May 26, 2026
SAKTENG – It is morning here in Sakteng, Trashigang, quiet and green. This once-remote community is now connected to the dzongkhag headquarters by road, and with it has come change.
Sakteng is changing fast.
The story of change that is happening here can perhaps be best told by the gradual disappearance of its unique traditional marriage customs and the communal ways in which homes were once built.
The community effort of building a home was an occasion that brought an entire village together. The work did not end when the walls were raised.
Under the woola system (a form of non-monetary communal labour), workers were housed and fed by the new homeowners for three days after a house was completed.
On the fourth day, the labourers would return in the morning carrying white scarves, a gesture of prayer for the health and wellbeing of the new household, sometimes accompanied by a small gift of money.
In return, the homeowners would offer a feast to the labourers, a final expression of gratitude that closed the cycle of communal exchange.
But that is a story from long ago. Very few of these practices remain in Sakteng today.
Leki Yangzom, 60, has a story to tell of how a house was once raised in Sakteng, carried by the sound of singing and the pull of ropes. “The labourers are now paid for their work,” said Leki. “The very next day after the house is completed, the new owners move in.”
Cash has replaced community, and efficiency has replaced ceremony.
At the heart of the house consecration, a sister, female sibling, or female cousin of the household would sit atop a plank with a bamboo basket filled with changka, a local alcohol.
Men gathered under the roof and women assembled below. Each side gripped a rope and pulled against the other, singing traditional songs as they went. Whichever side won claimed the changka and shared it freely among those gathered.
This according to the locals is done as it is believed that local deity Aum Jomo comes to bless the house and its people for wellbeing.
Of all the traditions in flux, perhaps the most consequential shift has been in how highlanders get married.
Earlier, a wedding was arranged entirely by the families involved, often without the knowledge of the couple themselves.
“A young man herding yaks in the highlands might receive word just a day before the ceremony that he was to be wed. The wedding day itself would be the first time the bride and groom laid eyes on one another,” said Sangay Dorji, 53.
When a wife moves into her husband’s household, she leaves her family’s property entirely behind. The prevailing understanding was that the husband’s holdings and the dowry that accompanied the marriage would be sufficient to sustain the new family.
Highlanders describe the scale of what that dowry once looked like. In Brokpa tradition, a bride’s family would typically offer three cows to the groom’s side.
Relatives attending the ceremony were expected to arrive with at least two yaks or zo-zom, a cross-breed of yak and Tibetan bull, as a gift in return for their place at the celebration.
The weight of the gift varied with means; wealthier relatives might offer pastureland or additional animals, and others would give a bonded pair of yaks, one male and one female.
A grand wedding was not optional. It was a statement of standing, a demonstration of the family’s place within the community.
Both those customs have since unravelled. Forced marriages have faded as awareness and education have changed expectations.
“Both sons and daughters inherit equal shares of property,” said Sangay Dorji. “Daughters today stand beside their brothers in succession, a quiet reversal of an old order that once left them without a stake when they moved into another household.”
Weddings have been scaled back, as transporting animals across the highlands is difficult, so people now prefer giving money instead.
In Sangay Dorji’s estimation, a full traditional grand ceremony would cost around Nu 150,000. Many families now opt for simpler, quieter occasions, which he, describes it as a simpler alternative.
But change has come and has already done much damage. This community’s resilience will be tested at events such as the Yeti Quest Festival. Much depends on the young and how they can keep their culture alive.
Leki Yangzom hopes that events like the Yeti Quest Festival might offer some means of keeping what remains alive.