Pride. Having a sense of pride in your work and accomplishments is, at least to me, very unfairly classified as a sin. In the life of a person who has suffered greatly, of a person who has overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles, pride is a great virtue.This past Friday, March 8, was International Women's Day, and as a woman, as a photographer, and as a human being, I was proud to share the stories of other women who have so much to be proud of.
Starting at the beginning of how I became connected to this story, in the summer of 2007, while doing a different photo project in the Netherlands, I met Wike Been. Wike and her sister Renee are superheroes in their own right. They were traveling in Nepal the previous year, and Wike spent two months working with a Nepalese NGO, Ideal Women Development Center. The women (and men) who work for IWDC had long recognized the need for a shelter for victims of domestic violence, especially women and children. The status of women in Nepal is systematically marginalized by the taboo nature of openly discussing domestic violence. Wike and Renee, once they returned to the Netherlands, felt they could find a way to contribute to the betterment of Nepali women, and in 2007 they started the Didi Foundation. Along with classmates and friends, over the past five years, the Didi Foundation has helped to secure €50,000 for the development of one of the first dedicated domestic violence shelters in Nepal, which officially opened in 2009 and has completely changed the lives of hundreds of women.
The women and children who enter the program typically stay for a year and a half, during which children are enrolled in school and the women are given counseling, legal guidance and training in crafts by which they can earn a viable living. After they have completed their stay in the home, they are in a better position mentally, emotionally and financially, rightfully taking pride in their achievements and deriving confidence from the unwavering moral support they receive from their fellow women. Meena Kharel, the founder of Ideal Home and a social worker, is the sun at the center of the shelter and it's organization's universe. Through her carefully cultivated connections in the local community, Meena is able to provide a safe environment for those who, in many cases, have been abused and abandoned by their families and society at large. With her team, and by the women supporting one another within the home, whether by example of having lived through neglect and now finding a way to thrive or by literally helping to teach one another useful skills, Ideal Home is just that for the many lives that have been touched by its influence: the ideal home.
When I met Wike in 2007, I was so impressed by her motivation, and I understood the courage that it took for the women in Nepal to leave their lives behind in favor of a hard-earned future. From that day, I wanted to go to Nepal and share this story through documentary photography. However, I was still in college in America, and it would be another six years before I was able to move to the Netherlands and do this story the justice it deserved. Last summer, I ran a short IndieGoGo campaign to raise the funds for equipment and travel expenses, and thanks to the generosity of many of my friends and family, Lianne van den Brand and I booked our flights in the fall and spent three weeks in Nepal in January of this year. Lianne and a friend spent nine months biking to Nepal in 2008, so she was the best possible travel companion I could have hoped for. Her calm and experience, and on several occasions her medical supplies, were so greatly appreciated, and I am so grateful that we had this experience together. By the end of our two weeks staying in the home, we had Nepali names and had spent our days alongside the women helping in whatever ways we could and dancing and singing with them as much as possible. On our last night, we exchanged contact information and letters with the women and children in the home: it felt like leaving at the end of a summer camp whose campers need each other in order to live.
The month of February was spent carefully editing over 3,000 pictures and videos made in the home for exhibition at the Openbare Bibliotheek in Groningen, deliberately timed in coordination with International Women's Day. The Nepali women who stay in Ideal Home can be proud of their achievements: their artistic embroidery skills, their ability to open their own small business, their courage to dare to think they deserve better and to seek it out. The members of the Didi Foundation can be proud in knowing that their tireless efforts have resulted in a home for women to take control of their lives. I am proud to share their stories.
It was beautiful - the Himalayas are incomprehensible, even in sight of other smaller ranges, and flying into Kathmandu at golden misty sunset felt nothing short of magical. It was chaotic - smoke and exhaust and paint colors screaming to be heard over one another, unpaved roads and never a sense of peace. It was peaceful - the rusty rhythm of the water pump outside our window every morning, the necessary patience of accepting that everything happens in its own time. It was strange - to be stared at for being the minority, for being tall for once, for feeling that my very presence was remarkable. It was familiar - the build up of the heat and humidity, leading to my sunburn and a thunderstorm that I swear would have felt just the same in North Carolina. It was loving - the kids gently playing with my hair and calling me "sister," helping them with their homework and teaching them to play Uno, and having flowers from the front yard brought to my bed while I was nauseous. It was frustrating - trying to play the role of the photojournalist during the Buddhist prayer ceremony in the house and the children and women just wanting me to sit by the fire with them, and wanting to do both. It was freezing - sleeping on a thin wooden box and putting on every pair of socks I brought. It smelled like burning plastic and cloves and hand-washed clothes, it was curry-stained fingernails and embarrassment at realizing I don't know how to wash my clothes by hand. It was intense and exhausting and incredible.
