Cultural experiences

I've had an interesting couple of days. I was about to go to Yongning two days ago, when Lance told me there was an American coming who was a friend of a friend and couldn't speak Chinese and could I hang around a bit longer... I said 'sure' and a few hours later the 'friend' showed up- except that he was actually English.

We got talking and it turns out he is here because he's interested in making a kind of radio documentary about the Mosuo. Like myself, he was also interested in researching and writing a book about Mosuo people and culture. So after some discussion we decided that we might like to write the book together. This would be separate from my thesis, just another project I'd been thinking about.

Yesterday, we decided we wanted to go out to a village to do some recording together and got Lance to take us. We were just leaving when he found out that someone had died in a nearby village and asked whether we would like to go to the funeral. We were very interested as the funeral is the major event in the lives of Mosuo people. It is about the most important ceremony they have.

We drove to the village and went to the family home. The family was receiving guests- lots of them. We gave a small gift and sat in the living area. A shrine with candles and decorations was all set up there. Upstairs there is a 'buddhist' room with lots of decoration, and yesterday it was full of lamas, who chant constantly for a full day (24 hrs) prior to cremation. We watched them chanting and then were served a huge meal downstairs in the courtyard along with the other guests. As we were leaving, the people from the house next door invited us in, so we had to go in and have lunch again! When someone dies here, the whole village participates in the affair.

Then we went to see the lamasery in Yongning and then back to Lige.

This morning we were up at 6am, because we were going to see the cremation which is the high point of the whole process. Drove back to the village and got there around 7am. We saw people standing outside of their front doors burning little bundles of pine leaves on the pavement. Within minutes of arriving, we heard fire crackers and the procession started to pass. First came men carrying long pine branches, men banging drums, a man carrying a stick that was on fire and then men carrying a box containing the body. I'm not sure how it fit in the box as it was kind of square and didn't look nearly long enough. It was highly decorated though. That was followed by the women who all wailed loudly as they ran along behind.

We followed at the end of the line and power-walked out of the village and up the hill. On the hill were two rows of lamas in full ceremonial garb and a high pile of logs, stacked and criss-crossed neatly to make a square platform that rose off the ground (I think I've described this poorly). If you can imagine a square log cabin where the logs intersect and overlap at the corners, and then imagine it was about a metre square, then that might make more sense. The coffin was already on top of the logs, the monks were still chanting (presumably since yesterday morning) and many people were kowtowing. The women were still wailing, but it became possible to identify who were the close family members of the deceased woman. Several young women were prostrate and wailing near the front. Other women gathered around them and began to undo the plaits in their hair and others held their arms.

It was in striking contrast to a Western funeral. No-one except the monks was dressed up, and many people were kowtowing or kneeling in the dust.

One of the young women actually passed out or fainted. Suddenly everyone was gathered around her and one of the older men kept yelling her name. When she came to, a couple of people helped her to her feet and led her back to the village.

The monks started chanting louder and then they used the large sticks that were already ablaze to set fire to the bottom of the platform. Some people scattered what looked like milk and lumps of bread or rice cake around the pyre. As soon as the fire was started everyone began to walk back to the village. Only the monks stayed and continued there chanting as more fire crackers went off.

It was an amazing experience. We were back at the motel by 8.30am and well and truly ready for breakfast. I'm honestly not sure what they thought of two Westerners observing the funeral. Still, it was Lance (a Mosuo man) who had suggested we go, and nobody seemed to pay much attention to us so I don't think it was too big an intrusion. We stood quietly towards the back and tried to melt into the scenery as much as possible! I felt a bit uncomfortable being present at what is (at least for the family members) very personal, but I'm glad I didn't miss it.

My English friend has gone walking around the lake now and I won't get to see him again this trip, but we will keep in contact and hopefully something will come of this book.