安家良---沪江网主编

Namu...
by Paul Mooney (first appeared in That's Guangzhou, July 2004)
 Heads turn as she glides through the lobby of the St. Regis Hotel in Beijing. She's tall, dark and exotic, with the kind of luxuriant hair you usually only see in shampoo commercials. She's wearing a bold blue Chinese silk dress with an imperial yellow lining, and eye-catching net stockings that are partially hidden by her long leather boots. It's difficult to believe that this is the once shoeless, head-shaven Yang Erche Namu who tended yaks in the mountains between Yunnan and Sichuan a little over 20 years ago.

Namu, who has gone from Yak herder to beautiful person over the past two decades, is already well-known to countless Chinese readers of her eight books. She hails from the matriarchal society of some 50,000 Moso living along the shores of Lugu Lake, a society in which women rule men. The Moso, who descend from Tibetan nomads, consider marriage backward. Property and names are handed down from mother to daughter, and while women have their own bedrooms, men are mostly relegated to the stables. Every family in this legendary "Country of Daughters" has a matriarch who oversees family affairs. And daughters are valued more highly than sons.

The women rarely take husbands, preferring what is known as "walking marriages." A woman tickles the palm of a man she fancies, who then enters her room quietly in the evening. He is gone by daylight, and any resulting offspring stay with the mother. Walking marriages are a legacy of a time when men went off to war or traveled with caravans, leaving the women to run the household and do the agricultural work.

Namu was born to a Moso family in 1966. She cried so much, her mother tried to give her away three times—but she kept coming back. She was sent to herd yaks in the mountains with her maternal uncle at the age of 8, returning to her mother's home five years later, completely illiterate. In 1981, a singing contest takes her all the way to Beijing where she is mesmerized by the big city lights. She returns home, but soon runs away to join a singing troupe in Sichuan. Armed with just seven eggs for the journey, she walks seven days in the forest until she reaches the county seat. From here, she talks her way into the Shanghai Conservatory of Music as a minority singer, where she learns to read and write.

She eventually marries an American and moves to San Francisco, but the marriage ends in divorce two years later. After losing the hearing in her right ear, she gives up singing and opens her own fashion boutique. This is followed by modeling that takes her around the world. Namu eventually realizes that she has a talent for writing. "It was like a mine," she says with typical Namu pride. "The deeper I dug, the more talent I found."

Her books have attracted a loyal army of readers who are moved by her rags to riches story. Her first English book was published earlier this year and has been well-received in the United States for its moving simplicity. "Leaving Mother Lake, A Childhood at the Edge of the World" is about the relationship between Namu and her mother, or Ama in Moso, and describes her bitter-sweet early years.

Namu talks about being a reluctant writer, driven by the pressure to satisfy fans. "Two days after I finish a book, people start calling me to ask when my next one will come out," she says. Despite her complaints, she obviously relishes the attention heaped on her by her fans, and says she wants to write more books to inspire women. "I'm so happy to give minorities, especially rural women, strength," she says.

"Each time I finish writing a book, I tell myself 'No more,'" says Namu "I have beautiful legs, but I hide them under my desk. But when I see the reaction to my books, I can't help but sit down at my desk and write again."

Namu, who says her friends call her a "book machine," has signed contracts for four more books this year. "I have a big poster in my house that says 'No Sex Tonight,'" she says pointing to the wall. "Guess I'll have to look at the poster for I don't know how long." In addition to her book projects, Namu is helping to build a school in Lugu Lake and is also preparing to film a 40-part Chinese version of Sex in the City.

She leads a hectic schedule. "I drink 12 cups of coffee a day, run all over the city, and have no time to eat," she says. "People say the Buddha has nine heads, and I think I was born with four heads, so I guess I'm half a Buddha." She attributes her energy to being raised on yak butter tea and yak meat.

