A Short Rant

Plastic is the enemy. If only it were easy for us just to make it global law that everything was biodegradable. The rubbish problem in Jumla is not anywhere as pungent or extreme as Kathmandu, but it is still a problem. Where can you put your empty bottles or used batteries? I can’t throw away my empty moisturiser tube as there is no rubbish collection. And it can’t be burnt in the fire. It really makes you think about how much ‘stuff’ we waste in our disposable society. And just because we bury our used plastics in landfills, doesn’t make them go away. In Nepal and India the only difference is you see the piles of rubbish out on display as no one is digging a hole for it.

But here in Jumla, there is less, simply because people use less. Particularly in the villages outside Jumla Bazaar (the main town is actually called Chandanath which is the district name by everyone just calls it Jumla or Bazaar). Milk is delivered by a young girl who pulls out two plastic bottle (old Sprite bottles or some such) from swaths of cloth, the milk is emptied into a pot and the bottles are returned to her, I assume to be refilled and delivered to the next house. Vegetables are picked from the garden and have no packaging. Rice, grain, pulses are all in pots on the shelf, scooped from larger sacks – no packaging there. The wrappings from noodle or biscuit packets are burned in the fire. Few people use moisturiser.

One thought that has played on my mind a lot while I have been in Jumla is how the infrastructure needs to be in place in preparation for ‘the tourist’, as slowly, this region will get developed. Foreigners, trekkers are going to want to buy mineral water. In bottles. Where will they go when they are empty? This severely needs to be addressed before the influx of ‘the tourist’, which is still a little way off, but as with all places of interest and natural beauty, is inevitable.

All things Jumli

Coming back to Jumla, I knew what to expect in many ways in terms of scenery, the people and the types of living conditions and environment I would be in. However, I hadn’t anticipated how profoundly I would be affected by it all. Coming last year, volunteering on the EWN training course, changed my life. It inspired a whole other journey that I wasn’t even searching for. I was so moved by the women, so intrigued by the culture, so curious about the daily existence that I decided to make a film. So I should have known that there was something here, something magical about Jumla for me.

This is a different world. It is almost another time. Life really is much simpler as it is necessities that are focused on. Again, I have had to question so much about the wasteful, indulgent society I have come from and been forced to look at my own life and behaviour. It is humbling. And at times, incredibly entertaining as what is normal here often seems anomalous to me.

I think it is a combination of the warmth of the people and the simplicity of living that make me appreciate my time here. Accommodation is pretty basic. There is no hot water unless someone boils it on the stove for you so you can have a bucket shower. Usually a little way from the house (so not ideal in the middle of the night), there is a small hut with a squat toilet and a bucket of dusty water and jug, so I appreciate that the amenities are not suited to everyone’s taste. But you adjust, surprisingly quickly. And it is the cultural differences, the little things I learn every day, that make it so interesting. For example, one shouldn’t cross in front of someone sitting down, so you must walk behind, or excuse yourself as you walk in front of them. In small, crowded kitchens this can seem a little convoluted as people climb behind people to get out of the room.

I spent a week in Urthu-Chautara, the village where we had the training. I already knew many women there, as they were my students last year. Over the week, I have become closer to the family who run the guest house – and that will be our base when we return to shoot. Their kitchen is a local focal point and hours are spent sitting around the wood stove before and after dinner. Rakshi is the local spirit made from grain – millet, wheat, barley or a combination. It is custom to drink before eating dinner, but you can snack while you drink, roti with fried meat or some spinach. It is usually only the men that drink and it is also custom for a wife to wait for her husband to eat dinner before she eats, so she won’t eat her dal bhat until he is finished drinking. These rules don’t exactly apply to me, I can drink with the men, and eat before I finish my rakshi. You drink from metal cups that you can warm on the stove, but I came down one night to discover a variation, fried rakshi! Rice, garlic and ghee are fried and then the rakshi is added until it is warm. This was a new experience and unsurprisingly quite oily on the lips, but it went down well and I enjoyed crunching on the toasted rice and burnt garlic.

After the training was finished, I set out with my production manager, Soraj, to see some other villages that we might feature in the film and talk to some of the women from last year’s training. It is a 1-2 hour walk to town depending on if you are a local or me and I have been most entertained by the fact that every other person we pass on the path seems to be clutching a chicken.

