Rhiav Lis

Rhiav (Tria) was born in “the season of planting opium” in 1948, into a family of White Hmong—Hmoob Dawb—of the Lis (Lee) clan. Along with her seven brothers and four sisters, she was raised in Zos Dej Zoov Kaub, a traditional Hmong village with huts made of teak posts, bamboo walls, thatched roofs, and earthen floors, located in Luang Nam Tha Province, in northwest Laos.

In her youth, Rhiav was celebrated far and wide for her beauty and vivacity, her deft embroidery skills, her lovely singing voice, and her fine abilities on the ncas mouth harp and nplooj leaf. Rhiav was also known as the daughter of a venerated master shaman, txiv neeb txiv yaig.

It is not surprising then that during her adolescence Rhiav had many suitors, some who travelled from faraway villages, a distance often described by the number of days it took to walk. After a boy’s long journey, Rhiav would offer him a cup of cool spring water and sticky rice before they would begin courtship rites. She would remain inside her home as her admirer took his place outside, wooing her through the slender gaps between the slats of the bamboo wall. For hours on end, they would exchange ancestral melodies and poetry, performing love songs and playing courting instruments, in call-and-response verses. If an affinity grew between the two, Rhiav would prepare steamed rice and chicken for the boy’s trip home, only to have him return longingly to her after several hours.

Of all her suitors, why did Rhiav finally choose to wed Vaj Pov Yaj? “Because he was big and handsome, and he loved me more than all others, one hundred per cent.” And when she first knew him, did she love him? “Only fifty per cent.” However, once they married, she revealed with one hand covering her disarming smile, she fell in love “one hundred per cent!”

Because her husband Vaj Pov Yaj had no siblings, he asked Rhiav to devote herself solely to caring for his parents and raising their children, without the added responsibility of laboring in the fields. She readily agreed to this arrangement, which pleased her enormously.

Rhiav and Vaj Pov first lived in Zos Luav, meaning “Village of Rabbits,” in Bokeo Province, Laos, which remains the home of Vaj Pov’s older brother, Tsav Txhiaj Yaj, the shaman who became Rhiav’s mentor. By 1980, the couple resettled with their four sons in Zos Naj Lam, situated on a wooded knoll above the red muddy riverbanks at the confluence of the Nam Tha and Nam La Rivers.

In 1982, Vaj Pov sadly died of stomach cancer at age 44, leaving Rhiav a young widow at 36. Though she briefly remarried, giving birth to two more sons, Vaj Pov Yaj remains the love of her life.  In this collection of Hmong music, the lyrics of Rhiav’s love song, kwv txhiaj, and her ncas mouth harp reflect the deep feelings she continues to bear for her beloved husband.

Rhiav comes from a long, distinguished line of healers, for her grandfather was also a highly respected shaman in his time. Rhiav’s father accepted the summons to shamanism when his own father disappeared and practiced healing rituals until old age. The fact that most of his children are still alive, to date, is a testament to his spiritual powers, Rhiav believes. When her father became too infirm to continue, he charged her to pursue the healing arts. Although women may become spiritual intermediaries in Hmong tradition, it is not common. Rhiav felt unsure of this path.

At the time of her father’s passing, however, the shaman ancestor spirits, neeb poj koob yawm txwv, were obliged to call upon another member of the Lis family.  They chose Rhiav.

Following the birth of her third child, Rhiav suffered an illness, marked by coughing up blood, which lingered for seventeen years. Rhiav’s mother sacrificed a pig for her to regain health, but to no avail. Medicine received from the local clinic did not relieve her symptoms. Many people in her village regarded Rhiav’s condition as a spiritual sign, alleviated only by sacrificing a black cat and dog and covering her body with their skins.

Her teacher, Tsav Txhiaj Yaj, however, advised against such treatments. Instead, he set up a shaman altar, thaj neeb thaj yaig, in Rhiav’s house, to gradually draw her into the practice of shamanism.  Before long, ancestor shaman spirits began to visit her, giving rise to her first altered state of consciousness. Though she was not yet able to communicate with spirits through chanting or divination tools, Rhiav went into trance a total of eight times over the following years. Each time, her health improved.

During this period, Rhiav had a series of dreams in which she encountered and overcame daunting obstacles that tested her bravery, skill, and perseverance. She dreamt that she fell from a soaring mountain cliff and crashed to earth. Miraculously, though, she was able to rise, unharmed. Another dream saw her walking along a high bridge—like the bridge, choj neeb choj yaig, in the spirit world—made of cloth less than a half-meter wide. Although her siblings were unwilling to attempt this feat, Rhiav conquered her fear and safely crossed to the other side.

A final, memorable incident took place in a waking state, when Rhiav clearly heard shaman ring rattles, tswb neeb, fall from the side of her house onto her altar. Rhiav interpreted such dreams and events as her shaman ancestor spirits emboldening and guiding her to prevail.

Soon after giving birth to her fifth child, Rhiav experienced a ninth trance state. At last, she was able to chant the entire ancient ritual text that accompanies a healing ceremony. Perhaps it is no coincidence that Rhiav went through a series of eight spiritual episodes before her final awakening. According to the Hmong belief in reincarnation, thawj thiab, souls of the deceased must endure eight life cycles, transmigrating into various animal, insect, or plant forms, before finally being reborn into another human in the ninth cycle.

Rhiav is recognized as a gifted spiritual intermediary, especially in healing children. Though there are many shamans in Ban Nam La, she is most frequently sought out not only due to the success of her ceremonies but also because of her honorable intentions. Rhiav does not set a price—in chickens, money, or opium—for her efforts.

