The Sirens of Lugu Lake

We all have a favourite place to sit, both tranquil and stimulating, where we feel light-years away from all problems, yet inspired by fresh ambitions which, in the beauty of our surroundings, all seem so feasible. My own favourite is a small knoll on the peninsula of Hlige village, on the northern end of Lugu Lake in Northwest Yunnan Province, the most beautiful body of water in all of Southwest China. Augmenting the attraction, it is the homeland of one of Asia's rare matrilineal societies--the Mosuo people. Remote it certainly is, but not too difficult to reach. From Thailand it's a short flight to Kunming, an overnight sleeper bus to Ninglang and a four-hour ride north, over three mountain passes, to Lugu. On the final descent the 50 kilometre-square lake is visible through the pines, with 4000m high Lion Mountain, home to Goddess Ganmo, the Mosuos' chief deity, standing majestically over the northern shore.

The road winds down to the plain, passing Luoshui village, seated right beside the water at 2700m altitude. Nearly all visitors stay here with Mosuo families or in one of the large, traditional-style guest houses up the road. If the lake is relatively calm it will be busy with boats, some out fishing, others transporting tourists to the two nearest islands. The vessels are simple, canoe-like and without motors, and so do not disturb the quiet contemplation of magnificent scenery.

I pass Luoshui and only disembark at the other end of Lugu, at the foot of Lion Mountain, above a small bay partially enclosed by a key-shaped peninsula with seven log cabins. The rest of the village houses line the shores across the bay. I call on my Mosuo friends and am treated to a welcoming glass of barley spirits, butter tea, barley flour, sunflower seeds and baked potatoes. This is just to hold me off till the meal is ready. That will comprise sausages, fried potatoes, three-year-old ham, eggs, fish, rice mixed with split beans or cracked corn, and a liberal amount of potent maize or barley liquor--50% alcohol.

After such a repast I could easily nap, but I am anxious to clamber up the knoll behind the house, sit there and gaze upon the luscious lake scenery. The waters sprawl before me, mottled by islands and peninsulas and bounded by mountains. The lake's surface colour alters with every shift in the configuration of overhead clouds and in the angle of the sunbeams. Now it's overcast and the water is grey-blue. The clouds scatter and the lake turns bright blue with patches of purple. The clouds disappear and points of light sparkle on the little waves. The sun begins to set and the lake turns a deep blue, except along the shore where it reflects the green and rust brown colours of the land. At times it will become as placid as a mirror and when a boat paddles by it leaves a long crease in the waters behind.

Colours around Hlige are best in spring and autumn. In March and April the flowers bloom--pink azaleas, white pear blossoms and rhododendrons, plus various wild flowers in yellow and magenta. In mid-November the leaves turn to yellow on the willows and poplars, to red and orange on the fruit trees. On a clear day one can sense forever.

I sit alone in my rapture, but never for very long. The Mosuos appreciate the spot themselves and inevitably soon one or two will come to join me. It could easily be a girl who comes, for Mosuo females are not the least bit shy with their guests. So this time it's Archumaw, one of the livelier of the daughters of Jiaoma's house. She welcomes me back, inquires about my plans, then reminds me that last trip I said I wanted to learn some Mosuo songs. "You still want to learn?" "Yes." "You have pen and paper?" "Yes." "Good. Start writing. Ah-ah-ah gu-yah. Write it down, write it down. Yi lian tsai do shin shento...Did you write it down?"

Oh yes, I've got it down, both on paper and on my dictaphone, which is my Mosuo friends' favourite instrument of amusement. She listens to the playback and asks me to sing along. Now she's in the mood for another song and belts out one of those high-pitched, warbling tribal tunes that are so unique to the Mosuos. Foreign and Chinese guests at Luoshui usually contract the village youth there to perform a song and dance show around an evening bonfire. Hlige girls importune the rare tour groups that visit their own village to hire them to dress up, sing and row boats for them. Most resist, but then the girls sing anyway. It's in their blood. You can even hear them on the buses to Ninglang.

For Luoshui's dance show girls in their braided turbans, bright jackets and long pleated skirts line up beside young men in Tibetan cowboy hats, black jackets, boots and cummerbunds. Led by a flutist they dance around the fire, singing verses at intervals and shouting "Suh! Suh!" by way of punctuation. In the old days, when the area was much more forested, the exclamations were designed to scare off wild animals. But in recent decades the bears and cats have vanished and Mosuos see only rabbits, squirrels, foxes and squawking eagles in the upper forests of Lion Mountain.

