[Even for post-earthquake Nepal,
where villagers have been plucked from the ruins since the first days, this
evacuation was unusual. Fifty-nine minor monks, mostly boys, were airlifted
that day, in four helicopter flights, out of an isolated Buddhist monastery and
school in Lho, a tiny village that sits at an altitude of 10,170 feet in the
northernmost part of the Gorkha district, abutting Tibet
 |
A young Buddhist monk on his first
helicopter flight, as he and fellow students were airlifted
from their isolated monastery. Credit
Donatella Lorch for The New York Times
|
The stillness was soon broken by a United Nations helicopter
thudding up the valley toward them, its rotors whipping up stinging dust as it
landed in a wheat field. When the rotors stopped, the children, lugging ragged
day packs, were led to the helicopter, where officials signed paperwork and
United Nations field officers confirmed the children’s identities by checking
numbers written in black marker on their forearms.
Even
for post-earthquake Nepal,
where villagers have been plucked from the ruins since the first days, this
evacuation was unusual. Fifty-nine minor monks, mostly boys, were airlifted
that day, in four helicopter flights, out of an isolated Buddhist monastery and
school in Lho, a tiny village that sits at an altitude of 10,170 feet in the
northernmost part of the Gorkha district, abutting Tibet
“Our
monastery was destroyed and we did not have enough food,” said Lopen Mingur,
the monks’ headmaster, “so I asked the government to help us organize a way to
get the young ones to safety.”
For the student monks in Lho, life has always been hard. Their families,
mired in grim poverty, have for centuries provided a child to a monastery for
religious or educational reasons, or simply as a means of keeping them fed. The
valley residents are ethnic Bhotia, whose main language and culture are
Tibetan. The children, many from far-flung mountain areas, may not see their
parents until adulthood.
The monks and their teachers sleep in dormitories, their beds
warped wooden planks on the dirt floor. The walls are plastered with newspaper
sheets, the only sign of insulation. Last winter, villagers said, the snowfalls
exceeded six feet and avalanches tore down the hillsides.
The powerful earthquake on April
25 destroyed
their dormitories and cracked their monastery, forcing them to move into flimsy
tents. Dangerous overland routes to the south and west take many days, one
requiring a hike over three-mile-high, snow-covered passes. To the north, the
border with China
The monastery had kept poor records, and it was unclear how many
monks resided there, although the headmaster estimated that before the
earthquake, the monastery and school housed 500 monks and seven teachers.
“The plan is for 52 monks to stay and everyone else will leave,”
said Tenzing Choegyal, a math teacher. “The children who live nearby, we have
sent home. But for those from far away, the only place is Kathmandu .”
Before the United Nations and
the Nepali government got involved, getting the monks to safety was a
disorganized effort, according to local villagers and United Nations officials.
Private helicopters flying in with relief aid were quickly mobbed by young monks
wanting a ride out of the valley. Tsewang Norbhu, a villager, did not know that
after the quake, the government, worried about an increase in child
trafficking, had refused to allow unaccompanied children to be moved out of
their districts unless they had the clearance of the chief district officer and
the Central Child Welfare Board, the government body that monitors the movement
of children.
After the headmaster requested the government’s help, Udhav
Timilsena, Gorkha’s chief district officer, turned to Unicef to
help arrange the evacuation. The World Food Program supplied the helicopters,
and the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs
mobilized field officers to monitor every step of the rescue.
Even then, complications
quickly arose. Hardly any of the child monks had identification papers. Almost
all shared the same last name: Lama. The marker identification system was used
for the monks on the United Nations helicopter to make sure they were all
accounted for.
As they boarded the helicopter on June 9, the monks, who ranged
in age from 4 to 16 or so, awaited help to fasten seatbelts and put on
noise-canceling headphones. By the time the helicopter had left, they were
holding hands, sweat pouring down their foreheads. The rising valley heat made
the helicopter shudder and shake. The pilot dipped so close to a hillside it
was possible to see the pine cones in the fir trees. Some monks became airsick;
two boys, both under 5, sobbed; and a teenage boy rocked back and forth, eyes
closed, mumbling mantras. One girl spent the 40-minute flight leaning forward,
staring straight ahead. When they landed in Deurali, a town in Gorkha known for
its blistering heat, they all put on their woolen hats before leaving the
aircraft.
In Deurali, once again, they were greeted by a government
official and their names checked off a list before they were taken for a shower
and dinner. But even then their trip was not over. The Central Child Welfare
Board had discovered that the school on the outskirts of Kathmandu that had been their
destination was under construction and not registered with the government.
So, accompanied by police officers, the children rode a bus to Kathmandu and the young monks set up a
temporary new life under tents. Unicefofficials
said social workers and psychosocial counselors would visit daily. And the
welfare board is profiling each child and trying to track down the parents.
“We support reunification,” said a senior Unicef official who
requested anonymity because of the sensitivity of dealing with minors. “If the
family wants them back, we will provide family support whether it is food,
shelter or education support. The aim is to reduce the poverty burden on the
family.”
But the monsoon season rolled in this week, and as entire
communities in the mountains are cut off from the rest of Nepal