The first three pictures were all taken within an hour on the same walk.

From Jumla Bazaar we were to take a bus to Tatopani. I hadn’t even realised that there were buses here. The road going to Urthu, the other direction, sees only the occasional motorcycle, tractor or donkey. But lo and behold, we went through town and ended up at the bus park. The buses go every hour and we arrived just in time for the last bus so there was a hubbub of people milling around outside the bus and it looked more than full already. Soraj took control while I stood there half-smiling at all the staring faces. There was a general commotion for a bit which I took to understand was debate on giving the foreigner a seat and I have to admit that I was happy to be given special treatment as I can’t actually stand up on the bus as the ceiling is so low. Once given the go-ahead, I was ushered on to the bus and somehow managed to squeeze my way through the mass of people to the very back where two (I’m assuming recently vacated) seats were waiting.

Even seated, it wasn’t the most comfy journey I have ever taken. Aside from the fact that my legs didn’t fit behind the seat in front, being at the back on this very rough road meant lots of bouncing about, but the hour journey passed pleasantly enough with me attempting to practice my Nepali. Although I can now say a few things here and there, I rarely understand anything people say back to me. Everyone is always very intrigued to talk to me though, the women, often painfully shy and embarrassed, the men more openly curious. Few foreigners come to these places and if they do they are usually NGO workers.

Throughout my time everywhere I went, it is such a spectacle that life stops as I pass, people frozen in the midst of their daily chores to stare and often a procession of children following us so I end up feeling a bit like the pied piper.

There is no internet and limited phone service in most places outside of Jumla Bazaar. A lot of people have solar panels (subsidised by the government) to power lights. Some villages have micro hydro-power stations which provide electricity for a few hours each day. This is one of the major considerations we have about shooting and how much storage space we will have for our footage.

In Patmara, one of the villages we visited, a good 2-3 hour walk from the nearest shop, 180 houses get electricity for a few hours each morning and evening from their hydro-power station. It's a very local affair and villagers can request that the operator leave the power on for special occasions, medical reasons, or construction work. Our arrival fell into the first category so we had electricity into the night, recharging mobiles, cameras and my laptop. What a luxury!

You can see the pipe coming down the hill into the power station generating enough electricity to power the whole village for roughly 10 hours a day.

And on top of that, what they also have here, which is quite bizarre, is satellite television. I haven't even laid eyes on a TV since I arrived in Jumla let alone actually watched one, and last night when we arrived, we were just in time for me to watch Obama's speech at Westminster Palace on BBC World. Live! After a fairly strenuous uphill climb to this little village nestled on the mountainside, staying in a traditional house made of mud, stone and bamboo with low ceilings (think a little of Yoda's house in Empire Strikes Back), I suddenly found myself watching political rhetoric on the 'special relationship' between the US and UK. How surreal is that?

Just Another Day

Spending time in Nepal encourages one to relax about things like schedules and time in general. Things rarely happen at the allotted time and invariably take longer and are more complicated than necessary. This is why most people here live in a different time-space continuum (and I don’t mean the 15 minute difference from Indian time). What I refer to is nationally accepted as ‘Nepali Time’. So you can start to see where the national phrase ‘Ke garné?’ comes from. It means ‘What to do?’ There is a general acceptance that life isn’t as smooth as some people would like it to be and how some expect or demand it to be in the West. I’m not sure where this comes from, but given the present day state of the nation, where there are shortages of almost all the necessary things to make a country run smoothly, it is certainly apt that people have this moniker already ingrained in the national psyche.

‘Load-shedding’ is a way of life for most people – at least in the major cities. Kathmandu, Pokhara and Nepalganj all live with an electricity schedule. It changes seasonally. In the summer during monsoon there is more power as the rain feeds the hydro-power stations, but in the winter, the schedule is even worse, up to 16 hours a day with no electricity. People with money and guest houses and restaurants in tourist areas have inverters or generators but with the current petrol shortage, generator usage becomes more precious and has to be used thoughtfully and sparingly. The petrol shortage has been going on for over a month or so now – queues of people wait hours to get a ration of petrol at the stations, so people are only travelling when necessary. This is also affecting the amount of cooking gas available. Even though electricity is limited, most people in more developed areas cook with large gas canisters (as opposed to rural areas where wood is used for the stoves). However, due to the current petrol shortage, now these are becoming scarce too. This is all tied up with Nepal Oil Company Limited who have a monopoly on petrol and gas in the country and some disagreement about the prices of gas coming from India. To be honest, I don’t have a full understanding of it, and I haven’t sought the details, I just know that life takes on a different perspective when you need to put thought into when you can charge your phone, how much gas it might take to make your evening meal, and if you can spare the petrol to run to the shop.