Other songs are of the call-and-response type, with each sex taking turns singing a stanza. Most solos and duets are sung by the girls, who do both the old traditional songs, recognisable by the extended notes and the tonal drop-offs at the end of each verse, and recent compositions, which have a simpler and more regular arrangement, resembling Han ballads. A few songs are in Chinese, with lyrics that praise the beauty of Lugu Lake. Other tunes extol the life of fishing, herding and farming, welcome the guests and encourage them to get drunk and enjoy themselves.

With very little prodding, nearly the same repertoire can be heard at one of the houses of the northern shore villages. Many girls are proud of their singing skill and the arrival of a guest with a dictaphone gives them a chance to show it and prove it. My evenings at Lugu are usually musical ones, full of high-pitched songs and equally high-pitched laughter, as the usual reaction a girl has to hearing a mistake on the playback is to squeal with delight at how funny it sounds. Mosuos are fond of laughter and find many excuses to indulge in it.

In the quieter moments we talk of the current farming work, the condition of the animals, whether there's good fish to catch nowadays (spring and summer are best), if anyone close by has made any fresh sulima (barley beer--my favourite local refreshment), as well as of family matters (they always ask about my mother and my sisters first). The old woman Jiaoma had ten children, eight of them daughters, so discussion of the family can take some time. The big news is that grand-daughter Yanjiya will have her maturity rite later this year. She will ceremonially don the turban and long white skirt that is the dress of a young woman. Boys her age will dress in the style of a Tibetan youth to mark their transition to adulthood. But the girls rite is more important. From then on she will have her own separate room in the compound and can receive male guests in privacy.

This doesn't mean she will immediately embark upon a sexual career, but it does elevate her status. Mosuos do not formally marry and their language has no words for husband or wife. They use the word azhu, which is also the word for common friend. The girl chooses the boy. He stays overnight with her but returns to his own mother's for meals and work assignments. Such affairs may last only temporarily, but they can also survive a lifetime. The system, practised by all Mosuos except the clans of the ex-ruling class, came under attack during the more radical decades of the recent past. But Mosuos by and large refused to register their "marriages" and are today even more inclined to retain their custom now that they have become famous for it. (Local tourist literature calls the Lugu Lake area the "Girls' Kingdom.")

In any case, the children belong to the mother. The house, valuables, land and immovable property pass from mother to youngest daughter. If a woman has no daughter she adopts one of her sister's. Each house is managed by a dahbeu, who is the mother or oldest daughter. Family loyalty centres on the mother, but not necessarily the house, as daughters sleep now here, now in a sister's home. The men remain in the background, responsible for religious matters (such as the Tibetan rites in the morning), construction, ploughing, long-distance trade and most heavy labour. The women do everything else, including attending to the guests.

Sometimes the women's labour can be quite arduous. In November Yizo, Jiaoma's second daughter, decided to build her own house. I joined three of her sisters on the boat ride to Xiaoluoshui, enlivened by songs and jokes the whole way. "Jim-o, why don't you choose a Mosuo girl and live here?" It's too tempting, so I say, "You're Mosuo. You're supposed to choose me." Raucous laughter. I inquire further. "What kind of man do Mosuo girls like?" "It doesn't matter," says one of the rowers, "so long as he has two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth and his manhood." She speaks with a sly smile, pulling on the oars.

We disembark at Xiaoluoshui, have a meal at big sister's house and the girls are off to work. They strap two big house posts or wall logs to their backs and march a few hundred metres to the shore, dump them and go back for more. A dozen women are at this all day, with two more meal breaks, till dark. Then it's one more meal (the fifth of the day) before the scene devolves into another party, where liquor flows freely, girls show off their vocal talents and screeching laughter erupts with every playback on the dictaphone.

In the morning I hike to the great rock on the Sichuan border. Here, according to legend, when Lugu was a valley, a great fish was stuck in a hole in this rock. When people pulled it out a rush of water flooded them and the whole valley. One woman who saw it coming kicked the pigs away from their feeding trough and placed a boy and a girl inside. The flood swept her away, but the boat floated and the race was saved. To this day Mosuos use the same boats. This morning they are strapped together in pairs and piled with logs for Yizo's house. And in spite of the hard tasks of loading and rowing, the girls still feel like singing. I'm on my way out, trudging uphill to the road, blessed with a farewell serenade, whether coincidental or intentional it hardly matters. They all know I'll be back to hear them again.

Beautiful Lugu Lake in the morning's spangled mists
White clouds surround the base of Lion Mountain
How happy my grandmother is
11,000 daughters have grown up
11,000 sons have grown tall
Daughters grow up and put on skirts
Sons grow up and put on trousers
Mother's very happy in her heart

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