Kopila Rai, a 34 year-old native of Chingkha village, Nepal, stands nearly five feet tall, not much higher than the stinging nettle, or allo, the hedge plant that is a growing source for the economic empowerment of Nepali women. While allo has always been religiously and culturally significant to the Nepali people, the members of the Ninam Ridum Bio-Handcraft Center and its associated clubs are now using its processed fibers to weave traditional garments, such as shawls, sweaters, purses, and table mats, and are selling them for nascent sources of income. The 2004 International Bridge Builders Conference was fortunate to have Rai speak about her grassroots endeavors from vision to fruition.
In the conference room, Rai was greeted by 30 some-odd people, from interested locals to Harvard Bridge Builders to fair-trade entrepreneurs who were instantly charmed by her verve and beaming presence. Her uncontainable smile was infectious, and she giggled in her cupped hands as her translator conveyed the room’s most affable greetings.
Rai is the founder and president of the Sayapatri Allo Wool and Cotton Cloth Industry, a small weaving cooperative comprised of about two-dozen women and a few men who live in the Arun Valley.
“I thought, why not get all the women together to be productive instead of wasting time just talking in the fields,” she said. She described the arduous tasks of the gathering, cleansing, cooking, drying, and beating of the allo plant; all this before the threads are fashioned by hand.
“The process is difficult, but because all the sources are local and we are not employed in a cash-market economy, the little money is helpful to the women. We no longer need to rely on our husbands and fathers,” said Rai. “The process is sustainable, we collect all the allo we need for one year only once a year.”
Social change, especially for women, has been an onerous task in Nepal due to the perpetuity of patriarchal values and a soaring poverty level, compounded by the ever-mounting Maoist insurrection. For nearly a decade, the Maoists, the political kith of the Communist Party of Nepal (Unified Marxist –Leninists), have been infiltrating district after district, soliciting communal “donations” and instilling village and school recruitment programs that are often no more than kidnappings. Rai said she certainly feels caste-constrained and that the Maoists are a big problem.
“I do worry,” she admits. “They want to know why the women gather. What are the women plotting?”
Upon forming the organization, Rai was required to visit each participating woman’s family and outline the goals of her project. “At first the men ignored me and my group, but when they saw that we were bringing in money, they became very happy.” Countless women and growing numbers of men who wish to participate in her enterprise have since approached her. “It makes me happy. The women have lots of motivation, and we can channel it.”
“My first husband left me because he felt I talked too much and was too active,” she chuckled, seemingly unfazed. Rai is remarried now, to a loving engineer who assists her in the growth of her projects. She used to brood, frustrated by a nearby national park’s string of unfulfilled fiscal promises. But now, years later, she is deemed a “mountain hero,” speaking proudly of her projects and striving to join NGO’s and cooperatives from all over Nepal.
“It is an important thing for women,” she smiled. “After leaving my village and coming here to learn more about markets, I believe anything is possible.”
David Citrin is a regional editor at Cultural Survival.