On top of this, for the ever-expanding population in the Kathmandu valley, water shortages are another daily reality. The massive influx of people into the capital city in recent years has taken its toll and you see queues of plastic or metal water containers at public taps collecting precious drops coming out as a slow trickle.

And then there are the strikes or bandah. On a strike day it basically means that no vehicles are on the road (other than emergency vehicles or tourist buses and a few other exceptions) and schools and businesses are closed, although in tourist areas this is less observed. Technically government offices are open but often the staff cannot get to work so there is no one to open them. Essentially though, all this amounts to an impromptu national holiday. Kids are out of school and playing in the street as there are no cars or motorcycles. People are walking or cycling around and generally hanging out as everyone has the day off. Overall, it is all very pleasant and relaxed and there is no noise pollution from cars or construction work.

What I find most curious about the strikes is the fact that for the most part, the majority of the population have no idea what the strike is about. I would have thought that defies the point, but apparently not. They are often regional and called by different ethnic or political groups wanting their voice to be heard on some issue or other all tied up in the ever-looming ‘new’ constitution, now in its third year of being written. I am assuming that some people, maybe the ones ‘writing’ the constitution are aware of the stand being made by the strike in question, but the general population tend to just accept that there is a strike and that whichever group has called it has their reasons for it and that is enough information to accept that it is a day off.

May is ‘strike season’ as I found out last year when the whole country closed down for eight days when the Maoists called a strike calling for the prime minister to step down – that was a bit more serious, with mass protests and rallies around the country. It was also quite debilitating as after a few days, supplies started running out and the price of goods skyrocketed. This year, so far, it has been much more mellow and the strikes have mainly been one day at a time. So there might be a strike called by one group one day and then the following day, another strike called by a different group in another region or sometimes a national strike. This was one of the major delaying factors for our trip to west Nepal as one day there was a strike in Pokhara, so no transport out, the next day there was a strike in Nepalganj, our destination, so no transport going there and the following day there was a national strike.

What amazes me the most is, in spite of all these difficulties, somehow everything just carries on as normal. After all, it is just another day in Nepal… what to do?

Note:

None of this really applies to places like Jumla or similar remote, rural areas. Here there are very few vehicles so the petrol shortage is barely felt, cooking is done on a wood stove, the electricity is all locally generated from micro hydro-power that supplies local villages (for a few hours in the morning and evening each day) and if there is a strike, the only noticeable effect is schools are closed.

Crossing Phewa Tal

As you might have heard me mention in passing, swimming in Phewa Tal (lake) is one of my favourite pastimes here in Pokhara. I tend to swim out away from the shore and bob about languishing in the water and gazing at the light sparkles bouncing of the surface of the lake. I find it mesmerising and it is my time for quiet contemplation. And high up on the ridge, the ever-present stupa, the Peace Pagoda, sits like a beacon of peace and stability. I like to swim out far from the shore, not only to get away from the curious eyes of passing men on the cliff above, but because I enjoy the feeling of being immersed in the water, surrounded, feeling like you are in the middle of lake. As I swam out further each day I had the urge to keep going. I started to wonder how far it was to the other side. I’m not particularly fit or athletic but I can stay in that water, floating and swimming for a long time, so figured I should be able to manage swimming across. But I wanted someone to accompany me with a boat, not just for safety peace of mind, but so I could have my stuff on the other side and also not have to swim back as I was sure that swimming the nearly 1 km across would be more than enough. I had no idea of how far it actually was or if I was able to swim that far as I have never really swum lengths or exercised in any real sense of the word.

My friend, Patrick, who has joined me swimming on occasion, agreed to come out in a boat to cross the lake with me. The morning had been sweltering but as the afternoon rolled in, the sky became overcast, cooling the day. Patrick appeared saying he had found another willing boater so we should go before the weather turned again and it started raining.