Starting at the beginning of how I became connected to this story, in the summer of 2007, while doing a different photo project in the Netherlands, I met Wike Been. Wike and her sister Renee are superheroes in their own right. They were traveling in Nepal the previous year, and Wike spent two months working with a Nepalese NGO, Ideal Women Development Center. The women (and men) who work for IWDC had long recognized the need for a shelter for victims of domestic violence, especially women and children. The status of women in Nepal is systematically marginalized by the taboo nature of openly discussing domestic violence. Wike and Renee, once they returned to the Netherlands, felt they could find a way to contribute to the betterment of Nepali women, and in 2007 they started the Didi Foundation. Along with classmates and friends, over the past five years, the Didi Foundation has helped to secure €50,000 for the development of one of the first dedicated domestic violence shelters in Nepal, which officially opened in 2009 and has completely changed the lives of hundreds of women.
The women and children who enter the program typically stay for a year and a half, during which children are enrolled in school and the women are given counseling, legal guidance and training in crafts by which they can earn a viable living. After they have completed their stay in the home, they are in a better position mentally, emotionally and financially, rightfully taking pride in their achievements and deriving confidence from the unwavering moral support they receive from their fellow women. Meena Kharel, the founder of Ideal Home and a social worker, is the sun at the center of the shelter and it's organization's universe. Through her carefully cultivated connections in the local community, Meena is able to provide a safe environment for those who, in many cases, have been abused and abandoned by their families and society at large. With her team, and by the women supporting one another within the home, whether by example of having lived through neglect and now finding a way to thrive or by literally helping to teach one another useful skills, Ideal Home is just that for the many lives that have been touched by its influence: the ideal home.
When I met Wike in 2007, I was so impressed by her motivation, and I understood the courage that it took for the women in Nepal to leave their lives behind in favor of a hard-earned future. From that day, I wanted to go to Nepal and share this story through documentary photography. However, I was still in college in America, and it would be another six years before I was able to move to the Netherlands and do this story the justice it deserved. Last summer, I ran a short IndieGoGo campaign to raise the funds for equipment and travel expenses, and thanks to the generosity of many of my friends and family, Lianne van den Brand and I booked our flights in the fall and spent three weeks in Nepal in January of this year. Lianne and a friend spent nine months biking to Nepal in 2008, so she was the best possible travel companion I could have hoped for. Her calm and experience, and on several occasions her medical supplies, were so greatly appreciated, and I am so grateful that we had this experience together. By the end of our two weeks staying in the home, we had Nepali names and had spent our days alongside the women helping in whatever ways we could and dancing and singing with them as much as possible. On our last night, we exchanged contact information and letters with the women and children in the home: it felt like leaving at the end of a summer camp whose campers need each other in order to live.
The month of February was spent carefully editing over 3,000 pictures and videos made in the home for exhibition at the Openbare Bibliotheek in Groningen, deliberately timed in coordination with International Women's Day. The Nepali women who stay in Ideal Home can be proud of their achievements: their artistic embroidery skills, their ability to open their own small business, their courage to dare to think they deserve better and to seek it out. The members of the Didi Foundation can be proud in knowing that their tireless efforts have resulted in a home for women to take control of their lives. I am proud to share their stories.
It was beautiful - the Himalayas are incomprehensible, even in sight of other smaller ranges, and flying into Kathmandu at golden misty sunset felt nothing short of magical. It was chaotic - smoke and exhaust and paint colors screaming to be heard over one another, unpaved roads and never a sense of peace. It was peaceful - the rusty rhythm of the water pump outside our window every morning, the necessary patience of accepting that everything happens in its own time. It was strange - to be stared at for being the minority, for being tall for once, for feeling that my very presence was remarkable. It was familiar - the build up of the heat and humidity, leading to my sunburn and a thunderstorm that I swear would have felt just the same in North Carolina. It was loving - the kids gently playing with my hair and calling me "sister," helping them with their homework and teaching them to play Uno, and having flowers from the front yard brought to my bed while I was nauseous. It was frustrating - trying to play the role of the photojournalist during the Buddhist prayer ceremony in the house and the children and women just wanting me to sit by the fire with them, and wanting to do both. It was freezing - sleeping on a thin wooden box and putting on every pair of socks I brought. It smelled like burning plastic and cloves and hand-washed clothes, it was curry-stained fingernails and embarrassment at realizing I don't know how to wash my clothes by hand. It was intense and exhausting and incredible.
