Manipur India in Pictures

Several months ago I enjoyed the great privilege of teaching ESL to a school of 2500 children in the town of Lamka, in Manipur, India. Lamka is in the southern end of the Churachandpur valley—surrounded on three sides by luscious tropical hills.

Lamka, as seen from the village of Songpi

 

Lamka is only a generation old: its inhabitants have only recently arrived from far more remote hill villages. Most of them hail from the Paite tribe. They come in search of opportunity and education. They want a life filled with something more than making charcoal or slash-and-burn farming on steep hillsides. In Lamka they can practice their English, learn computer skills, and have at least a semblance of healthcare. 95% speak tribal dialects (like Paite) rather than Hindi and are of Mongol descent (they look more like the Chinese than an Indian that you would encounter in Delhi)

 

 

 

 

 

Lamka is still very remote. Manipur is connected to the rest of India by one road (via Gwuahati, Assam) which is frequently impassable due to landslides. The nearest airport is in Imphal, and boasts two flights a day to Delhi.

With air travel and the internet, Lamka is by no means cut off from the rest of the world, but its more recent modernization has created a wonderful blend of old and new. Many ancient traditions exist alongside modern ones. Weddings are day-long events involving the exchanging of many gifts of cloth and livestock. The people sing a lilting chant accompanied by a drum—but now they record their songs in studios. They cook their traditional tribal food, and weave all of their traditional cloth by hand

  

 

 

As the capital city, Imphal has regular electricity, but Lamka often goes three days without power due to rationing. People get up at 4:30 and are fast asleep by 8 PM.

One night, after I had been in Lanka for several weeks, I stayed out with a friend until 9:30. When I got back to the compound where I was staying I found that the gates were locked and everyone was asleep.

"No problem," I thought, "I'll find a way in." But after circling the entire building several times and contemplating breaking the glass in my bedroom window, I had to admit that I was locked out in India. I had a cell phone but I was too embarrassed to wake anyone up--here I was, the only foreigner in a town of two hundred thousand, and I had gone and stayed out until 9:30. I had sullied the reputation of all western culture.

I climbed back over the wall meandered down the dark street. Aimlessly I started trying car doors and eventually I found a Bolero that was unlocked. It was a terrible night. A restless mosquito was camped out in the front seat and at about 3 am I gave up. I got out and roamed the streets until the compound was unlocked and I could slip in again, unnoticed.

I never told my hosts. We all would have been embarrassed. And I didn’t want to do anything to shame my hosts who were the picture of hospitality. I was shown every kindness and honor—far more than I deserved. The Paite are a very hospitable people. My students were receptive and cheerful and I spent many hours outside of school learning how to play football and teaching them how to play the guitar. The elders were very kind also. Once I was invited to a wedding to find that I was given the seat of honor on a dais behind the bride and groom. Another time I appeared on TV with a dignitary. I did nothing to deserve these honors.

 

Perhaps my most memorable experience was a six-hour drive in a jeep through the jungle over the worst stretch of road imaginable to a tiny village named Tuima, on the boarder of Myanmar. As I stepped from the Jeep I was greeted with many prolonged stares. Then one man walked up to me and spoke to one of my companions: “He wonders if he might touch your ear?” And so there I stood, as people grabbed my ears and pulled my hair. I was the first Caucasian in Tuima.

Before I left Tuima the people had me plant a mango seed so that they would have a tree to commemorate my visit. It is one of my greatest desires to return and eat a mango from that tree.

 

Teaching was strenuous but rewarding. My class size would range from 52 to 98 eight to fourteen-year-olds who spoke only broken English. All to frequently bedlam reigned. But I quickly grew to respect them and they me. To them I am known as “Sir Nate” and all of them are “my kids.”

The Paite of Lamka are industrious, cheerful and generous despite the fact that they have very little. They have certainly received the short end of the stick when it comes government spending, but the lack of industrialization, the remoteness of the town and most of all the friendliness of the people makes Lamka a unique, beautiful and memorable place to visit.