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SECOND TREKKING DAY Trekking around Kengtung gave me a deeper glance at the still practically untouched multiculturalism of Myanmar, since I got to witness daily lives and costumes of diverse villages of the 47 official (135 non-official) ethnic groups existent in Myanmar.
Before my guide arrived, I had already headed to the market and then to the internet by myself. The internet connection is more predictable at 6am but the café nearby doesn’t have government permission to operate until 9am, so I have to go to one further away.
Met my guide at 7:15 and went back to the market to buy food and soap to distribute at the villages. At 8am he got my permit and we drove to the trekking point.
TREK Just as we started to get hot, we passed through an inviting little forest, which stands still only due to the strong
Nat (spirit) belief in the region. This was the Shan villages’ forest, where supposedly the home of the "9 township spirit", who guides and protects the land, lake and the forest. There was a very rustic bamboo altar for
spirit worship under the shade of beautiful trees. Tribal people believe that if
someone cuts any tree from this forest, the village will "get bad spirit", meaning that diseases and disasters will afflict it. Thus, no one will touch it, and if anyone dares to do so, he or she will be punished severely by the villagers.
Later, passing by
termite mounds, I learned that no one would dare to go potting around it, as “the spirit” will get back at you. One would for sure get ant bites and insect stings which would get his or her bottom all swollen up and hurting as hell, and a sacrifice would be required to free himself from the mad spirit. Thus, not only people don’t pee or poop around the mounds, but they leave leaves and flowers on top of them, as offerings to the spirit.
Then we came across a small cave on the side of a mountain where the soil was composed of bright orange clay. It was dig by women, particularly pregnant ones, to make little balls which they cook in a small oven.
They eat clay balls to get iron, and the taste is so desirable to all, that even when not pregnant, women love to eat them.
(In nutrition this is called pica. They are probably iron deficient. Their diet is poor in animal protein, the best iron source.)
But here is where I heard of yet another superstition which is incredibly meaningful to these people, no matter how absurd it seems to us. A woman was digging for clay when the cave collapsed over her and she died. The whole village had to immediately move, leaving everything behind, because “the spirit” killed the woman because she must have done something evil and her bad spirit was certainly going to come back to the village that same day and spread disaster. The day after they start to move the stilt homes to another area. I actually saw the place where the village once was. Hard to believe, but these believes are very much alive among these people.
The trek was intense but we kept drinking water and sucking on these tiny orange husk kind of local candy my guide brought. We could see many tiny villages at the distance, encrusted on the neighboring mountains. All very poor, and signs of deforestation all around.
Some villagers passed by us on the narrow treks, some coming
from the field caring heavy loads on their heads, others going hunting with big knives, and a few younger ones going to the market, so far away. We always stopped for quick chats, what was a great opportunity for me to catch my breath.
After 3.5 hrs we could finally see the
WHITE LAHUSHI village. The sight was surreal: 21 small black stilt homes in the middle of nowhere, sitting on a high mountain top. There were another 20 or so minutes of this tough hike, but I was anxious to meet the people from this remote village, who only get a couple of visitors per year, so I didn’t mind. But before proceeding, I stopped for a minute to take it all in. There were 5 women singing while plotting a field way down below, in a dance like motion, and beyond the village, on the mountain behind it, I could see this green field in the middle of the dry landscape. Huuummmm!!!!!
We resumed the walk and approaching the grounds of the village, several dogs started to bark and head towards us, which freaked me out. We headed to a very tiny hut where a tiny
old woman set with two young boys. By them, a man was working by a fire making a long knife.
Kids started t get out of houses and group around us, just staring at me, in silence. No smiles, like elsewhere. Just stares, showing a little intimidation. My guide translated to me what he was saying to them: “She is ok. She is person like you and I. The same like Ms Victoria (referring to a woman who had come to film the village a while back and had brought them blankets).”
A group of 3 beautiful girls kept their distance and just kept looking. Two had strings on each pierced ear lobe and the third, who had already gotten her first period, had a ½ an inch barrel like earring with strings coming down from it. This represented she was ready for “flicking and shaking”, like my guide translated flirting with boys. The tribe’s traditional clothing is white and light blue and the women wear many thin straw necklaces. The kids faces were dirty, like if they hadn’t bathed in ages.
We headed to the chief’s house and by the time we got there, somehow the
one room home was already packed with kids and women. Only one man other than the chief, who later very carefully divided the dried fish we brought in equal portions for all the present people, no matter the age. “Portion system”, I was told. “Always the same portion for each one, always. No one is more important than the other”.
My guide chatted with them, again asking about the community’s happening, illnesses, etc. We passed around medicine and crackers for all the kids. They were all amazingly polite, taking turns and passing the gifts along to the ones further away. Very poor but displaying a beautiful sense of community and respect for each other.
The chief’s wife started to make a couple of natural straw necklaces for me, like the ones they wore several of. Her fingers weaved the very thin strings of straw very fast, but she was very serene. I wore the 2 necklaces during the remaining of my trip, like if they were an amulet.
