#yarshagumba

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Yarsagumba has now become the main source of income for a majority of Nepal's Himalayan dwellers. Houses were all padlocked, and entire families had gone off on the annual two-month yarsa exodus. The last thing on the minds of these people was the fast approaching constitution deadline. Others wondered which federal province they would belong to when they returned from the mountains. More than 150,000 people from Baitadi to Ramechhap, including include four-year-old children to 64-year-olds, are still up there scouring the high meadows for the fungus. None of them had proper clothes to ward off the biting cold at 5,200m. Most wore rubber flipflops, and had no time to enjoy the unearthly beauty of Phoksundo Lake. The middlemen who buy the yarsa, on the other hand, wore fancy down jackets and shades. The pickers crawl on the ground like four-legged animals looking out for tiny yarsa stems sticking out of the ground. They had to carry in all their food and fuel to last two months. Most survived on raw instant noodles. These are the refugees of Nepal's development: fleeing joblessness and lack of opportunities in their home districts in a desperate search for income. There is no government where they come from, the VDC secretary is always absent and villagers have to walk up to three days just to get documents signed. The land is dry, there has been no investment in irrigation, and the meager harvest of corn or buckwheat cannot feed families. Most people from Dailekh, Jajarkot or Rukum here do not know which parties were in the Constituent Assembly, they had little idea about federalism, ethnic or otherwise. They gave blank stares when asked if they preferred a parliamentary system or a presidential one. Local community groups are doing more for health and education in their villages than the government ever did. Some mistake the UN's World Food Program which distributes food to build roads as a government entity. Federalism may set all this right. Or it might not. But if it is going to be the same leaders from the same parties, the people know instinctively that nothing is going to change. One of them is Motilal Buda of Sarmi VDC, who has seen governments come and go with no difference in his life. "Politics is only for the leaders," he says, "not for us. We never expected anything from the constitution." Buda and other pickers who were slightly more aware said they didn't really care how the federal units would be demarcated. Their much more pressing concern is immediate: returning to their villages even deeper in debt because of such slim pickings of yarsa this year. Debendra Thapa of Rukum, who hadn't found a single yarsa stem in two days, told me in a worried tone: "How do I show my face to my family? I should have never quit my job in India." The yarsa pickers here are from all ethnic communities. They are all downtrodden, discriminated against, socially, economically and politically excluded. They represent Nepal in a microcosm. But just because they don't seem to care about federalism, doesn't mean their concerns should be discounted by those in for whom federalism is just political football. What the people really need and never got is quality, affordable education, and to use that to rise up and be heard. They just want to be treated equally, have a chance to improve their lives. Over the decades, successive governments in over-centralised Kathmandu failed to address these concerns. Federalism would share governance between national and provincial governments, and bring well-being and prosperity because equal citizens would enjoy rights that come with responsibility. Sitting around a camp fire one evening after a day of fruitless yarsa picking, Krishna Rokaya of Jumla was hopeful that federalism would make life better. He was convinced Nepal would be better governed that way. I could only nod. Nepali Times

Pushpalal Pun of Jajarkot shares a similar story. He left his BA classes, and is hoping to make a big collection this season so that his family can scratch out a living for rest of the year. But seeing the yarsa pickers coming back down the high valleys empty-handed, he fears the trip may be in vain. Not everyone agrees that yarsa harvests are down. Ram Prasad Mahat, chairman of the Shey Phoksundo National Park and Buffer Zone Management Committee says: "Since there are more pickers, the average collection per person has gone down, but yarsas are still plentiful." He sees the increase in yarsagumba pickers as a positive sign. This year the committee collected Rs 10 million as entry fee up from Rs 6 million in 2011 and Mahat says the national park could earn up to Rs 100 million if there are stricter regulations. People from outside the district are charged Rs 1,100 while Dolpo residents pay Rs 600. The yarsagumba picked in Dolpo go straight north to Tibet via the border points at Mamu Chhohra and Kyate Chhohra. Nepali Times

The change is obvious. The houses along the trekking route are built with imported building materials: they have concrete floors, iron grilles and glass windows. There are bakeries, coffee shops, and movie theatres in Manang village. Basic services like water supply and sewerage, electricity and telephone lines are now available. The erratic NTC mobile network is surprisingly consistent in this remote district and loadshedding, unsurprisingly, is less than in the capital. If it were not for the snow-clad mountains that tower over you on both sides, you'd be forgiven for forgetting you were in a trans-Himalayan valley of nomadic people of Tibetan origin, said to have crossed the mountains in the course of hunting and gathering centuries ago. The only reminder of Manang's unique heritage are a few poor settlements of basic stone stacked one on top of another against a wall of towering cliffs. They remind you of Manang's medieval beginnings, but even these houses own modern appliances: television sets, VCD/DVD players and radio sets so their inhabitants can keep abreast of happenings in the wider world. Manang district, after all, is one of the wealthier districts in Nepal, with a per capita income of $504 to national average of $240. The Manang valley's harsh climate, due to the rain-shadow created by the Annapurna massif, ensured that its people never lost their nomadic tendencies. When King Mahendra granted special privileges to the Manangis in the 1960s, many moved down to Kathmandu and beyond and became prosperous traders, hoteliers and businessmen. The out-migration was intense, and depopulated Manang district between the years 1960 to 1990. It was only in the 1990s, with the increased popularity of the Annapurna Circuit trek, that a few people returned to tap tourism. But Subarna Lama, a hotelier in Chame, says that rich Manangis either live in Kathmandu or abroad. Subarna's children study in Kathmandu, while her husband works in the US. Karma Gurung, whose father owns the best hotels in Braka, prefers working as a bartender in Kathmandu to working in his village. His brother Rabi is studying to be a Lama in Kathmandu. They help father Sonam Gurung during the tourist season. Tourist numbers have gone up since the peace agreement was signed in 2006, and they are doing good business. But the Gurung brothers say they want to see the world. In-migration from neighbouring districts has been on the rise in recent years, mostly from Gorkha district. In fact, those from Gorkha now outnumber Manangis in Manang, says Ram Raja Prasad Subedi, CDO of the district. Gorkha people mostly go to Manang in search of employment and end up settling there. With the construction of the road, in-migration is expected to rise. The road linking Besisahar to Chame has been completed up to Chhahare, near Syange. This has already shortened the journey from Besisahar by one day. Tourist entrepreneurs may worry about what this will do to tourism, but hundreds of villagers will benefit directly from access to the road. The Manangis may keep on moving, but their heartland, Manang, awaits a future they won't chart for very long. Nepali Times #479