Chencho Dema
Laya—In the remote village of Laya, Gasa, perched high in the mountains, the chill of the mountain air no longer carries the same serenity it once did. For generations, the children of Laya revelled in the snow that blanketed their world, their days filled with play beneath the towering peaks. But now, that familiar landscape is shifting. The snow is less predictable, the mountain weather more erratic, and the future they once imagined is becoming uncertain.
As the village’s younger generation comes of age, they are awakening to a harsh reality: climate change is reshaping their world, and there’s little they can do to stop it. What was once a constant, the cold embrace of the mountains, is now a fleeting presence, replaced by extreme weather and shifting seasons. The air is heavy with the knowledge that their homeland—so pristine and untouched for centuries—may no longer offer the same sanctuary it once did.
In the shadow of these changes, Laya’s children are facing a dilemma. How does one grow up in a place where the very foundation of childhood—the snow, the cold, the mountains—seems to be slipping through their fingers? It is a question that weighs heavily on them, as they navigate a world that no longer feels as certain as it once did. The Himalayas, for all their majesty, are no longer just a source of wonder and adventure—they are a poignant reminder of a planet in crisis.
Thirteen-year-old Karma Yangden, a class six student at Laya Central School, remembers winters in her village as a time of biting cold, when families bundled up in layers of clothes to endure the freezing temperatures. “We used to stay warm by wearing so many clothes, but now, the winters are strangely mild,” she recalls, her voice tinged with confusion.
At first, the shift in seasons baffled her. But as elders and teachers explained the phenomenon, Karma learned a new word—climate change. “The term was completely new to me,” she admits. “But now that I understand it, I feel worried.” Her words reflect a growing unease among many in her village, who are beginning to realize that the changes in their environment are not just temporary, but part of a larger, unsettling trend.
For Karma, the impact of climate change is not confined to warmer winters. It’s visible in the village’s struggle with waste disposal. Laya, like many remote communities, lacks the infrastructure for proper waste management, leaving villagers with no choice but to burn their trash. “People burn the waste because there’s no place to dump it, and that creates air pollution,” Karma explains. As the smoke rises, so does her awareness of the consequences. “It feels heavier now, and it’s noticeably warmer,” she says, a sharp contrast to the crisp, clean air of her childhood.
But the environmental shifts don’t stop at the air. Water scarcity has become another growing concern for the village. With dwindling sources, even basic hygiene has become a challenge. “It’s difficult to keep clean with the water shortages,” Karma shares. The simple task of maintaining cleanliness has become a daily struggle, reflecting the broader difficulties that the village is now facing.
In Karma’s eyes, the effects of climate change are no longer abstract concepts but pressing realities that have seeped into the very fabric of life in Laya. Her growing awareness, shared by many of her peers, marks the beginning of a new chapter in a village that once seemed untouched by the outside world, now forced to reckon with the consequences of a rapidly changing climate.
Karma Yangden’s concerns extend beyond the general environmental shifts; she also highlights the added challenges that women and girls in Laya face due to water shortages, particularly during menstruation. “It becomes really hard when there’s no water to wash,” she says, her words shedding light on the intimate struggles that water scarcity amplifies. The difficulty of maintaining hygiene during menstruation is a daily challenge for many, especially as the village’s water sources continue to dwindle. This issue, compounded by the drying up of local springs and streams, underscores the broader impacts of a changing climate on women’s health and well-being.
Karma’s close friend, 13-year-old Pema Zangmo, shares similar anxieties about the environmental transformations in their village. “When I was younger, the mountains around our village were always covered in snow. It was so beautiful,” she recalls, her voice carrying a sense of loss. The snow-capped peaks, once a hallmark of their mountain home, are now a fading memory. “Now, there’s hardly any snow left,” Pema observes, a quiet sorrow in her words as she watches the landscape change before her eyes. Each year, the snow melts earlier, and the mountains lose their iconic charm. “It’s heartbreaking to see the change. The rising temperatures are making the snow melt faster,” she adds, her concern echoing the growing reality of a warming world.
For Pema and Karma, the memories of snowball fights and childhood winters seem like stories from a different era. “We used to play in the snow with my friends, but now the snow barely settles on the ground,” Pema laments. The once-frozen taps, a testament to the harshness of past winters, have become a relic of the past. “That doesn’t happen anymore,” Pema reflects, her words capturing the quiet resignation that has settled over the village as the freezing temperatures that once defined their winters are now nothing but a memory.
In the face of these changes, the girls’ nostalgia for the old Laya is not just about the loss of snow—it is about the slow erosion of a way of life that once seemed timeless. The disappearance of snow from the peaks and the lack of water in the taps are just the latest signs that the climate, and the world they knew, is slipping away. And for the children of Laya, it is becoming increasingly clear that the future they face may be one far different from the world of their childhood.
For Pema Zangmo, one of the most troubling changes is the decline of the yak population, an essential part of life in Laya. “The grasslands are degrading, the temperatures are rising, and the rainfall is becoming unpredictable,” she explains, pointing to the shifting environmental conditions that are making it harder for the yaks to survive. “The yaks are struggling to survive, and their numbers are going down every year.” The figures bear this out: last year, the yak population in Laya dropped to 2,361, down from 2,382 in 2022 and 2,667 in 2021. The steady decline of these animals, crucial to the villagers’ livelihoods, is a direct reflection of how climate change is disrupting the delicate balance of life in the region.
Karma Choki, a 17-year-old class nine student, shares her own observations of how climate change is altering the rhythms of life in Laya. “Laya used to get snowfall starting from mid-October every year,” she recalls, but this October, the snow failed to arrive. The absence of the familiar seasonal snowfall is yet another sign of the warming trend that has begun to reshape the landscape. For Karma, the absence of snow is more than just a change in weather—it marks the disappearance of a tradition that shaped her childhood and a reminder of the climate crisis unfolding in real time.
The changing climate is also affecting Laya’s economy, particularly the collection of cordyceps, a valuable resource in the region. “My parents have noticed that the collection is getting harder due to the warmer temperatures,” Karma says. The medicinal fungi, once abundant in the cool, high-altitude areas, are becoming harder to find as the temperatures rise, adding financial strain to a community already grappling with unpredictable weather patterns. The livelihoods of the people in Laya are being directly impacted by the warming climate, forcing them to adapt to a new reality that feels increasingly uncertain.
The children of Laya, despite their youth, have become witnesses to a rapidly changing world. They have seen the beauty of their mountains slowly fade—replaced by warmer temperatures, melting snow, and a decline in the animals and resources they depend on. The fears they express about the future mirror a larger, global concern. As they watch their once-stable environment erode, their worries are not just for themselves, but for the generations that will follow them.
Despite the gravity of their concerns, these children remain resilient. Their awareness of the changes unfolding around them, and their willingness to voice these observations, highlight the urgent need for action. It is through their eyes that the effects of climate change, even in the most remote corners of the world, are brought into sharp focus. Their stories are a reminder that the fight against climate change is not just a battle for the present generation, but one that will shape the world their children inherit.
This story is supported by UNICEF through the JAB’s journalism reporting grant on climate change and children.