I couldn’t walk to the beach dressed only in my bikini and swimming top (I swim in a tank top) so I asked Patrick and Duda to come and collect my stuff from the beach with the boat once I was in the water. I watched from the cliff as they went to get the boat on the other side of the small bay. I wanted to time it right so that they were en route to pick up my stuff and not too far behind me. I was brimming with nervous excitement at actually embarking on this challenge I had set myself. It is not so far, but as many people know, I am not so fit either.

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As it was Saturday there were more kids than usual at the little beach where I swim. Young boys stared as I quickly took off my sarong and plunged into the water. It was a strange feeling, leaving my stuff and knowing I wasn’t coming back. I did a slow breaststroke, wanting to pace myself and the guys in the boat had a leisurely cruise, overtaking me, making jokes about snakes or how much further I had to go and then going ahead a way and chilling out in the boat. At one point it started sprinkling (not that I noticed) and for a second I thought they were wanting to turn back – understandably, getting stuck in the rain in a boat is not an appealing prospect, particularly the kinds of torrential afternoon lightening storms that we have almost every day – which would mean I would have had to stop half-way, but the trickle never evolved into the usual downpour. I’m not sure if my little prayer to the rain gods had any effect or not.

The journey seemed to go on forever and although when I looked back, the cliff where I started did seem far off, somehow, the shore and the red lodge I was heading towards didn’t seem to be getting any closer. My arms kept going but after a while, my neck started to ache. But eventually I made it. My wobbly legs could barely stand up on the slippery rocks. The guys had moored the boat at the landing point for the restaurant lodge on the hill above and after sitting on a rock for a minute just soaking in my small sense of achievement, I made my way round to them. I changed and we headed up to the lodge for a bite as I had certainly worked up an appetite. Munching on chow mein and half a beer on a bench table looking out over the water I had just swum across was a very satisfying experience.

As the sun was starting to go down we headed back to the boat and although I had promised to row back, Duda was in the zone and took us the whole way while I reclined at the front of the boat. Which was just as well as my arms were jelly. It was a great feeling as I had been so excited to do this and felt a wonderful sense of achievement that I had actually done it. I was and am very grateful to Patrick and Duda, for the company, as in addition to giving me that safety cushion, they made the experience a real pleasure.

The next day my friend Emily arrived in Pokhara. She had been cycling from Kathmandu but was a bit under the weather so had not been covering as much ground as she normally would. It is about 200 km of winding, steep, uneven roads full of beeping trucks and motorcycles and she was planning on doing it in two days. Which sounds like a lot to normal people but to her it is just another day. She is travelling on her bicycle from New Zealand all the way back to the UK – occasionally making use of other modes of transport, obviously over oceans and the odd train or bus here and there as necessary.

I met her in south India in Mudmulai National Park, where we were both house guests of a most hospitable and charming gentleman by the name of Johnnie (of the Jungle). We kept in touch so arranged to rendezvous in Nepal. When I told her I had swum across the lake, her eyes sparkled and she said that sounded like a fine thing to do. Of course, we are in different leagues when it comes to fitness challenges (this is a girl that cycles 42 km to get the beginning of her 5 day trek which she is planning on doing in 3 days), so it comes as little surprise that she did in fact, not only swim across the lake, but swam back too! And this is just a morning stretch before she had breakfast, went into town to sort out her trekking permit and then went paragliding… all before noon! She wrote, “I felt nicely exercised afterward.” Check out her blog, which has all sorts of interesting details and pictures about her journey, and the distances she has covered on the adventure. She is also raising money for Oxfam.

One of the many things that I appreciate about my life at present is the people I meet who are on their own adventures. Everyone has a different perspective on their place and time in foreign climes and is getting something different out of their experience. I am in awe of Emily and the journey she is on. When I even think about how much energy and the level of fitness she has, it makes me tired. For me, my swim, a nice walk, a good stretch, maybe a leisurely bike ride or a boogie, that is about as much as I can usually muster, but it is those differences that make life interesting.

