The dad danced around his home which was a stone hovel about 20 x 30 feet. The floor was of dirt and the only heat was from burning yak dung. It was also used to cook our gourmet meal of boiled potatoes. I considered it to be a gourmet meal since it was the first change in my evening meal in weeks. Thus far each night has been rice and dhal. I was overjoyed with the potatoes until I realized it was to be the only thing we were to eat for the next two days.
There were three family members as well as various animals living in this one room dwelling. We all slept on the dirt floor together. The only light was from a small space in the stone wall which let out some of the smoke from the fire. Even during the day the room was dark and gloomy. A log lay adjacent to the entrance with notches cut in it allowing family members easy roof access. The added space was used to dry clothes and grains.
Mom was always tending to the fire; she was out for hours getting water and collecting yak dung. Sometimes she would find a bit of wood. She looked tired and probably appeared years beyond her actual age.
The daughter, perhaps seven or eight, had a wild look to her and was filled with energy in every stride she took. She followed mom just about everywhere assisting with all the chores. She appeared to have just a small slice of play time with some other kids each evening. They had a ball made out of some rags and played a catch and tag sort of game with each other.
The girl’s hair was long and knotted, probably from years of not brushing it. Maybe she never owned a brush; I don’t think it really mattered to her. Her skin was quite tan from her life of outdoor work and though her nose ran constantly the debris was never cleared away. This was not uncommon for both children and adults that I encountered.
All three family members wore tattered but functional wool garments with one arm not even going through the sleeve. The females wore imitation stone beads, not being able to afford the turquoise and coral that I would typically see on women. The father had long braids intertwined with bright red strands of red yarn; the braids were tied together on top of his head. All of them had old, ratty, worn out sneakers with multiple holes. I wondered how they got by when the ground was covered with snow.
Although we had no shared language we were able to draw pictures and maps and learn stories of each others’ lives. I came to believe that my host was a trader and travelled back and forth from northern Nepal into Tibet. I believe the family was Tibetan. My understanding was that he brought Tibetan style garments and perhaps other items across the mountains and returned home with salt. I glanced at his torn sneakers a few times wondering how he could have made the journey in these.
I stayed just two nights before continuing my solo trek. It was great to have a layover day at the same spot so I could rest and acclimatize to the elevation gains that I had been making. I enjoyed the family’s hospitality and wanted to present them with something in addition to the minimal lodging fee.
I had a few packets of spices that I presented to mom. She reluctantly tasted each after I had done the same. It was obvious that she preferred one of them and put a heap on her potatoes. I presented the gift of a brand new comb to the daughter. To this date, I regret having given it to her. Who was I to think she needed to comb her hair? She seemed thrilled to receive it; she played with it as if it was a musical instrument She ran outside to show it to her friends.
I handed the dad my only clean pair of wool socks that I had tucked away for my own use on those anticipated frigid nights. He lit up the entire dark and dreary room with his smile. Immediately he put them on his feet and moved around the room in a dance of joy. Mom and daughter giggled at his movements. It was a touching moment to see so much happiness in one room caused by an item that had cost me just a few bucks. A few minutes later he took off the socks, brushed them off with his hands, neatly folded them and put them on a shelf with other valuables.
As usual, friends came to visit in the evening. Before each visitor could barely get to squat on the dirt floor he would bring out the neatly folded socks and allow a friend to hold them and to inspect them. Nods of approval went back and forth. This happened on at least three occasions that night.
Mom offered each of us “po cha” (Tibetan butter tea) made from tea leaves, yak butter, water and salt. I was very used to this tea by now, drinking bowlfuls of it almost every day. After just about every sip mom would refill the bowl to its brim. After much conversation (of which I didn’t understand a word) dad brought out “the good stuff”. A potent local brew was presented. Though I really didn’t like it I took a sip just to be polite. Of course the more sips I took, the more I liked it.
I continued on my trek at daylight just in time to see dad heading out to show off his new socks. I have often wondered about what wonderful places the socks have been to. Never before had a person received a gift from me with such jubilation.
(Journey was in the late seventies)