Himalayan village moves due to climate change impacts

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    SAMJUNG, Nepal — The Himalayan village of Samjung, nestled in a lofty, wind-sculpted valley in Nepal’s Upper Mustang, did not vanish overnight. Situated more than 13,000 feet above sea level, this Buddhist settlement thrived through the steady rhythms of mountain life, tending yaks and sheep and cultivating barley beneath rugged ochre cliffs riddled with ancient “sky caves”—2,000-year-old compartments used for burials, meditation, and refuge.

    Yet, over time, the village witnessed a slow decline. Snow-capped mountains lost their whiteness, evolving into barren landscapes as annual snowfall dwindled. Springs and irrigation channels disappeared, and sporadic heavy rains led to flooding, washing away mud homes and compelling families to leave one after another. This exodus has left Samjung as a haunting reminder of climate change: a village with crumbling homes, cracked terraces, and neglected shrines.

    Throughout the Hindu Kush and the Himalayan regions—from Afghanistan to Myanmar—these areas contain substantial volumes of ice, surpassed only by the Arctic and Antarctic. Their glaciers nurture vital rivers sustaining hundreds of millions of people across the region. However, these high-altitude areas face accelerated warming compared to the lowlands, with glaciers melting and permafrost thawing as snowfall becomes unpredictable and rare. The International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICMOD) elaborates on these shifts.

    Kunga Gurung, a longtime resident of the high Himalayas, has witnessed the irreversible impacts of climate change firsthand. “We had to relocate because the water was gone. It’s essential for drinking and agriculture, but it just vanished,” he recounts. Climate change is a disruptive force, altering where and how people live by affecting agriculture, water access, and weather conditions, as explained by Neil Adger, a professor of human geography. In places like Mustang, even if climate change isn’t cited directly, its effects make life increasingly challenging. “Altered weather patterns are impacting people’s ability to reside in specific locales,” Adger notes.

    Globally, communities are being compelled to relocate due to extreme weather linked to climate change—be it devastating storms in The Philippines, prolonged droughts in Somalia, or raging wildfires in California. In the Himalayan expanse, Samjung is not alone in its plight, according to Amina Maharjan, a migration expert with ICMOD. Villages move, often short distances, primarily driven by a severe lack of water. “Water scarcity is becoming a persistent issue,” she states.

    The retreat of glaciers signifies one of the clearest signs of climate change. Should greenhouse gas emissions not be curtailed significantly, a staggering 80% of glacier volume in the Hindu Kush and Himalayas is projected to dissipate during this century. Upper Mustang has experienced snowless winters for close to three years now, significantly affecting agricultural activities and livestock health.

    For Samjung, drought and losses began escalating around the early 2000s. The region’s steep slopes and narrow valleys exacerbated the effects of more intense monsoon rains, leading to flash floods that demolished homes and farmland. This spurred a migration wave that picked up momentum about a decade ago.

    Relocating even a small village like Samjung, home to fewer than 100 residents, posed significant challenges. The new site required steady water access and nearby communities for support in times of crisis. Proximity to mountain roads would help villagers sell their produce and harness tourism opportunities. Eventually, land was allocated for a new settlement by the king of Mustang, who retained land ownership in the region despite the monarchy’s abolition nearly two decades earlier.

    Pemba Gurung, 18, and her sister Toshi Lama Gurung, 22, had few memories of their migration from the old village, but they recall the difficulties of starting anew. For years, families toiled to gather materials, building new mud homes with vibrant tin roofs by the Kali Gandaki River, almost 15 kilometers away. They constructed shelters for livestock and carved canals to supply water to their homes before finally moving in.

    In New Samjung, while some villagers continue herding, life has shifted closer to Lo Manthang, a once-impenetrable walled city that opened to visitors in 1992. Now frequented by tourists and pilgrims exploring its rich Buddhist culture, the city offers new employment opportunities for villagers.

    Pemba and Toshi appreciate the convenience of not spending hours collecting water daily. Despite the benefits, they long for their original home. “It is where we come from. We wish to return, but it seems impossible now,” Toshi laments.