Inside the incredible lives of Sherpas, the unsung heroes of Himalayan expeditions

Golden-green barley fields stretch alongside the winding lanes leading to the centuries-old Kemgun Gomba, a monastery located in Nepal. A soft veil of fog obscures the path, but the silhouette of a red concrete entryway stands out as I get closer. Adorned with intricate motifs – a conch shell, a wheel and a lotus flower – it beckons me forward. At arm’s distance, there are prayer wheels, and it is believed that turning them clockwise brings good fortune, just like the engraved motifs at the doorway. But overhead, thick grey clouds begin to blanket the sky.

In that setting, an amma (the Nepalese word for mother) asks me to come into her house, offering shelter from the drizzle. Pasang Yangzi Sherpa’s kitchen-cum-living room feels warm, a stark contrast to the coldness outside. Brass and steel utensils line her kitchen. On the wall adjoining it is a framed image of her son, Nima Ongchu, with a khada (or a ceremonial scarf). “He’s a trek guide,” Yangzi says, placing a pan on the stove to boil water. She hands me a cup of salty su-cha, also known as butter tea, saying it'll keep me warm.

I am in the small town of Lukla, which is 2,860 metres above sea level, located on the fringes of the Sagarmatha National Park in Solukhumbu district, in north-eastern Nepal. The park, inscribed as a Unesco World Heritage Site in 1979, teems with biodiversity and rare wildlife species such as snow leopards and red pandas. Lukla serves as the gateway to Mount Everest (known locally as Sagarmatha, which translates to "Peak of Heaven").

As I feel the warmth of the tea, Yangzi chimes in: “My son has summited Ama Dablam and Mount Everest". The air is filled with pride – hers from her son's achievements and a chance to share the Sherpa way of life; mine from the success of making it to Everest base camp. It's an endeavour that feels incomplete without acknowledging the real heroes, the ammas who nurture Sherpas such as Nima Ongchu.

Sherpas, who carry the weight – both literally and figuratively – make these feats possible. They are an ethnic group native to Solukhumbu. Originally of Tibetan descent, they migrated to Nepal around the 15th or 16th centuries. The name Sherpa derives from the Tibetan word "sher-war", meaning people of the east, a nod to their origins in Tibet’s Kham region.

During peak season, from March to May and September to November, thousands of global tourists visit Khumbu. Data from the Nepal Tourism Board reveals more than 100,000 tourists from the Middle East arrived in Nepal in 2024.

In the bustling region of Khumbu, the clinking of trekking poles and backpacks, boots scuffing against cobbled paths, gears being packed and unpacked, instructions from guides, encouragements from fellow travellers and cafes brewing espresso to celebrate milestones are all a reflection of deep Sherpa culture and hospitality.

It is also why almost every house in Khumbu relies on tourism, as the locals say. Some Sherpas work as guides, porters, support crew, while many others have their own small businesses, such as lodges, guest houses, cafes, restaurants and shops. Not far away from Lukla’s Kemgun monastery is business owner Tenzing Sherpa, who sells trekking accessories such as poles, clothes and down jackets. The store comes to my rescue when I am in need of warm trousers.

“Tourists are important for Lukla because the entire town depends on them,” he says. “I want to give tourists the service they want and make them happy.” He can provide his services only on good weather days. “If it is cloudy, there are no flights coming into Lukla, which is infamous for its cliffside runway," he says. "No flights mean no business.”

Across the region, the efforts of Sherpas are a familiar sight. Yet, what goes unnoticed amidst the trails draped in Nepal’s national flower, the rhododendrons, are the Sherpas working quietly behind the scenes.

Just a few days earlier, along the trails connecting the towns of Namche Bazar and Khumjung, a group of workers were hunched over, chiselling rocks and laying out the paths for trekkers. Among them was Nima Sherpa, one of the underappreciated who helps build the trails. “We’ve been making this path for days,” he says. “It will take more than a month to make the way.”

This serves as a reminder of the unseen labour that sustains these mountains. He’s not the only one. In Khumjung, Gelmo Shepra, 18, works as a cook and handles housekeeping. That morning, she’s busy washing bedsheets. “I need to earn money, so I don’t want to study further,” she says. From potato flatbreads to stews, Gelmo adds, “I can cook everything on the menu.” In her free time, she loves to watch Nepali folk songs, allowing the melodies and rhythms to provide a brief escape from her busy days.

Nearby, Khumjung Secondary School, founded by Edmund Hillary in 1961, offers education up to grade 10 for more than 250 students. Tucked away in one of the region’s more remote areas, the school quietly supports the next generation of Sherpas, who may go on to work as guides, in hospitality, or even start their own businesses. While Everest often takes the spotlight, it’s the Sherpas – an essential part of climbing culture – who help make these journeys possible.