On the 10th of September, I found myself at 3800m above sea level. A half-devastated lodge with galvanized sheets that amplified the noise of unusual drizzles in the high mountains stood as a grim reminder of the disaster that had recently struck the place. The Thame River, usually calm and serene, devastated the village on the 16th of August due to an unprecedented GLOF that originated around 8 km upstream of the town. The raging sediments gushed downstream until they found a spot to settle down.
I have loved mountains, rivers, and rain all my life, but never had I imagined they sometimes can unleash fear through their silence. For a place such as the Thame, which was hit by GLOF on the 16th, losses were gradual as the main incident completely disoriented the landscape, leaving the land with formidable cracks and completely changing the course of the river. I had arrived in the village on the 3rd day of our walk from Namche, and the first thing I learned was how losses were gradually asserting itself as a post-consequence of the GLOF.
Fear of landslides, floods, snakes gives sleepless nights to Pu...
It was almost midnight, the rain rattling on the roof. I was drained after a three-day walk, but my brain was not willing to sleep. A discomforting sense of fear and uncertainty held sway over me. In any case, I was there with a purpose: we wanted to understand the losses and damages from the GLOF incident to document them so that we call for solidarity and inspire attention from the global community on the impact of environmental changes in a place such as Thame.
I questioned myself about what tomorrow morning might bring. Will it be a clear blue sky with glittering peaks and a soothing breeze? Or once again the unprecedented loads of sediments would sweep through the beautiful landscape of the Everest region? Then, I questioned myself again: what is the cost of the sleepless night I spent amidst fear and uncertainty? Is it possible to estimate the cost of a night spent in anguish? I was only there for three nights yet I feel totally wrecked. What about the trauma of the people who belong there, who helped shape the landscape and culture and define the collective identity? Can we assess their loss and suffering? Who is responsible for compensating for the losses and damages? Can we still be optimistic that justice will be delivered to the people of Thame?
As I wrap up this writing, I am at 22,000 ft, flying toward potentially finding clues to my questions as my laptop battery is on the brink of dying. With optimism in heart, I am looking forward to a calmer morning where justice is delivered, and people live in harmony with nature.
This piece is written as part of a personal experience and reflection of a research expedition to Thame Village of the Everest region in Nepal where an unexpected GLOF hit on the 16th of August.
