8/22/2006

Yak’s milk Cheese - Jigme Gyaltsen





Golok County, Qinghai: Three days drive from provincial capital Xining, 4,000 meters above sea level, Golok belongs to nomads, a world of felt tents, yak herders. A snow peak hovered over the crest of a mountain. A freezing cold river ran past.

Crossing cold stones rounded by freezing water, there was no bridge. But on the other side a tiny cheese factory stood tucked into the mountain valley. Surprised, workers greeted us, among them, monk-turned-businessman Jigme Gyaltsen. I asked him why he had built a cheese factory in the middle of nowhere. “For the convenience of nomads,” Jigme explained. “They deliver fresh yak milk daily.”

“But how about distribution,” I queried. We were in nomad country locked in mountains. “If you want to sell cheese internationally, or even in China, you have to be manufacturing closer to infrastructure, distribution points,” volunteering professional business advice.

“You see, I don’t worry about distribution. I do not want to inconvenience nomads,” he explained.

“Excuse me,” I interrupted, “But it does not make commercial sense to build a factory here just to provide convenience to nomads making yak milk deliveries.”

“But that’s just the point,” Jigme insisted. “You see, they all live in the mountains, in yak felt tents at high altitudes. They cannot leave the valleys so easily. So by having the factory here in mountains, they can deliver yak milk every day, even twice a day. This way milk is fresh.”

I still did not understand this. “You can raise yak on farms near a factory near a city or point of distribution. Right?”

“Wrong. It would not be wild yak milk,” Jigme sighed, “from yaks herded by nomads. My real purpose is to help nomads.”

By purchasing yak milk every day Jigme gave nomads income without changing their traditional lifestyle, but rather supporting it. Jigme overcame distribution problems by jeep, transporting cheese blocks over that long winding road to Xining, exporting to North America, bringing yak cheese to international chic wine tasting circles.

Initial factory investment came from the Trace Foundation, established by Andrea Soros. I asked Jigme about re-investing profits into more cheese factories. No. He was about to build another school with money from selling yak milk cheese. I understood Jigme’s economic model for globalization of yak milk cheese, but did not understand the school thing.

Next morning we rose to sounds of nomads delivering fresh yak milk. The sound of pony hooves crushing dew dripping grassland evaporated from mind as I rubbed my eyes. I stepped from the tent Jigme pitched for me outside the factory, washing my face in a river, wandering back. The nomads had left. “They come early to deliver yak’s milk.” Jigme explained. “Afterwards, returning to the mountains.”

Flourishing his crimson robe, Jigme led me into his jeep. I sat squeezed in between two other backseat monks, the only one not wearing crimson. We bounced down the narrow trail, followed a river into another valley. Jigme pointed excitedly out the window. “Can you see that tent, there are two young children in that nomad family, girls. Do you see that tent there,” he pointed in another direction. I could barely see a tent on the horizon surrounded by tiny dots, yak. “Several girls live there. None has any opportunity to go to school because nomads live in mountains. I will bring the school to them. They will be my students.”

We drove into another valley. Workers were there painting wall lines of what would be a school on grassland. Jigme jumped out of the jeep, strode over, arguing where lines should be drawn to make more room for classrooms, more like a construction site boss than monk. The line was adjusted. The classroom would be bigger.

Rising above the valley was a sharp mountain, its surface a cliff. Small dots could be seen at a point two thirds to the top. “There are caves,” Jigme whispered. “Monks use them for meditation. Good location for a school.”

Still perplexed, “Why don’t you build the school closer to town,” I asked. “The children can go there and stay in a dorm. It would be so much easier.”

“What will the school be like?”

Jigme waved me back into the jeep. We had left the mountains, sped through a cowboy town entering a gate opened by other monks. Before me was a Tibetan style building, beautifully constructed of stone with wood. A monk unlocked clean glass doors.

On the first floor of this little school, Jigme led me into a physics lab full of modern equipment, then into a chemistry lab. I followed him down the hallway, colorful Tibetan paintings on walls, into a small library filled with books both Chinese and Tibetan, copies of sacred text written on traditional long Tibetan paper, copies of American books, even Disney cartoons for kids. “Tibetan children like Mickey Mouse,” Jigme noted as he led me upstairs.

On the second floor, classrooms were filled with computers, the latest internet equipment, Qinghai on line. Jigme then turned on a computer showing me how written Tibetan language is now digitized, internet communication throughout greater Qinghai Tibetan plateau. Jigme explained that his school was offering nomad children 24-hour global internet access. “They can come in to these rooms after school and go on line. We encourage that. They can be connected to the world from our little school in Qinghai.”

Jigme explained, “It is the first private school in this region, without government funding. Government ‘support’ means only words, not substance. So we did it on our own. Our school welcomes any nomad children to attend regardless of ethnicity or religion. We have Tibetans, Muslims and Manchurians at our school, education is free.

Postscript: Jigme Gyaltsen has since opened his school for girls and is planning on building a new cheese factory.

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