Life in a Nomad Town

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No Power

It is day nine in Darlag, and five of them were without power. When we lose power in the states, we’re on the phone without a moment’s hesitation, demanding information about when service will be restored. Ah - the western habit of entitlement! I mean, we deserve electricity, don’t we?! Isn't it an inalienable right? Here, there is no one to call; it’s just a waiting game. “Lok medka” is the phrase of the week. “We have no electricity.” “Lok a yodka?” is another one. “Do you have electricity?”


Ama

Ama and I have a funny way of communicating and sometimes we understand each other just fine. Other times, we are just stuck looking at each other, and then burst into a fit of giggles. She is an amazingly powerful woman of 60, carrying huge loads of water and yak dung for fuel, climbing mountains and brick walls. Sixty-year old women don’t seem to manifest this way in the US. Ama wears two long, black braids, not a single grey hair in sight.



Naughty, Naughty Cattle

Lately, the dzo (a cross-breed of yak and cow) keep getting lost. The other day Ama and I walked the streets looking for them. Yesterday, they were gone again, and this time they turned up at Ama’s son’s house, all the way across town. Now I see that the naughty escapee yaks are locked up in the yard. I think they are grounded for the day.


Yartsa Season

The buzz around town is “yartsa gonbu,” a medicinal herb that that can only be harvested two months of the year. After a day’s work searching for “yartsa,” Tibetans flock to the streets to buy, sell, trade and compare their finds. The going rate for one plant, which resembles a tiny pepper, is anywhere from 10-50 quai, depending upon quality and size. One US dollar is the equivalent of eight quai, so in a town where a family could easily survive on under $50 a month, finding yartsa can be a lucrative means of supplementing income. People often ask me, “How much can you get for yartsa in America?,” but I’ve yet to figure out if we even have this plant in the states, so I generally have no answer.


The Long Road Ahead

The pace of living here is slow and peaceful. I spend my time studying, practicing, and drinking tea with the many guests who come to visit. I also browse the shops each day to stretch my legs and there I find countless opportunities to practice conversation. These days, I feel a bit more courageous about speaking, but I’m constantly battling my habit of hating to be wrong, so it’s often hard for me to get going. I sometimes feel like I’d rather hide out than try and talk to the room full of people that fill Ama and Apa’s house at all hours. Yesterday was a discouraging day, and my mind was a bit lonely and grumpy. Like all things, the mood passed and I feel that my confidence is somewhat restored today. There is a lot of opportunity to change habits here; giving up the western need for space and privacy, giving up ideas about making mistakes - linguistic or cultural, maintaining bravery while entering unfamiliar circumstances. At night, I sleep long and deep. I think my system is constantly running on overload.

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