White Baboon

So last Friday was an interesting day. All hell broke loose. I received a phone call from the police at around 3pm demanding I come in and answer charges that I had committed robbery. Robbery. Really? In Nepal? Hmmm…so to say the least, I was intrigued. How? What? When? Who? Where? Me? Really?

I then did what any logical human being would do and called my well connected lawyer, Ram, who was as dumbfounded by the charges and accusations as I was.

It seems the restaurant owner that I had previously bribed was saying I owed her more money. Apparently, her new business was lacking funds, so why not extort the foreigner? She was saying I owed her an additional $2000 US dollars. How she came to this arbitrary number, I have no idea. Thank god, I had all written agreements, contracts and fingerprints in my possession. True factual evidence that I was in the right…right? Well, not so much, as this is Nepal, and truly the end of the rainbow for strangeness, as I have stated in previous blogs.

Needless to say, I was seriously nervous. Why would Santi, demon restaurant owner, say that I owed HER more money when I had to bribe HER in the first place, and then have the guts, the gall- if you will- to take it to the police!??!!

Now, like most foreigners, I am quite happy to NEVER encounter the police, with the exception of those I can regard as friends. I mean, I am in another country, on a totally new playing ground with no idea what to expect. Sure, I had legal documents, signed and registered with the courts, approved by a notary, but here, who knows what could happen…For all I know, I could be thrown in jail for previously bribing the woman who was attempting at present to extort me!

Ram assured me that all would be ok. I took my roommate, Nancy, for moral support. So the motley crew of us arrived at the police station to find Santi giving a detailed sob story of how she needed more money, but I only gave her a little money and now she was in trouble. Well, initially I thought “no brainer, the cops will see right through this act and tell her to get out…”

Then I remembered where I was.

In what I can only describe as a mini-court procedure, the police actually took this quite seriously, as apparently they take all accusations quite seriously. My mind was flashing back to a year previous, when I walked into a police station to point out in a line up who stole my cell phone…Their form of interrogation was quite unlike anything I had ever seen. Let’s just say it involved bamboo poles, a lot of screaming and a bit of blood. I just hoped those bamboo sticks were in the closet and would not make an appearance…

Of course, they didn’t. The police were actually quite nice to me, and quite helpful.  For one, Sub-Inspector KC, was listening intently, and when the argument got quite heated, he apologized profusely for me having to go through this.

I think the big cyst on my forehead was a dead giveaway as to my level of stress, plus the fact I had a lawyer and a friend there with me, one, I wasn’t playing around and two, I wasn’t taking chances…

The police agreed that they would look over the evidence and give us their decision on Sunday, as Sunday is a working day here. I left with Nancy, wondering how in the world could this go any way but in my favor? The house owner, or landlord as we would call him in the US of the premises, would not get involved. In fact, I spent a lot of time thinking about him, his hands off approach and his ”I don’t care who is in my building, just pay me…”attitude.

Nancy and I went over every possible scenario, I went over all the papers that had been drafted and over all beat myself up wondering if there was anything I had missed. I guess I must have forgotten the no more extortion clause in the contract, but who would have thought to add that? I figured the statement that the “transaction is final” covered it. That is what I get for thinking like a logical person here.

Sunday morning, I awoke to quiet streets. Oddly quiet streets. I was to go to the police station at 2pm, so I didn’t think much of the quiet at 7, when I woke up. Around 9:30, I got a call from Sub-Inspector KC, saying that a general strike had been called due to the Finance Ministers new budget for the next fiscal year, not only was the meeting postponed until Monday, but it was not safe to go outside in a car, period. Two of them had already been burned.

A little side note, there are strikes called for various reasons in Nepal, and they shut everything down. It is pretty much like a festival day, but instead of mobs singing songs and walking in a nice procession, there are mobs walking around destroying all public and government property in sight. The police walk around in full riot gear, not doing much, but attempting to control the masses, so things don’t get too ugly. It is one thing to vandalize a park, another to harm a person. I personally like the police here, they have always seemed to do a pretty good job despite their small resources. One must be dedicated to order if they only make about $80 a month.

