Radio Shangri-La_ What I Learned in Bhutan, the Happiest Kingdom on Earth - Lisa Napoli [78]
In the fourteen months since the station had launched, there had been other, more sweeping changes for Kuzoo. Sir Tenzin traversed Bhutan’s rocky terrain with an engineer, rigging up repeaters so that the signal could reach beyond Thimphu Valley. Now all but five of the remotest districts in Bhutan could tune in. Second in command Sir Pema stepped in to run day-to-day operations.
There had been another, formative development: Kuzoo’s transmission frequency had been moved, and alongside it, a new one had been added, this one broadcasting in Dzongkha. So passionate and devoted was this new crop of listeners that they decided to throw a party to thank the staff. Perhaps for the first time ever in the history of radio, a fan-appreciation day was orchestrated not by a radio station itself but by its listeners. They proudly called themselves the “Kuzoo family.” From hours away, from every direction, several dozen of the most ardent audience members trekked to the modest Kuzoo studios, decked out in their finest kira and gho—with their similarly attired children and colorful thermoses of tea and food in tow. The first to arrive, at 6:30 a.m., was the man who’d appointed himself “Kuzoo gup,” Dzonghkha for mayor. He proudly greeted partygoers who descended on the grounds as if he owned the place.
A crowd of more than a hundred people assembled; it was a chilly winter day, my first back in the country. Sir Pema and I stood on the front steps with Ngawang, marveling at the “family” members who squealed with delight upon meeting one another in person for the first time. Word was a marriage had even occurred as a result of two frequent callers taken with the sound of each other’s voice on the air.
“I had no idea how many people loved Kuzoo,” Ngawang said, shaking her head. One of the fans passed a basket of cookies, and we all each grabbed one.
“I knew they were enjoying Kuzoo,” said Sir Pema, “but I had no idea this much!”
The main radio jockey for the new Dzongkha station emerged to make some announcements to the crowd, which obediently hushed at the sight of him. In his native language, he began to speak. Several lines in, I made out my name and felt all eyes turn in my direction. “Madam Jane,” he said, followed by the words “United States.” Having traveled farther than any of even the most geographically remote of the Kuzoo fans, I ranked as the most honored guest and received the first shout-out. I felt a bit embarrassed at being singled out.
With a growing awareness of their own impact on their tiny country, the staff of Kuzoo settled in on election night, ready to relay the winners as soon as the electronic voting machines had finished tabulating. No chance for hanging chads here; even in communities not yet wired for electricity, the voting machines that had been deployed had touch screens and were battery powered, imported from India and reputed to be impenetrable. To fill the time, those on duty played a merry stream of New Year’s Eve party music.
I was torn over where to spend this historic election/New Year’s Eve. Despite my allegiance to Kuzoo, I knew my friends at the station would understand why I chose to accept another invitation, one that required my being across town.
THE PAIR OF pimply faced military guards who man the entrance to Villa Italia look barely old enough to carry the