Kate Humble Explores the Raute People’s Nomadic Way of Life

I've always been fascinated by nomads. Constantly on the move. It's the most beautiful journey. Surviving in some of the world's most remote wildernesses. Where's the removal van when you need it? And living cheek by jowl with nature. It's always seemed a wildly romantic existence. It's the most magical place. But it's no easy life. It's the sort of cold that makes you feel physically sick. And in today's modern world, they're under increasing pressure. I'm going to live with three groups of nomads. In Mongolia, Siberia, and with Nepal's last nomads, the Raute. Namaste. These hunter-gatherers once lived deep in the forest. But today there are less than 150 Raute people living as nomads. And the pressure for them to settle is mounting. I just want all these people to go away and leave them alone. As they're facing increasing threats from the outside world. For over 900 years, the dark, steeply wooded hills of central Nepal have been home to the famously secretive Raute. They are a group of people who traditionally have lived very remotely from settled people in Nepal. These are people that really live life on the move. But in recent years, they've been leaving the forest and settling within Nepali society. All except one small group. Very little has been written about them. We don't think that anyone has ever filmed them for television before. And getting access to them has been a very long and careful negotiating process. It's a two-day journey into the heart of southwestern Nepal to a small district called Dailek, where I'm hoping to travel with the country's last nomadic group. The Raute move every few weeks around this, their traditional territory, which is roughly the size of Wales. 17 Raute communities once roamed northern India and Nepal. But today, only one remains. A small group of around 140 people. I've been told that their current camp is somewhere down in this valley. From what I can gather, they're quite private people. So I don't know really what sort of reception to expect. The Raute live by three guiding principles. No settlement, no education and no agriculture. I'm keen to know how they can hold on to these beliefs as they come into closer contact with more mainstream society. Wow. So that's where they are. That little camp of cloth-covered shelters. And this is it. This is the entire Raute population of Nepal right here. You can also see how close they are to the houses up on the side here. They're camped right on the edge of people's rice paddies. There's always suspicion between settled and unsettled people. I mean, you know, we only have to look at our own country in the way that people view travellers. Given that there are so few of them left and that there seems to be this shift towards living much closer to settled people, does this spell the end of the last nomadic tribe of Nepal? Namaste. Namaste. This way? Thank you. Can I shake your hand? No? OK. We've pre-arranged our filming and we're compensating the Raute for their time. But there's an uneasiness in the camp. And no-one's very keen to engage with me. What do you want me to do with it? You want me to buy it? I want to know first who taught you to carve. I don't want to buy it yet. Maybe another day. Ah, tobacco. It seems at the moment that I am being seen a little bit like a human ATM. And everything is about money. Everything, you know, that's a nice bowl. Yes, you can buy it, you know. I'll be welcoming to you if you pay me. Which is, I suppose, not that surprising, really, given that there's been so little contact with foreigners. It's going to take time to win their trust. But, as is often the case, it's the children who seem the most intrigued. The Raute are moving away from the deep forest where they had no need for money. But now, as they enter the cash economy, they're some of the poorest people in one of the poorest nations on Earth. The crew and I are camping a short walk from the Raute settlement. Today's been a really tough day. At one point, I tried to shake a woman's hand and she absolutely wouldn't have anything to do with me. No eye contact. She physically turned away. And that's quite hard to deal with. But it would be lovely to feel at some point that there is a genuine connection and interaction that isn't just paid for. Today, the Raute have decided to move. Namaste. Do you want me to help? It's not clear why they're moving, but with such simple dwellings and very few possessions, it's a quick process packing up camp. The Raute may not own much, but it often takes two days to carry their belongings to the new campsite. You tell me what to do. OK, so what would you like me to do? Excellent. It's all going very, very well. It is so frustrating. I want to help and make friends, but to the Raute, I still represent only one thing. I feel very guilty not carrying anything, particularly when you see these little kids walking up with their human loads. But at the moment, they still don't really know what to do