Tattoo Unconventional

I’ve been living a much quieter life in Pokhara these past few weeks but found myself heading back to the dust and bustle of the capital for an interestingly varied and rather long weekend. The main purpose of the trip, curiously enough, was to check out Nepal’s first ever Tattoo Convention which was organised by a friend of mine, Bijay. It was an intriguing prospect and a chance to see a different side of the Kathmandu counterculture. The convention was a three-day event and hosted tattoo artists and body modification… ummm...technicians (?). What made the whole thing a bit incongruous was the setting – the Yak and Yeti hotel is one of the fancier hotels and as one of my friends pointed out, every other time he’d attended an event there he’d been in a suit listening to boring speeches at some officious function. This was a far cry from that - although it was all done in a very professional and polished way with artists from all over the world in rows of booths presenting their specific styles. It was riveting. Having lived next to the Boardwalk in Venice Beach for many years, I have seen my fair share of tattoo-covered beings and piercings in unusual places, but it doesn’t cease to be captivating looking at all the body artwork. And there was certainly plenty to see at the convention.

I don’t think I would fancy getting tattooed in front of such a big wandering crowd but the impetus was access to renowned, international artists, many of whom have month long waiting lists back at home. They also were charging Nepali prices, so for those inclined, it was a fantastic opportunity. I met one guy that just told the artist where he wanted the piece (his calf), but didn’t specify anything else as he was familiar enough with the style that he just wanted a tattoo by this particular artist.

I think every tattooed, dreadlocked Nepali in Kathmandu was in attendance. Lots of people getting inked and even more milling around observing this or that with the soundscape of buzzing needles as the backdrop. On each of the three days, the convention also presented a band towards the end of the day. There are quite a few interesting fusion bands in Kathmandu and the scene seems to burgeoning. The day I went, Rock Sitar were playing. Unsurprisingly the music is an engaging mixture of rock and sitar music. Bijaya Vaidya, the lead is an acclaimed Nepali sitar player and has built his own standing electric sitar, which is apparently the first of it’s kind.

I have wanted to get my ear re-pierced for many years, so thought this was a good opportunity and a chance to have a little memento of the convention. Ironically, it ended up being a guy from the UK who was one of the piercers. Quentin has a studio in Worthing, Kalima Emporium . He specialises in all kinds of ‘body modifications’. In case you are wondering, these things include but aren’t limited to, tongue splits, Silicon implants under the skin and ‘branding’ which is like making shapes with scar tissue using a laser, rather than the use of hot irons, I was pleased to learn. My ear must have seemed quite pedestrian. Quentin is a charming and personable guy and we had a thought-provoking chat about the attitude of young people today and their motivations for getting tattoos or piercings or any modifications. In comparison to his generation where, he felt there was more of an ethos behind the statements they were making with their bodies, these days it seems to be more just a fashion statement. Some of the more extreme procedures, he will try to talk young people out of doing and tell them to go away and think about it and come back in a few weeks. Before the end, I went back to see Quentin with my friend, Isabel who was intrigued at the whole concept of tongue splits and as I had noted Quentin had such, I suggested we go and ask him about it…

Quentin was travelling with his friend, Spud, another Brit. Spud wasn’t there, as he had fallen prey to troubles that can beset one on arrival in Asia (this was his first trip), so Quentin was heading back to check on him, but had mentioned in passing that Spud had full face tattoos and had been getting a lot of attention. The day before at the convention he’d had hundreds of photos taken (he ended up in the paper numerous times), as well as a number of people just touching him. Personal space is not viewed in the same way in Nepal as it is in some other countries.

Unsurprisingly, I recognised Spud immediately when I saw him in Thamel a few days later (my return to Pokhara was pushed back due to a strike in Kathmandu). Quentin wasn’t with him and I didn’t want to stare, but he was certainly a striking vision walking down the street and of course, garnering a lot of gawping from everyone he passed. I bumped into Quentin a little later and it turned out they were also going to Pokhara. On my first morning back, I was standing on the balcony gazing out at the lake when who should appear but Quentin and Spud. They were staying next door but weren’t happy and we had two rooms free with attached bathrooms so I showed them upstairs and that is how they ended up being my neighbours for a few days.

