Written by: ECHAV Volunteers 2025 (Group D)
When I first agreed to volunteer in Okhaldhunga, a quiet, hilly district in eastern Nepal, I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I had heard that it was remote, that the roads were rough, that schools often lacked basic resources. I’d seen a few photos of misty hills, rice terraces, and small village houses tucked into the landscape, but nothing could have prepared me for what it would actually feel like to be there—surrounded by the mountains, the stillness, and the hum of daily life in rural Nepal.
We arrived after a long, winding journey through the hills, past landslides, rivers, and endless turns. The last stretch was done on foot, walking along narrow trails that led us to small schools nestled in the heart of farming communities. From the moment we arrived, we were welcomed with such warmth and hospitality. The students had prepared flower garlands, and the teachers greeted us with wide smiles and tika on our foreheads. In that moment, any fatigue from the journey disappeared. We were not just visitors—we were guests, and now, we were part of the school.
Our mission was simple: to support local education through teaching and creative engagement. We worked in several schools across the Okhaldhunga area, leading lessons in English, Science, and Math. Alongside this, we organized a special children’s camp—a three-day program filled with crafts, games, and themed activities designed to spark joy, curiosity, and imagination.
Each morning, we hiked to the school with our backpacks full of supplies: chalk, storybooks, string, paper, markers, and simple science tools. The schools varied in size and structure—some had desks, others didn’t; a few had painted blackboards, others just a patch of wall. Electricity was rare, internet nonexistent. But what we did have were enthusiastic students, some of whom walked over an hour each day to attend class, and teachers who were doing their best with what little they had.
In the classrooms, we quickly realized that traditional teaching methods—mostly memorization and copying from the board—left little room for interaction or creative thinking. So, we tried something different. In English classes, we focused on conversation and confidence. We acted out short scenes, introduced new vocabulary through games, and told stories that made the students laugh. I still remember one boy, barely ten, who was too shy to say anything on the first day. By the end of the week, he was standing in front of the class reciting a short poem in English that he had memorized himself. Moments like that stay with you.
Science became one of the most exciting parts of the day. With basic materials like water bottles, sand, leaves, and baking soda, we created small experiments to explore the world around us. We filtered dirty water to demonstrate purification, made tiny volcanoes, examined plant parts under magnifying glasses, and talked about the weather, gravity, and energy. The students were amazed, not because the experiments were flashy, but because they could see how science connected to their lives. Suddenly, questions began to pour in. Why does clean water matter? What makes things float? What happens when seeds don’t get sunlight? The room transformed from a quiet space into one buzzing with curiosity.
Math often comes with a certain fear, but we did our best to show that it could be engaging—even fun. We created games, puzzles, and challenges that brought numbers to life. We taught multiplication through group competitions, explored fractions with fruit, and introduced geometry by measuring the school grounds. What stood out was how quickly the students adapted. Given the chance to learn in a way that felt relevant and active, their confidence grew each day. By the end of our time, many who had previously hesitated to participate were solving problems on the board in front of the entire class.
While the students were our primary focus, we also spent time with the local teachers. Many of them were handling multiple grades at once, often with no formal training in modern teaching methods. We shared ideas on how to use everyday materials to create learning aids, how to encourage group work, and how to manage large, mixed-level classrooms. Their openness and willingness to try something new was inspiring. We weren’t there to tell them what to do—we were learning together, exchanging tools that could hopefully last beyond our short visit.
One of the most joyful parts of the experience was the children’s camp we organized after school. It was three days of creativity, games, and imagination—designed to give the children a chance to express themselves outside of traditional lessons. On the first day, we focused on crafts. With nothing more than paper, string, glue, and natural materials like leaves and flowers, the students made animal masks, puppets, wind spinners, and colorful collages. For many, it was their first time doing crafts. Watching their faces light up as they proudly showed us their creations was unforgettable.
The second day of the camp was a celebration of culture. We explored Nepali festivals like Dashain and Tihar, and invited the students to share what these celebrations meant to them. Then we introduced festivals from around the world—Christmas, Diwali, Chinese New Year—through stories, crafts, and songs. The children were fascinated to learn about traditions in other countries, but what made the day special was how proud they were to share their own. It was a beautiful reminder that while traditions may differ, the joy of celebration is something we all understand.
The final day of the camp was perhaps the most energetic. We held a mini “Olympics,” but with a twist: each team was named after a Greek god—Zeus, Athena, Hermes, and Artemis. The students competed in challenges that reflected the spirit of their team’s name. There were relay races, logic puzzles, scavenger hunts, and team-building games. Everyone gave it their all, cheering for their classmates, helping each other, and laughing through the whole afternoon. At the end, we held a medal ceremony with handmade paper medals. Every child received something—not just for winning, but for participating, for being kind, for showing courage. They held their medals with so much pride.
Of course, it wasn’t always easy. There were language barriers, moments when plans had to change last-minute, and days when the energy ran low. Some of the children didn’t understand much English, and some of the schools had so few supplies that even basic tasks required creativity and improvisation. But those challenges taught us how to be flexible, patient, and resourceful. More importantly, they reminded us why we were there. Every small win—a new word learned, a shy smile turned into laughter, a teacher trying something new—was worth it.
Leaving Okhaldhunga was emotional. In just a few weeks, we had become part of these communities. The students waved goodbye with letters and drawings in hand, some hugging us tightly, others too shy to say a word. One child slipped a note into my backpack that read, “Thank you for coming to our school. I want to be a teacher like you.”
That note said more than anything I could have written. It captured what this experience was really about. Not grand gestures or dramatic change, but showing up. Being there. Believing in someone.
Looking back, I realize how much I learned in those classrooms. I came to Nepal to teach—but in many ways, the children were my teachers. They taught me about resilience, generosity, and joy. They reminded me that education isn’t just about textbooks and exams—it’s about connection, creativity, and the courage to keep learning, even when the odds are against you.
There’s still so much work to be done. Many rural schools in Nepal continue to face enormous challenges. But what I saw in Okhaldhunga gives me hope. With even a little support—some time, some effort, a few basic materials—things can begin to shift. The potential is there. The enthusiasm is there. The future is already waiting.
And for anyone wondering if it’s worth the effort to go somewhere far away and give a little of yourself—believe me, it is. What you give might feel small. But what you receive in return will stay with you forever.
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