See more beautiful photos from the Nepal Journey taken by Sullivan Carter
@ www.flickr.com/photos/sullivancarter/sets/72157622573386222/
Filmmakers Janelle Eagle and Patricia Ramsey are traveling with The Unatti Foundation.
While traveling with the founder, Stephanie Waisler, these two artists will meet the girls living at the Unatti Home in Bakhtapur, Nepal. They will engage in a theatrical workshop, mural painting with artist Clinton Bopp, and film the incredible connection made between children in Los Angeles and their friends living across the world.When Patty and I wake up in the morning, we quickly eat breakfast and walk through the ancient city of Bhaktapur. The streets and buildings are red brick, wood carvings, stone carvings, and the alleyways are small. There is a light haze that is refreshingly chilly, but burns off as soon as the sun peaks its head over the Himalayas. It is with that morning sunshine that we walk down a hill to the Unatti Home, past the buffalos and chickens, and along a panoramic view that is breathtaking.
Post borrowed from www.unatti.blogspot.com by Janelle Eagle
Ocotber 13 Bhaktapur, Nepal
When we arrive at the orphanage, the 13 girls run shoeless down the five flights of stairs yelling “Sister! Sister!” and attack us with hugs and kisses when we meet in the middle. Every appendage that is not occupied is grabbed by the hands of the Unatti girls and we are lead upstairs into the long Dining room. We sit on mats at the floor, giggle, practice language (they teach me Nepalese and I teach them English), and wait for breakfast.
The house mothers bring in large metal plates that are full of the same four ingredients each meal: Rice, Lentil Puree, Vegetable, and Pickle Veggies. This infamous dish is called “Dal, Bhat, Tarkari, Achar.” There are no utensils, and only one hand can be used to feed yourself because the left is historically used to wipe in the restroom. Perfecting the “mix and scoop” takes a meal or two, but soon you ignore the thoughts in your held that tell you this is unsanitary.
Once breakfast is finished, it is time for the girls to run to the roof, brush their teeth, rinse their hair and put on their school uniforms. All this is done while taking for granted the 360 degree view of Bhaktapur that surrounds them. It is hard to focus on the view, I’m sure; as the water is not heated and they sometimes get headaches from the sudden burst of cold on their bodies.
Thirteen girls run back down the stairs armed with small backpacks and hands messily tying blue bows into pigtails. Elbows and knees collide as they change from their plastic pink house sandals into their black shiny school loafers and amass outside in the alley. One by one the girls descend and as soon as everyone is ready, we link hands.
It feels like a very large honor to walk the girls to school. It feels special that every hand or elbow that can be linked with another is an opportunity to literally connect. We are the ones that stick out. Taller and thicker than the average Nepali, it is easy to pick us out from the sea of blue uniforms. It is not a far walk to Everest School, but there are many cars, many people, and a lot of commotion to get through. Everyone arrives together at the gate of the school and says “Bye, Sister! Have a good day!” We watch them walk into the yard and can’t help but feel like proud family members as their pigtails sway behind them.
These girls are the lucky ones. They attend private school, paid for by the incredible supporters of the Unatti Foundation. They have polish for their shiny shoes. They bring “show and tell” pictures made with colored markers and crayons on large pieces of paper. They have no parents living in Bhaktapur, but they are surrounded by each other and the adults that run the Unatti Home at all times. There is no shortage of love. Perhaps because we are new here, the love that we feel for these girls is overwhelming
Tuesday 6 October Bhaktapur, Nepal.
Made the journey from Vajra in Kathmandu to the Unatti House in Bhaktapur, a short 10 miles as the crow flies. What once took 20 minutes is now a grueling 1-2 hour ordeal due largely to road construction. So after making the trek it was a pleasure to walk down the narrow dirt path, pass the women tending to their gardens and hanging the laundry out to dry on the roof, into the empty Unatti house. All the girls were in school.
I took a few moments to walk each of the five floors and really look at the house. The well kept dorm rooms, the sparse yet highly functional kitchen, the artwork with which they have decorated the worn walls, and a new addition: A “friend’s wall.” 
The night before they took all the photos from the donated clothes of Child to Child and
glued them directly onto the soiled yellow wall in the stairwell. The quiet space also revealed the need for more space. The Unatti family has definitely filled the entire space. I sat on the bed of Sita Sister, one of our housemothers and said out loud, “This year we will build you a new house.” I made this promise to the room of bunk beds lined up one after another after another. I think first “telling the beds” gave me the courage to promise the girls the same thing two days later. The girls do not ever complain about the limited space; they even choose to sleep two in a bed for companionship and warmth. But I want to give the girls more space. 
I walked up the brick road to JC Secondary School to pull out our five oldest girls a few hours early. It was in this same schoolyard eight years ago I met the same five girls.
That day they were wearing bright red sweaters holding hands and giggling. Today they sit as proud young women at their desks but again giggle when I enter the room.
Then it was my time to giggle. Walking the girls home from school, arm in arm, I, the American Mother, was giggling with pure joy. After changing out of their uniforms I asked to see everyone for a chat.
Sitting on the linoleum floor of the dorm room, I wanted to have a chance to talk. To share stories and listen to them and their needs. Housemother Saroswoti joined us. She is new with the Unatti Foundation. One by one each of the girls said “My aim is to be teacher…a doctor…a nurse.” No, I said, “what would you really like to do in your life?” They were perplexed. This a culture of traditions and most women get married young, have children and do what all women do, care for the family and the home. So I began telling them about the plans I am making to insure jobs for them within the Unatti Foundation once they finish school. “We will need an assistant to Ramesh our COO, we will need a manager for the handicraft business and womens’ co-operative. We will need an accountant to oversee the finances or maybe we will need another housemother. Imagine you can have a salary and your own room. We can help you find any family you might have and you can have them come live with you in your own room outside of the Unatti house. Sangita’s dark eyes filled with tears behind her glasses. I know she has been worrying about the future of her mother who has lost the use of her legs due to malnutrition. Now she may have the possibility of becoming the caretaker and I could see this moment sunk in deep. Her face softened as she cried in her sisters’ arms as we all cried together.
