Mark Writes:
We arrive at an extremely basic Dimapur Airport in Nagaland and head straight off through armed border control into the green mountains. The people here aren’t your typical Indian-looking people, they are Far Eastern in their appearance. This is due to the land being taken away from the Naganese in the Second World War and in turn being handed over to the Indian government. Nagaland now wants to be independent, hence the place being very dangerous; it’s in a state of civil war but for the period of time we are here, a fragile cease-fire is in force. It’s very unstable and, believe me, being here you certainly know it.
Kohima is the capital of Nagaland. It’s situated on the edge of a very steep mountainside in a sort of horseshoe shape 1,500 meters (4,922 feet) above sea level; the roads are narrow and buildings are falling down. As we break the rules and wander the streets after dark we are constantly being asked for our papers and told that we shouldn’t be wandering alone. There are armed guards on every corner, people are staring, then the power to our side of the city goes off -- this was to be a regular occurrence. The temperature has dropped and it has become very cold very quickly, so we head back to the hotel. It’s bedtime and I am writing my journal under candlelight. We go into the tribe tomorrow and I am concerned as to how cold the evenings get compared to the daytime temperatures. Wish me luck!
Day 1
We set off east at 6:00 a.m. for a three-hour drive deep into the mountains of Nagaland. We pass through many strict armed checkpoints and continueon into windy jungle mountainside roads. The habitat is not like what you would expect India to be ... Well, I suppose it’s not really India. It reminds me of watching a 'Nam war film, especially seeing soldiers everywhere with artillery.
We climb higher into the mountains and finally arrive at our destination. Wow! What an intimidating greeting. This tribe engaged in headhunting only two generations ago and they let us know it. They were in war formation and danced toward us with their weapons and traditional tribal gear. The chanting and singing was aggressive as they surrounded us and started prodding us with their spears. There weren’t many smiles at this point, which was concerning. Did they not really want us here?
It turns out that it was all show but they were very convincing. They were a great bunch. I met my hosts whom I am very happy with, although they have a minimal grasp of English. At least it's better than having none. They are a couple in their late 40s with three kids, a little boy and two little girls with one of the girls being adopted. All of them are very sweet. I have my own room and access to two outhouses, one for washing and one for using as a toilet. The food is OK -- very spicy curry, and although I don’t do spicy, it’s another place I am having to learn to like something, It can only be a good thing.
Well, I am now sitting on my bed. The time is 7:40 p.m. and I’m done in. Training starts at 6:30 in the morning, so I had better get some shuteye. It’s freezing!
Day 2
First morning of training and I had a freezing cold night. I needed the loo, too, from about 1:00 a.m., so that didn’t help. But it was just too cold to do anything about it.
So what’s the sport, I can sense you all wondering? Well, would it surprise you if I told you it was fighting again? I really didn't think so! It’s a form of martial arts called Akikiti that only involves using your feet. It’s a kicking sport and once again it is a full contact sport, so there is a lot of potential to get hurt, although at least there isn’t going to be a stick swung at me at 100 mph. Training was hard and required the six of us to run barefoot around the section of the village over rocky and stony terrain, with the aim to harden our feet. Once running was over it was then over to a mudbank to kick it for half an hour -- yes, folks, also barefoot.
Lunchtime couldn’t come quick enough, or could it! My mouth was on fire and smoke was coming out my ears, turning them bright red, with sweat dripping. I couldn’t wait to get on with my afternoon tasks. Brad and I had to go into the forest and chop some bamboo, return it to the village, then make a fence for his host, which we were quite proud of. Well, I am now chilling back at my hut; there are misty mountains ahead of me, my feet are killing me, but, hey, the sun is shining and I am feeling nice and clean after a well-needed wash. The temperature is dropping rapidly but I am making no schoolboy errors in bed tonight as I am going to wear clothes.
Day 4
I was physically exhausted this morning but I still had to go to a long, heavy training session, which turned out to be quite good fun, although very painful as it all had to be done in bare feet. We had to compete at different athletic disciplines appropriate to the sport. First up was high jump, which I totally sucked at, and then long jump, which it turned out I was the best at. That's right, folks, I was actually the best at something! It's so interesting to see us all with such different strengths and weaknesses. I am now relaxing my legs and feet before I go and collect the firewood. I have just had pumpkin curry for lunch (it's my fav food here) but now my lips are on fire.
