The western provinces of China are some of the most dramatic and unexpected areas I've travelled to, and to this day remain a constant source of fascination for me.
Towering mountains, fertile valleys, vast deserts and barren wastelands sprawl across the Tibetan plateau, where ethnic tribes go about their business herding yaks and migrating with the seasons. Yak butter tea, prayer beads and earth houses are common.
This week’s Dateline looks at attempts to preserve Tibetan building practices in China. Find out more here:
To our Western minds – it's the stuff of fantasy and fairy tales. By contemporary Chinese standards though, it’s a primitive and backward existence that needs to be modernised.
For me, it’s an opportunity to learn more about this complex region and its intricate past, current state of flux, and uncertain future.
When I first arrive in Layew, in southern Qinghai province, I am struck by the ambience of the place. A delightful, simple life embraced us – sleeping in a two-storey mud house, Tibetan homemade meals, and hand washing our clothes in the village stream, which was clear and fresh as it tumbled down from the mountain.
The construction of new Chinese built concrete houses down the bottom of the hill seemed a world away. They stood in stark contrast to the traditional Tibetan homes built entirely from local materials.
Yet I had something else on my mind that I wanted to follow up.
When I first tell my hosts I would like to interview Soeyak, the very old woman featured in the Dateline story, there is resistance all around.
“I don't think it's a very good idea”, “it's too difficult to arrange”, and “nobody understands her dialect”, are the responses.
All too often Tibetans shy away from media attention, particularly in relation to sensitive issues, and for good reason; they've been manipulated and threatened for over half a century.
Nonetheless, I persist and persuade our reluctant local interpreter and arrange a time to visit her ancient house, rumoured to be a thousand years old, to sit and talk.
It will require two translators, as Soeyak’s dialect is specific not only to the region of Jiegu, but the village of Layew, and further nuanced with an accent and slang that very few can interpret.
After setting up my equipment, we sit and I tilt the camera to her. Her vision is severely impaired so she could barely see me anyway, but I sensed she felt comfortable with my presence.
I speak Mandarin but Soeyak certainly doesn’t, so I stick with English and rely on the two translators. They were edgy and fearful, concerned, I think, that we may broach a controversial topic, that could ultimately land them in trouble. Their English isn’t great so it’s a long-winded process, but we begin to talk.
Life in Yushu Source: Ryan Jasper
However, the translations I receive are barely sufficient.
“She thinks the new houses are good”, was the common response. “She has lived here for long time”.
Well I could certainly tell that.
“She remembers when Red Army march through”.
Oh, now I think we’re getting somewhere.
After the interview was done, the women left hastily, looking relieved. They had difficulty communicating with Soeyak and showed little interest in her affairs. To them, she was old and her house was literally in ruins – rather than regarding her as an iconic link with Tibet’s past who was living in an architectural marvel.
Here lies the difficulty in maintaining Tibet’s rich cultural heritage. The bright lights and other attractions of modern living influence many Tibetans, in the same way they attract many in the West. As well, China is obsessed with modernity, so it makes for a very powerful force acting on what was traditionally a deeply spiritual, non-materialistic society.
Ryan Jasper with Tibetan locals. Source: Ryan Jasper
Though the two interpreters are by no means advocates of a gaudy lifestyle, there is pressure to be modern and conform to contemporary demands, even in villages as remote as Layew.
After the two translators leave, I find myself alone with Soeyak. She has a remarkable presence. Each deep line on her weathered face has a story to tell. Though the language barrier prevented us from talking, she knew who I was and why I was there.
We sat in silence, and I listened to her chant. Then I held her hand and looked deep into her eyes. I saw her incredible resilience. She had lived through Tibet’s tumultuous modern history; she remembered the coming of the communists and what it meant for her people. She had outlived all her relatives and even her daughter. I saw her age -old sadness. The story of Tibet was alive in her and her ancient home.
Her eyes still linger with me.
