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Published: January 25th 2015
The story really has to start with Yoro. Yoro was Mansiri's Father-in-law. He is one hundred years old and the poor chap had recently lost his second wife, Mansiri's Mother-in-law, to cancer. Mansiri had come to Nepal to celebrate his birthday and this was now postponed to next year.
Despite his age Yoro was still spritely with a gleam in his eye. He had been a Gurkha, had fought in WWII and had spent six months in a prisoner of war camp in Italy before being liberated by the Americans. He had been discharged after being shot in the buttock! He was happy to respond to my questions via Mansiri. As Mansiri commented it was quite a weird conversation. I spoke in English. She then spoke to him in the local Gurung language with other family members helping her via Nepalese when she did not know a word he said.
Yoro was an amasing gentleman. Still so positive and a really privilege, and I do mean privilege, to meet. Although we met at Mansiri's house in Pokhara he had lived most of his life in the mountain village of Sikles, North East of the city.
Mansiri's parents were also from Sikles, which is predominately populated by Gurung people.
Mansiri had said she was going to Sikles for a festival and she was happy for us to join her. She organised a jeep and we were glad that Boby was also coming with us. In fact many Nepalese were heading for Sikles. The festival, Maghe Sankrati, which coincides with the official end of winter was the biggest festival in the village's annual calendar.
Like our trip to Jomsom, it soon became clear while a jeep was required. The 'road' wound around the valley edge and steadily climbed through jungled slopes and waterfalls. Buses crowded with locals hanging on the door and perched on the roof heading for the festival were also making the journey. That said one got stuck behind us and held up many visitors.
The journey took 3 hours. Mansiri described that when she was young they used to walk to Sikles from Pokhara. It would take all day and the last three hours was a hard climb up the hillside, which took a day to recover from. That was in days before the road
was cut and jeeps were available. Walking still remains the only way to get to Sikles during the monsoon months when the road is impassable and subject to landslides.
As you approach the village you can see the houses ahead perched on the hillside, Annapurna II and the East end of the mountain range cutting through the sky above. Any vehicles stopped below the sports ground. The village is large and has no roads as such. The houses are connected by stone slab paths and steps. Along with the clear mountain air there was no traffic noise. At night there was a chandelier of stars above.
To understand who we met in Sikles one needs to understand Mansiri's and Yam's family tree. I never succeeded despite Mansiri's best efforts. Her family relatives were congregated in one ward of the village (her parents' family houses are next door to each other) whilst Yam's were in another. Many had returned for the festival. We stayed in Yoro's (the family) house. It had two rooms, one with beds in which we slept and the other with the open fire where Ser lives. Ser was the son of
Ser on the steps of the family house
He is wearing traditional Gurung dressYoro's second wife from a previous marriage. Unfortunately he caught something as an eight year old that had caused physical and speech deformities. Now in his sixties he was supported by family and neighbours. It's done as a matter of course because there is no central support whatsoever.
Each of the local relatives gave us invitations to meals and Mansiri and Boby arranged it so no one was offended. Most of the houses had low ceilings and I would have to crouch to enter having once removed our shoes. We would sit around the open fire. The lady host would sit by the fire in the corner surrounded by everything that was needed for the meal preparation. Perplexingly none of the houses had chimneys. Above the fires were drying racks and the wood ceiling and upper walls shone black with smoke deposits.
Rice is central to every meal and served first. It would be accompanied by a daal, some spinach greens and either a vegetable or chicken curry. We had butter milk or home made rice wine as an accompaniment. It was all very good. Mansiri's Aunt made Sel roti. This is a ring
Boiling milk on the house fire
Everything she needs is around her of deep fried dough made from finely ground rice flour, honey and water and a binder from a forest plant called literally 'medicine for bread'. (I have been unable to establish what this last ingredient actually is.) Her Aunt took the elastic liquid dough and squeezed it from her fist in a ring into hot oil. After a minute the loop of sel roti was fished out and served as a starter, once the first one had been hung up as an offering to the gods. The honey comes from traditional cliff hunters although some is cultivated by villagers.
