Tuesday 16th August, 2005
In the morning we head for Kohima bright and early. I say goodbye to my little new antennaed friend, whom I'm happy to see in the bathroom still - that means he's not in my suitcase. Into jeeps we are stuffed and off we go through winding beaten roads into the hills. Indian Government puts up amusing signs alongside the road: "If married, divorce speed", "Go slow, somebody's waiting for you at home", "where drink competes with drive, you lose", "don't gossip, let him drive" - and other such jewels. We stop by at a hospice ran by the Naga Mothers Association. That's a peace-making group started by women who are trying to reconcile various factions within Nagaland. Once they went up on a three day long hike into the mountains in Burma to find Kaplang - leader of a faction that wars with the leading Naga political party. Talked to him about this, that, or the other, and hiked down for another three days. Women. What more can I say
Nobody else ever made it up there.
Hospice has only 16 people and some staff. Patients are mostly HIV positive, former addicts, a few little kids with AIDS. They don't distinguish between staff and patients, all work together, according to their abilities, in the little garden that they have. They also run a paper mill, the only one that makes recycled paper in Nagaland. We buy a few cards, a folder, trinkets, kids sing a few songs, we bid good-bye.
We can see Kohima from here. City built on stilts - building upon building propped up every which way on the sides of the steep hills. Most sport corrugated tin roofs and formica or wooden walls. We check into our hotel, accompanied by Neichu, Naro, and their friends. We are taken to a traditional village near Kohima, to see what life is really like in Nagaland. Houses are again patched up from wood, metal sheets, mud and bricks, but the village is very practical. It shows that hardworking people that are able to sustain themselves live here. Every village has two round platforms made out of rocks, where the village elders meet every evening to talk or just sit around and gaze over the vast valley. Hills around are breathtaking. I take pictures like a Japanese tourist, wreaking quite a havoc among the teenage girls in the village, who scream, giggle, and run away each time I point the camera towards them.
On the way from the village we stop for a picnic at a Naga open-air museum. It's a made up village where each tribe has a model traditional house. We sit at the Angami house, feasting on food that Neichu's aunt prepared. It's out-of-this-world good. Unfortunately David is still getting used to India, has upset stomach, and glances suspicious looks at the food. We eat with hands. David sticks to white rice mostly. Our apetite is boosted by water buffalo and human skulls (replicas of the latter) hung from the ceiling. The open air village is under a hill adorned with a sign much like Hollywood, except it says 'Naga Heritage Village' or rather, '.A.A ERIT..E .I....E'. Rest has fallen off.
David and Hillel are off to meet the Chief Minister of Nagaland, me and Jasmine are taken out shopping. I complete the collection of gifts that I already got - a Naga shawl and a vest - with more ethnic gear. If I am to bustle about the world as a silly white girl in tribal wear, let's take it all the way. I get a necklace and a thingamajig for my hair, a bag, some placemats for mom
At least I'll be set for the next few Halloweens. We stop for a coffee at the Dream Café, nice new little place started by Neichu's friends. You can see the whole city from up there. Dominated, naturally, by the Police Headquarters, an impressive white palace, which probably cost more to build than the rest of the city altogether.
We head over to the Naga Students Federation. Hillel and David are already there, talking to the students mostly about the 51 day long blockade that has just ended. Students blocked the roads to Mizoram, which was in an upsurge because of a ceasefire agreement India signed with Nagaland. Mizoram didn't like it. They thought Indian Government is too lenient towards the Naga, who claim most of Mizoram as a Naga territory. The Naga think the Indian Government is too harsh, stubborn, and uninformed, and the Meites (the main people of Mizoram) - the natural enemies of the Naga for centuries - are just Meites. Dumb and wicked. Many ordinary innocent people were starved due to the blockade. Hillel is attempting to talk some sense into the student leaders. They, too, claim to be ready to head for the mountains if the peace talks don't produce territorial integrity of all the Naga territories. Forget the fact that Nagaland as a unified land has never existed and the tribes were at war with each other from times immemorial. When it comes to national causes, such details rarely matter.
