should still be able to catch Derek.  We are on the highway when we suddenly pull over and I get told we are getting chaat: a side-of-the-road dish of fried potato mixed with peas, tomato, onion and spices all served in a bowl made of fallen tree leaves.  It’s delicious; I have another, risking the consequences of spending the day hovering over the toilette.  As I enjoy this road-side snack, one of the CRS colleagues ravages a stalk of sugar cane; it keenly reminds me of my work in the Nicaraguan sugarcane fields.

We finally make it back to the office, too late to photograph Derek’s group, but just in time to catch the setting sun.  This isn’t my culture, nor do I expect it to be; and I am humbled by all the kindness and hospitallity I keep getting shown; but my priority lies first in my work, and perhaps second in personal, cultural growth.  My motivation for this post was to share some of the challenges in this type of work that one cannot prepare for; difficulties that can only be met with the most patience you can muster and all adaptability you may have. 

I suppose sometimes, with the challenges you face in volunteer development work, you have to swallow your priorities and adjust yourself even more in order to make the best of the situation at hand.  Isn’t that after all why we travel abroad?

Working through India Hospitality Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Empowering Women through Mobile Technology and Education Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Text by guest author Anchal Bibra; images by Constantino Schillebeeckx.

The native Indian woman was at the center of my post-graduate academic work. I thought that this, combined with the fact that I myself am an Indian woman, have lived here, and revisited several times throughout my life, gave me some street cred or edge when it came to understanding the complexity of life for an Indian village woman. As usual, I was wrong; assumptions should be questioned. A similar thing had happened while I was working in Zambia, reinforcing that that which is taught to us in a well-lit, easily accessible, Western building is not the reality of the situation.

Arriving in Kaushambi to work with community health workers, called ASHAs, I was truly excited to get back into the field and work on a more grassroots level. This project was even more meaningful to me because it would be with women from my country; women that I would have something in common with. What I quickly realized is that, aside from language and identifying as Indian, I have very little in common with, and much to learn from, these women.

Rita was the first ASHA we interacted with in the village. She was shy to talk to us, but clearly used to being in the role of organizer, informer, community worker. To become an ASHA, one has to be nominated and chosen by a selection committee, and often times the ASHA is one of the most educated women in the area. Adding legitimacy and knowledge to the mix, it would seem the ASHA program offers empowerment, both socially and financially. If we had not seen an interaction between Rita and her father in law, it would have been easy for me to write this off as the whole picture. As part of our project in mobile health tech, we were user testing a new phone to see how the ASHAs would respond if CommCare, a community health mobile platform, was switched from the original phone to a newer model. This process involved asking Rita, who has never used the CommCare, to run through the application on the new phone and give us her feedback.

As she was talking to my co-worker, Derek, her father-in-law approached the porch where we were all seated. Within two seconds, Rita had dropped to the floor in a squat and had completely covered her face with the end of her sari. Depending on the village and the customs of the family, women are not allowed to show their faces to male family members, especially their father-in-laws. This, as well as never sitting down in front of them, is seen as a sign of respect. As she had been with other women and was technically at work, Rita had draped her sari over her hair but not her face. Her father-in-law came up to us, surely curious as to what we were all doing, especially what business two white men had in the village ASHA center. They had a short exchange, during which everyone on the veranda (around ten of us, workers, children, and the inevitable foreigner-curious bystanders) had fallen completely silent. For me, the silence reflected the tension and uneasiness of this power exchange. Were we going to get her in trouble? Was it okay that she was talking to men outside of the family, especially foreigners? Did he see that she had not draped her face while she was talking to these men,and would she have to pay for that later? He eventually walked away, upon which time one of the other health workers stated “It’s okay, he’s left now”, and Rita pulled back her draped sari and sat back down in her chair.

So yes, the ASHA program offers a lot in the way of empowering women and gives many opportunities to village women, but I think it is valuable to note that although the program offers prestige in the larger community, it may not always translate to empowerment in the home. Most of the ASHA’s work has to do with female and child health, so it seems to me that there is almost no interaction and engagement with the patriarchal power structures (familial, communal, hierarchical), and because of this, these structures remained unchallenged. Additionally, from what I witnessed here in Kaushambi, the ASHA program is led and supervised by male leaders in local hospital and most likely the larger state government.

