Memories of Tibet
Updated on 26 March 2008
When I think of Tibet, I think of Goya and her family, Tibetan nomads that lived in the deep valleys of Himalaya.
When I think of Tibet, I think of Goya. Goya and her family are Tibetan nomads that lived in the deep valleys of Himalaya.
I spent a week with them a few years ago, before they moved from their winter pasture to the summer pasture, with all their worldly belongings packed on the back of two yaks and a herd of sheep.
Goya was a timid eight-year-old girl who hid behind her mother's back when I first arrived with a TV crew. Finally, she couldn't resist my temptation of lollypops wrapped in colorful paper and joined me for games.
Goya's father, a rugged young Tibetan horseman wearing a picture of Dalai Lama on a neck chain under his robe, took the crayon from her and drew an outline of his own suntanned hand on my notebook. I can never forget the bright smile on his face, brightest I've ever seen.
In the early morning next day, I saw an entirely different Goya. It was still dark and it was cold. A small figure moved swiftly among the yaks, collecting yak dung from the frozen ground to feed the fire.
Then she went on to milk the yaks and sheep, separated butter from milk, fed her baby brother who popped his head out of a basket. Little Goya was in total control.
Goya quietly blended into the vast landscape of the grasslands and mountains, mountains she and her family revered. It was a picture of unbelievable unity of man and Nature.
She quietly blended into the vast landscape of the grasslands and mountains, mountains she and her family revered. It was a picture of unbelievable unity of man and Nature.
I told the story of Goya to our Han Chinese tour guide, Mr Chen. As I was raving about the simple, happy and self-sufficient life of Goya's family, Mr Chen, sitting behind the wheel of his jeep, sneered. "Poor souls! Such a backward and miserable life!"
With a mixture of pity and pride, he went on: "I hope the development we bring to Tibet will reach Goya's family soon. They must be thankful that Tibet is progressing very fast and that we're giving Tibetans a happy life."
I didn't know what to say, except "they don't seem to be miserable. Maybe they're quite happy to be left alone and don't need the development and the progress?"
Mr Chen looked at me in disbelief and reiterated, "Surely everybody wants a better standard of living. I don't speak Tibetan and I never chat with them." This is the man that takes groups of tourists to Tibet and spends a few months every year in the region.
It's been almost two weeks since the riot took place in Lhasa. With the People's Liberation Army guarding all Tibetan areas, and Tibetan people unanimously denouncing the "Dalai clique" in public, it's difficult for us to know who rioted, what exactly happened and how the government "took effective measures to restore order".
I consulted a close friend, a Tibetan scholar living in Beijing, for clues and answers. He told me a story which I find revealing.
An old Tibetan woman walked down the main boulevard of Lhasa with her grandson. As they walked past the Potala Palace, the little boy took out his slingshot and mischievously aimed at the street lamp.
Granny said gently, "Don't smash the lights. We could use them when we're independent."