with me, and I suppose I don't really know how to break the barriers down. OK. She looks very, very pregnant. And although this pole weighs nothing, just feel. You want to take it? Sure? OK. And then a small breakthrough. I thought that if I waited long enough at the side of the road looking empty-handed, someone would eventually give me something to carry. It feels like a tiny, tiny step to being allowed in. These hills are at 1,700 metres above sea level, so walking with heavy loads in this heat and humidity is incredibly tough. It's all going quite well. I've gained a pole and a goat. It's hard work. We're doing this in the hottest part of the day. I'm trying very hard not to show any sign of weakness whatsoever when you've got little things like this probably carrying more than their body weight. While we rest, one of the most respected elders, Main Badu, tells me about their moves. The Raute used to hunt monkeys and forage for food in the forest. But over the past decade, with the cultivation of more and more land, they're becoming increasingly reliant on trade. After four hours of trekking, we arrive at the new camp, which looks remarkably like someone's farm. Let me just pop that down. There are four Raute chiefs, each elected by the community. One of them, Ain Badu, has asked me to go with him to the camp. Each time they move, the Raute rebuild their simple shelters, taking what they need from the surrounding forest. So this is what the villagers are afraid of. All the Raute now spreading out and cutting trees down. Now, you might think, why don't they bring everything with them? But given that they carry everything by hand, and having just carried a few poles myself, I can understand why they just think, well, you know, it'll all rot down, we'll just leave it there. But equally, you can see why the villagers must think, what a waste of wood. You need more? We're going this way. Here? This one? It's illegal for Nepalese to fell trees. They're only allowed to take dead wood from the forest floor. So it's going to fall this way? OK. So we go that side. But the government has granted the Raute special permission to take what they need. It's easy to see how that could lead to conflict. So is this a good new site for everybody? Do you know who owns this land? And he doesn't mind that you come and set up your camp on his land? Do you pay him something to use the land? Agriculture is vital to Nepal's struggling economy. But as more land is cultivated, the Raute increasingly encroach onto farmed land, provoking tension between two very different ways of living. Amnita Bamshi and her family have farmed this land for the past 10 years. Did they ask your permission to stay on your land? I've been with the Raute for three days now. It's hard getting to know them. But I am starting to understand their sense of identity. They are enormously proud of who they are. And there is something regal about them, in their filthy clothing and their matted hair. And yet, you know, the women walk through that camp like princesses. They've got this incredible bearing about them. They look magnificent. And if anything is going to keep them as Raute, as these, you know, highly mobile, highly proud, obstreperous, difficult, impossible to understand people, it is going to be just the essence of them, of what it is that make them Raute. The next day, the Raute are gathering yet more wood, but this time to make handicrafts. In the past, they bartered their boxes and bowls for food. But today, they're mostly sold for cash. It's not enough to live on. So in 2009, the Nepali government began to give each Raute a monthly cash allowance of six pounds. The Raute are clearly becoming dependent on the cash economy. Birabadu, another chief, is one of the best carvers in the community. Birabadu, can you tell me what you're making? I'm making a box. I'm going to make a box for tea. I'm going to make a box for food. I'm going to make a box for tea. Birabadu has six children. His two eldest boys, Deepak and Kapil, are already becoming accomplished carvers. Do you teach Kapil and Deepak how to carve? I teach them how to carve. I teach them how to make a box for tea. In Raute culture, only the men carve. But everyone gets involved in trading, and they seem happy enough for me to help finish these bowls for market. We're taking the bowls to the local village of Godabas, where a trader is waiting to buy them. I head off with Birabadu's sons. It's a two-hour walk to the village, up yet more ridiculously steep hills. This is quite a walk to the village shops. I thought I was reasonably fit and reasonably strong, and I couldn't beat a five-year-old. It's funny, out of their camp, the atmosphere is very different. People seem to be a bit more open and friendly towards me, generally a bit more chatty, a bit more eye contact from the women, a bit of smiling. Maybe it's just the excitement of being near a shop with tobacco and fizzy drinks, though. The trader waiting for the Raute is from another district, 200 