Each morning, we attend a lecture given by a local Tibetan- usually working for an NGO or similar organization- and hear about the historical and current situation of Tibet and her refugees. But at night, we go to Gu Chu Sum, and program that provides housing and education for ex political prisoners, and have "conversation class" for an hour. I've spent an hour each night of the trip with Zomkiy, who is a Buddhist nun. She is wonderful. She's small, aging, and I have fallen in love with her.
Like all escaped Tibetans, she has had some harrowing experiences. Zomkiy absolutely loves to talk (I spend most of our conversations just listening) and has told me the story of her life.
One day, she asked me to tell my story. At 20 (newly!), I was totally stumped. I told her about my brother, about growing up in the mountains, about how much I love college. It took me maybe five minutes. But over the course of two weeks, I've pieced hers together- for Tibetans, it is not unique. But for me, it is stunning.
Zomkiy's parents were farmers in a small village. As the oldest of nine children, she quit school after 7th grade to help on the farm and take care of her youngest siblings. The work was hard, and she had to carry a baby brother around on her back as she worked. At 18 (I think), she joined a nunnery. I'm unsure of the year she joined, but in 1989, she participated in a massive political protest with some other nuns. She was arrested. She shudders when she talks about Chinese police, remembering "many many beat". The first two words I teach her are "bruise" and "swollen". She spent three years in prison, surviving on one piece of bread a day for much of the time and living in a concrete cell with a bucket for a bathroom. Her family was allowed to visit, but not very often and only for five minutes at a time. After being released, she, like all other escaped Tibetans, walked (or rather climbed, through the snow) across the Himalayas to Nepal. It seems that this experience was worse than prison for her. "Very very difficult", she always says as she remembers 20 days of non-stop walking, carrying heavy bags of tsampa and sleeping little in bitter cold conditions. Though reluctant, she took the two young nephews of a brother's friend across with her. The boys hardly made it it seems, there was "many many crying" and the occasional need to carry their bags or even the boys themselves. After reaching Tibet, her group was stopped and robbed by Nepali police. Eventually, though, she made it to a reception center in Kathmandu, which sent her to India, where she has been in a nunnery for the last 17 years. She spent time at Gu Chu Sum last year learning English, and is back to keep improving upon it. Currently, she's waiting on a doctor's approval to move to Australia, where she wants to work and keep studying Buddhist philosophy- but she worries a lot about the move. I honestly don't know if she will be approved- she has some recurring pain and lasting injuries from being beaten by the police, and seems a bit frail to me.
Her story is horribly sad. She often shakes her head, looking at the ground, as she talks. The best way she knows how to convey her struggles is by saying "very very difficult" over and over. But the best thing about Zomkiy is her spirit. Her sense of humor shines through every terrible tale. She laughs about the challenge of carrying babies as such a small person, and tells me I must have good karma for being born so tall. She laughs about how she used to try to save one half of her piece of bread in prison for eating later, but would always forget and gobble it up too early. She laughs about being horrified by the bucket bathroom situation in prison. Her stories are incredibly endearing- accidentally ordering beer on her first airplane flight, trying to convince her brother that the used and cleaned-up shoes she bought him were in fact new, complaining about her wrinkles but being thrilled when I told her we call them laugh lines. Despite the magnitude of her tragedy, I find myself overwhelmed by her spunk, not her sadness. Every night I leave her room energized and alive, blabbing to friends about everything she told me. It is easy to see an ex-political prisoner from Tibet as just a tragic story- but Zomkiy's personality- her squinty smile, her long laugh, the way she slaps my knee as we giggle together- is what sticks with me.
Like all escaped Tibetans, she has had some harrowing experiences. Zomkiy absolutely loves to talk (I spend most of our conversations just listening) and has told me the story of her life.
One day, she asked me to tell my story. At 20 (newly!), I was totally stumped. I told her about my brother, about growing up in the mountains, about how much I love college. It took me maybe five minutes. But over the course of two weeks, I've pieced hers together- for Tibetans, it is not unique. But for me, it is stunning.
Zomkiy's parents were farmers in a small village. As the oldest of nine children, she quit school after 7th grade to help on the farm and take care of her youngest siblings. The work was hard, and she had to carry a baby brother around on her back as she worked. At 18 (I think), she joined a nunnery. I'm unsure of the year she joined, but in 1989, she participated in a massive political protest with some other nuns. She was arrested. She shudders when she talks about Chinese police, remembering "many many beat". The first two words I teach her are "bruise" and "swollen". She spent three years in prison, surviving on one piece of bread a day for much of the time and living in a concrete cell with a bucket for a bathroom. Her family was allowed to visit, but not very often and only for five minutes at a time. After being released, she, like all other escaped Tibetans, walked (or rather climbed, through the snow) across the Himalayas to Nepal. It seems that this experience was worse than prison for her. "Very very difficult", she always says as she remembers 20 days of non-stop walking, carrying heavy bags of tsampa and sleeping little in bitter cold conditions. Though reluctant, she took the two young nephews of a brother's friend across with her. The boys hardly made it it seems, there was "many many crying" and the occasional need to carry their bags or even the boys themselves. After reaching Tibet, her group was stopped and robbed by Nepali police. Eventually, though, she made it to a reception center in Kathmandu, which sent her to India, where she has been in a nunnery for the last 17 years. She spent time at Gu Chu Sum last year learning English, and is back to keep improving upon it. Currently, she's waiting on a doctor's approval to move to Australia, where she wants to work and keep studying Buddhist philosophy- but she worries a lot about the move. I honestly don't know if she will be approved- she has some recurring pain and lasting injuries from being beaten by the police, and seems a bit frail to me.
Her story is horribly sad. She often shakes her head, looking at the ground, as she talks. The best way she knows how to convey her struggles is by saying "very very difficult" over and over. But the best thing about Zomkiy is her spirit. Her sense of humor shines through every terrible tale. She laughs about the challenge of carrying babies as such a small person, and tells me I must have good karma for being born so tall. She laughs about how she used to try to save one half of her piece of bread in prison for eating later, but would always forget and gobble it up too early. She laughs about being horrified by the bucket bathroom situation in prison. Her stories are incredibly endearing- accidentally ordering beer on her first airplane flight, trying to convince her brother that the used and cleaned-up shoes she bought him were in fact new, complaining about her wrinkles but being thrilled when I told her we call them laugh lines. Despite the magnitude of her tragedy, I find myself overwhelmed by her spunk, not her sadness. Every night I leave her room energized and alive, blabbing to friends about everything she told me. It is easy to see an ex-political prisoner from Tibet as just a tragic story- but Zomkiy's personality- her squinty smile, her long laugh, the way she slaps my knee as we giggle together- is what sticks with me.
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