No work is big or small, work is work

This is the 49^th edition of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad.

When nothing worked out, I decided to go overseas. After successfully running a dance training academy in Nepal, I decided to invest in a restaurant which was the start of my downfall as an entrepreneur. It failed miserably. 

It got so bad, I struggled to find a bus fare to travel from my town of Banepa to Kathmandu. I had to start from scratch, and going overseas felt like the best bet. 

So I went to Qatar to work as a security guard in 2005, and was chosen from among 600 applicants. My English skills helped when I was interviewed again in Qatar when I had to compete with different nationalities and was lucky to be placed in good companies with better facilities than elsewhere.

Once the contract of my supply company was over, the employers offered to place me elsewhere. But that posting did not appeal to me, and since I had settled my loans I decided to go home.  

After a few months, there was a demand for security guards again, this time at a five star hotel in the UAE. Two of us were selected out of 100 applicants.

There, I found it interesting how I could identify the richest people by their car brands and especially license plates. Those with one or two digits are worth a lot of money in auctions, and there were many of those in the hotels I was posted to.

I went abroad for work because of the दुख: and thankfully the hardships did not follow me there as it does many fellow migrant workers.  I was lucky my security guard duties were indoors. Of course, there were challenges, such as difficult night shifts when guests were sometimes rowdy. Overall, I cannot complain. 

But this does not mean I had सुख: abroad either, I had not gone overseas looking for an easy life. My happiness is my family, and that is why I decided to return home after three years despite a good job.  

I resigned and was not really tempted by the promotion offers. I wanted to head home to Nepal where a friend wanted help overseeing a school. I became a Discipline In-charge and oversaw administrative functions at the school. 

While I was working at the school in Nepal, I was also poultry farming on the side. I made Rs50,000 in profit in 45 days, and the earnings were consistently good. This gave me the sense that there was a business potential in raising chicken.  

I was well suited for my job at the boarding school, but after hours I shed my tie and coat and would be carrying sacks of chicken feed on the bike. People in my community appreciated the fact that I had given up a good job abroad to return to Nepal. There is no big or small work, work is work. 

From 500 chicken, my farm expanded to 3,500 birds. I left the job at the school, and did full-time poultry farming and the number of chicken rose to 20,000 with a good profit margin. 

But then there was a bird flu outbreak in a farm near mine with just 300 chicken, so we had to destroy 17,000 of our birds and halt business for 6 months. Thankfully, the government stepped in with compensation and that cushioned the blow a bit. 

To diversify, I also started a slaughterhouse which supplies smaller shops. I then expanded to open a banquet venue which dovetailed well with the butchery and poultry farm. But right after, the Covid pandemic hit and there were other challenges to overcome.

There is still great potential in the agro-business in Nepal, and if the government extended soft loans and grants real farmers would benefit more. Many of the smallest farmers do not benefit from government support and that is where real intervention is needed. 

I look back at the time I first migrated overseas for work. Those were different times, simpler times.  

We had 12-hour shifts, and every Friday the supervisor would arrive in his car with stacks of letters from home. The rush of emotion when we opened the envelopes was overwhelming, and hearing from the family back home was the best feeling in the world. I do not think any other joy compares with it. 

The song सन्देशे आते हैं still makes me tear up because the lyrics perfectly describe our lives, and it evokes memories of that time. Not receiving letters made us anxious. But when we received them, we would read them with tears since the pieces of paper were touched by our family members.  Those were raw, deep feelings that do not exist in today’s interconnected world. 

I always had a knack for writing, and used to write poems since childhood. These were simpler times and any writing I did as an adult was largely limited to my diary and in letters to my wife. 

I once remember feeling low on a Saturday while at work. It was a slow day, and I was stationed at the gate. I had to let in cars and could control the barrier from the booth itself. I am not sure why I was homesick that day, and I remember writing relentlessly in my diary which I still keep with me.  

I used to also help fellow-Nepalis draft letters when they faced family problems, especially with their spouses. Prolonged separation over long distances is already difficult on relationships and words had more value in the era of letters before video calls. 

But not everyone is good with words, and some of my compatriots needed help to express to their wives how much they loved them and how they were toiling in the desert heat for their futures. Some would thank me because the letters helped mend their marital relations. 

When you are abroad, you make many friends. But even though over time you lose touch the memories are special. We had autograph books, in which we wrote farewell notes to each other. I still have mine, where one of my friends Parmananda wrote to me:

Imprisoned by time, we had to struggle to express in words the mental trauma that bubbled in the corners of our hearts. But that prolonged companionship during which we worked, laughed and cried together will just be memories, and that realisation makes me regretful. However, there is no other recourse but to bandage our broken hearts as we part our ways. We have to accept that all meetings eventually end in separation.

Till my last breath, I will read and re-read these words and cling to feelings which are fast fading.

Translated from a conversation with the author. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. 

Authentic and original entries can be sent to [email protected] with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.