Leaders and rats – a wonderful day!

This journey began a month ago from the meeting with a chance passersby somewhere in Calcutta. But this is another story, and now, thanks to the chance, I arrived in the area remote from everything in the world in the Indian state of Nagliand on the border with Burma.

Information, even in the English-language Internet, is practically no about these places. Everything I knew for sure is that the nation’s tribes live in the mountains. With the drink known to us, as you understand, they have no more than that of Papuans with vodka "Russian Standard", but it was not known that these tribes were very militant and until recently practiced the custom of the enemy’s beheading, whether it was a trip Neighboring villages. Because of the partisan movement for the branch of the naggolend from India, as well as smuggling and drug trafficking, these areas were closed for foreigners for many years, but recently banned was removed, which I learned about that now, now the historical meeting in Calcutta.

Grandmother with meaningful finger pointed to the nearby hill, at the top of which the building. "And you will be happiness, Milok,", judging by everything she said at the local adveria. And, as it turned out, she did not deceive!

The second day on a broken road, a single normal place to have a snack on the way, a shabby bus, up to the failure loaded by some boxes, launched even in the passage and under the seats. Add to this an insurmountable language barrier (local practically did not speak English) and diarrhea, already the second week pursuing me from Bangladesh, and you will immediately understand why I was so happy to see the final destination in the window – the village of Mont, Delivered. then deep in the mountains.

There was no bus station in the village, and the bus stood on a joke on some dusty rushing area. Passengers silently unloaded their endless bales and boxes from the "trumuls" and dismissed who where, without showing it absolutely no attention. I scratched the back. M-D. No hotels here and annoying Rickshaw, I have already used to in other parts of the country. It was immediately seen that a foreigner here is an infrequent guest. Around I did not see a single typical indian face, the locals in appearance were asian outdoor and, I must say, did not differ. In search of the hotel, I noticed the official view of the house with the flag and knocked, I do not really expect a response – how – in no way 7 am. However, the door still challenged some old woman. Gestures I explained that I want to sleep. What a grandmother with meaningful finger pointed to a nearby hill, at the top of which the building. "And you will be there happiness, mino," – apparently, she said at the local adveria. And, as it turned out, she did not deceive!

One of the sons with joy explained that this is a local delicacy – smoked rat. Explaining that the most delicious thing is the tail, one of them immediately chosen him and looked bored a piece.

Having a backpack on the back, I went in the specified direction. Not finding roads through some bushes and gardens I got sway to the top of the hill. The building on the hill was acquired by the fence, and the guard reported that this is the house of the mayor. Having writes a credential to a paper on a piece of paper and handing it with a security guard, I asked for an audience. After half an hour, the waiting was invited me inside, where the mayor was sipped with a friend’s morning coffee.

The mayor turned out to be a pleasant to the view of the woman of Balzakovsky age, which, confess, I was surprised. No, I have no sexist, it was simply unusual to see a woman at the head of the administration of such militia. After listening to who / what am I and from where, the mayor said that I would be glad to settle at the hotel of the administration, but as it was about repairing. However, the exit immediately found. Another woman attended with our conversation kindly invited me to stop her house. As you understand, I could not refuse such a sentence and after a few minutes on a personal car with a driver shaking on Ughabam in the direction of my new residence.

In the wealthy for local standards, I was allocated a separate room. Soon I met the rest of the household: a pensioner’s husband, in the past minister, about which I will also tell a lot of interesting, adult sons of a woman and many other relatives.

The kitchen, by type of our summer cottages, was located in a separate attached and inside looked like this:

As you can see, even in the houses of ministers here are prepared on an outdoor fire in an earth floor. Imagining the moment when everyone came out, I decided to find out what the owners today are for dinner. Looking into a black box hanging above the hearth, which is used for smoking, I saw something incomprehensible.

One of the sons with joy explained that this is a local delicacy – smoked rat.

While the guy showed me a smoked carcass, in the yard cut into some kind of gaming other family members.

Explaining that the most delicious thing is the tail, one of them immediately chosen him and looked bored a piece.

