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It was almost dark and the lights flickered in Bairahwa, Nepal. Men and women were rushing. In half an hour — 7 p.m. — the last bus would leave Bairahwa for Rupandehi.
"Today I have lived!" exclaimed Rohit, an orphan from southern Nepal. We'd had a sensational evening at the Kathmandu Fun Park.
"Hold your finger right there, don't move it." We'd been rubbing our fingers over the smooth, silky hull and had felt a slight imperfection. Out came the sander.
"Grandma, Didi (sister)," says Busha, a 20-year-old orphan who is sponsored by our charity, Hands of Hope, to attend college in Kathmandu, Nepal.
The rats running rampant and damp penetrating cold helped us decide. How could a five-year old child sleep soundly?
The master tailor, farmer and father of two had lit himself on fire with a butter lamp. Engulfed in flames, he lurched some 40 steps, then died. This happened in late September on a road in eastern Tibet.
I heard trilling laughter and the thud of small feet running in big boots. Then an elfin, pink, pirouetting imp danced into the room, smiling, laughing and wanting to be everywhere at once.
When Megan Holosko was a toddler she never suspected the cousin who doted and cared for her would, one day, see her looking after him. But that's exactly what happened.
The dilapidated and dented bus roared up spewing fumes and spilling out a conductor who called Parsa, Lumbini. Immediately a throng pushed for entry - door, windows, or ladder to the rooftop.
For little girls in this tiny village in the south of Nepal, school wasn't an option - until 10 months ago. It was at least an hour walk to the closest school. It was at least an hour walk to the closest school. And although the walk was possible, the two or more hours away from farm work was not.