Chicham - It's been a weird day

16 July

Today started as normal.  I was at my volunteering, at a family in a village called Chicham.  I woke up at 5:30am (I slept late, because I’m on my sabbatical).  Stretched (kind of like yoga, but not really), and had a breakfast pancake, with peanut butter (the cooking here is great).

I am staying in their house and getting the experience of living in a small village in the Himalayas (sitting at 4,200m altitude).  Today I knew that I would be going with some of the villagers, taking the animals (some cow, donkeys, yaks) to pasture – but that was all the information I was given the previous night.

At 8:30am, we left with our family’s cattle, and as we passed each house, theirs joined.  Soon, over 100 cows, yaks and donkeys were running through the streets of the village.

Picking up cattle through the village,
Chicham, Spiti Valley

Three children (couldn't be older than 13), who I would learn would be coming too, and Punchuk (a 16-year old worker the family has taken in - but you will learn about him later) took the lead, along with the odd adult, in herding the animals out of the village.  Unfortunately, this was done - and with what seemingly looked like with lots of joy - by hitting the animals with sticks, and throwing rocks at them.  This behaviour, I was to learn, would continue throughout the day.

Though, I could not blame the children, or interfere.  I was brought up in a society that abhors such behaviour. However, I was a guest in a different culture, and they were merely following what they had learnt from their parents (who I saw did the same), and who all saw nothing wrong with their actions.

And maybe there isn’t?  There is no reason that my societies' values have any cogency over theirs (#deepthoughts).  I held my tongue and shuddered each time a rock hit its mark, or a stick or boot made contact with an animal’s hide.

Nevertheless, we were soon out of the village, and playing shepherd.  Well, they were.  I was watching and surprised by their very casual approach to herding.  Basically, soon after leaving the village, any attempt at herding stopped, and the animals were left to roam.  We ate.

Herding.  Well, I was taking pictures
while 100 cattle walked around.  Still counts?
(Damn, that's a glorious beard)

It was a time to stop and just look around at the surrounding that I found myself in.  My fellow herders surely took no notice, as this was their view every day (and as the oldest could not have been more than 13, I realised they do not occupy themselves with such things.  Rather, as the youth do, they found it very amusing when I tried to put my hoodie on, and it was upside down).  The green-tinged, snow-capped mountains in the distance made some setting for breakfast.

The herders.  10? 11 years old?

Breakfast time, Chicham, Spiti Valley

After food, the various herders made some ad-hoc sorties to somewhat control the herd, who by now, had roamed all over the vast mountainside.  It should be noted, that none spoke English, I spoke no Spiti, and so even if this was done as some sort of coordinated effort, I was no wiser to it.

We carried on walking through the hills, until Puntchuk went off and came back on a donkey, carrying two sacks.  This was when an already out of the ordinary day, got weirder.

He tried to explain what the bags were for, but because of the aforementioned language barrier, I was not picking up what he was trying to put down (or rather what was going to be put down in the bag).  Though when he showed me what they were for, I had no further misconceptions of how I would be spending the next few hours.

My host had mentioned a while back that we would be collecting dry dung, which they use for many things around the house.  Thanks to Puntchuk's demonstration, I now knew that this was the time we would be doing just that, and accordingly the purpose of those bags.

In my (short) time on farms so far, I had learnt many uses for poop.  To: create floors, walls, heat fires, cook food, make jam, and nourish soil (I only made one of those up – can you guess which 😊?).

Dry dung is a funny thing.  It is definitely shit, but it does not have any “shitty” properties.  It is light, dry, and does not smell.  Really, in fairness, not too bad to handle.   The fear though, is assuming a mud pie is dry.  Because there is a BIG difference between dry poop, and getting into shit by touching only slightly dry shit (which has all the feared poopy qualities that come with why people generally try avoid activities involved handling it). 

I was therefore careful with my initial attempts to fill my bag with shit, but as I got more confident, I realised that this shit ain’t too hard (avoiding the soft stuff).

Along I then went.  Soon, I was merrily collecting shit to put in my bag of shit.  Soon I realised that this shit was heavy.  Also, while I thought I was the shit, Puntchuk was way better at this shit than me, and had almost filled his bag.  Shit, he also seemed to be finding the good shit: large, dry plate-sized ones, and I was settling for pellets.

The competitive streak in me rose up, as you would be shitting me if a 16-year old would outdo me.  I suddenly found myself searching for the best shit the mountains could provide (some would say if I was in the mountains of India, I should be searching for different shit).

No luck though, and he clearly filled his (far bigger) bag before I could, and not only that, proceeded to give me shit (with his eyes, because we could not understand each other for shit) about my shit, walking around pointing out (better) pieces for me to pick up.  And like a subservient little shit, I obliged.

My office for the day, collecting poop.
Chicham, Spiti Valley

We used the smaller bags to fill a bigger bag,
that the donkeys would carry back.
Chicham, Spiti Valley

Task completed, we carried on as before, casually sheperding, until we got to a waterhole, which was the sign for lunch (the same food as breakfast, only colder).

Lunch time,
Chicham, Spiti Valley

We stayed here for a while, and the children went on seemingly trying to round up the herd, while I wrote this (fat help I was - outside of poop collector 😊), apparently because I had no skill in what they were doing, or really any idea what they wanted me to do (see above – language barrier).

In my wildest dreams, when envisioning in my mind how this trip would play itself out, did I ever imagine a day where I would be in an imaginary competition in the mountains with a child, about who could collect more poop.  Well Ryan, you wanted to see how the villagers live, and all in all, it was a good day.

Taking the herd home,
Chicham, Spiti valley