Shuba sat on the counter. Her small hop was flooded with sunlight. You could see dust in the air, drifting through the thick grey air that was the result of the pollution from the busy streets of Kathmandu. The walls of her shop were filled with shelves that held scarves and Nepali clothes; all colours and shapes. Her business had been going well here in the city centre where tourist and travellers wanted to buy memories to take them home with them when they left.
Shuba had started the business by herself when her husband passed away. She has hand-made all the clothes; spent hours and hours sowing the clothes and decorating them. She loved all the colours. They made her feel happy - orange, red, yellow... She loved doing the work with her hands.
The business had grown rapidly over the past year and Shuba had employed five women to work for her. They had a small sowing workshop space on top of the shop. Shuba went upstair once an hour and brought them tea to keep them going. There was always nice chatter going on; Shuba could hear the ladies laughing happily when she sat at the counter downstairs. She felt satisfied to be able to provide others with employment and to see them happy.
Starting up a shop, cafe or restaurant seemed to be the only successful business in Nepal. It was extremely hard to ear a living on a farm or doing much else. Selling things was the only proper way. Shuba felt lucky that her business had kicked off so well. She had seen other people struggle for much longer.
The bell rang. A wetsern lay stepped in. ‘Hello, namaste. I would like to buy some clothes. Can I have a look?’
Shuba smiled at her. ‘Well, of course. Take your time. Please ask me if you want to know anything.’
Shuba watched the lady go through the clothes. ‘I think red looks very good on you.So does turqoise’
The lady took a sample of clothes.’ I think so too. Let’s try these on.’
Shuba smiled. She liked to serve foreign ladies. They were always so polite.
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Maya put the tea on the large stove. She took a handful of sugar from the bag and out it in the boiling water. It was hard to see anything in the dark kitchen. Then only thing that brought light in was the altar for the Hindu gods and godesses.
The children would be up soon. Maya would need to have the rice and the tea ready by the time the first ones walked into the kitchen. This orphanage at present had 18 children. They all had lost both of their parents, but the land that had belonged to their parents was waiting for them for when the children turned 18.
Maya was very happy staying at the orphanage. Her husband had died a few years back, after which the manager of the orphanage has asked her to move in and look after the children - cook for them, clean, generally help them. Her own sun could stay there and he was sent to a private school, which the manager had agreed to pay for.
Maya poured the tea into cups. The children who had woken up first started to come into the kitchen. ‘Good morning, aunt.’
Maya gave tea to all of them. ‘What do you remember about your English home work?’
The children started talking all at once. This is what maya loved about them - they were so full of love and life despite the difficulties that they had faced very early on in their lives.
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There are many life story accounts by Nepali women. Here is a book that holds a nuber of interesting ones:
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