The Village That Doesn’t Lock Its Doors

When you wander the ways of Angami tribe’s villages in Nagaland, you’ll often spot vegetable shops with seasonal produce on their counters, a price written beside them, and a tin for your money. Surprisingly, there is nobody behind the counter, no camera above it either, and nobody has even thought to install one. Why, you ask? Because across the homes of the Angami tribe, the doors stay unlocked, the stalls stay unattended, and small open libraries lend out books that simply come back. None of it is arranged for visitors. It is how the villages have run for centuries; it is the most impactful image you see and the most important lesson the Angami teach you about themselves.

Kenyü — A hundred and fifty-four steps to honour and respect

The Angami are said to divide geographically into four main groups — Khonoma village, Kohima, Viswema and Chakroma, all following the kenyü moral code. You can revel and thrill in the beauty of these villages without a pause, until you find that unmanned counter, and the village forces you to open your eyes in silent amazement. In today’s times when honesty and respect can sound imaginary, what holds the Angami people together is kenyü, and it is less a rule than a moral protocol. Comprising roughly 154 guiding principles shaped around honesty and respect, kenyü has been carried down through the Angami people for centuries.

‘Forbidden’ is the nearest translation and it undersells the word, because breaking a kenyü brings dishonour not only on you, but also on the household you belong to. That is a debt nobody wants to owe. Dishonesty is kenyü. So is theft, and so is disrespect towards elders, or towards anyone living with a disability.

As Salori Mentors take you on a walk through Khonoma village, past the stalls, the stone terraces and the old stone forts, they make the journey deliberately slow. So that you can let Khonoma make the case for honesty and respect far better than any summary of it can.

Formidable in war, gentle in peace

Many could mistake the softness of keeping your word and paying respect to elders as meekness. However, the community that follows such moral principles even in compromising circumstances is the very definition of strength in one’s character. It is this strength and resilience that has carried on from Khonoma’s history where its warriors fought the British repeatedly to stop the forced recruitment of Nagas as bonded labour, or ambushed a column of 87 soldiers sent up to enforce a tax. Honesty and respect are therefore deemed signs of a warrior rather than a timid person.

Honour even in the Hornbill’s Feathers

In the past, Khonoma warrior's honour had a visible mark, and it belonged to the great Hornbill — a bird that stands for courage across Naga folklore. Its feathers were never ornamental — a man wore them because he had earned them. Belief held that feathers worn by someone unworthy would simply fall away of their own accord. Nobody had to police it. The feather did its own checking, in exactly the way the tin on the counter does.

However, a whole state wearing earned feathers takes a great many birds, and between hunting and a shrinking forest the great hornbill grew rare across Nagaland. In fact, a conservation group visiting in 2010 noted the irony of a celebration named after a bird that had all but disappeared from the state that revered it. The Hornbill festival — Nagaland’s vibrant and boisterous side showing you how the Angami people strike a contrast against their otherwise quiet valley.

What has happened since is the quiet part. The headgear you will see today is mostly replica, fibre and dyed goat hair standing in for the real thing. But the honour it signifies has not dropped by a single degree.

Hornbill Festival — Where honour and culture come together

For 10 days each December, the state gathers at Kisama Heritage Village, 12 kms south of the capital city of Kohima, and puts itself on display. The festival is a cultural melting pot of Nagaland’s 17 tribes, complete with their war dances, wrestling bouts and a greased bamboo pole that many a people fail to climb before somebody more resilient finally does. The spectacles catch your wondering eye and make for deep conversations with fellow travellers. It won’t be wrong if you’re able to draw parallels between the physical contests and their inherent honour and life’s journey.

From a code nobody writes down, through a shop nobody staffs, to tribes dancing in feathers nobody had to take. Kenyü belongs to the Angami wherever they are, but Salori introduces it to you in Khonoma, in a village that decided what it would not do and then simply kept its word.