We had some nice neighbourly chats on the balcony and crossed paths a few times out and about so I had the chance to find out more about them and what they do. They would come to My Favourite Restaurant (that’s the name) and sit gazing out at the lake, in quiet repose. Unless, of course, I was there and they came to sit with me, as then I would continue to query this or that or how or why or whatever… and they were happy to quench my curiosity. They were both very pleasant and easy company. Spud is definitely an example of not judging a book by its cover. He doesn’t drink, smoke, take drugs and is a vegan. He is a (very specific kind of) Tibetan Buddhist so, literally, would not intentionally hurt a fly. But of course, many people assume he is a ‘scary man’ because he is covered in tattoos and piercings. He is very quiet and likes peace, as well as his creature comforts. He listens to classical music and goes to concerts, buying the best seats and generally prefers five star hotels. Asia was a bit of a culture shock for him to say the least, although Pokhara provided some respite. Kathmandu was just too much, too dirty (he is meticulously clean) and hectic and aside from the excessive attention, the whole experience wasn’t helped by not only being ill, but then getting some kind of infection in his foot so he couldn’t walk. This was also the longest he had been away from his four year old son, so suffice to say, he was really looking forward to getting home. He is a stay at home Dad while his partner works in their shop in Birmingham, Karma Clinic, as a sought-after tattoo artist (with a long waiting list). He also has quite an individual take on life and the choices he has made with his body. When I asked him how he ended up getting so inked, he said, “I don’t collect stamps.”

Give a Woman a Fish... or a Sewing Machine

When I was in Kerala, my friend Natasha met a girl who was also travelling around Kerala and was coming to Kathmandu to volunteer on a woman’s project. She thought we might like to meet and she gave me her email. So I mailed her. We didn’t manage to cross paths in Kerala but were due to be in Kathmandu around the same time so arranged to meet the first week I was here (it was a busy week!).

Lisa is a lovely Aussie girl who was volunteering with the Tulsi Meher Ashram through a connection with the Australian New Internationalist. There is a store, Mahaguthi Crafts,that sells fair trade handicrafts made by Nepali women and funds a portion of the Ashram through their sales. The ashram is a refuge and training centre, teaching the girls how to sew and make handicrafts. The women are all ‘disadvantaged’ – divorced, widowed or destitute. These are all conditions that leave women very little option in this society. There were about 30 women living in the ashram, mostly between 18-25 with a handful in their 30s and 40s. Up until this year it was a two year program but they’ve just expanded the space to accommodate more women and have now cut the program to one year.

The women receive training in sewing, weaving and handicrafts. They tend their own kitchen gardens and

live communally, all doing the chores around the ashram. They are given food and lodging as well as the training. As she explained more to me, again, my interest was more than piqued and we arranged that I would come back to the Ashram a few days later to check it out.

Lisa is the first volunteer that the ashram has ever had. She had very simple quarters and lived on the same schedule as the women, getting up very early, helping in the kitchen and then working in the office with Prem Lamichhane, the director of the programme, assisting with rewriting their promotional materials and other administrative tasks.

She was so inspired by the women that she really wanted to do something for them as they were about to leave to hopefully start a new life. This round of women were at the end of their program, ‘graduating’ this spring. She thought if they each had their own sewing machines, when they went back to their villages they would immediately be able to earn a living with their newfound skills. So she sent a mail out to her friends and family back in Australia to see if she could raise enough money to buy each woman a sewing machine. Impressively enough, she raised $3300 Australian dollars in just a week or so and gathered enough funds to not only buy enough sewing machines, but even a few extra as well as some equipment and utensils for the kitchen, blankets and a desk for the office.

The ashram was so grateful to her that they arranged a thank you ceremony and I offered to come and film it for her. It was a sweet ceremony (in Nepali with bits translated for Lisa’s benefit). All the women were there along with the various people who run the ashram and board of directors. They were clearly (understandably) so grateful to Lisa for what she had done for them and presented her with garlands and gifts.

What was most moving was the reaction of all the women who had become incredibly attached to her over the few weeks that she had immersed herself in their lives. This ceremony came at the end of her stay there, so it also signified her departure. As the ceremony drew to a close, and she went around hugging the girls, floods of tears broke out in all directions. It was so moving that soon I was also welling up (how unlike me!), as these women were probably as upset that she was leaving them as they were grateful for what she had done for them. In the short time she had been there she had become such a huge addition to their lives, they clearly felt deeply for her. It was such an inspiration to see.

This is another example of a project having real and positive effects, changing the course of lives for a few women who may not have had much hope prior. Again, this theme of empowering women by teaching them the skills to support themselves, giving them the encouragement to hold their heads up with pride, creating hope for a positive future. Of course, this is just the beginning for these 30 women who have now left the ashram. We don’t know what the future holds for them, but at least it they have some hope, some skills and a sewing machine!