The seasons of a Volunteer

You enter a new world, experience a lifetime seemingly in an instant, and then suddenly, it’s over. The passage of time feels strange and warped.

The start of a new life

When I stepped off the plane in Kathmandu in January 2024, it was like being born into a new life. The first three months of pre-service training felt like childhood. I was coddled by a Nepali host family and a Peace Corps training staff who taught me Nepal’s social code. I began learning a new language from the ground up. I formed deep bonds with other Peace Corps Trainees and started to integrate into a rich culture. Every day brought something new—my first time eating rice with my hand, my first bucket bath, my first awkward small talk in Nepali, and the thrill of my first fluent conversation.

In the U.S., routine can cause our lives to unfold in a repetitive and predictable manner. Not so for a Volunteer in Nepal, where even routine brings surprise. The first year is full of festivals and firsts. All the novelty makes the days feel slow, but weeks fly by. With so much going on, it’s hard to navigate the passage of time. Peace Corps service is overwhelming, even for the most adaptable.

New seasonal rhythms

After a year, I found it grounding to look to the land, whose seasonal rhythms are the only constant. Put simply, the weather in Nepal can be put into two categories: time spent expecting rain, and time spent not expecting rain.

The monsoon

People start expecting rain around May. When the rains begin, planting starts. Last year, the big rain came in early May. Corn went in soon after. Then came a dry spell, which worried everyone. The village turned brown and smoky.

Then, in early June, the rains returned—and kept coming, nearly every night, for four months. Smoky skies gave way to dramatic clouds and brilliant sunsets. When the clouds cleared, it was as hot as an oven. Rain or shine though, the monsoon period is incredibly humid. But I didn’t mind, because a dramatic transformation took place in the land. Corn grew a foot a week, rising over my head and turning everything green. In the second month of monsoon, farmers turn their fields—sometimes with the help of a handy Volunteer—into muddy rice paddies. The paddies fill with water, and the planted rice turn a bright green, a beautiful contrast beside the dark green corn.

Then came the fruit. First lychees, then mangos. Everyone gorges on fruit from the family trees. There is no such thing as an unhappy Volunteer stuffing mangoes and lychees into their face.

Autumn and its festivals

By September, the rains taper until the celestial tap is turned off completely. Corn is harvested and the big festivals arrive—Dashain, then Tihar. At least, that’s the usual pattern. But last year, the skies unexpectantly opened up again. The country saw record-breaking rainfall, which led to widespread destruction and death, but that’s a whole other story.

Post-monsoon brings clear skies and Himalayan views. From my room, I can see Langtang Lirung, which at 23,700 feet is only the 55th tallest mountain in Nepal. During the month-long school holiday, kites flown by students dot the sky.

Around Halloween, rice is harvested, and farmers plant mustard. The fields turn a vibrant yellow.

Winter

By December, the temperature drops. Nights reach 35 °F—not bad for a Michigander, but you certainly feel it without any central heating. Daytime highs are in the 50s and 60s and the Himalayas stay crisp in the distance.

Summer begins the cycle again

It stays cold until the festival of Holi in March. Then it gets hot and dry. Villagers burn their fields, filling the air with smoke. Skin peels from your fingers. Your throat aches and you cough up black phlegm. It’s not the most pleasant time. But, as with all seasons, one fades into the next.

The rain comes, then the mangos. Then the rain stops and the Himalayas show themselves, then it gets cold, then hot and smoky, your fingers start peeling, and then the rain starts the process all over again. It’s nice to see that Earth is so pleased with its seasons, it decides to run through them again and again. As a Volunteer, you have the privilege of witnessing this cycle at least twice over.

What I’ll carry with me

After one year, I’m told you’ll know what to expect. You’re a mid-career Volunteer. The surprises slow down, and people say the second year of service flies by.

Before you know it, you’re a seasoned veteran approaching “retirement.” Two years will be done and gone, and you'll step out of Narnia, dazed and forever altered. The door will close behind you, and life will continue as if none of it ever happened.

But I'll know better. I'll carry the rain, the mangoes, the bus rides from hell, the mountains, the smoke, the friends I made, and the students I taught—everything, both good and bad. What I will carry forward isn’t just memory; it’s the indelible mark of a world that is shaping me and sending me onward. This experience in Peace Corps Nepal will pass, but I know it will stay with me, etched into who I am, long after I’ve left.

Want to learn more about serving in Nepal or another Peace Corps host country? Connect with a recruiter.