kilometres away. The bowls will be refined and decorated for the European market, where they'll sell for up to £40 each. How much will you pay for the bowls? Only 200 rupees? Not very much. Should you pay more? The cash from the sale of the bowls is used to buy rice, flour, vegetables and tobacco. Did the sale go well today? Did you get some good money? And what will you do with the money now? As the Raute move closer to the settled world, they become more exposed to all its trappings. What do you think about things like mobile phones or televisions? And the same for phones as well? Do you think your life would be better if you lived in a village like this one, settled? This is so surprising to hear. Wherever I go, it's always the younger generation that wants new technology to modernise. But here it seems these Raute boys genuinely hold their traditions dear. The mood in the camp has definitely become more relaxed. And if singing Old Macdonald helps, I'm not proud. E-I-E-I-O. Old Macdonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O. And on that farm, he had a... What's the word for cockerel? Brilliant! Helping with the move, selling bowls with the boys, and now singing Old Macdonald really seems to have broken the ice. Maybe a little too much. Tulsi is Deepak and Kapil's aunt. She's been asking me about whether I've got a baby or not. She's a widow. Her husband died a few years ago from what they think was malaria. How many children do you have? Three. And this is your youngest one? Youngest daughter. And then the other two, you have sons or daughters? In Rauti families, is it good to have daughter or son or it doesn't matter? You're almost as pretty as your mum. When her husband died, Tulsi lost her main source of income, as only the men are allowed to carve bowls to sell. She does receive the monthly government allowance, but it's not enough to sustain her family. But the Rauti are a close-knit community. Tulsi's brother-in-law Birbadu and his sons Kapil and Deepak help to support her. We snap off the fern's woody stem, leaving a softer shoot. The fern ferns are boiled in salted water with chillies and then left to go cold. Tulsi and her children will eat them with plain boiled rice this evening. This may look like a very simple scene, but the contrast between this and the fern ferns is quite striking. And a few days ago, it's quite extraordinary that I've been allowed into a widow's tent just to help cook. It doesn't look like much, but for me, this feels like some sort of acceptance and it's really special. Thank you. Thank you for today. It was a really special day. This morning, it's all change. The Rauti have decided to move again. The decision to move is taken by the whole group, but the chiefs have the final say. An advance party has already scouted out a new campsite. Slowly, the whole community embarks on the six-hour trek. I'm helping Tulsi. The Rauti usually move when their camp becomes unclean, if the water supply isn't good enough or after a death in the group. This time, they want to move to a site with more space. In five days' time, it's the biggest festival of the Hindu calendar, Desai. They want a campsite that will sustain them for the duration of the 15-day celebration. I suspect I've been given the kid's load. I'm carrying firewood, probably not that much, 15 kilos. But this hill is a killer, even for the nimble-footed Rauti. Oh, I tell you what, where's the removal van when you need it? The one thing that is coming through unequivocally during the time that I spend with these people is that their nomadism is right at their heart. This is their life, and it's hard, but it's what makes them tick. And I really get that. After three hours, we arrive at the halfway mark. My small load's been hard enough, but Tulsi's is nearer 40 kilos, about the weight of a 10-year-old child. Being with people like this makes me feel just so inadequate. They're so strong and resilient, and they kind of fit with this landscape. And they don't think that what they do is extraordinary. This is just their life. And if I or you got the impression at all that they don't want to go crops because it's all a bit of an effort, and they like the sense of freedom, don't be fooled that they are in any way idle or lazy. What I've seen today can only be achieved by people who really, really know what hard work is. The Raute's new camp on these man-made terraces is surrounded by a busy road. It feels a long way away from their traditional settlements deep in the forest. Papil is making valiant attempts to build Tulsi's shelter, and I'm trying to help as much as I can. But Tulsi is clearly a hard taskmaster and is demanding perfection. Over the last decade, as other Raute groups have settled, they've become subsumed into mainstream society. But these last nomads attract attention wherever they go. I've been here all my life. I've never been to jail. I've been to four or five jails. I'm not a criminal. I'm a man. Why would I kill anyone? Why not? We saved this forest. We saved