Mimi: Deep in the quiet landscape of Nagaland’s aspirational Kiphire district, the village of Mimi stands apart not only for its remote beauty but for a tradition that has survived centuries of change. Here, where modern CGI/Metal roofs have long become the norm across most of the state, a quiet architectural heritage continues to hold its ground: the ancient practice of stone-slate roofing.
Walking through Mimi, the difference is unmistakable. Against a landscape of ridgelines and forest, the houses wear something far more enduring: thin, hand-cut stone slabs arranged with a precision and patience inherited across generations. On these rooftops, the village’s oldest stories continue to live.
Among the structures that best embody this heritage is the monolith hall, which houses four significant monoliths marking important milestones for the Mimi and Yimkhiung Naga community. Its stone-slate roof, weathered yet steady, mirrors the resilience of the history it shelters.
What makes these roofs truly remarkable is their longevity. Despite the elements, the stone slates endure and can even be reused, allowing each generation to inherit not just a home but a tangible piece of their past.
“We specialise in stone-slab roofing. It is an art that has been passed down from our forefathers,” says Lakham, a resident of Mimi. The community’s knowledge system is largely oral, preserved not through manuals but through observation. “We learned by watching our fathers and grandfathers,” he added.
In earlier times, the process was even more complex. Cane ropes, prepared months in advance, were used to bind the roofing structure. These ropes had to be made at a specific time of the year, which meant that once the season was missed, construction would be delayed. Bamboo frames, too, required year-long preparation.
At present, some methods have adapted. Nails, modern ropes, and metal wires have replaced cane bindings, but the core of the craft remains intact.
Lakham shared that, according to village stories, the stone used for roofing was once sourced from a site nearly a kilometre away. With no metal tools available, ancestors relied on bamboo implements dried for a year to slowly cut through the rock.
The technique, now largely forgotten, means the village relies on stones collected by earlier generations. “Many still use the stones used by their forefathers. These are assets passed down, and we want to preserve them,” the 31-year-old said.
Even today, preparing a fresh batch of stone slates—from extraction to sizing—can take nearly a month. A full roofing project, once materials are ready, usually takes two to three days. The cost can go up to Rs 1–2 lakh, but labour is never hired. Instead, siblings, uncles, and friends come together in a communal effort.
Lakham explains that on hot days, tin roofs can turn homes uncomfortably warm, while stone roofs remain cool, absorbing heat slowly and releasing it only after sundown. During the monsoon, when rain pounding on tin can be deafening, the stone roofs stay almost silent.
“When it rains, tin houses are very noisy. But with stone roofs, there is no sound,” says Lakham. A well-built roof rarely leaks, and if it does, repairs involve simply nudging the misplaced stone from inside with a stick, restoring the roof without much hassle.
A fragile tradition in a changing world
Mimi village once had 60–70 houses roofed with stone; at present, around 40–50 remain. The practice also survives in a few villages under the Pungro subdivision. Extremely thin and brittle, the stones cannot be transported far, one reason the tradition has not spread beyond a cluster.
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Yet each household guards its store of stones carefully, even those who no longer build traditional homes. In an era where concrete homes and metal roofing sheets signal progress, Mimi’s stone-slate roofs offer a rare window into the past.
Stone-slate roofing traditions can still be found in a few pockets of Nagaland, though the practice is slowly fading. For the Naga communities that continue it, these roofs are far more than architectural artefacts. They are cultural heirlooms, carrying the weight of memory, craftsmanship, and identity across generations.
Also Read | Preserving tradition: Why bats are harvested and eaten in this Naga village
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