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| From Nagaland, May 2011 |
A few mithun wander on and off the road, rapidly climbing the steep road edging as we approach, like ginormous mountain goats with massive flat heads. Our local guide points at a small hand sized bird on the side of the road and once we stop madly chases it in an attempt to catch it. Appears quail like as it does not take to the air as it zips from side to side as pursued. Disappears into the undergrowth below the road as does our guide only to appear later still grinning but disappointed. Could have been dinner.
Continue along and spot our target high on the opposite valley side in a light mist. Apparently still quite a way to go as the road continues toward the end of the valley before crossing the river and climbing to the town. Below a small weir which our guide identifies as a fish farm project, one of the reasons the road had been extended up the valley. Along the road side a vibrant pink purple flower similar to a cactus flower growing wild. Mithun breeding paddocks with bamboo fencing and step ladders over carved from logs. Two guys and a dog who are identified as going mithun hunting. Apparently though living wild they have been semi domesticated with the help of salt. Once a potential owner has fed the mithun salt apparently it is zealously loyal and will not allow another person near it. Ownership flows through maternal bloodlines, with roaming male mithun being independent.
Cross the river and come across a couple of guys with maybe six dogs on a variety of leashes some like a dog catchers but with long stems made out of bamboo. The guys on their way to Mon via the short track to sell the dogs for dog meat. Apparently dogs bought from owners, not rounded up from the wild and the bamboo is used to stop them chewing though the leash. Wild dogs are bigger. Neat little oval woven basket on closer inspection containing a chicken. Packed lunch. Well not quite, just a convenient carrying method, for the owner that is.
Road climbs from the river still feeling like a four wheel drive test trail through increasingly wooded slopes before we pass some thatched grain sheds on the edge of the village called Pangsa. Pull over just in town and walk down to a large morung where an older guy is working bamboo lengths into thread that can be used for basket weaving. In the morung behind him a huge log drum with neatly carved mithun on the fore section. Our local guide chats with a couple of people and before we know it a small drum troop have been gathered to give us a demo. One guy keeps the beat and the other guys maintain his pattern. Sticks are used to pound rather than to beat like an ordinary drum stick. The sound reverberates both in the space and across the valley below. Post finishing we hang out for a while before moving back up to the road above.
From the road we head up into the higher side, most people out in the fields but enough floating around to say hi to. Kids very shy. Mithun skulls hanging above most doorways, a few with smaller skulls, no human skulls. We discussed this with Teiso and apparently post Christianity gaining wide spread adoption by the Naga pretty much all the skulls have been given a burial. Some only as recently as last year.
Enter another morung, apparently one per clan in the village. This one also impressive log drum but outside an inverted wheel strut from a plane planted in concrete. The concrete has been dated 1947. Apparently quite a few war relics are still turning up in the hills. One location just across the border called the "lake of no return" is rumored to contain quite a few aircraft as the lake covered with green was mistaken by a few pilots as a safe put down point in the sea of dense jungle, only to realise too late.
Across from the morung we enter a house where a very shy and embarrassed young mother is threshing rice. Over a large wooden bathtub sized log she is pounding with a long rod rice still in it's pod in little indents to break the outer layer away. This process then followed by a sorting flick using another wide opened basket to separate the husk from the rice grain.
Back to the car before heading further up the ridge in search of the official international trade centre at Dan to see whether anyone is doing business. We meet some kids chasing things in the grass. Turns out they are these flying ants which are a good source of fats once fried up. The kids appear to be having a great time catching them. On the way up we pass a guy with satchel walking back from the fields in the increasingly heavy mist. He is identified as the local political interpreter, one of which is appointed in every town. Voted by the locals based upon respect and correct fit for the role it is a position of authority. He knows where the trading centre is but we are advised to take him also due to possibility of encountering Myanmar boarder patrol, one of which he met just recently. So continue on now with three guides, one driver and two tourists.
The road up to the Trading centre turns in and out of Myanmar. Our new guide mentions that he met the relatively local border troops from the other side a week or so back. Wonder whether they will check for visas or not if we meet up. The white out has well and truly rolled in as we park outside three sheds, two open roofed sheds on either side of a clearing and a long walled shed but all locked up. The local guy identifies that markets are held in autumn / winter so not surprising. Apparently the trade is mainly clothes from the Indian side and precious stones from the Myanmar side.
Back in the car and driving off I notice something moving on our political interpreter's back. Closer look and notice it is a small crab. Bugger.. There are crabs in the grass up here, and I was only looking our for ticks and leeches. Point it out to him and he is not that surprised, turns out he has a bag full of them on his lap that he bought earlier. When we get back down to his house we are invited for tea which turns out to be with the whole family in his packed mud kitchen. Smoke drifts up from the open fire and out the door unfortunately straight past my eyes. Not sure I would be any good in this kitchen.
Whilst waiting for tea and watching Soph try to entertain the kids playing on the far bed, we are shown first a homemade double barrel shot loading rifle followed by a couple of Japanese government Rupee notes from the second world war. From reading these were given to the naga by the invading Japanese army sometimes for food, but they were effectively worthless. Asked if I know what they are worth but unfortunately no idea on the spot. Tea served and drunk whilst watching chickens and naked children run through the house and listening to the rain fall on the thatch roof above.
Invited to come and have a look at the local Mission school set up only in the last year or so and meet the local teachers. The girls both naga are thrilled to see us. They ask us to stay and have tea with them in their room attached to the end of the school building. They've been up here since the school started and are kind of sweet. Starting to feel so isolated that when ever they hear a vehicle they can't help but rush out to see who it is. When they want to go anywhere they have to organise a vehicle from Noklak, plus the road is not all that great so it takes time. Leave after some fervent prayers said concurrently for our benefit.
Drive back to Noklak is fairly eventless bar that the road slippery this morning is even more mush after the days rain. Back in town we again head up the hill to the caretakers for dinner. Great day, could hang out in this area longer quite easily.
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