Anne Raup © Special to the Rocky Heavy fog is common during the premonsoon season in eastern Nepal. In some places, the fog is being "caught" to supplement scarce supplies of clean water.

MEET THE TEAM Meet Dr. Bialek and the student engineers, and hear what motivates them about the project. › The team OTHER STORIES A villager's wish: drinkable water, irrigated fields Water crisis a fact of life in Kathmandu Main story: Expedition to Nepal SLIDE SHOW Expedition to Nepal VIDEO Coloradans on engineering expedition in Nepal ENGINEERS WITHOUT BORDERS - USA Founded: 2002 Headquarters: Longmont Chapters: 225 professional and student chapters in the United States Membership: 12,000 Projects: 45 countries To learn more: www.ewb-usa.org or call 303-772-2723 WHERE IN THE WORLD? Click on the map for a larger view.

NAMSALING, Ilam, Nepal - In the terraced tea fields of eastern Nepal, as mist rises through lush stands of bamboo, dozens of Hindu faithful climb the staggering 1,034 steps to a mountaintop shrine.

Worshipers labor up the incline to make sacrificial offerings of goats and pigeons, or to give small coins and trinkets. The air is pungent with burning incense. Nepalese women in flowing pink and blue gowns sing morning prayers.

Frances Fierst, a member of Colorado-based Engineers Without Borders, is climbing, too, preparing to make a different kind of offering at the temple of the goddess Pathivara Mai.

Fierst carries white plastic and copper pipes to construct a fog collector. The simple water-generating device - it has no moving parts - captures moisture-laden mist on black netting, allowing droplets of fresh water to form and be harvested.

Sounds of bells and cymbals from the shrine's morning service drift down the mountainside as Fierst takes the steep steps one by one, perspiration soaking her shirt in the 90-plus degree heat.

Water from the new fog collector will give the shrine its own fresh water source, and eventually allow construction of a latrine. For now, water for ceremonies is hand-carried up the mountain and visitors relieve themselves in the surrounding forest.

A young Hindu woman with a baby on her hip stops as she passes the slower-moving visitors. She asks them why they're making the pilgrimage.

Hearing about the plan to bring water to the shrine, the woman smiles and says in halting English, "This is sure nice."

Young mothers in Nepal have reason to ask favors of their gods. Infant and maternal mortality rates here are among the highest in the world. Frequently, children don't survive past 5 because of water-borne illnesses.

It is a painful hallmark of the developing world. Shrinking fresh water supplies have reached crisis proportions in dozens of poor Asian and African countries, according to United Nations reports.

Nepal's water supplies, thanks to the Himalayan snowpack, are plentiful. But they've been hopelessly dirtied by animal and human waste, stressed by the growing population, and increasingly polluted by fertilizers used to boost the productivity of the country's tea and spice fields.

‘Easy decision to be here'

Water is also difficult to collect and transport in the rugged countryside, and that is at the heart of Fierst's mission.

During the next several weeks she will lead a team of nearly two dozen volunteers from Engineers Without Borders (EWB)and the University of Colorado. They're here to help design and build new water delivery and water quality testing systems for Namsaling, a remote farming region in eastern Nepal.

"One of the biggest problems is just getting water to the people," says Fierst, 37. "They don't have distribution systems here."

Fog collectors are one of several new technologies that hold promise because they are hard-working, easily built and generate a surprising amount of fresh water in places that traditional water systems can't reach, according to Tony Makepeace, a volunteer with Fogquest International, who helped design the collector for the temple.

New structures to protect spring-fed water sources and micro-hydro power plants are also on the group's list of technologies to deploy.

While Fierst works on the fog collector, Bernard Amadei, the founder of Engineers Without Borders-USA, is at work nearby in the village of Sukrabare.

Anne Raup © Special to the Rocky A Namsaling woman stacks rocks that she quarried and carried uphill in the basket behind her. Her family is using the rocks to build a latrine on their property in her village.

He will spend the next eight days here, laying out a work plan to prepare Fierst and the expedition team for a summer of grueling labor - hauling materials, pouring concrete, and trekking from site to site to map the region so future teams can more easily navigate the steep terrain.

"It was easy to make the decision to be here," says Amadei, a 52-year-old Frenchman and CU civil engineering professor. "There is a spiritual component to people's lives here that is amazing."

On the journey to Namsaling, Amadei stopped in Kathmandu and visited one of the dozens of temples on a weekday morning, just as the sun was rising. Hundreds of worshipers were already there, none of them Westerners. "That's something you never see in the U.S.," he says.

A passion to resolve conflict

In the five years since Amadei founded EWB, more than 225 chapters have formed, with 12,000 members. The organization is at work in 45 of the poorest, most war-torn countries in the world. It must now carefully choose among the dozens of requests it receives annually.

Over a meal of mutton dumplings and warm beer in a dark, gritty café, Amadei describes the passion of young engineers to do something other than crunch numbers. He speaks of his own desire to help desperately poor, warring nations resolve conflict by building water and electric systems that will provide citizens with a measure of security and health.

