Morgan Mahdavi

I have been waiting to come to Ladakh for almost two years; I first heard of VIS when my friend came here in the spring semester of 2007. As a sophomore, I knew that this was something I wanted to do. Now, two years later, I am finally here; two years of saving and waiting and now, I am here. And even after those two years of waiting, preparing, now that I am here, I realize that there is no way I could ever have been ready for the wonderful place that awaited me. Ladakh is unlike anything I have ever known, so much so, that I don't know what to compare it to so that you reading this at home can understand what I mean.
Ladakh is new. Ladakh is a new meaning to the word comfort. It is a new bed, new faces, new food, new family. Ladakh means frostbite on my toes and sunburn on my face. Ladakh means mountains, towering above me all the time, holding up the sky. Ladakh is smiling face, hugs and handshakes. Ladakh is SECMOL, my new home.
In Ladakh, I feel like a different person. Everyone and everything here is so genuine that it is impossible to feel sad. Even though we have been gone for over a month now, I can honestly say that I have hardly gotten homesick. How can I miss home when I am here? Here, I am surrounded by friends all the time. Here, I am learning by doing, learning by exploring and trying new things. And how can anyone be upset around the beautiful Ladakhi people? These people, students and teachers a like, are the most happy and carefree people I have ever met. Nothing phases them. Take, for example, my friend Jigdol. For the first couple weeks, my daily responsibilty was "electricity" which meant three times a day, Jigdol and I would go down to the power house, rotate the solar panels and check the batteries. It was a pretty easy job and it took about 5 minutes each time. One day, Jigdol left early and asked me to turn the last panel by myself. I agreed and as he disappeared out of sight, I went to work on the final panel, which is above the Indus, on a sharpely sloping hill. As I started to turn the panel for the next morning, it started to pick up speed and soon went past it's set place. I screamed as the panel came to rest in a position I'd never seen before. Though still attached, it was definately not in a natural spot. I had broken the solar panel. Fighting back tears, I ran to find James, or Amy, or Jigdol, anyone who could help me. Jigdol was the first one I found and I franticly told him what happened. We broke into a run. As he surveyed the sad sight, which to me looked like a broken corpse, he turned to me and smiled a smile, trying to cover his distress. "It's ok, don't have tension." He hugged me and went to work securing the panel, so the wind wouldn't blow into the Indus. As we walked back to the kitchen, he took my hand and smiled, telling me all was ok, that it would be taken care of tomorrow.
Everyday since then, I have checked on the solar panel, which was taken apart and still has not been put together and everyday I ask Jigdol whats going on. He always smiles and tells me not to worry. And it's worked. I have stopped being concerned. It turns out that there was an old bolt and that it happened to give way when i was changing it. It would have happened to anyone. But I don't think I will ever forget that feeling of utter fear and horror as I watched that solar panel fall, nor will I ever forget Jigdol's smiling face, as he comforted me, assuring me that everything be alright.