And what was my role in all of this? Was I bringing about any lasting systemic change by simply engaging with Rita and the other ASHAs during my work in Kaushambi? What would my contribution be? These are all questions I’m continuing to ponder as I grapple with the lack of true understanding I have about these women and their lives. Perhaps it is not about an academic lacking understanding of a subject, perhaps it is just that as human beings, it will always be difficult and confusing for us to understand what life truly means for another human being; and perhaps this is the greatest gift—it is what drives us to investigate, explore and attempt to, however feebly, understand each other and ourselves.

About the Author

British by birth, Californian by choice, Anchal Bibra has spent the last five year moving between four different continents in pursuit of knowledge and love. Her post-graduate work in Gender and Sexuality concentrated on a post-colonial, feminist critique of vintage and current Indian travel culture, more specifically the visual representation of the native Indian woman from the British Raj to current times. Gender empowerment and a feminist viewpoint are always at the center of Anchal’s personal and professional projects. Most recently, she managed government grants for a local, women’s non profit in Los Angeles, CA, while blogging for Hollaback SoCal, a site which brings awareness to, and aims to end, street harassment of women. She has also worked with women’s cooperatives in rural Zambia. In her spare time, she blogs, rides bikes, does yoga, and eats as many burritos as humanly possible.

Empowering Women through Mobile Technology and Education Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

CommCare Field Visit Kaushambi Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

She’s timid, constantly adjusting her sari to hide parts of her face; I don’t know if it’s my precense or the camera that I’m pointing her that’s making her feel ill-at-ease – it’s probably both.

This young girl, aged 22, is pregnant with her first child and is answering questions posed to her by the local ASHA as well as by CommCare, a healthcare questionnaire given through a mobile phone. We are here visiting with a CRS employee because, apparently, this particular ASHA was not able to do her work due to a software malfunction on her phone; after a quick discussion with the ASHA and the CRS employee, the issue was resolved and she was again able to go through her prenatal checklist with the expectant mother.

After a visit of about 20 minutes, we head out to the next pregnant woman walking through the small streets of the village. I can tell from my surroundings that we were in a more afluent area of the village, with the brick houses painted in various colors; and that we are heading to the poorer side now, as the roads become dirt ones and we head closer to the open fields of grains.

We finally reach the woman, she and the ASHA sitting down on a home-built cot that sits in front of her mud & brick home. She is a bit older than the first pregnant woman, and so one could assume this isn’t her first child. Regardless, she is now getting new and invaluable information regarding her health and the health of the baby which she wouldn’t otherwise have access to if it wasn’t for the ASHA and CommCare.

This interview ends up being a bit more public since we are all outside and my precense seems to have the opposite affect on the local children, as they gather around eagerly hoping to be photographed, but not daring to get too close.

CommCare Field Visit Kaushambi Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Varanasi Panorama Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Text by guest author Mark Twain; images by Constantino Schillebeeckx.

Benares (Varanasi) was not a disappointment. It justified its reputation as a curiosity. It is on high ground, and overhangs a grand curve in the Ganges. It is a vast mass of building, compactly crusting a hill, and is cloven in all directions by an intricate confusion of cracks which stand for streets. Tall, slim minarets and beflagged temple-spires rise out of it and give it a picturesqueness, viewed from the river. The city is as busy as an ant-hill, and the hurly-burly of human life swarming along the web of narrow streets reminds one of the ants. The sacred cow swarms along, too, and goes whither she pleases, and takes toll of the grain-shops, and is very much in the way, and is a good deal of a nuisance, since she must not be molested.

Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together.

The Ganges front is the supreme show-place of Benares. It’s tall bluffs are solidly caked from the water to summit, along a stretch of three miles, with a splendid jumble of massive and picturesque masonry, a bewildering and beautiful confusion of stone platforms, temples, stair-flights, rich and stately palaces–nowhere a break, nowhere a glimpse of the bluff itself; all the long face of it is compactly walled from sight by this crammed perspective of platforms, soaring stairways, sculptured temples, majestic palaces, softening away into the distance; and there is movement, motion, human life everywhere, and brilliantly costumed–streaming in rainbows up and down the lofty stairways, and massed in metaphorical flower-gardens on the miles of the great platforms at the river’s edge.