"Literally I had no intent of creating an organization," Amadei says. "I'm not an organization kind of person. EWB just happened. And now the genie is out of the box."

Amadei isn't personally involved in each EWB project. He has traveled to Namsaling at the request of Dr. Barry Bialek, a Boulder physician who has been working in Nepal since the 1970s, first as a math and science teacher for the Peace Corps and later as a doctor.

Bialek, 56, met Amadei at CU when the doctor began teaching a class on sustainable engineering and public health.

For months the two have been planning this trip, outlining a new community-driven approach to international aid, one that is crafted and partially funded by the people themselves.

Anne Raup © Special to the Rocky Engineers Without Borders-USA founder Bernard Amadei, a CU civil engineering professor, points out a well-protected spring in Namsaling.

Bialek helped found the Namsaling Community Development Center, or NCDC, 22 years ago. He has asked the Colorado engineers to help implement the organization's water, sanitation and road plans.

Namsaling is a rural district of about 6,400 people, accessible only on foot, or for brave hearts, by Jeep. Either way takes roughly the same amount of time because the narrow Jeep trail is deeply rutted, renowned for trapping vehicles in mud, or, with frequent rock slides, tipping them off the side of the mountain.

On the trip in, Amadei and most of the volunteers opt for the five-hour foot trek, during which they descend roughly 2,000 vertical feet to a riverbed, and then back up to a ridge and the small, enchanting village of Sukrabare Bazaar.

Here Bialek is known simply as Dr. Barry.

Bialek says he returns again and again to Namsaling because the people inspire him.

Importance of a good map

In Sukrabare, each visitor is welcomed with fresh flowers, their foreheads touched with the deep red Tikka powder used for traditional Hindu blessings. Though villagers' homes have dirt floors, and their water arrives via dusty rubber hoses, their lives are infused with ritual and a deep connection to the carefully terraced fields which they depend on for food and commerce.

"In the 1980s," Bialek says, "they already knew about deforestation and had developed their own tree-planting program. Whatever we do has to honor their wisdom."

Engineers Without Borders has committed to building 15 latrines and four water-protection projects this summer in Namsaling.

Knowing they have just two weeks to make sure the students and volunteers have a grasp of the work that lies ahead, Amadei and Bialek put in 12-hour days, meeting with village officials, searching for tools, caring for students who fall ill with dysentery during the early days of the journey.

"It's not much time," Amadei says. "When we're gone, they're on their own."

Amadei and Bialek push the students and professionals hard. They call meetings at 7 a.m., dividing the group into those who can hike uphill for three hours and those who function best on more gentle ascents.

Narrow foot trails are the primary roadways of Namsaling. Often no more than 12 inches wide, the paths meander along terraced corn, ginger, rice and cardamom fields.

Early on, David Sparkman, a CU graduate engineering student, falls on one trail and sprains his ankle. Ankle wrapped, he continues his work of mapping Namsaling's numerous springs and the trails that lead to them.

Each of the Colorado engineers and students is paired with a Nepalese counterpart so that the Americans can communicate with the villagers. The Nepalese EWB volunteers are also learning mapping technology, and the mission basics of water testing and treatment. They will also assist in constructing spring protection walls and latrines.

At each site, Sparkman uses a hand-held global positioning device, or GPS. Pausing in a stand of towering bamboo, he holds the device high overhead, waiting for it to pick up satellite signals that deliver latitude and longitude points, altitude, and weather data.

Maps in Namsaling are scarce. Until now, community engineers have used an old topographical map created by the Royal Nepalese Government. It is soft and worn and so fragile that it tears along fold lines almost every time it is pulled out. Heavily used sections must be matched up on tables late at night to confirm the groups' travels and locations that day.

To help guide the EWB workers until the GPS maps are finished, villagers have also hand drawn their own map on brown paper. They tape it carefully to the wall of the community meeting room in Sukrabare.

Rock throwing causes unease

Politics roil these mountains like the heavy mists that rise up from the valleys separating the tea fields. Nepal's rugged terrain has kept the world at bay for centuries, but internal political unrest has left its few roads and primitive water systems in even greater disrepair.

On a Saturday in late May, nearly 100 community leaders arrive on foot in Sukrabare to welcome the Colorado engineers and to hammer out which work will be done first and by whom. Three political parties - the Maoists, the United Marxist Leninists and the Nepalese Congress - are represented, as well as the elders of the communities.

Despite more than a decade of political strife, songs and dances open the meeting. Village elders place gardenia leis around the volunteers' necks and again mark their foreheads with the bright red Tikka powder.

Quickly it becomes apparent that the growing crowd can't squeeze into the concrete community hall, so everyone moves outside into the blazing afternoon sun.

"We come from the other side of the planet," Amadei tells the group. "If you drill a hole here," he says pointing down at the earth, "you will come to where we are from.

Anne Raup © Special to the Rocky A Nepalese villager drinks from a bamboo spout at a spring as he and others join EWB volunteers in digging out an area so a protection wall can be built to ensure a clean water supply. EWB has committed to building 15 latrines and four water-protection projects this summer in Namsaling.

