One last anecdote

When we were in the bus close to Yali a while ago, the bus had to stop for a bit because there was an ox in the way. Why? Well, there was a chap herding his 2 oxen back from his field... No-one has tractors up there, they use 2 oxen linked by the horns with a piece of wood- to plough, or pull stuff. (This is the most I've used the word oxen ever outside of a scrabble game.) So this guy's already spent the day ploughing, in drizzle, and now he's untied his oxen from their shackles, hoisted the huge long block of wood onto his shoulder, hoisted himself onto his horse, and he sets off down the track to his tiny wooden house, herding his oxen as he goes. (I'm filling in some gaps here but I've seen alot of tiny wooden houses now...) And the bus waits a bit as it passes, so as he and the oxen can bumble past it. And then he has to make sure he's still got them under control on the other side. And a happy nod passes between driver and oxen man, and we all go on our way.

This way of life is so different from mine, and most English rural life to boot, that being part of it has made it harder for me to contemplate fairness, or poverty, or charity. It's just on a totally different scale. And it's hard to imagine that oxen man, however hard and grinding his life is, would want to swap it for my London turmoil. Hey ho.