It was marvellous to see the local dress especially the older ladies. Many have large gold earrings and wear a head scarf in a similar way to what we have seen in Kyrgyzstan. Traditionally the men wear a wrap around cloth like a dhoti for trousers and a cross breasted waistcoat that has pouches at the back for carrying things.
Most work is all based on subsistence agriculture with crops of rice and corn as well as sheep and goat farming. Many families have a buffalo for milk. Tourism is starting to creat incomes and
there are a few guesthouses as well as an excellent folk museum.
Our first morning was the day of the official festival of Maghe Sankrati. Boby and Mansiri got up at 3.30am with many other villagers and went to wash in the seven sacred water spouts before sunrise at the main temple up above the village. It must have been freezing. They then went to pray at the temple and also at the 'family' temple Yam's family had built further down. They came back to the house with hot tea as we were rousing around 7am.
We were also bought wild yams as a special festival breakfast gift. They had been collected from the forest and boiled the night before. At breakfast time they were reheated in the fire embers. It was a bit like baked potatoes in the camp fire. After breakfast we went up to the temple to see the last stragglers washing away their sins.
Yam's family also have their own burial plot. Who wouldn't want to be buried there: On the hillside with Annapurna II looming above you. Funeral rites are a fairly lengthy process in Gurung
tradition and the week after we left the family were still completing the requirements for finally putting Yam's Mother's spirit to rest.
We left Jane drinking tea with the locals and a young village lad led Mansiri, Boby and I up the hill to try and catch better views of the glacier coming off the Annapurna mountain range. He (Myer?) lead me further up steep steps to a ridge.
As he scampered up I asked his age.
"Seventeen", he replied. "What is your age?"
"Fifty six."
"Ok. Grandfather", was his response and he walked a bit slower after that.
At the ridge you felt that you could almost touch the mountains even though they were still some way away. Myers ran the last bit!
As part of the festival Sikles has run a game similar to shot put (chyolo) since before anyone can remember. It takes place on a narrow earth path in the village centre. Contestants run full pelt and at the throwing line launch themselves and the heavy lead ball into the air to throw it the greatest distance they can. We were lucky to see the
Fishing Sel Roti from the oil
Her right hand is in the batter ready to make the next one. Note the roti hanging on the hook on the right for the gods. end of the final. The winner had won its last year and clearly did not lack confidence or vanity. After confirming his win he ripped off his shirt at the request of the crowd to ripple his muscles and strutted like a peacock. The winners are carried to a special area and then are subject to many congratulations from village dignitaries and sponsors. Their faces were daubed in red paste. They were given garlands, scarves and money and have auspicious marks put on their foreheads.
An art exhibition was set up in the community hall. Half the money from the paintings went to the village youth group. All the pictures were of Sikles village and village life. One small lady was happy to point out the one of her spinning wool. Mansiri found an acrylic with the family house in the foreground. We bought a watercolour with the mountains in the background that Mansiri has kindly taken back to England for us.
The village is still amazingly self sufficient. They weave cloth and make many items with bamboo from tie strings to baskets to scaffold poles. The food we ate was all cultivated locally
or collected from the forest. As well as clothes for family members Mansiri and Boby took packs of sugar and salt. The latter are traditional gifts from anyone who has come or returned from the city. Ironically they have more consistent electricity that the cities as it comes directly from a small hydroelectric plant in the valley.
One evening as part of the festival there was a dance show. Inevitably one of the dancers was a cousin of Mansiri's husband! It was very colourful with the traditional outfits. The dancing is very graceful with intricate arm movements and unique to the Gurung.
When it was finally time to go we were touched to receive garlands and a few grains of rice on the forehead stuck with milk and rice flour from Mansiri's Aunt, a typical parting gesture. We certainly felt blessed to get close to the village and understand the type of life Yoro would have lived for most of his years.
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