it. Villager Jit Bahadumanath is employed by the district to take care of this small communal plot of land. There have been a lot of people coming to the camp. What do you think of that? And do you ever get scared? If you get scared, you'll be fine. Kapil and Dipak's father BirBadhu is embroidered in an argument with another local man. You should listen to your wife maybe, and perhaps you should just get off this hill and go somewhere else where everyone else can just get some peace. Can you do that? I am sorry. That's okay. It's been a very tense afternoon. I can't say I'm surprised really. This site that they've moved to is so public and there are a lot of people who are threatening them in one way or another. There was one man in particular who works in the forestry around here, is incredibly upset that they've cut down the trees. And I have to say, I can totally see his point, but I am really torn. So I feel incredibly protective. It's really odd. But I just think, I just want all these people to go away and leave them alone. So it's really silly, but I was looking at Kapil's face when his father Birbadu and this other man were just yelling at each other. And he just looked, he looked distraught, really distraught. And as much as the Rautis say that they will always live this life and they're proud of who they are, you wonder whether eventually they'll either be forced somehow to conform or they'll be forced back into the forest and away from villages again. When people come and they shout at you and they want you to go away, does that happen a lot? Today's the start of the Hindu festival, Desai. The Rautis' own belief system is a mixture of Hinduism and animism, the ancient belief that all things in nature, animals, plants and the elements, possess a spiritual essence. To help them celebrate Desai, the Nepalese government gives every Rauti family a special payment of £65, with which they buy a goat for slaughter and enough food for the 15 days of celebration. The chief district officer, Sagamani Parajuli, has arrived to make the payment. Would the government like, in the long term, to see the Rauti become a settled people? Yes, we have to convince them to be settled. Their life will be more easier, comfortable and the forest will be preserved. Do you think they would be willing to settle? Generally they are not willing. We have to convince them. In future, I hope they will come to the mainstream social life. It will be better. And gradually they will not remain barefooted all the time. I hope within two, three decades their life will be drastically changed and towards a better life. I think it would be a shame. It's pretty clear that by handing out this cash, the Nepalese government is trying to entice these last nomadic Rauti into becoming settled. I think it would be enormously sad if the Rauti were just to be absorbed into conformist Nepali society. The world has become so homogenised and when you meet and spend time with people like this, you realise that there is a great deal of value in diversity. But my worry is that with such a small group of them, just 143, still living like nomads, what chance do they really have? It may in the end be a combination of all those social and political pressures and that they become used to having a bit of cash in their pockets that may undermine this extraordinary way of life. But the identity of being a Rauti is extraordinarily strong. There is a real pride in their heritage and I don't think they're going to let that go lightly. As dusk descends, the tension of yesterday is forgotten and the Rauti begin their Desai celebrations. I am cursing these people. For the last two weeks, they have had me singing Old McDonald till I'm blue in the face and I have tried so hard to get them to sing or dance for me and they're like, no, we don't do it, we don't do it. There is just something wonderful about this atmosphere with the light sailing and this wonderful smell of very fragrant smoke in the air. It just has this very simple joy about it and I think that is very much a facet of Rauti life. They have their challenges and put up with a lot of prejudice and negativity. How are you? It's great. They just have this fantastic generosity of spirits, particularly when they've had a bit of Chan, which I think might be flowing quite hard tonight. This is my last night with the Rauti and tomorrow I'm going to be heading back to Kathmandu and then home. And for some reason that I can't really explain, they don't seem to be the sort of people that you say goodbye to. So I'm just going to leave them to it, to celebrate Desai and then to pack up their things and move on. Next time, I'm in Siberia. It's the sort of cold that makes you feel physically sick. Travelling with a family of reindeer herders in one of the most extreme places on earth. What a place to be. Life in this freezing wilderness has always been tough. But now they're facing the global threats of climate change and heavy industry. The Yamal Peninsula is one big gas reserve.