So, now it is Tuesday and my head is spinning with what to do. I went to the meeting yesterday, and it was in my favor, I think. They took the original $3000 dollars I had given Santi from her bank account (they can do that here! With out warrant or a document from the court) gave it back to me, and pretty much told Santi to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. They then told me I was to give the property back to Santi, and she could make a restaurant there again, since she couldn’t seem to afford the other property. They shamed her for trying to take advantage of me, and attempting to scare me by taking me to the police, and applauded me for not being afraid, but handling myself “like a man.” Strange praise, but, I guess here, it is good praise. They also warned me that they were worried if I stayed at that restaurant, and had any connection to Santi, she would attempt to do this in the future if she ever needed money again. Good logic as a reaction to bizarre logic on the part of Santi.

I now have a freezer and chairs and tables in my entrance way to my home, I have a deep fryer in my living room and a bbq grill in my terrace. All I have really lost is $280 including the new tile in the kitchen of the restaurant that Santi can claim as her own. And time, three and a half weeks of cleaning and painting, but ever the optimist, I guess I have learned a lot. I just wonder, how many lessons do I need to learn? EVIL SANTI.

I don’t know what to do. My boyfriend and best friend have said pick up the pieces, I have all the ground work done, (including my new license to operate a restaurant legally, and it is written in Nepali with a bunch of stamps and cool writing), find another space and move forward!!!

I feel like I just want to stay in bed and give up. Or better yet, give up and fly home. I haven’t even called my family for the past few days, because I know if I would hear any of their voices, I would just want to say “to hell with it” and come home.

But I don’t give up. Or I don’t like to give up. So, I guess I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I came here to start a restaurant, I have done everything the right way, and I have tourists who are waiting for me to open!!!  I have the recipes, I have the grill, I have the fryer, I have friends looking for an EMPTY SPACE, not one with another restaurant owner looking to make a quick buck off of a dumb foreigner, I have the determination and finally, the focus. To be honest, I was missing the correct amount of focus for awhile. All I need is the space.

I guess though, after reading through all of this, it makes sense. There is never a start up business that does not encounter some problems in its induction. It was all running too smoothly for me. I had to encounter some problems. In the US, though, it is usually about a building that does not meet code, or some other legal hang up as such. Here, I guess it is corruption that one meets. And maybe this space was just not meant to be. It was ugly, after all, but I kept telling myself it was just a starting point. And everyone must start somewhere. I was proud of my 7 tables.

Overall though, my biggest fear in life is failure and disappointing my parents. Odd for a 30 year old to say, I realize this. But it is true. I come from a long line of entrepreneurs, especially my dad, who have always done well in the face of adversity. When the cards are down, I just need to employ his lessons, his logic, and most of all his perseverance. I am my parents daughter, afterall.

I think I am getting old. I once heard that when you get old you quit listening to new music, and like the man that can’t let go of his Bee Gee’s 8 track, I cant seem to embrace a relatively new style of music that goes by the name of trance.  What is it really?

I mean, I am not that old. But, in reality, age doesn’t seem to have anything to do with it, as I have seen 50 year olds’ here bustin’ a groove to trance music.  I knew what trance was back in the US and had friends would listen to it or occasionally go to clubs that specialized in “house” or “electronic”. Maybe I have seen too many episodes of Law and Order, but I always associated that kind of music with club kids who took too much E, danced with pacifiers in their mouths while waving plastic neon thingies in front of their face. It never really appealed to me.  Plus the dancing always mimicked, in my mind, mini fits of twisting and shaking simultaneously. Not that attractive.

Then I came to Nepal. As with many things here, it took what I thought of as reality and smacked my perceptions up side the head. Nothing is as I thought it was. There is such an international draw to the music, it is unreal. It is the one thing everyone from the Middle East can agree on. It enables conversations that would not ordinarily happen between a Russian woman and man here on business from China, as I saw the other night. It is a strange phenomenon that for the longest time I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around.

After being around it so often here, I finally have come to a few conclusions about trance. One, it isn’t that bad. It can be fine in small doses. Second, it is an international format of music, as there is usually little to no words in any language, so language is not a barrier. Third, everyone in the world dances in their specific culture, and ANYONE can dance to trance.  Jump a little, shake what you want to, or hell, even Ninja kick randomly like one fella from Australia, and there you go, you too can dance to trance. Last, it is great to listen to while exercising. It keeps you moving, no doubt.

Music has always been an instrumental part of my life, no pun intended. I used to say I would listen to any type of music, as I grew up in an eclectic home where I was as likely to hear Tom Waits as I was Zydeco. As a child, my parents took my brother and me to Jazz Fest in New Orleans with ritual like regularity. Much to my music loving parent’s dismay, I developed a taste for rap music in my early teens, but could never let go of the greats like the Doors, Buddy Guy and Van Morrison. I still remember the first time I heard Dave Matthews and Blues Travelers. And even today, nothing soothes me like listening to Otis Redding and Ray Charles.  

