The Mosuo Mother House and Hearth: Faith and Life in a Log House

In the Mosuo (摩梭) language the "mother house" is called "yimi" (日咪), literally "the mother's great house." It is not merely a place to sleep — a Mosuo person passes almost every stage of life, from birth to coming of age to death, inside the mother house. And the fire hearth is the true heart of the building.

Why the Mother House Is Called "Yimi": Matrilineal Marks in the Language

In the Mosuo language, whatever is great and beautiful takes the suffix "mi" (mother): the mother house is "yimi," the mother lake is "xienami," a big tree is "sizimi"; while small things take "ruo" (male), and a small tree is "siziruo." The idea that "the mother is great" has seeped into everyday speech.

The Mosuo family is built on matrilineal blood: in one home several mothers (the sisters) live together and treat all the children alike. As the children grow up they often cannot tell which is their birth mother — and in their minds this hardly matters. In the village, to greet an older woman with a call of "ami" (阿咪, "mother") makes her deeply happy; it is a mark of respect and honour.

The Fire Hearth: The Core of the Family, the Centre of the Mother

The Mosuo regard the fire hearth as the heart of the house. Children have no room of their own; when small they sleep beside the hearth in the mother house, growing up on their grandmother's fairy tales and lullabies. Every morning, beside the fire, they listen to the grandmother's quiet talk and place a little food on the stove base to commune with the ancestral spirits. Years and years of this life stamp the ancestors onto the consciousness.

Why is the hearth so important? Because beside the hearth sits the mother. If the mother is no longer there at the hearth, the family feels emptied, robbed of its emotional centre. Those horse-traders who went far off along the Tea-Horse Road left behind songs full of the hearth and the mother: "The grassland that has lost its stallion must be lonely now; the heart that has left its home must be worn thin; is the mother by the fire hearth still at peace…"

The Stove Base and "Qiado": Honouring the Ancestors Before Every Meal

The most distinctive thing in the mother house is the "Ramaba" (冉巴拉) above the fire hearth — the symbol of ancestor worship, painted with the sun, moon, flames, ingots, a cat and lotus flowers. To worship the stove base, that is to worship the Ramaba, is in truth to worship the ancestors.

There is a legend about the origin of the stove base. In ancient times a mother and daughter lived alone; after the mother died, the daughter placed a little food each day beside the stump where her mother had been cremated, saying "qiado" (恰多; Mosuo for "I am watching over it"). One day her mother's voice drifted to her: "Daughter, your mother watches over you every day; why must you go so far to bring food? Just set up a stove base above our home hearth, and make an offering before each meal. I only need to see and smell the food to be full." The daughter did so, and from then on Mosuo households, at all three meals, offer food before eating. To this day the word "qiado" is as common across the Mosuo region as "Amitabha."

Birth and Death in the Mother House: The Coming-of-Age Rite and the Sibling Pillars

In the centre of the mother house stand two pillars side by side, called the "sibling pillars"; they must come from the same tree, to show that brother and sister are of one heart. The coming-of-age rite for a child is held beside these pillars, boys to the left, girls to the right.

The Mosuo do not celebrate birthdays, but every child, at the age of 13, undergoes a solemn coming-of-age rite, held in lively ceremony in the mother house to mark that the child has grown up and may take part in the family's affairs. Outside the mother house, every Mosuo family also has a side room — the threshold between life and death: a child is born there (women attend, and men may not enter), and the dead are also sent off from there (at which time women withdraw and the men see to the matter). From where you came, to where you return.

Building a Log House: Ritual Begins with Felling the Timber

The Mosuo house is a post-and-lintel log house: whole logs laid crosswise, tier upon tier, weighted down with stones. This structure withstood the magnitude 6.9 earthquake of 7 November 1976 in the Lugu Lake region without collapsing, its earthquake resistance proven in practice.

Building a new house carries a whole set of rites: first a lama calculates the 28 lunar mansions and a Daba the 12 zodiac animals, to fix an auspicious day for felling timber. From early April to early August each year is a felling ban, for that is when the trees grow most vigorously. When going up the hill to cut timber, one first burns incense to the mountain god, then sprinkles wine and grain to apologise to the tree spirits. Once the timber is ready, someone is asked to choose the site, and a rite is held when the sibling pillars are raised: in a wooden cabinet place two dou of grain and a jar of rice wine; lead a chicken three times around the two pillars, prick its comb so the blood falls on the grain and wine, then release the chicken — if it flies east or north, the omen is auspicious.

In a Mosuo village, whenever one family builds a new house, all the village's able-bodied people come to help, the women cooking and grinding tofu. When one household has work, all help; when one is in trouble, all bear it.

Life in the Mother House: The Roles of Men and Women

In the matrilineal family the uncle's role is special: he raises his sisters' children, while his own children are raised by the uncle on the other side. The swapping of father and uncle roles is part of this family structure. The woman who manages the household finances is called the "yimi dabu," and the men who go off trading with horse caravans hand their money to her. The old people say it plainly: "They work the fields at home, and that is hard too; otherwise what would we eat when we are away? Every time I return, the thing that moves me most is the chicken feet they saved for me — dried and no longer edible, but that is their affection."

Locals slaughter a pig only once a year (in the 10th lunar month); on ordinary days the best meat is chicken. For every chicken killed in the home, the sisters set aside the finest chicken foot for the brother away from home. When he returns, the mother house wall is hung with rows of already-dried chicken feet — these dried chicken feet are the umbilical cord that can never be cut between the Mosuo man and his mother house.

One mother house, one hearth, burning for more than 1,600 years, from long ago until today. The Mosuo's faith is not in the temple; it is by the fire hearth, in the "qiado" spoken before each of the day's three meals.

*Source: the Yunnan Annals, in its record of log houses.*