At 3:30 it was time for training session No. 2. In this session we were to put into practice what we had learned and fight each other. It wasn't a pleasant experience, especially when you're fighting the two biggest guys. I always get lumbered against Brad and Jason. I also ended up fighting against two locals but now my legs are stiff and bruised, very bruised. In fact, I can hardly walk tonight. I put my feet up back at my hut and stare up to the stars; it's so peaceful here, which gives me a lot of time to reflect.
Day 5
This morning hasn’t been the happiest of mornings; I have just found out that training has been cancelled for the morning due to the death of a 15-year-old boy in the village. I suppose it puts my sore legs and other limbs into perspective. One woman in the village has lost five of her eight children. When you hear of high mortality rates like that it sure makes us realize where we are in the world.
Whenever I see unnecessary death it takes me back to the day my father passed away eight years ago. It’s still hard for me even today. When he was around I used to be an underachiever; I was young after all, but I felt like it, too. We didn’t get along all that well, not like a father and son really should. The reason I know deep down but I am a different person now, just as I am sure he would be, too. I like to think I am achieving everything he would want me to now, if not more, but I always feel I should be pressing further and further until I hear those words that he is proud of me. That will never happen. I guess for that reason and for the rest of my life I will always be chasing shadows.
Day 6
This morning I was up at 5:30 for an early training session, then home to change and straight to church. It’s a Christian community and the service lasted two hours between 9 and 11 a.m. It was a very surreal experience and they take their religion very seriously -- long sermons and people speaking in tongues. I didn’t really buy it, to be honest. Well, the church service is over now. It was a nice experience but I don’t think I will be attending again. I now have an hour before training session No. 2 of the day.
My village has called me “Viowto.” It means "to come in peace," but I have another name, too, and that’s “the smart fighter.” I am the favorite in the village to win the tournament -- yes, you heard that right, guys, the whole tournament. They say I look like them when I fight; according to them I have the best technique and move well. The people here like me and want me to do well. Even as a person that’s a big compliment.
Rajko’s Perspective (and sketch, at right):
My house here is brilliant. It has a great view of the misty hills and a balcony that gets sunshine all day. It looks something like this from my seat on the balcony, next to the beehive:
The perspective is all wrong, but in essence, I have the misty Himalayan hills out to my left (where the sun rises a beautiful orange/crimson); the village in front and behind me; the side of the valley dropping off immediately to the left of my balcony; banana palms in the sloping garden at 11 o’clock direction; a little courtyard directly in front of me that becomes a pathway to the main track through the village; and up ahead, on top of the hill, the church — about 100 meters (or 100 yards) away. It’s funny how difficult it is to draw because the scene is so simple, yet so detailed.
Nagaland Funeral:
We had the funeral for the local boy yesterday and it was very sad as all funerals are, but strangely it’s as if people have moved on already. Women who were beside themselves with sadness, clinging to the coffin in the moments before it was lowered into the grave, are today smiling and happy and normal. Perhaps it is because their way of mourning is so physical and intense (all night and half a day of crying and wailing) that the major sadness is all but purged from the body. Or perhaps, it is because life is lost more easily here and there is slightly less expectation/demand that every life should run the duration and last 80 years … Somehow I feel neither of these answers is true and therefore I have to conclude I don’t know how they deal with death. But it is different from us. I was honored to be able to sit in the room where the body lay before the burial and sing hymns with many of the older women. There was a peacefulness and dignity about how they sat around and selected random hymns to sing, while the close relatives (sisters) of the boy cried desperately and touched their brother’s hair and face. The singing broke the horrible silence that is often present at a funeral and in a way allowed the mourning to be more personal. Like how a song on the radio can allow you to lift into a completely different place and just let go of your emotions without the nakedness of silence. So, I just followed the notes and sang in Sumi, and tried to quietly and humbly be part of this sad event in our village. I feel like I could learn this language quite easily and maybe one day, if I stay here longer, I will.