Through the years, Rhiav has officially advanced from the first level of shamanic training, neeb tshiab, to the second ranking, neeb laus. That said, she is capable of performing the more demanding and dangerous tasks required of a shaman of the third level, neeb txwj neeb laug. All that yet remains for her to be acknowledged at this higher rank is to sacrifice two male pigs and goats to her ancestor spirits and to those of her mentor, which is a costly affair. Once this rite is conducted, her altar table will be “raised” to reflect her senior standing.

Besides serving as a shaman, Rhiav is also a knowledgeable practitioner of herbal medicine, kws tshuaj ntsuab. She grows herbs in her garden and gathers plants from the forest to make remedies that can heal a variety of conditions. It is said that people travel great distances, as far away as Vientiane, for her herbal treatments.

Once again, Rhiav was first summoned to become an herbal healer in a dream. A spirit appeared to her as an old woman, instructing Rhiav to honor Niam Nkauj Kab Yeeb Tshuaj, also known as Yum Vaj, the maiden of herbal medicine. When Rhiav searches in the forest for plants appropriate to a person’s ailment, Niam Nkauj Kab Yeeb Tshuaj advises which ones to collect. She must then perform rites at the thaj tshuaj, a small altar assigned to medicinal healing, so her herbal elixirs will be effective.

Rhiav shares her knowledge of plants and their properties, acquired from mentors, spirits, and experience over a lifetime, with young women in her village so the ancestral wisdom of Hmong herbal medicine endures.

One day in July 2005, Rhiav carried out a healing ceremony over several hours to restore well-being to her grandson, baby Cas Khoos (Cha Khong), who is the fourth son of Rhiav’s second son, Nyiaj Vws Yaj, and daughter-in-law, Sua Muas.  At that time, Ban Nam La consisted of fourteen huts.

By the following year, Rhiav relocated to a grove of teak trees across the Nam La River. Ten years on, the site where her hut once stood alone has transformed into a thriving extension of Ban Nam La, expanding the community with numerous houses, some of which are now built with bricks and mortar.

At 67 years old, Rhiav is keenly aware of her mortality. She has made full arrangements for her last rites to be certain that she is fully prepared and beautifully dressed to join her ancestors when her souls leave her body and this world.

Rhiav has sewn her funeral garments with infinite care, using meaningful ancestral designs and myriad brilliant colors. Before she is laid out upon the bamboo bier, known as the “striped horse,” nees txaij nees nraug), that will carry her to the burial grounds, her body will be adorned with six embroidered jackets, displaying six multi- colored collars of different sizes and styles. Six overlapping aprons, bound with a voluminous, vivid red sash, will be layered over her white pleated hemp skirt. Her silver neck ring with a “soul lock” and chains, xauv ncais, and her bamboo and hemp “bird shoes,” khau noog, will be added last. Rhiav has even purchased her wooden casket. With six sons looking after her, it is certain that she will have a most honorable funeral.

At present, though, Rhiav continues to thrive. She is surrounded by her ever-growing family of thirty grandchildren, among them Cas Khoos, now a bright, active ten-year-old boy. Her community regularly requests that she perform healing ceremonies and dispense medicinal herbs.

Just as countless shaman ancestors over untold generations have done before her, txiv neeb Rhiav Lis carries on the age-old practice of conversing with spirits, calling back souls, and curing humans.  Ua li no.  It must be like this.  (Excerpt from Hmong Songs of Memory Book and Film, by Victoria Vorreiter)

1948 – 27 September 2023

With the passing of Rhiav Lis yesterday, 27 September 2023, the Hmong community of Ban Nam Tha has lost a highly respected White Hmong Shaman, Medicinal Healer, and Musician.  In the coming days of sacred rites – and long afterwards – her family mourns the Beloved Matriarch of their large, thriving family.  The world is now bereft of the ancestral wisdom, knowledge, and experiences that Rhiav carried with her in an unbroken chain of oral tradition.  And I grieve a friend and teacher of nearly twenty years.

Our story reaches back to July 2005 when I chanced upon Shaman Rhiav Lis in her village, Ban Nam Tha, as she was about to embark on a daunting journey into the supernatural world atop her black winged spirit horse to explore its thirteen levels, all in search of the wandering, possibly captured, souls of her ailing baby grandson, Cas Khoos.

For the next few hours I filmed the entire Ua Neeb Healing Ceremony in her home, at her altar, documenting every interlocking rite, which allowed Rhiav, veiled in a black ritual cloth, to parlay with evil spirits, to find and escort Cas Khoos’ souls to the mortal world, and to return them to the baby’s body so he might regain health and live.

This experience, which occurred just as my Songs of Memory sojourn began in 2005, launched my entry into the mysteries, the complexities, the wonders of Hmong spiritual belief. I returned many times to visit Rhiav and her family to refine my understanding of what had taken place, to verify each soul, spirit, deity, location, and act, and to confirm the Hmong translations of this dramatic, fantastical epic poem of yore.

Rhiav Lis’ shamanic mastery, along with her knowledge of medicinal plants and her musical talents as a singer and instrumental player, provided the mind, heart, and soul of my Hmong Songs of Memory Book and Film.  Words cannot adequately express my gratitude to her.  With the loss of Rhiav Lis, a link in that invisible, once impenetrable chain has broken.  I can only hope my documentation fills some of the void that her passing leaves us. (Victoria Vorreiter, Chiang Mai, 2023)