The week started off well with meeting the CEO of the host organisation I was working with. He was not very talkative, but there was still a sense of subtle humour in the way he interacted. I told him about the work I have been doing, the research I have been carrying out, and the community I have been interacting with. He didn’t seem too very much interested in the specifics, but still formally continued listening to what I had to say. He said he liked the sound of what I was doing, and that was approval enough, which I could discern from the smile on the face of my supervisor.

The idea this week was simply to use the pamphlets I had created with the organisation to interact with people spreading some awareness about microfinance and saving cooperatives. The pamphlet itself was quite dry. Black ink, white paper. I did want to add some colours to it, but the person at the organisation I was consulting with for the translation advised me to keep it dry, simple, and easily readable. He said too many colours might make you like a salesman, especially when what you are discussing is economic in nature. Sure then, zebra print it was.

The interactions went smoothly. I first tracked the people who had been kind enough to fill my survey. They were happy to listen to me. And I was happy to listen to them. Many of them were distrustful of the existing organisations, and the creation of new ones required a lot of effort they said. One incident stood out to me. But not for any economic decision they had made in the past, or any there were going to make in the future. A small little cart owner who sold basic street food asked me if I was from India. A brown person who does not speak Nepali very well was bound to be mistaken for an Indian! I was like yes, and he said he lives very much near to the Indian border and can speak just a bit of Hindi. What we went on to say was not provoked by any question I asked. He said he was working in Kathmandu for the last few years, out of necessity. He said sometimes he would feel he is in the best city in the world, but sometimes he would curse the city longing for the life and comforts of ‘home’. I asked him what time of the year he goes back to the Terai, where he was from. He said whenever he could make up the sum to pay for the long 10-hour bus journey. And I did not feel much during the conversation, but after, it felt so me. Doing university in a different city (country)- sometimes I feel so good, I feel like life couldn’t be better; however, sometimes, I just want to go back where I came from questioning the day I decided to go to university in the UK.

Another lesson I learnt this week was about the sheer diversity within the city. Maybe it was me who forgot that Kathmandu and the people I was interacting with were not a homogenous lot. During my time here, my questions had been very direct, not wishing to take up more time for the respondent than necessary. But doing this made me gloss overall social backgrounds many of the people came from. There were people from neighbouring countries and all parts of the country itself, which by no means is small. I started including certain informal questions in my conversations. Asking where the person was from originally. When and how did they arrive in the city. And starters like those.

As I near the end, I definitely feel slightly connected to the city. There are people I would see every day in my neighbourhood. There are smiles I would share while walking or purchasing vegetables from the hawkers. And as much as I am alien to the culture and the community, I was also yearning for acceptance. As if I had already applied for a place in a university and am awaiting an acceptance letter. I’m not sure if this week was an acceptance letter, but it was surely a call for an interview.