Rajendra Pangeni

In my time teaching in colleges a while back, there was one question I would be asked by my students, time and again. “Sir, aren’t you planning to go abroad?” There is nothing unusual about the question, of course, especially coming from young minds in a country like Nepal, where ambition generally refers to having an overseas visa stamped. But although I knew it was natural, it still pinched me when they went on to suggest that should I eventually find myself leaving the country—and they were certain I would—I shouldn’t make the ‘mistake’ of coming back.

It’s been evidenced by data in the past few years that more than half of the Nepali student population, especially from reputed colleges in the Capital, go abroad immediately or a few months within clearing their +2 exams. As for those that remain, many will follow their counterparts to foreign universities after waiting a year or two.

The same goes for undergraduate students. In one of the colleges where I taught, the number of students in third-year classes was half the total intake in the first year, the rest having enrolled in overseas institutions via credit-transfer. And that was without the contribution of formal credit-transfer relationships between local and foreign universities; the rate would be much higher if such collaborations came about. There are also large groups that fly off to distant lands for their master’s degrees after completing their undergraduate studies at home. 

Conclusion: Few would stay in Nepal by choice.

It goes without saying that those leaving the country for academic pursuits number in the thousands. While the outflow is consistently on the rise, the trickle of returnees is pitiable, to say the least, with most citing the political instability and poor work environments in Nepal as reasons for staying away.

It’s been three years since I myself have been among these outgoing students, leaving for the purposes of a higher education course overseas, much like my students predicted. When I told my friends that it was just a matter of time, and that I would come back as soon as I was done with my studies, they told me they had heard it all before, and that I would—like countless others had—most certainly change my mind once I was out. I was incensed by their mockery, but couldn’t really do anything at that point, except tell myself that I was going to prove them wrong.

A year after I’d been abroad, however, I was beginning to wonder whether going back was really a good idea, pulled by the sentiments of a sea of others like me, who saw better opportunities elsewhere and found the idea of returning increasingly unappealing. Fortunately, it turned out to be just a phase, and the longer I stayed, the more I wanted to go home. With the novelty of the experience having more or less worn off, I’ve come to realise that I would much rather be in Nepal, and try to do something, anything, for the people and place I was born to, than become lost in the crowds here.

So I can’t say I understand why so many Nepalis are so eager to stay away from their country. Is it the money? The high standards of living? While I can’t speak for the former, I can say that the latter is mostly a myth, barring a few lucky cases. Most of the Nepalis I’ve come across in the UK live in below-average conditions, barely scraping by, not really able to afford the kind of luxuries—eating out, travelling, shopping at fancy stores—that one would imagine as part of English living. Wouldn’t they—at least those who would earn enough to have a house, enough to eat and educate their kids—be happier in Nepal, surrounded by the things they know and love?

While spending a month and more in Nepal during my vacations last year, I definitely raised a few eyebrows among friends who were surprised to find that my resolution to come back had not ebbed with time. It’s not that there aren’t opportunities in the UK; us Nepalis are a hardworking lot, and that quality is certainly recognised and appreciated by employers overseas. And I was advised to give up my pseudo-patriotism and think more practically. But I don’t believe I am being irrational. I know it is not impossible to contribute to the country whilst living elsewhere, if the experiences of prominent NRNs like Dr Upendra Mahato and Jiva Lamichhane are anything to go by, but I genuinely trust that my being here, physically, will make a difference. It is less about a superficial display of patriotism than it is about fulfilling my own innate desire of doing something I am comfortable with, something that will bring me satisfaction—and earning dollars isn’t it. I don’t believe I am ‘settling’, as my friends would say; I mean, what could top the joy of being able to use your skills, honed at international institutions, to better lives and livelihoods at home? What bigger privilege than to get to say, at the end of your days, that you didn’t run away from problems, and that you did all you could to improve things in your country, to help bring opportunities to those who didn’t have any?

I can only hope that one of these days, instead of asking if they will be going abroad, people will instead ask those on their way overseas when they will be coming back.

Published on: 16 March 2013 | The Kathmandu Post