Trudging up the dusty switchback paths that lead the way to Namche Bazaar, each turn of a corner sends you back 180 degrees and resets your scene. Your new stretch of path can be filled with other trekkers, animals led by a farmer or most likely, Sherpas transporting Western bags unable to be carried by Western backs.
With the late afternoon sun at our backs, we rounded a corner and saw a young boy, maybe fifteen, stood impatiently in front of an old white donkey sat back on it’s haunches, it’s tongue lolling limply from the corner of its mouth. The boy, clad in a weathered climbing jacket, stood defiantly, his pose rigid. A short length of rope hung vertically from his clenched fist.
As we trundled up the slope, more details came into view. The donkey was slowly panting. The short length of rope had a tight knot at its end and another a few inches above. The way the animal was sitting, on its rear end with its hind legs stretched out in front, seemed odd and lent the scene an air of surreality. It was the pose of surrender.
Drawing closer still, deep cuts became apparent across the donkeys snout and jaw. They were glistening; fresh depressions, like mini tarts coated with jam, a stark contrast to the white fur they punctured. The boy raised his hand and bought the rope down into the creature’s face. The knots opened new gouges of crimson. For the first time flies could be noticed, alighting and departing the area of impact in a macabre loop. All through this the donkey didn’t have any spare movement, bar the rise and fall of it’s laboured breathe, seemingly staring into space.
The boy raised the rope again, and again he thrashed it bluntly into the face of the animal. Cuts opened. Flies buzzed. Not even a flinch. It was at this point members of our trekking group were close enough to react and intervene. Multiple concerned people came forward and accosted the boy. “What are you doing?!”. Shock, incredulous reactions, concern for the tortured creature.
Our tour guides, all from the Khumbu region, slowed to a halt and hung back, waiting. The boy stepped back from the angry people questioning him, his face impassive, and waited, unspeaking. The donkey continued to stare into nothing, wide open black eyes staring ahead. “You can’t treat an animal like this, don’t you know that?”. The boy patiently held his rope at his side, uninterestedly looking through whoever was currently lecturing him.
When the lecturing didn’t appear to be taking root, the group turned attentions and rubbed the animal while pouring some water by its mouth. This was the only stimulus that elicited movement, the desperate tongue suddenly wriggling for any falling moisture.
Staring out a plane window on a long haul flight decimates ones sense of scale. What is distance? A small colourful map on a screen is showing a plane at midpoint between two continents. This information does not translate to a physical learned experience. How do you internalise that gulf between where you were and where you are? Truly understand it, so it sinks to the pit of your stomach and your body feels the knowledge as sure as it would sun shining on your skin.
The collision of your own culture and associated morals with that of another place expands your sense of scale. This boy, standing patiently, waiting for the tourists to move along so he could continue to whip his donkey in the face, may have been a particularly singular representation of the Khumbu, he may have been an aberration. He did however represent a broader point, life in this region had a different set of values, aims and consequences. The thrashing of this defenceless animal sat somewhere in there, a point in some scale unfathomable to a group of Western tourists.
How a place treats right and wrong can differ greatly from one end of a continent to the other, but usually between neighbouring regions things only slightly shift. In this way you can abstractly measure geographical distance by the perceived gap in customs. Seeing this boy thrashing his work animal made the distance, the gap between home and here, a tangible thing. How many regions had to pass for this to be a casual roadside activity? Worried trekkers buzzed around the animal, providing a small break from the abuse but they were only a second in the day. By the next switchback the beast was once again alone.
To travel is to wonder, to see things that make you search for an answer in your mind. Temporary players glide by, situations on a conveyor belt. You may have closed a massive gap in bringing yourself to this far off place, but the gap between you and the individuals you meet is the real distance.
