Kathmandu, NEPAL — Saturday, 6 a.m., somewhere on the East-West Highway: A bus driver hits and kills an old Nepali woman. Her death, though accidental, causes her entire village to create a massive roadblock out of overturned bags of onions and sheer willpower, effectively shutting down all transport between Kathmandu and Pokhara.

Saturday, 7 a.m., back in Kathmandu: I lift (read: oversee the lifting of) my embarrassingly large suitcase onto the bus hauling me, my research assistant/cruise director and a few other Cornell Nepal Study Program students to Pokhara. Completely oblivious to the morning’s events, I fall asleep, looking forward to a smooth, traffic-free month away from Nepal’s capital.

Saturday, 9 a.m., somewhere past Kathmandu: The bus is halted, a 10 km wall of traffic preventing us from going further. I stupidly ask if we’re stopping for a pee break.

Stretching ahead for miles is one long, unmoving parking lot. Trucks and tourist buses proclaiming “Adventure Tour!” or “DVD bus!” are jammed up against each other in suspended animation, surrounded by Western and Nepalis equally, some sunbathing, some arguing and some making the mass exodus along the jam reaching over and around the valley, the hills and the horizon.

Welcome to bandas, Nepali strikes which can shut down the entire country and make the Boston tea party look lame. Welcome also to my three-and-a-half hour migration on foot with my huge bag — and shame — in tow.

12:30 p.m.: The villagers beat up the driver — a horrifying if emotionally understandable response. There’s talk of a second banda by the bus drivers.

1 p.m.: Our bus driver, realizing that we easily could end up sleeping in the bus overnight, comes to a decision: We will walk the 10 km down the highway, through the crime scene, around the makeshift funeral tent, and on to the promised land of no more strike and moving vehicles, where a second bus will be commandeered.

1:15 p.m. – 4 p.m.: Everyone takes pictures of the silly bidheshi (foreign) girl, who they assume filled her suitcase a la Zsa Zsa Gabor. Then, passersby further scold me for bringing such a large bag. I even manage to get my poor research assistant confused as a foreigner by association. It seems that even after two months here, I can’t let go of my inner Material Girl.

If you know me, you’d be surprised to find out that I enjoyed our mass detour off the pass in order to avoid the mob. You could call the detour an exodus. Maybe I enjoyed it because it was a new experience. Or maybe because I liked the symbolism, with it being Passover. But maybe I just appreciated the humanity of the gesture.

How many times can you think of where one person’s death — not a President, not a diplomat, but an average citizen — instigates a country-halting strike? For 20 hours (the road finally opened at two in the morning), one community was so shaken they shut down the entire country.

Of course, the banda would not bring the woman back. And I am not about to excuse beating the driver — the lynch mob mentality is never going to get anyone anywhere. But, just for a second, consider the power of one community shutting down a country over the loss of one human life. You can’t help but find it powerful.

Among the complaining, bag dragging and heat, the one thing I didn’t hear — the one thing I didn’t mention myself — was an “Oh my God, that’s terrible!” towards the situation or sympathy for the husband.

Still, if this had happened at home in the states, I guarantee that more heads would be rolling. Instead of sitting around and bitching or yelling at anyone within earshot, the Nepalis acted in a way I have grown to appreciate, admire and attempt to emulate: They acknowledged that the problem was what it was, found a solution and acted upon it. In other words, they walked.

Unsurprisingly, I’m alone in this. Both my Nepali and foreign friends think I’m naïve and over-romantic for viewing the banda as a powerful statement about the worth of human life. But for those of my friends who complain that Nepali patience (“ke garne” or “what can you do” is a pretty popular phrase here) and Buddhist philosophy translate into inaction, Saturday’s experience is a counterargument, and an example of the potential for positive action.

Julie Block is a former Sun Arts & Entertainment Editor. She is presently studying abroad in Nepal. She may be reached at jblock@cornellsun.com. WTF Mate? appears alternate Fridays this semester.