Mother with child winnows millet

Early this morning after a mug of hot spicy black tea and some bananas I caught the first of three buses to the bottom of the mountain where Lally and Niauli's mother lives with another sister. In my knapsack there were 4 kilos of sugar, lots of soap and soap powder, biscuits and I bought oranges from a stall at the bottom of the steps. The man there insisted on lending me his staff which I really appreciated very quickly. The sun was full on the first bit and I struggled to the first porter station which allows someone to rest a doko on the ledge and sit down and then start off again without lifting it from the ground. There were more than 3,000 steps (Raju and I counted them when he was about 11) and I rested and rested yet again. Three quarters of the way up two young chaps walked with me and noticed I was struggling a bit and one took my pack which was so kind. Everyone we met wanted to know if I was all right and usually asked where I was from. It took me three hours to get to the village (and only half that coming down!) but when I reached the top of the path and looked over to the valley on the other side the pack was given back to me and the young men went on. They couldn't have been more patient.
Walking along the ridge I heard rhythmic banging from the yard in front of a house which had a sign advertising cold drinks. I hailed them with my stick and they invited me with much laughter to join them. I had thought they were making kapok filled duvets but two men were threshing a pile of millet heads with sticks, first one and then the other until they released the seed. Then two girls took a nanglo (round bamboo tray) and winnowed off the rubbish. I sat opposite a woman and another load of millet was tipped in front of us and we beat it too – I was given a stool to sit on, it is impossible to cross my legs and sit on the floor. One of the girls fetched me an ice cold coke which somewhat revived me and then I set off for the village but took a wrong turning. Three road men eventually put me right but when I reached Aama's house but there was no one at home. The usual view of the mountains almost on top of them was hidden in clouds so I mooched around taking photos of different farm houses set amongst the terraces and some beautiful older women. Apparently Aama and her daughter were out cutting 'grass' for the buffalo and goats. The daughter came back and was thrilled to see me – lots of hugs and tears from us both and then eventually Aama got home too. It is always embarrassing to have one's feet kissed but she did it three times and it just has to be accepted. I had stayed with them several times in the past but couldn't face the hard bed with the chickens underneath and it is cold at night. Sadly it was nearly time for me to go as I had to climb down those 3,000+ steps before it got dark but Aama posed for photos – people here always look as if they are having a passport picture made and become very solemn but I remembered she loved to dance so have some photos of her doing exactly that and looking so happy but she doesn't like to smile now because she has lost most of her teeth. The last time I saw her Joe was with me but Aama's husband had just died so it was not as jolly as my visits have always been. When I got to the bottom of the steps I handed back the stick to the orange vendor and the 50 rupees that he had initially asked for in the morning and he then said I wasn't to catch a bus as he would stop a car and get them to take me to Pokhara City from where I could catch a bus to the Lakeside. When he opened the door of the first car that stopped he knew him very well, called him brother and so did I for I'd known him for many years. Such a coincidence and it couldn't have been better for I was taken right home.
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