The time to leave was near when the woman who had been breastfeeding a little boy engaged on a conversation with my guide for a while. I asked if
he could translate it to me and he said: “Do you remember yesterday when I told you a baby had rolled into the cooking fire in the middle of the house? This is him, and the mother is asking for my help because 4 of his fingers are curled in and he can’t open his hand.” (I knew the story of a boy who got severely burned and when my guide visited the village with two foreigners 2 days later, they couldn’t believe he had no medical care and paid for him to go to the hospital in Kengtung, where he stayed for one month.) We didn’t know, however, that on discharge he couldn’t open his hand and the doctor said it would cost “2 Leck” for the surgery to repair it, a prohibitive amount they couldn’t afford. I had no idea what a leck would be, but I assumed thousands of dollars by the expressions on their faces and the “ooohhhh”!
As we left the quiet village and its timid people, I kept pondering about the little boy, the life ahead of him unable to properly work without the use of a hand, unlike his father, the knife
maker. I asked many random questions to Mr. K, lastly asking how many dollars would the 2 Lecks. Did the math and it wouldn't be much, for western's standards. I asked a few more logistic questions and when I finally though I had enough information I told him: “I will give the money for the surgery to help the little boy if you help me make sure he gets it and you send me the evidence that it happened with pictures of him in the hospital.” I went on to tell him about HCH (the small NGO I founded with a few friends) and its mission. (www.helpingchildrenheal.com). No more than 5 minutes later, some members of the village were coming back from the market in preparation for the ceremony happening in 2 days (We were invite for it) and my guide sent the message about the upcoming boy’s surgery, pointing to me, making gestures off the boy’s stuck fingers, and telling that the parents and baby were to go to his house in town for the surgery he would be arranging. Another few minutes and the other chief was coming up with the boy’s uncle. Again the message was sent
in the same fashion and now I got to find out the boy’s name: Aeemai.
The trek down was lighter in all the senses of the word. Easier hike and my heart sang. I held my new necklaces tightly between my fingers and felt a tender smile lighting up my face. It stayed with me for days, lightening me up every time I thought of little Aeemai. (His father name was Aeemoi).
A couple of hours later we approached a
BLACK LAHUSHI tribe A common question among adults around here is: “How many have you?”, referring to the number of kids a person has. In the villages, 5-9 are common numbers, and to that they add the 1 or 2 who have died. Infant mortality runs high here. Kids and illness were the topic of conversation with the group of about 7 women, most breast feeding, we encountered seating around on the floor under the shade of the wooden storage unit, next to a place where 2 other women were bathing, one with a sarong (logy) on, the other not. Same routine: after socializing a little, we distributed medicine to the mothers, for them and the kids, instructed
them on how to use in case of pneumonia, chest congestion, and diarrhea, gave a bag of fish for the elder woman to divide on the village and moved on.
Later on along the way, we encountered an unexpected sight I didn’t dare to record on camera and better not document the name of the village. Behind a hut and under the shade of a Banyan tree, a group of about 10 people, including kids, set around a mound of peeled tamarind which wore being slivered with tiny knives. Not for making juice or candy, but very likely to be mixed with ….. (Can you guess what fills the dots?), in a proportion of 1 to 2 kilos. I looked at the man climbing the Banyan tree to get the tender leaves, a delicatessen available only one month per year and got out of there.
The PALAUNG TRIBE was delightful. Some women were working on brighter white and blue traditional costumes, with the metal belt around their waist. Kids were more used to encounters with visitors and followed us to the chief’s home attentively, wanting so see themselves on my camera with each click I made. Again
we sat in a single dark room home, with the cooking fire right there at walking level, no barrier surrounding it. The room smelled strongly from the smoke of the burning fire and with no ventilation, and I could see why breathing problems are common around here. Some light came in only from the door and little sun rays sneaked in between the gaps on the bamboo panel walls.
We distributed fish, crackers and medicine and heading outside, a kid discovered a balloon which he could see from the mesh on my bag. I hesitated, but asked my guide if it would be ok to blow some balloons for the kids, thing I didn’t do at any village (only in the city). He agreed that it would be a treat for this group and I played a little with them.
Heading out, a woman in traditional wear was tending to a buffalo. The late afternoon sun casted a beautiful light on her and also on the lime green rice fields just beyond the village. We had a pleasant hike up the edges of rice field terraces.
AN AKHA VILLLAGE (originally from China) followed by
A WA VILAGE,
where we distributed our donations and my guide showed pictures of their ancestors with their traditional outfits, were our last ones. He encourages preservation of their individual villages’ heritage and costumes.
As the sun started to set, it was time to end another 9 hour day of intense, but worth- every-minute trekking.
LAST DAY IN KENGTUNG: Today was a special day for the town. The once per year BIG street market was taking place, spreading throughout several streets. People came from all around for the big event, preparing for the upcoming water festival (cleansing form the past year).