For dinner under candlelight (and electricity in the house "left" almost constantly) the owners were pretty persistent, and I was worth a lot of work to refuse rat delicacy. There were no other options for hot dishes, I had to be satisfied with boiled rice. To support the conversation, I began to ask the owners about other taste preferences of local residents. As it turned out, local loves also have dogs and cats. Dogs, as I was told, tastier. Soup made of dogs use in medicinal purposes – it helps with a sore stomach, but Sokatina is an amateur. She is with a stuff. In general, live in Monet for the next few days and not to die with the hunger for me was, how to say, the task is not the lungs.

The rest of the day passed in debates on the topic, how can I get better in remote villages. Public transport there is no taxi too. It was interesting to observe what was happening. It would seem, there is nothing difficult in passing from point A to point B. But for the residents of Mona it was akin to traveling to another planet. They arguously argued about something and discussed the upcoming trip, probably three hours. In the end, one of the many relatives caused me to take me in the morning on a motorcycle.

I woke up with the first roosters. Every morning MON and its surroundings envelop a thick fog. In an hour later, he disappears without a trace.

My new acquaintance promised to drive up to 8:00, but the time was already around 10:00, and it was not all. Not that it was optional for local standards, just life here flows according to its rules, and in someone else’s monastery, you know. In the end, he still appeared, nor saying a word about the delay, and we finally started.

The road is some time looped in the jungle, then endless green hills with the huts scattered on them were opened with the huts.

On the road, we met the villagers a couple of times, I noticed that all the men in these parts go with guns in the rudders, as a result, the photo session somehow did not work out 🙂 In a couple of hours we arrived in the village of Longwa.

It is unusual in that one half is in India, and the other is on the territory of Burma.

Residents were engaged in pressing affairs: who took the shower,

who grew firewood for family hearth,

And someone thought about something.

According to the existing tradition, to visit the village, you need to get a good leader’s tribe on it. The straw chip of the leader was impressive sizes.

Interior richly decorated with a carved panel from a huge one-piece piece of wood and buffers of buffaloes.

In the "Hall" stood a stuffed out of some incomprehensible kill.

We passed inside. In a huge, without a single window, the hut-hangar did not see the soul. Soon, from somewhere in the dark, a peasant appeared, who spent us into a huge empty room, sat on the chairs that stood in the middle, ordered to wait somewhere disappeared. It was heard that he wakes someone behind the straw partition. I looked inside. In a dark room with earthen floors on a dirty couch, a leader.

The leader was completely unexpectedly turned out to be a punishment of the uncle, who was also a little in himself (apparently, squeezed out from the day before). Putting a chair, he sat right on the contrary, dropping me with a blurred eyes. An awkward pause arose.

I, according to the rules of the local etiquette, presented the gifts that bought the day before on the market in Monet. How I was advised, it was a big milk tea package for the leader and cookies for children. The leader twisted some gifts in his hands, but, apparently, it is not particularly imbued. The man brought him a bottle of cheap Indian alcohol, the leader immediately ripped a couple of glasses. After that, health apparently went on the amendment and in the eyes of his life cut.

Behind the leader on an open fire several men boiled and saw some potion. As it turned out, it was something narcotic on the basis of opium. We politely refused – still still ride the mountains on the motorcycle 🙂

In the photo: On the left of the leader (takes another glass of whistle), my black bag with tea on the floor near the leader; Chief friends are boiled opium.

The guy who accompanied me was young, for years, probably, sixteen and himself, as he later admitted, was never in this village. Considering the fact that the local tribes are constantly entrited with each other and speak different adverbs, it was seen that the guy felt clearly not in his plate. With difficulty exploring the leader and his environment, to support the conversation was not easy.

After the gatherings, we were offered some items that local residents make their own hands. For example, here is such a handbag decorated with turtles of monkeys.

By the way, until 1963, when the last case of behead was officially registered in the local edges, it was believed that the young man just became a man when he brought the enemy’s head to the village. Later, under the fear of imprisonment, decapitation was prohibited by the Indian authorities, but it is still practiced, only now it is not human heads, but the heads of monkeys. From here and similar bags.

As I said, Longwa is on the border. And the border itself passes directly around the house of the leader. In the photo, I stand one foot in India, the other in Burma 🙂

We spoke up with the leader and a little more walking around the village, communicating with the locals.

The characteristic nationwide naga tribe brandy looks like this. Teeth are from Betel’s chewing. Palace on the body – in the sign of the rite of initiation.

Many elderly men also have dolls to the whole face. And what does necklace with the heads, you will learn from the following report;)