Photography by
Bjorn E Engstrom

San Jiang county and the Dong minority people

Initially, the journey by means of public transport in a comfortable but basic coach from Nanning to San Jiang was filled with novel sights enriched by the passing views of small farming villages – made up of amber coloured brick dwellings – huddled together along the edges of the zigzag mountain ranges of Northern Guangxi in South China. The water buffaloes cavalier attitude to the traffic – especially their “could not care less” response to the erratic constant hooting by our coach driver – added to the excitement but as the night closed in on us converting the landscape into solid darkness, the excitement evaporated rapidly into an uneasy slumber accompanied only by the dull droll coming from the coach engine.  This monotonous state continued for about an hour when without warning the coach suddenly veered from the public road making a swift turn onto an uneven track of stones and gravel transforming the vehicle into a shrinking and suddenly monster.  I looked in alarm at my calm and still unperturbed wife, Vivienne, only to receive the laconic response, “Darling, this idea was yours”. Yes it was my idea or rather, as I imagined it, a mission to make a short study of the Dong people in South-west China.  This study formed part of a wider ambition of mine to explore ethnic people and their cultures in order to get a glimpse into a hidden world and its civilisations, memorising some of the sacred moments with my photography. Friends in Nanning had made the necessary arrangements for us to be guided by two young students during our sojourn in San Jiang, being an autonomous area and the centre for the Dong people in Guangzi.  Our guides were expected to meet us at San Jiang bus station and we were informed that reservations had been made for us at the best hotel the town could offer. I looked forward to a tasty meal and cool beer. The Dong people can trace their ancestral roots back to the time of the Qin and Han dynasties over 2,000 years ago when they made the remote areas of South-west China their homeland.  Here, in the provinces of Hunan, Guizhou and Guangxi, among the steep mountains and wild rivers the men and women of Dong still practice - in their daily lives, a distinguee and unique culture – against the tides of modernisation.  My aim was to share this environment with them, for a few days, to appreciate some aspects from an alternative way of living. After moments of peril, the coach finally stopped at a dimly lit plaza surrounded by a few mud coloured ramshackle houses.  Our fellow passengers left the coach in a silent customary manner not taking any notice of two alien strangers looking like celestials from outer space in their isolation.  Vivienne and I gazed at each other in sheer bewilderment.  Our guides were nowhere to be seen and my tasty meal supported by a cool beer was definitely on the back burner.  It was at this moment that a bent women of indistinguishable age approached us from nowhere like the phantom in the opera.  With friendly but determined nudges, she persistently dragged us towards a steamy noodle bar where our famished bodies were attended to with a thick broth made up of unknown ingredients.  This supper was not tasty or appetising but enough to revive our spirits into a profound conversation about a contingency plan.  My mission looked bleaker by the minute.  Without an English speaking guide with local contacts, the first bus back to Nanning would have been the only sensible alternative.  I was too ruffled to notice the arrival of two giggly girls attempting to make contact with us.  Luckily Vivienne did!  Nancy and Quen, our belated guides, had arrived.   In the humble Dong villages the “wind and rain” bridges stand out as exotic monuments against the scenery of a rural landscape and represent the unique character of the Dong people and their culture.  The roofed bridges are elegantly constructed in wood and serve as protection against the elements of nature as well as being a place for socialising.  Here the young women pursue their passion for needlework and the men take a rest to smoke their pipes after a day’s labour in the fields.  Some anthropologists may argue that the “drum tower” is the pinnacle of the Dong architecture with its many elaborate layers of roofing, like a full wedding cake, decorated with carvings of ferocious dragons for protection against evil spirits and bad omens.  In my opinion, both buildings are exquisite pearls in a rare necklace.  San Jiang is a small insignificant country town embedded within the lustre green woods of the autonomous county bearing its name.  The local council, in a moment of self indulgence, or one can even say hybrids, decided to build a ring road round the town with the illusionistic ambition to promote tourism.  In their course of this pursuit, they have created an almost impregnable moon landscape round its peripheral hence our somewhat rough ride into San Jiang.  The traffic in the town is, for the most part, made up of three wheeled motorbikes – the current substitution for the old rickshaws – conducting their business in the, for China, customary/chaotic kamikaze style. Nancy and Quen were keen to practise their newly acquired skills of guiding tourists and speaking English in the hope of promoting their promising career structures in the land of the emerging China.  In the days to come we embarked on a pioneer tour in the Dong countryside with the enthusiastic spirits of novelty transforming my dream mission into fruition.  We encountered pictorial hamlets made up of dark shaded weather beaten timber houses where the free range chickens could honestly said to be “free range” though probably with a limited life span.  