She complains that writers focus too much on her minority background and her love life. "They forget my talent and my ideas—my four Buddha heads," she says laughing. Namu wants to be recognized for more than just a pretty face. She often talks about her responsibility to the Moso, who were little known outside Yunnan province before she achieved fame. Indeed, many young minority people, and not just Moso, look up to her as a model.

A few decades ago, it took a week for a mule caravan to make its way to Lugu Lake from the trading center of Lijiang. When Namu was a girl, the town was still quite isolated. There were no paved roads and no electricity. Even today, it's a harrowing 8-hour mountain journey from Lijiang to the village--which was off limits to foreigners as recently as the early 1990s-- one reason why walking marriages survive until today. Tourism has been financially rewarding, and the local people now boast televisions, karaoke machines and mobile phones.

Namu proudly says that her books are responsible for about 80 percent of the people who make the to beautiful Lugu Lake, but this is also a burden for her. She says that some people living along the lake have become obsessed with making money, giving little thought to preserving the area. "Opening up to tourism can be very dangerous," she says. "The culture can be destroyed. And all we have is our culture. I'm very nervous."

She sees herself as a sort of cultural ambassador of the Moso people, and says this is one reason that she has returned to China. "If I didn't do this now, I would regret this in a couple of years," she says. She's also trying to set an example for fellow Moso people. She's built an attractive 37-room guest house in her hometown and is also working with the government to build a school along the lake that conforms to local architectural styles. "My deal with the government is that I give half and they give half, but we do it my way," she says, acting like a bossy matriarch.

A stranger could be forgiven for thinking that Namu is totally enamored of herself. In her first book she tells of staring at her own reflection in Lugu Lake for the first time—she never had a mirror. She is so overwhelmed with her beauty that she falls in the lake and almost drowns. "I can't just be beautiful," she tells me nonchalantly. "I have a duty to my people." In describing herself, the words hero and model roll off her lips unabashedly. "In Switzerland I drove a Mercedes Benz around Geneva Lake, but I wasn't happy," she says innocently. "I wanted to be a Mother Teresa." On paper such words may sound like conceit, but somehow it doesn't come across that way in conversation. Those that know her accept her self-appreciation with affection.

Despite her great accomplishments, Namu says it's lonely at the top. She confesses to being too strong-willed with her former husband. She likens her past relationships with Western men as "walking marriages," but with the shoes on the wrong feet. "I've been involved in international walking marriages," she says smiling. "In Lugu Lake men walk to the women. In my relations, I have done most of the walking."

"Friends say I can't hold a man," she says looking away suddenly, seemingly tossing the idea around in her head. She then wonders whether her background may have something to do with this. "Love comes and goes like the seasons," she says repeating a Moso maxim. "Life is very hard, and then you have to live with a broken heart."

She puts part of the blame on her Moso upbringing. "In my culture, we don't have marriage. I didn't grow up with a dad—I don't have any example to go by."

"Most people do things with their minds, but I grew up with people who do things with their hearts," she explains. "Every time things go wrong I tell myself I won't do this again, but I can't stop myself."

"Men always leave me," she says. "I make them feel inadequate because I have a heart as big as an ocean." "I'm a very giving person, and while this is sometimes good, it also causes me pain sometimes. If you're too kind, people can hurt you."

She then reveals thoughts that make one think you can take the girl out of Lugu Lake but not the Lugu Lake out of the woman. "I still prefer the walking marriage," she says emphatically. "You don't have to see each other all the time." According to Namu, Moso women are completely self- sufficient and so pay no attention to what kind of job a man has or whether he can take care of them. "Everything they do is for love," she says.

Could this be the key to family stability? Anthropologist Christine Mathieu, Namu's co-author in her latest book, says that the Moso "are reputed to be the only people in the world who consider marriage to be an attack on the family."

Namu says she's fed up with the Western style of romance which she says allows people to toss the word love around like a hot potato. "In most societies men and women are enemies," she says. "Western love is too much of a game. It makes people always live a lie and makes them nervous and insecure." She adds: "You will never have an enemy in the walking marriage."

