Livers and Hearts
On Myoko, the Apatani festival that celebrates generosity and true friendship
My first Myoko, in 2017, was supposed to be a couple of weeks. I lasted three days. Not because things went wrong. Because things went very, very right and my liver asked me to leave before I did any permanent damage to our relationship.
I returned after 9 years this March.
Myoko is an annual festival of the Apatani people, held across the Ziro Valley of Arunachal Pradesh every March. It lasts nearly a month. Three village clusters take turns hosting it, rotating each year. When it’s your turn, you host. Hosting means your door is open. All the time. To family, to neighbours, to friends from across the valley, and to strangers who wander in. On offer, around an endless fire, is roasted meats, bison intestines (if you are special), and the finest home-brewed rice and millet wine you have ever had.
You move from house to house. You sit around a fire and eat. You drink. Someone sings an old song. Someone else tells a story about a river , and you laugh without fully understanding why. You crack jokes. You listen to village gossip. You pass out by the fire. This is fine. This is, in fact, correct. You wake up, someone offers you something warm, and you resume.
You do this until you cannot. Then you probably start again.
But underneath all of it is something deeper. Myoko is the festival where bad blood gets cleared. Old grudges lose their grip over a shared cup. The fire burns away whatever had been sitting between people… the next morning is a fresh start. It is oldest reminder in life - we are here to look after one another. It’s a celebration of generosity and friendship. Of finding old ones and making new ones. Like all things new, it begins with an end which is not for the faint-hearted. A pig is brought in for a sacrificial ritual. Everyone gathers around the animal that is tied to a bamboo stake. The shaman makes a slit in the chest of the squealing animal. Then he reaches his hand inside, all the way to his elbow, and pulls out the live beating heart. He holds it up for everyone to see - including the pig itself which is gasping its way to death. The heart is then examined carefully. What the priests read in it becomes the forecast for the year ahead, the shape of things to come. It is a conversation with the future.
Here’s a video of it. I couldn’t handle the squealing so I asked Suno to turn it into a “avant garde jazz meets Afro pop and Tuareg rock” version and it’s become even more grotesque. See if you can stomach it.
Anyway, f*ck AI, go experience Myoko.
I have built (vibe coded) a small game based on my experience at Myoko. Names are fictional, wine is not… so be careful. The goal: visit as many houses as you can in the time you have, and partake in whatever is on offer.
Play the game and see if you can beat me →
Top Tip: When The Mist Is Lifted a documentary by veteran Arunachali filmmaker Moji Riba, has a fantastic record of this festival. Find it. Watch it.