Food is precious!!  The Dong economy is principally self sufficient with an ancestral concept of agriculture as its base.  Farming methods brought forward by generations are still being practised in to the stranger pastoral and idyllic environment.  Rice, tea and fruit are the stable arable products intercepted by animal husbandry for the regular necessities within the family nucleus. Nancy – a pretty young lady of Dong ancestry, with a sulky expression, had received an inspiring education in the hands of the principal college of San Jiang.  Her ambition was to one day become a professional tourist guide in order to conquer the world beyond the borders of Guangxi.  She had in that pursuit left the traditional life of the Dong community both in mind and body to become a model for the “Chinese woman” of the future.  Needlework was not high on Nancy’s “what to do” list.  Almost two years had lapsed since her last visit to the village of the childhood which was situated within only a short drive from San Jiang. It was on our last day with the Dong people we received the unforeseen invitation to spend the night with Nancy’s grandmother in the village of Don Jiang.  We arrived in the late afternoon with the mellow rays of mature sunshine covering the rice paddies conveying a “Shangri La” illusion.  A group of expectant elderly ladies with wrinkled faces and toothless smiles welcomed us with the customary “chi-chi” greeting outside Grandmother’s chocolate stained timber house.  The house maintained the conventional Dong architecture with the ground floor reserved for domestic animals as well as tools, the first floor providing living accommodation and the upper floor serving as space for storage.  Grandmother had been a widow for many years and in her household the timeless “Miss Hamersham” atmosphere prevailed. After making ourselves at home, Vivienne and I accompanied Grandmother on a short boat trip in a down-beaten tiny sampan to collect the vegetables for supper from an allotment on the opposite side of a nearby lake.  As a matter of fact there were two grandmothers!  I tried in a flash of studious energy – with Nancy’s assistance – to comprehend the complex combinations of family connections and relationships in the village.  Only the announcement of “dinner” saved me from the embarrassment of admitting defeat in unravelling the mystery of this ethnic maze. A special “New Year spread” had been prepared in honour of the virgin “tourists” to Don Jiang from Europe with the villagers wanting to make the most of the occasion.  The New Year cuisine is deemed as the highlight in the Chinese culinary calendar.  The Dong dinner based on rice, chicken and pork followed the predictable pattern of the other meals we had consumed in the region. On a low circular table, the food was served in individual dishes with everyone helping oneself with their chopsticks.  Vivienne and I felt deeply humbled by the sincere generosity expressed to us by the whole community.  However, the ingredients and consistencies of the food itself were not – without going into details – to be appreciated by the feeble taste buds.  For myself, having tendencies towards squeamishness, the local beer served in rudimentary ceramic bowls, provided an honourable escape from disgrace.  After a few too many “Kampai” – mandatory salutation with every bowl – I conceded to the invitation to have breakfast the following morning with the uncle living next door to the grandmother. As the evening drew to a close, the guests gradually left Grandmother’s house to find there way back to their homes in the, by now, pitch black village.  Streetlights have yet to reach Don Jiang.  Finally, I found myself alone in the salon with only the television as companionship.  It was time to go to bed!  With tinder dry wood, higgledy-piggledy electric wiring, cooking over an open fire of charcoal on a piece of concrete in the corner of the kitchen, the fire safety concerned me somewhat but after a day filled by unforeseen novelties, I was too tired to worry about it all and went to bed leaving my fate in the hands of the unknown.  I slept like a log.  It was at 4.00 o’clock in the morning that the fire alarm went off with a high pitched scream, like the piercing sound of an air raid warning, penetrating the dimly lit room without mercy.  I tried, in the hassle of panic, to grab Vivienne to escape from my imaginary inferno only to…bang… hit my heads on a door post.  From a feeble prostrate position on the floor, I could hear her quiet voice whisper “It is the pig!  The one for breakfast!!”  Now I remembered… the Uncle next door was a butcher.  Not in my wildest dreams could I have stretched my imagination to the extent that he would perform his profession so close to my comforts.  Guilt flooded my mind at the thought of the “poor fellow” losing his life in the course of my breakfast, especially as I had definitely planned to stick to my diet of beer!! Morning dawned and the villagers set about their daily tasks in a routine manner set against the back drop of eternity.  Grandmother (number one) made delicious, moist “pancakes” on the stove in the kitchen out of ground rice with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top – “jammy”.  Uncle had been busy cooking since “the incident” with the “fire alarm” in the early hours and to his credit the end result was up to the challenge of any cordon bleu concoction.  Life is filled with encounters and farewells.  Some farewells are transient whilst others will follow through to become moments of gold in our memory.  We left Don Jiang saying good-bye to the Dong people in a mixture of laughter and tears.   *** Copyright - Bjorn E. Engstrom 5th June 2008.