"In fact we would have gotten here faster if we had used that route," he says, smiling, as Bialek translates.

"Ultimately the work that we are doing is to help people," says Amadei. "When people have clean water and clean energy, then they have health and opportunities to do business, and then they have peace. This is a beautiful country with a bright future. We want to work in partnership with you and come back year after year."

Everyone has a chance to speak during the steamy afternoon. At times, the talks are tense, as each side argues over which political party is to blame for the region's woes, to share those grievances with the visitors, and to debate who should get credit for good deeds already done.

That evening, the engineers gather again to plan the next day's work. Suddenly rocks sail through the open windows of the community hall, narrowly missing CU's Sparkman and Bhupal Khatiwada, an NCDC staffer.

"This kind of thing never happens here," Bialek says, clearly worried.

He learns later that the stone-throwers are unhappy with the work plan and the way the tiny community development agency he founded is being operated. He will hold several more meetings in coming days in hopes of mediating these new problems that have surfaced.

"This work is a constant balance," Bialek says, as he climbs the hill back to the Sukrabare home in which he has been a guest off-and-on for nearly 25 years. "You have to go slowly. You can't do everything at once. Sometimes, people are jealous."

The stone-throwing incident is a jarring note in the expedition. Early the next morning, the students are quiet as they load their tools, water bottles and snacks into daypacks. Amadei and Bialek, sensing the unease, urge the group to focus on work, to try to understand how important politics and consensus are to what the community hopes to accomplish.

For Amadei, the notion that engineers can help mend strife is a powerful one.

"I'm really much more interested in the peace-making aspect of EWB than anything else," Amadei says. "When communities have been fighting each other and you find a common denominator, people come together. It's not a dream. It's reality."

Primitive testing, but it works

David Dani is a 27-year-old engineer who is an expert on water quality testing. The Highlands Ranch native is working on his Ph.D. at CU.

On a Sunday morning, he is holding court at a small spring on the side of a hill. As happens often in this lush place, the people of Namsaling appear as if by magic, walking quietly out of the bamboo stands to observe the Westerners. Nearly a dozen gather around the EWB group.

Dani explains how deadly the water from springs can be and how to identify the different germs that sicken children and the elderly. Days away from any laboratory, it is critical that water samples are carefully collected and tested on site.

A round, red test film is used to grow cultures. Dani demonstrates how to handle water samples, using disposable pipettes to put water drops on the film.

He also explains a rudimentary backcountry lab technique, keeping test films warm enough to grow culture by placing them on your body.

"But this is probably the most important thing," he warns. "You are growing things next to your skin that are going to make you very sick if you come into contact with them . . . You want to be very careful."

At another spring, Dani tests more water as a young graduate student conducts an impromptu flow test using a plastic water bottle and a stop watch to measure water volume, which will help determine the size of a new spring protection wall. Currently water for 35 homes comes from the spring, delivered via a bamboo spout stuck into the hillside.

Bialek observes, telling the young engineers how many people use this particular water source. He queries them about their readiness to go solo after he and Amadei return to Colorado.

Anne Raup © Special to the Rocky A prototype fog collector being tested by Fogquest International is installed near a mountaintop temple in Namsaling. All of the water serving the temple previously had to be hauled up 1,038 steps by hand.

"I don't want any of you to get too far outside your comfort zones," Bialek says.

Dani looks up from his own work, his feet covered in mud, his shirt wet with sweat, and says wryly, "That happened a long time ago."

A good omen emerges

By the end of his eight-day sojourn in Namsaling, Amadei has begun regular visits to another ridge-top shrine, this one above Sukrabare. He meditates there in the morning, marches down the mountain to collect his work crew, and on his final days in the village, helps dig a foundation for the shrine's latrine and wash house.

Survey tools from the nearest town still haven't arrived, so Amadei directs the young engineers to calculate dimensions using what they have on hand: A measuring tape, pen and paper.

"We have picks and shovels and that's it . . . and our middle school geometry," Amadei says. "This is the way the Egyptians did it."

Amadei works shoulder to shoulder with the students, several villagers and the priest. Burlap squares are used to haul dirt from the pit. Within an hour, it is difficult to distinguish engineers from holy men, as each is cloaked in a thin paste of dust and sweat.

Midway through the morning, work stops as a community engineer holds up a small Hindu icon that's been unearthed from the dig. The priest climbs over to the site, and peers closely at the glass-encased Shiva, which represents the Hindu god of destruction and regeneration.

Soon village women clean the Shiva, using an ancient toothbrush, a dirty bar of soap and a small bowl of water they had planned to use to make tea for the workers.

As the god's face emerges, there are smiles all around. It is a good omen, a blessing for laborers and for the partnership being forged between EWB and Namsaling.

Sunil Ojha, 29, is a quiet, solemn Nepalese businessman who has been shoveling dirt for hours. He has taken a three-week leave from his job in Kathmandu out of a sense of duty. He says he wants to help make up for mistakes his country has made in caring for its people, particularly with regard to water and sanitation.

As he hands his shovel to another worker so that he can examine the Shiva, he smiles. "This is an exciting thing."

smithj@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-954-5474.