So maybe I need to realize that my musical education is not over. The only thing that is certain in life is change, so I will continue to attempt to appreciate trance, but thank god I can go home to my IPOD filled with the tried and true music that has been the soundtrack of my life this far.

Sometimes, I think that my impulsive nature makes others crazy. Actually, I have no doubt that it does. I directly attribute my fathers grey hair to some of my more rash decisions.  I also have no doubt that I am a bit off the wall at times, and realize that I do things without fully thinking them through, but I have never really been scared of consequences. I tend accept consequences when they do arise and move forward. Some people may think this sounds a bit risky, I just call it life.  Even so, in the cases where I do think things through their outcomes differ very little from those decisions that I make in an instant.  Case in point, my new restaurant. I wanted to create a restaurant in Kathmandu using a strange concept that has not really existed here previously. Good food that does not take 6 hours to prepare and does not make the consumer sick within hours of eating it. Ok, I am being a little cynical, I admit. There are some fine establishments in this city, but one also pays dearly for eating at them. They are expensive! Not U.S. prices, of course, but when one only makes the equivalent of $300 US per month, it is difficult to justify a $30 meal for 2. Unless it is your birthday of course.

No less, this new quest of mine was pretty thought out, especially by my standards. I knew the location I wanted to be in (Thamel), I knew I wanted it small, and I also knew the type of food I wanted to serve. So, I did a bit of research, and decided that this is not an intangible; I could very well make it a reality. Thank god I have made so many connections here; I also knew this was a fantastic asset, and thus far has proved to be invaluable.

Those here that I know with established restaurants, even small established places, tend to have better lives than those of us working stiffs that may or may not be paid by our bosses (things really do work differently here, I have often had to ask for my salary. My roommate had to wait 6 months for hers.) And I still wish to continue social work, but more on grass roots, non bureaucratic level. For example, I wish to take 5% of all profits and directly lend to women in the neighborhood. Also, there is a very intelligent girl I see almost daily, with no formal education, and Sanepa could be unstoppable if she were able to attain an education. I would be quite happy if my work could make that a reality.

Luck of all luck, I found a place quickly. Good location, and a lot of potential (read: I must work my a** off to make it look good inside), with inexpensive rent. I couldn’t be happier. That is, until I found out what it means to rent a space in Thamel.  Ahhhh…nothing is ever free in life, or simple, is it? The current owner of the restaurant there, Santi, said she would be happy to sub let me the space, as she no longer wants it, but first I must pay her $6,000 US. Huh? In a nation where the GDP per capita is only $340 USD per year, that sounded a little steep. So the negotiations began.

I explained to Santi that I did not want to keep the name Mustang Kitchen, nor did I think I would need any of her recipes, or maintain a restaurant that in any way resembled the Mustang Kitchen, so why must I pay her $6000?!?!?! She said she needed the money to move to Pokhara so she could be married to her boyfriend. Like this was a totally logical explanation and I would some how say, “Oh! Why didn’t you tell me?!? OF COURSE! Heck, why don’t I pay you $7000 and we will call the extra thousand a wedding gift!”

After I found the strength to close my mouth, as it pretty much fell to floor, although I found admire her frankness. And one hand of honesty deserves another.

I simply said, “No. I will be more than happy to purchase to equipment that you no longer have use for, such as the coolers and refrigerators and the tables, but that is it.”

Santi said “Ok, then we will not leave and I will not rent it to you.”

We had four more days of conversation like this. I even went to the landlord, who she rents from, and he replied, “When you have the space, you will choose who to rent it to and how much they will pay you for the privilege of the space, why shouldn’t she?”

Hmmmm…yet another new concept of business in an underdeveloped nation. Bribery for the privilege of renting a space. It makes sense in some ways, as real estate, especially prime real estate in Thamel is in short supply.

Finally, we struck a deal. I offered her half, and much to my surprise, she said, “O.K.” shook my hand, and got up to get the keys. No joke.

I still felt like I was spending more than I should, as the inside of the place is little better than a Taco Bell in the middle of the ghetto, but after speaking to various business people I know in Thamel, they were amazed I got by so cheap.  Cheap wasn’t really the word I would use to explain it, but it is done now.  And I am happy.

So now, I am reinventing myself again. Now, I am Jill, restaurant owner in Thamel. This is going to be so cool.