The Hill-Tribes

Saturday 20 November 1999 – Wednesday 24 November 1999                                        

After three days relaxing in a country retreat, we once again headed for the airport to pick up a flight to Nan in the far northeastern part of the country.  One of Thailand’s most remote provinces, there was little here before the 1980's, when bandits and insurgents were still rife.  In the last two decades, however, Nan has opened up and roads are being built to provide more access.  It is largely a rural province with not a factory or condo in sight, and is situated right across the border from Xayabury province in Laos, similarly covered by heavily-forested mountains.

Nan is a sparsely populated province with distinct ethnic groups.  The two groups we were most keen to learn more about were the Hmong and Mabri.  Having first heard about both during our time in Laos, we had started to read up on each of the two tribes and learn more about their customs and culture.  

Hmong form a large contingent of the hill-tribe population in both Laos and Thailand, and are probably the most well-known hill-tribe internationally  given the large proportion who fled from Laos after the 1975 revolution and were repatriated in the US, Canada, France and Australia.  They have a very strong and distinctive culture which we were intrigued to learn more about.

The Mabri are referred to by Thais as 'spirits of the yellow leaves', because they customarily move on when the leaves of their makeshift huts turn yellow.  They are the most nomadic and most endangered of all the minorities in Laos or Thailand, numbering only a few hundred.  In the past they were strict hunter-gatherers, living off what they could find in the jungle, but many are now semi-nomadic, working from time-to-time as field laborers for other hill tribe groups such as Hmong in exchange for pig fat or vegetables.  Little is known about the tribe’s belief system except that they are animists who believe they are not entitled to cultivate the land for themselves.

As soon as we arrived in Nan, we enquired about finding a guide to take us into the mountains to do some trekking and hopefully visit some of the Hmong and Mabri.  With a day to kill before we set off, we decided to try out some white-water rafting and having met up with a German doctor, Andre, set off the next morning not quite sure what to expect.  Our safety briefing comprised of three flash cards, pointed out by our instructor whose English was limited to say the least.  Having done it before, Eric kept telling us “all you need to remember if you capsize, is to let go of the boat and head downstream, feet first”; great advice if you can remember it in the panic of falling into the raging torrent.  But equipped with that advice, together with helmets and lifejackets, we set off for what actually proved to be a fun day out.  The river wound its way through a small valley with sheer rock faces in parts and lush forest vegetation all around.  The first part was easy:  relatively calm waters on which to practice our strokes and bright blue skies; but after stopping for lunch at an army camp, we were into the rough stuff.  Needless to say, we all survived and not a single capsizing (much to Pippa’s disappointment!) but it was great to be outdoors and enjoying the open air.

The next day, armed only with a change of underwear and some mosquito repellent, we set off on our jungle adventure.  Our first mode of transportation was a jeep but before too long, we were on our feet.  We passed through a number of different ethnic villages, but were heading further into the mountains where we would spend two nights in one of the most remote Hmong villages.  Our guide taught us some great tricks en route which enthralled Pippa for hours:  jungle whistles, jungle bubbles and much, much more.

We arrived into the village by early evening and were welcomed by some of the villagers into their home.  Our bed for the two nights was a rattan mat on wooden floorboards, but it felt positively palatial.  Given the limited access they had to electricity, we were in bed early that night and thank goodness … cockerel wake-up calls came early and were persistent.  Before breakfast we took a stroll around the village, watching the children play with their spinning tops and seeing village life unfolding.  People were friendly if somewhat wary.  

That day we planned to head out into the jungle to see if we could find any Mabri camps.  Equipped with a bag of pig fat as a gift, we knew that some Mabri had been working in one of the villagers’ fields the previous day but had no idea if they would still be in the area.  These people, as we were to discover, are true forest dwellers; the men wear very little clothing of any description, while the women usually wear cast offs from other hill tribes or lowlanders.  They have an enormous knowledge of medicinal plants, using herbs for everything from fertility and contraception to snake or centipede poisoning.  They guard this knowledge jealously, however, and even the Hmong and other hill-tribes with which they come into contact know little about their culture.  Our guide could tell us that Mabri women typically change mates every five to six years, taking any children from her previous union with her, and also that when a member of the tribe dies, the body is put in a tree top to be eaten by birds.

Fortunately, our guide did manage to track down a Mabri couple and their two small children.  Actually, we strongly suspected luck had nothing to do with it:  it is generally conceded that no one can find a Mabri who doesn't want to be found, and they seemed nonplussed by our arrival.  Probably they had an arrangement with the Hmong:  you bring me pig fat tomorrow, I sit still for tourists.  

In any event, we were thrilled:  the Mabri are nomads, and their material culture is straight from the stone-age.  This is how our ancestors are thought to have lived for 99.9% of human evolution, yet to meet them on the eve of the 21st century was probably a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  Sitting on a hastily woven mat underneath a stick and leave lean-to, dirty and practically naked, with no possession in sight, the Mabri seemed not just from another time, but another planet.  Communication was extremely limited, but sign language and gestures go a long way in such situations; Eric invited the man to share his pipe while we watched them cooking their pig fat inside a length of bamboo.  After a time and a few photos, their patience exhausted, they asked the guide to please take us away.  

On our way back to the village, we stopped to cool off in a small waterfall and reflected on what an amazing way of life the Mabri lead.  Basic and spartan, certainly, but the life they chose to lead.   We hoped they would not lose it in the new millennium.

Back in the Hmong village, it seems we had broken the ice and were invited to a wedding celebration that was taking place in a nearby home.  It was unforgettable:  the food was terrible, the rice-moonshine flowed freely, the laughter was contagious, and we had a great time. After yet another early morning wake up call, courtesy of the local cockerels, we set off on foot once again to make our way back to Nan.  We stopped for lunch, watching whilst our guide whittled three pairs of chopsticks from a strip of bamboo, and saw at first hand some of the damage illegal logging is doing to these hidden forests.  The scenery was spectacular, and it was once again a delight to be enjoying life out in the open.