How Sonan ended up in prison

Some years ago, Sonan decided to leave Tibet forever and cross the border. He'd heard there were two Nepalese guys bridging the Arun river with a rope and a harness, selling freedom for only 8000 yuan per person.

"So," said Sonan to his friend, the Monk. "How about it?"

The Monk was interested. He'd had enough of living under occupation, and leaving legally was out of the question. The Chinese Government don't just go handing out passports to Tibetans.

"But you can't go dressed like this," said Sonan, tugging at the Monk's red robes. "The Nepalese soldiers will know we're Tibetan. They'll send us right back over here and straight in to a Chinese prison."

The Monk agreed. He'd buy some ordinary clothes from the market and they'd wait a week for his hair to grow out a bit. In the meantime, they'd both brush up on their Nepali so as not to stand out too much when they arrived at the first village.


* * *


"You really wanted to leave Tibet so badly that you'd risk jail?" I ask Sonan up in our guesthouse bar in the middle of nowhere. The four of us are huddled around the stove in the middle of the room, rubbing our hands together and waiting for our food.

"I was 23," says Sonan, pouring yak butter tea. "I wanted to see something."

"Okay," I say, taking the hot cup from him. "Go on."


* * *


It took all day to get to the border. They abandoned their car and found the two Nepalese guys waiting for them, one on either side of the river as promised. The rope looked safe enough tied between two trees, but Sonan hadn't known how fast the water flowed there. The gorge wasn't wide, but it was deep and dark and loud, and the sound of the water crashing over the rocks below unnerved him.

"It's okay," shouted the Monk, handing him two wads of cotton. "Stuff these in your ears so you can't hear it."

The Monk went first. He said goodbye to Tibet forever, put on the harness, and pulled himself across the river. Sonan looked back at the Tibetan desert fading in the sunset and wondered if they were making a mistake by leaving. But the Nepalese guys were getting impatient. The Monk waved at him from the other side of the Arun. It was no time to stand there looking at the desert. And so Sonan also said goodbye to Tibet forever, kissed the ground, and crossed the river.


* * *


"But how did you know where to go," I ask. "When you got to the other side?"

"We didn't," says Sonan. "The Nepalese guys packed up their rope and disappeared. It was just me and the Monk and the forest."

Sonan stands up and pours more tea. The bar doesn't seem to be getting any warmer: I can see my breath in front of me when I speak. But this is the Tibetan highlands in winter, and this is what I signed up for.

"So what did you do?"

"We started walking."

* * *


Sonan and the Monk walked on and on through the forest, further and further down the hill, until they found a cave. They lit a fire to keep away any tigers and decided to try and get some rest. They would walk again in the morning.

But Sonan couldn't sleep. All he could think about was Nepal right there outside of the cave. It sounded different and it felt different: he was sure he could smell fruit growing on the trees. But he wasn't going to stay here. His plan was to keep going until he reached India, where he'd take his first look at the sea. Tomorrow, he thought. When we get to the first village, I'm going to sit there in the sunshine drinking fresh mango juice.


* * *


"Weren't you scared of the tigers?" I ask.

Sonan and Wangden laugh. When you've just escaped China over the Nepalese border, you're not afraid of tigers. You're afraid of soldiers.

"Did you think you'd get caught?" I ask Sonan. "Were you afraid?"

"We did get caught," he says. "And yes, I was very afraid."


* * *


By the time they reached the first village they must have dropped 2000 metres just from walking downhill all day.

"Can you hear me?" shouted Sonan to the Monk. "I can't hear anything!"

"Do you still have the cotton in your ears?" shouted the Monk, but Sonan didn't. Their ear drums had popped in the change of altitude. They felt light-headed and dizzy and they held on to each other and tried to walk steadily.

"I think we have low-altitude sickness," said Sonan, although he hadn't even realised it existed.

The village was a small pile of shops and houses on the edge of the forest. Nepalese children ran out to meet them and took them to a hut where they could buy a drink.

"Do you have any fresh mango juice?" asked Sonan in his best Nepali, unaware that he was still shouting.

"I think you're shouting, Sonan," shouted the Monk in Tibetan.

The barman looked them up and down. Tibetans! If he helped them he'd be thrown into jail by the military.

"You can't stay here," he said. "You'll have to keep going."


* * *


"But that's terrible," I say. "He wouldn't even give you a drink?"

"There are spies all around the border," Sonan shrugs. "Nepalese spies and the Chinese Government. Nobody wants to end up in prison."

"So what did you do?"

"We kept walking until we found a guesthouse that took us in," says Sonan. "And in the morning two men came in to our room with guns and that was it, we were saying hello to Tibet again."


* * *


After a short drive back to the border, Sonan and the Monk were met by Chinese soldiers and thrown into jail. They shared a small cell with ten other Tibetans and a hole in the ground to shit in. They weren't given any food to eat and they didn't know when, if ever, they'd be freed. The Monk marked the days on the wall one by one, and in the end they calculated that they'd been there for five months before they were released again.

"What an awful, awful punishment," I say, shaking my head. I'd really thought they were going to make it as far as the Indian ocean.

"No, no," says Sonan, quickly. "We weren't punished. We were just put in prison. No torture."

This makes me laugh. "In Ireland," I say. "Being thrown in jail with no food for five months is kind of considered punishment."

Sonan laughs too. "Okay," he says. "But the local Tibetans brought food to us every single day. And my mother never found out. She still doesn't know where I was to this day."

"So what did you tell her when you got out?"

"I told her," says Sonan. "That I'd been staying with my friend."