About the Author

Samuel Clemens, also known as Mark Twain, was many things including a master riverboat pilot, failed gold miner, printer, novice parapsychologist, holder of three patents, close friends to scientitsts Edison and Tesla , and is generally regarded as “the father of America literature”. He made a substantially amount of money authoring books, all of which he lost in a failed technology: the Paige typesetting machine. To earn his money back, Twain went on a 13 month speaking tour of the British Empire that took him to Australia, India and Africa among other places. In his free time, Twain likes to blog and continue his travels abroad.

Varanasi Panorama Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Manjhanpur, Kaushambi Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

I’m finally doing work in the field, albeit slowly and with waning patience; Manjhanpur, in contrast to Varanasi, is split 40/60 between Muslims and Hindus. It’s fascinating to be in a place where both exist seamlessly. Internet is horrendously slow, so I’m only able to offer one image; enjoy.

Manjhanpur, Kaushambi Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Varanasi Open Hand Cafe Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography

Text by guest author Derek Treatman; images by Constantino Schillebeeckx.

Sitting in the Varanasi Open Hand Cafe, indulging in espresso and creamy cheesecake one might very easily imagine himself somewhere in Europe or the west village of New York. The pastries are fresh, the coffee comes in a large mug and the clientelle are nearly all european. However, the blaring midday sun and noise from honking horns pour in over the second floor balcony as a reminder that this is indeed India. Rhyne de Bruin, a South African native, runs one of Varanasi’s premier cafes on Assi Ghat which boasts not only a wide selection of barista quality coffees but artisanal handcrafts from Varanasi locals.

Rhyne first came to Varanasi in 2000 at the invitation of a friend whose recent business venture, a cafe in Lanka, was covering costs but far from making a profit. Rhyne offered her help and was contracted to run the business for a year and decided, “if it works, I’ll stay”. More than a decade later, Raini is still in Varanasi and has embarked upon various other buisiness ventures including a bakery, the Open Hand cafe, and a screen printing buisiness. The silk scarves and garments sold in her cafe are produced by and handful of local artisans, women enrolled in a livelihood program through World Literacy Canada, and an NGO that teaches trade to polio victims in a nearby village.

Rhyne describes her biggest challenge as her business’ biggest asset: her staff. I caught up with them one day at a Kabaddi match on the other side of the river, where we spent the better part of the morning trying to tackle one another to the sands of the Ganges river-bed in a fast-moving cross between tag and dodgeball. Open Hand’s chef moonlights as a hired driver. The baker came on after a stint in Rhyne’s screen printing business. The stock manager spends his evening decorating cakes.

The most satisfying part of her work is making a difference in the lives of the staff, Rhyne explains. She has brought in foreign baristas to train them in the art of coffee making, supported them in pursuing formal degrees, trained them in hospitality, offered commissions for sales, and meets with them regularly to discuss progress. In a country overrun by tourism and an unaddressable demand for hospitality workers, tourists are likely to be dissapointed by the quality service. The staff at the Open Hand prove to be the exception.

Rhyne’s efforts to educate her staff and expand their scope of service is a clear factor in the success of the Open Hand cafe, now in its fifth year of operation. Outreach to local NGOs and Benares Hindu University have helped increased the Indian/tourist ratio of her clientelle, a trend that she hopes to pursue. Rhyne also hopes to engage additional NGOs and livelihood programs to spur additional economic growth for the local population, but she lacks the proper human resources. With any luck, she’ll find that “love for food” in another local craftsman, integrate his trade into the growing breadth of Open Hand crafts, and teach him to make a mean cup of coffee.

For more information visit:

• Open Hand Cafe
• World Literacy Canada

About the Author

Derek is a world traveler by self-profession, computer & electrical engineer by education, master chef by apprenticeship and linguist extraordinaire by passion. His constant wandering grounded him in Northern India where he has spent the last year and a half developing, implementing and training community healthcare workers in using a scalable mobile healthcare system developed by Dimagi, Inc. In his spare time Derek puts his experiences and thoughts down to paper, whether it be in small notebook form, sheets of virgin newspaper, or large pieces of butcher sheets.

Varanasi Open Hand Cafe Photo CS Photo CS - St Louis stock, commercial and travel photography