We visited the cemetery for past Shan rulers of Kengtung where people prayed and left offerings of incent, candles, flowers and chicken. Tribal and local people mingled with monks. The streets were crowded and had a festive vibe.
Than we headed to the market where we bought soap and medicine, and I got to see bags of bamboo tree warms sold in little plastic bags. “They are very nutritious and expensive, and the Chinese seek them out”, I was told. There were also
liberation birds being sold in tiny conic cages. You buy them to set them
free. It’s an offering, as you do to them what you wish for yourself.
I was reluctant to go to the villages on the back of a motorcycle, but my guide insisted: “If you are worried this much, I’m worried 10 times more. Your safety is my priority. Something happens to you, I’m in big trouble with government and my family is too. Very careful and slowly for you”. By then, I thought: ” Warrior or Insane?” What the heck! Let me be a concoction of both… again”. At I hopped on the back of the motorcycle, helmet on, taking the dusty roads and heading to discover more ethnic villages.
On the way, government owned rubber tree plantation replaced the forest. Several spots of naked land could be seen. Between the government’s doing and the fact that most villages only income come from cutting and selling wood for fire and crop slash and burn is the norm, no wonder I saw so many plots of desert like land, explaining what I’ve heard, that 80% of the virgin forest is already gone.
These tribes were closer to the town and could be visited with short hikes. Therefore, they
get more visitors and have gotten more used to trying to get something from visitors.
There were people picking a crop of garlic, owned by the Shan village, a man herding a buffalo, a small monastery nearby.
We hiked to the field and talked to the simple people working for peanuts and a little bit of garlic for their own cooking, before moving to the homes of a
AHKHU VILLAGE.
A Baptist church stood at the entrance, and a new home was being built by a man and a woman. I learned about the
steps taken to ensure homes will be safe and protected by the spirits: 1- The day construction starts, one dog is sacrificed for the land spirit. 2-Water is then poured on people who will do the construction for their cleansing (like a confession at a church). 3- Than construction can start, with the women weaving the roof and the men making the stilt house. 4- Once the house is finished, a second dog is sacrificed this time inside the house in the fire, for the spirit of the house.
Women in traditional costume cared bamboo smoke pipes tucked on their hairs or mouths.
Many kids around, one very old bicycle. They tried to sell me their pipes. We gave soap and medicine and moved on.
My final visit was to an
ENG tribe where the men were weaving big and beautiful baskets and the women wove lovely scarves and handbags. These people also blacken their teeth. They aren’t animists, like the other Ann tribe I visited, and have converted to Buddhism.
We headed to the Shaman’s house where we set with him, his wife and a guest. The wife quickly went inside the home signing me to follow her, and dig inside a big and tall covered basket for offering to serve us: bananas and roasted peanuts. The shaman poured me a cup of super strong rice wine (tequilla or cachaca- like), insisting that I drunk it all. I managed 3 little sips, followed by peanuts to alleviate my burning mouth. They brought me tea as well. We had a very pleasant time.
The woman rolled a
betel nut chew for herself: a piece of natural green leave is packed with liquid lime stone (cau), Betel tree pieces for blood like color and tobacco leaves. Unfortunately chewing the carcinogenic stuff is
extremely popular here. They chew and spit a blood-like spit on the ground. Their teeth get stained red and the spitting is gross.
We had a very pleasant stay, with them talking and laughing while I just marveled the opportunity to be there, feeling so welcomed. We made our offerings, which they were very grateful for, and headed out.
Some of the women, displaying big black smiles tried hard to sell me their work. Mr. K explained to them that if they push merchandise the visitors stop coming, and that they should go on with their lives. “If interested, people will ask to buy. Little by little”, he tells them. (I finally gave in and bought 2 scarves).
Having an experienced guide who spoke all the languages of the different ethnic tribes made the experience truly complete. The villagers know and like him, not only because he brings remedies for minor aliments (i.e.. aspirin, tiger balm), but because he tries to improve their lives, bringing bathrooms, water pipes and tanks, through his not-official NGO supported by visitors and himself.
We headed back to Kentung where I packed my bags into a tuk-tuk and headed to the airstrip to
fly to Heho, leaving this land packed with fond memories.
I thought about the people I encountered, the incredibly poor living standards they have, with no running water, electricity, or health care. I also thought of the beauty of many of their traditions and of the sense of community they cultivate, and how these positives are threatened to be influenced by the influx of the Chinese and modern life in general, particularly the closer they are to towns. Ideally, there would be policies in place to help these groups with the essentials they need to live a more humane life, while encouraging the pride and cultivation of their traditions. I leave with fond memories of my brief time in the hills around Kengtung.
Till next blog.
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Sam in Hushi
Samantha Hurt
I found this fascinating; your attention to cultural detail is great and very refreshing. Your photographs are wonderful, I especially like the one of the woman who made necklaces for you. You captured her deftness and poise very well - her face looks peaceful and full of thought.