Our friends give me a bag of pan - a vile concoction of things wrapped in some sort of a leaf. You have to chew it and spit out saliva every now and then. That's the cause of many Nagas and Indians' stained teeth. It's also said to be addictive. I can't imagine how, as it tastes horrid and renders you speechless (having a bursting-full mouth of the grool) for a long while. Truly a nuisance, if you ask me. They are naturally making fun of me as I roll my eyes around, trying to save my bare life. We find an Indian-Chinese restaurant in our hotel. That's cuisine that is not found anywhere else. Indian-Chinese has actually absolutely nothing to do with China, it's just one of Indian peculiarities. Jasmine meets a special new friend there. This time it's not a giant bug, but a human, albeit a weird one. Our waiter is extremely talkative and revolves around her like a satellite. He comes later into our room under various pretenses, asks for her address, sits down and talks and talks and talks. When we get rid of him gently, David comes and we all watch Forrest Gump that just happens to be on TV. Unfortunately we see our dear waiter again. He brings tea and 5:45am. That's right. 5:45am. What the <BLEEP> is he thinking?! We get rid of him a little less gently and resume sleep until 7:30. We were supposed to be woken up by the same ours truly at 7am, but no. That he forgot. Bringing tea at an ungodly hour has probably exhausted him too much. We scramble around, throwing things into suitcases and break our legs running downstairs where everybody's waiting. We're on our way to Neichu's home for breakfast.
It's a house where three generations of strong women grew up. All her male predecessors were killed in the Indo-Naga war. Her grandmother worked on the family rice paddies and raised kids alone. Her mother, losing her husband, too, started the Naga Mothers Association and is a pioneer in the field of reconciliation. A force to be reckoned with. Neichu herself is a dynamo. A true firecracker. She's involved in HIV/AIDS social work, and a godzillion of human rights and charity projects. And is sharp and funny, always on point. We have the best pineapple in the world, as well as mangoes and other such wonders, straight off the trees. Before we leave, I ask for the restroom, and am shown to it. Great, it's one of those holes in the ground
That's fine, I'm the worldly and street-smart traveler, I've seen many of these before. Just how do I
.good lord the floor is slippery
and oh, I guess one needs to practice aiming from early childhood
now, it's all good, just
how the hell do I flush? Aaaargh, not knowing what else to do, I grasp the hose that is lying around and hose down the whole bathroom. Just in case. Thank god we're leaving!
We clamber on back into the jeeps, and we endure another two hours on the winding broken roads down back to Dimapur and off to the airport. Temperature rises with every meter as we descend down from the hills. Dimapur is hot as hell. Tfooey. I will miss Neichu, Naro, Bambi, and Akum though. Must come back soon. I'll just have to find three more people in order to get the RAP (restricted area permit). Any takers? They don't head hunt any more, I swear!
The tiny shaky airplane jolts us to dreaded Calcutta. I had a rough introduction to India in Calcutta the last time I was here. Cab drivers are insane, everyone is in your face, everything is dusty and weird! I am thus extra suspicious and eye everything with disdain. The four of us jam ourselves into one of them death vehicles and take our chances in the rush hour afternoon traffic. We get to hotel Lytton in one piece miraculously. One of the bell boys is grinning from ear to ear: "Do you remember me, ma'am? I brought you a plug converter last time!" Dayum! I must be memorable. He chatters for awhile, offering to bring the blue from the sky, if I want. No time for blue from the sky though. We are meeting with our main ally-and-enemy in one, good ole' lisping Umpakaf (Omprakash, really). Before then, however, we want to make it to the famous Calcutta market. This time we're equipped with Jasmine, who is Punjabi by birth, speaks Hindi and haggles like a pro. Calcutta market is a huge maze of corridor upon corridor, story upon story, of vendors with jewelry, bags, clothing
I can't imagine how anyone can profit there. Immediately you are seized by someone who drags you through the belly of the building to his stand. Without him, you'll never be able to find your way back out. Thus we have to do some business if we want to get out alive. In an unbelievably short time we bu y close to half a kilo of earrings, rings, bracelets, shawls
all under twenty dollars.
Omprakash is on his best behavior tonight. No lewd remarks, he even brings a gift for me and Jasmine from his wife. He actually mentions his wife! The gift is a sari. Very nice, but what on Earth will I do with a sari? I guess I can hang it on my wall. Oh no, and where will I put it now? I wanted to buy a bag, but they only had small ones. I give up. I will have to ask Hillel to carry some of my stuff in his suitcase
Next time, I will pack into a small suitcase AND leave some space in there for things I will acquire during the trip. It must be doable somehow.
...and everything else...I wish I'd read this thread earlier..
...hello there, Gautam. Nice to see you too..
