China: By Journalists Eye XIV: Back to 19th century

Qinghai Province to 1928 is had been part of a separate Tibet and Tibetans are just next to the Kazakhs and Mongols are one of the few for whom the Qinghai real home. They make more than one fifth of the local population.

The others, Han, as they say the majority population of China, and many members of ethnic minorities, came here for various reasons - in the best case government sent them here as the police officers, soldiers or officials. Rugged mountain region but has also become "educational institution" for political prisoners. Not for nothing the province is called Chinese Siberia. Here blow the winds, there's a frost, the area is remote, and therefore proved for the cutting inconvenient people and building labour camps. The lucky ones who survived have often had no choice but to settle here.

Tibetans for four millennia lived by nomadic way. With herds of yaks and sheep crossed the plains and mountain valleys to descend just to barter. I want to see at least one nomad, but I guess it somehow fit into our program. Indeed, this time we are going to see the town where just completed construction of a modern housing complex for the "poor inhabitants of mountain areas."

The Chinese government under the program "We are opening to the West" has set itself the task to significantly increase the living standards of local residents, and as we hear from our guide, "…program is implemented successfully, resettlement of people are happy to have hot water and electricity, health care, receive a state pension and the children can go to school ... ". Hmm, as far as I know, the reality is different. She somehow forgot to mention that most of the former nomads can´t read or write, few of them understand Chinese, let alone English, no one have any education, other than or pastoral practice, and to "retrain" no one give them money.

Instead of declared wealth is much more coming dispossession, loss of economic independence, the worst rather menial work or unemployment, poverty, people are reeling from nothing to nothing in box looking housing estate and poor state contributions eventually invest in cheap alcohol, whose consumption is punctuated by the playing board games and pool. The official number of displaced nomads and mountain people are different, but it is certain that we are somewhere around one million and a unique world of the Tibetan plains becomes irretrievably past.

We are in our aim. We arrive to the town, which at first sight certainly has nothing to do with the picturesqueness. We pass a number of shabby, destroyed, low dilapidated buildings, broken roads are slowly changing in the dirt road. At present a performance is frankly not looking forward too - we have a newly built housing estate type home enough and there are still binds them all that camouflage about raising living standards. People also don’t have a chance to say that no such worth that they want to live as it is taught parents, grandparents, and how it is comfortable for them. So I am already pre-sharpened and preparing for the captious questions, on which of course I´ll get just evasive answers.

The bus starts to brake suddenly, and we can look at a “picture” that is before us unexpectedly shucked. We are on the edge of the market, which winds along both sides of the road. Everything here is incredibly colourful and live, the beautiful Tibetan of all ages people sit, stand and run around and at closer sight, I understand we got back to the 19th century. Among us journalists it begins to hum and fizz, hand all of us quickly try to take a picture or film, and guides the great dismay of no one responding to their efforts to steer us into a side street, where probably lies the "concrete treasure."

"We do not have time. This is not in the program! A delegation from the city government is waiting for us. We can´t delay ..... "shout at us unfortunate ladies Beijing. In vain. We are both ecstatic about such a scene most of us have seen the uncompromising urge at least half an hour - a guide angrily allow us 15 minutes, even though they know that they have no chance of us in the grim limit to get us back. It is clear that something went wrong with them - we see how the west closer to the developed east China, and instead here we run excitedly around the market where time has stopped.

Unconcealed astonishment is on both sides. We take pictures of each stand with strange goods, every street craft "station" - incredible iron machine that produces a key monster on which sew shoes, horse shoe maker with horse shoes ... And the local people from head to toe observe us, the children huddle around cameras – we show them what we filmed - followed by laughter. More and more are added, they want to see them self, prevail even many adults. Proudly posing for us and we respectfully in advance ask them whether we can make a picture.

I try to get all the colours, which abounds with local people wear, women's scarves on their heads artfully shaped into some kind of turbans, braids interwoven ribbons that adorn little girls and old women, multi-layered skirt and then a few purely "Western" models of local teenagers who proudly disturb the atmosphere. Minutes go by incredibly fast, I have to go back to the bus, but thru still nervous and calling gestures guides resist and stop at a beautiful old woman with a face seamed and wrinkled incredible calmness in his eyes. Last ask whether I can shoot. This time it is without a smile. Gently nod, it stops and proudly looks off into the distance. Snap, snap, snap. Thank you and feel great humility hang a camera around your neck. Here we go to the estate house.

Text/photo: Andrea Fantová