Namu has also retained the Moso woman's proclivity for being the boss. "I like to tell men how to do things because I always believe women are smarter than men," she says, as I shift uncomfortably in my chair. "Men don't really like women who are strong, successful and brave, and who can make things happen—especially Western men."

Namu says she's now happy being single again. "I want to live my life the way I want to," she says before launching into a string of things she's going to do now that's she's washed men out of her hair. She is quite excited about a new apartment she just bought in Beijing. "I want to start singing again and I would like to open a Tibetan fashion museum," she says. "Then I want to go back to school to study English."

But then she begins to show signs that she's forgotten that she's a proud product of the Moso matriarchal society. She talks about finding "Mr. Dui" and drowning him in loving care. "I hope I can find a nice husband who will love me and understand my people, and who will let me do things," she says, seemingly having forgotten that she just swore off men a few sentences earlier. She says she also wants to learn how to cook "so I can one day serve my husband." When I tell her that this is not exactly a feminist notion, she shoots back: "That's beautiful because no one thinks that way anymore." And I wonder "What would Ama think?"

I ask her if she feels any regret about leaving her origins.

"If reborn again, I would still like to born on Lugu Lake and be in my own family," she says firmly. "I have not regrets, but if I had another chance, I wouldn't leave. Life in Lugu Lake is very relaxed, while life outside is too difficult for a woman."

Then why not go home, I ask.

"I definitely can't go back—I'm an outsider," she replies. "I left my village when I was too young. They think I'm an American. The Chinese think I'm a minority. In America, they think I'm Chinese." And then she recalls a sweet meeting with American Indians in Santa Fe who obviously saw their own reflection in her face. "They treated me like a sister," she says. "That was really cute."

In "Leaving Mother Lake," Namu poses a question about the survival of the Moso. "How do we become a part of the world without losing ourselves in it?" I close the book and wonder if one might not ask the same question about Namu.


Le Royaume des Femmes...
Il y a encore quelques années les ethnologues pensaient que la famille était le maillon le plus restreint des sociétés humaines. Établis sur les premiers contreforts de l'Himalaya, dans le Yunnan, sur les bords du lac Lugu, les Muosos viennent contredire ce qui semblait être une évidence. À l'exemple de la lignée de Namu les Muosos ont toujours vécu sans l'institution du mariage. Les notions de père et de mari sont chez eux inexistantes. Chez les Muosos, les foyers regroupent sous un même toit deux à quatre générations. Le rôle de chef de famille est tenu par la femme la plus âgée ou la plus vaillante, la dabu (c'est Latse, 73 ans dans la lignée de Namu). Ses fonctions consistent dans la répartition des taches agricoles entre les membres de la maisonnée, l'accueil des hôtes et l'organisation des cérémonies religieuses. Les enfants sont affiliés au groupe maternel et portent le nom de leur mère.

Chez les Muosos, c'est la nuit qui bénit les amants. Ici l'amour libre est une institution. Le mariage n'existe pas et la fidélité est considérée comme une hérésie. Femmes et hommes changent de partenaires au gré des rencontres. Les hommes expriment leurs désirs et les femmes y consentent ou non. Au fil des années, les liaisons se nouent et se dénouent, il n'y a aucun mal à cumuler les amours, seul l'inceste est prohibé. Les notions de jalousie et de possession leur sont totalement étrangères. Généralement, les enfants qui naissent de ces amours ne connaissent pas leur père et s'ils l'apprennent, celui-ci n'est qu'un géniteur. Dans la tradition Muosos, la mère possède la graine, le père lui est juste l'arroseur. Un dicton Muosos raconte, "Si la pluie ne tombe pas du ciel, les herbes ne poussent pas dans la terre." Il arrive qu'une fille fréquente plus d'une centaine de partenaires dans sa vie. Les Muosos forment aujourd'hui une population de plus de 30 000 âmes.