I then shared a story of my childhood. Until now they were not old enough to hear this but, “I was for all intents and purposes an academic misfit, me and school were a bad fit.” Shrijana began to melt. Last term she failed two courses and I know was worried if there would be consequences. I assured her there would be none. “Poor marks are not going to get you kicked out of Unatti. All I want from you, from all of you is to be kind to each other, to try your best and always be proud and thankful for all the gifts you do have.”
This was the first time I was able to share with them as mature young women. WOW, it was powerful for all of us, holding each other, learning about each other and cherishing the time we get face to face.
Then we had business to tend to. We had to go buy a library worth of books thanks to the Carlthorp 3rd grade Brownie troop. 
At the local bookstore the girls chose books for themselves and their little sisters. Books in Nepali, books in English, picture books, storybooks, and then Puja said, “what if we get some books for Sharda School?” (the same children to whom we had given Child to Child clothes). 
How proud was I. In the moment when my girls are being given a very substantial gift, they are thinking of passing it on. The smile that filled my face as I caught Puja’s eye was all she needed to confirm her generosity was BEAUTIFUL.
Child to Child
Sunday 4 October-Bhaktapur Nepal
Child To Child is a program Unatti has been administering for seven years. Before each journey to Nepal, Unatti officials and supporters gather slightly used clothes and shoes, hand carry them to Nepal, and arrange for the Unatti girls to distribute the clothing and shoes to children more needy then themselves in their town of Bhaktapur.
For this journey Unatti received the support of a 3rd grade Brownie troop at Carlthorp School. They packed up bags of clothing three weeks ago in Brentwood, California, and yesterday the Unatti girls invited the children of the Sarda School in Bhaktapur to receive the clothing. 
The Sarda School is a government school attended by some of the poorest children in Bhaktapur. We were having lunch at a restaurant overlooking the majestic and century old temples of Durbar Square when Ramesh informed me the ninety plus children of the Sarda School were already waiting.
Waiting in the garden, which is really an empty dirt lot where the Unatti girls run and play, were the ninety plus children sitting quietly, shoulder to shoulder, around the entire
perimeter of the lot. 
As I took a few steps down the metal stairway leading to the dirt lot, the entire group, as if rehearsed like a choir, said “Namaste” and I stopped, looked at them and thought to myself, “look at what we are doing here, giving a gift of clothing to these beautiful children who are truly in need,” and a waterfall of tears poured from my eyes. So I picked a few shirts from the bag and walked to a mother, who only had one good eye, and held up a shirt to her young child’s body and a tear filled her eyes too.
Ramesh was distributing toothbrushes and toothpaste as the Unatti girls were fitting the young children with new clothes and shoes. I began picking five or six articles of clothing at a time and walking them to each child. I looked for the quiet ones, the shy ones and that is who got the next gift. Then in the back I saw a familiar face, Deviki. 
Deviki is the mother of one of the first two boys I put in school close to ten years ago. Without exchanging words we took each other in our arms and wept. So many years have passed, and although her son never did finish school, we remain sisters in our hearts and always will be.
Then like each prior Child to Child clothing distribution, chaos sets in, with mothers and children all pillaging the duffle bags, hoping to grab as much as possible. We all try to keep some order but it is no use. I don’t know if it is cultural or a reaction to their circumstances, but what feels like chaos is everywhere, on the road, in the school yard, in the marketplace and here in the dirt lot.
This is always how Child to Child ends: with needy children benefiting from the generosity or other children.
Saturday 3 October – Kathmandu, Nepal
After close to six years, here I am again. The journey this time is unlike any of the other eight times I made the long and ardous trip. This time I brought with me my two young children to meet their Nepali family. Happily I can report Shreeya (4 years old) and Sammy (2 ½ years old) are really great travelers.
Sammy and Shreeya on the bus from the airport to the hotel
It really hit me as we left the Kathmandu airport and began making our way though the chaos of the city, that familiar cacophony of sounds and smells that I both love and hate. A deep and profound sense of serenity came over me like a wave. A quietness that took over. I turned to my mother and said, “here we are, home again,” and I worked to hold by tears. I have been working out this moment in my head for months and now it is here, the reunion with my Unatti girls.
The bus made its way over the bridge were family tent homes share the riverbanks with pigs and cows and buffalo carcasses, children picking trash and endless piles of garbage.
We turn into the gate, onto the gravel drive and my heart is racing. I remember peering out the bus door toward the garden and there they were, fourteen girls with wide smiles and little-girl-giggles running to me. I got my arms around Sangita and Shrijana and the other twelve joined the hug, holding each other as tears start to run down my face. Lots of tears. These are my girls.
In the sea of girls I found Shreeya, surrounded by her Nepali sisters. They were touching her light curly hair saying ramro Shreeya, ramro!, which means beautiful. I could see she was overwhelmed by the attention but loving it. We were all given Tika and flower garlands and started to get reacquainted.
Later in our room Shreeya put herself on the bed, looked up to the ceiling and said, “Mommy, they all love me so much, so much love I don’t know what to do, so much love.” Yes I said, “they do love you so much, they are your sisters.”
So the journey continues. . . . .
