I am sweating it out in Bangkok enjoying Christmas holidays and away from school. I want to let you all know, in case there were any lingering worries, that I am nowhere near the coast and am not at all physically affected by the current disaster. BBC is reporting the death toll to be at 23 000 right now, so we are all very much shocked. But I am still alive and kicking rather enthusiastically, getting up to trouble, having adventures and meeting interesting people. Right now I am writing from a free Israeli internet cafe with my new found side-kick, Ilse, from Holland, who is even crazier than I am. So you don't even know what we have been getting up to.
Much love and best wishes for your holidays to you all. Thanks for thinking of me and worrying.
Love
Jen
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Friday, December 17, 2004
Cast of Degenerates
The office seems deserted today. Perhaps everyone is so used to having Friday off as an official holiday (which has been the case every Friday for the last month, it seems) that they all stayed home today. At any rate, I have actually been quite productive for a change. I have finally caught up on my marking and got a lot accomplished in terms of lesson planning. Although I won't have to work tomorrow (I often do), I do have to write my final exams for this trimester sometime soon, probably over Christmas break. Meanwhile, since life seems to be in a bit of a lull, and I wouldn't want to get TOO much accomplished today (that wouldn't be very Thai of me, would it?), I will take up some of my office internet time to describe in a little more detail the wacky cast of characters that make up life in Mae Sot.
Patrick
Patrick
I probably spend more time with Patrick than any other foreigner around. I teach up in Umphiem Monday through Thursday and he teaches with my Tuesday through Friday. As you can imagine, there isn't a lot to do in a refugee camp in terms of serious entertainment. Once a week, we hook a TV and DVD up to a car battery and show a movie, but the rest of the time, we're on our own. There is one other school in camp with foreign teachers run by an illegal NGO that does not have permission to be in Thailand. Consequentially, their teachers don't have permission to live in the camp, although they do. But basically, if I want to speak English, it's just the students, Patrick and I.
We spend a lot of time sitting outside the classroom, drinking coffee and talking. Patrick is 28 (I think) and from Ohio, U.S.A. He has lived a lot of places and done a lot of things, including studying acting, painting and holding art exhibitions in Portland, Oregon, and working in a framing shop. My favorite stories from Patrick so far include the time he skipped school and ended up winning a t-shirt by singing "Ice, Ice Baby" on the Jenny Jones show. The New Years party he spent in the company of a bunch of wild, bisexual clowns is another one, as is the mad brawl he got into while exiting a bar one night in Mongolia.
Patrick first started teaching in Korea, where he met Brooke and made a lot of money by working crazy overtime hours, mostly with bratty kindergarten kids. He and Brooke once ate octopus so recently killed that the suckers from the tentacles sucked onto their tongues until they were properly dead.
Patrick comes from a fairly conservative family. His brother, for example, is a tax lawyer. He once dated a girl for five years who went absolutely manic, has tried to kill herself many times and is on countless meds. She recently spent two weeks in jail, although won't say for what. His current girlfriend is a wonderful Thai cosmetic salesgirl named Nok. She started out being his language teacher and now they are going to get married. The family is not so keen on this, but I am looking forward to a happy Thai wedding. Patrick's future plans: when he is finished with EIP, he and Nok are moving back to Ohio and starting a self-framing / Pad Thai shop. Good luck Patrick.
Brooke
Brooke is the other person who works for EIP. The program was her idea and she enlisted Patrick, who she had met in Korea, to come help her with it. Brooke is from America, but studied International Development at McGill. Small world eh? Brooke spends most of her time in Mae Sot doing the office work, keeping the funders happy, getting the funders, writing reports and doing our administrative work. She teaches up in Umphiem Fridays, so unfortunately, I don't get to see much of her.
My first weekend in Mae Sot, I spent a lot of time with Brooke. She and Patrick and I and a few people went out for beers. We were sitting around when someone came up with the idea of going to the local disco, Club Y2K. Brooke was very enthusiastic.
"It's great fun!" she said. "They have these bands and these girls come on stage in these crazy little furry red bikinis!"
What can I say? I like the girl. Actually, Brooke would be a hard person not to like. She has a warm smile and a warm heart. She's one of those people you just can't help but feel good to be around. On the weekends, we often get together for tea in one of the little Burmese tea shops in Mae Sot and talk about our life plans, where we are going from here, development issues and politics. We also go visit the Thai massage parlor that is near my house once in awhile for a relaxing and only sometimes uncomfortable Thai massage.
Brooke's significant other also causes her friction with her parents. She is dating a really nice Burmese guy named Ong Ja (I have no idea how to spell it actually and it doesn't really matter because that's not his real name). Ong Ja is a Burmese political activist working for an association for political prisoners here in Mae Sot. Although he himself was once a political prisoner in Burma, he is now a refugee, registered with the United Nations. He is hoping to be resettled to the United States and is waiting for an interview with the US resettlement team in January. Meanwhile, he is one of the most active members of his organization, writing excellent reports about the situation in Burma and hiding from spies. His brother, an activist working inside Burma, recently came to visit him and Brooke had dinner with them tucked away in a dark corner of a shady guest house. It all sounds rather dark and suspicious, but really, it's just every day life here and he is a wonderful man, with a smile warm enough to match Brooke's.
Tim
Tim and neighbour boy
When I moved into my new house, Brooke said to me, "Ah, you will be living next to Tim, the crazy Aussie." So already, I was looking forward to meeting him. Tim is a tall, gangly guy with a thin face and a wiry frame. I rarely ever see him out of his singlet. He recently turned 36, which was the occasion for much of the drinking that happened a few weeks ago. He is from Melbourne, Australia and his girlfriend works at the Australian Consulate in Vietnam.
Tim was accepted directly into Australia's best law school and dropped out after two years. He came to Bangkok rather randomly and got a job there working as an assistant editor. In Melbourne, he ended up directing two advertisements for one of the universities, both of which were huge successes. He claims he was well on his way to becoming a film director.
Instead, he flew to Thailand, and sat on an island for the next three or four months, drinking, writing, smoking and preying on the female tourist population. He ended up in Burma on whim completely uninformed about life there, but spent most of the time in a hotel room suffering from Typhoid until a random stranger shipped him back to Bangkok for treatment. When he went back to Burma, he was better informed and on a mission. From his time there, he wrote and published a book, which I have yet to read. He returned again some time later to film for a documentary, which he is now editing. And that's what he does with most of his time, and that's what makes him such a great neighbor: he sits in front of his computer all day, not bothering anyone, but occasionally comes out at night and gets wild. We have had many an interesting dinner and breakfast conversation, many a good coffee and far too many cold beers.
There are, unfortunately, about five dogs that frequent Tim's house for food on a regular basis. They are the typical mangy mutts of Thailand and most of them are friendly and getting friendlier towards me all the time. He also has a crazy little cat that he rescued from the monastery across the street. It had a broken tail, so it's tail is all screwy but it's brain is pretty screwy too. It's name is Little Foot and I will be looking after it while Tim jets back to Melbourne for Christmas vacation.
Well that's enough for today. Sometime in the future, I will get along to describing Mel, Miles and Jack and then you will know the most interesting people I spend my time with around here. For now, Merry Christmas everyone and Happy New Year!
Patrick
Patrick
I probably spend more time with Patrick than any other foreigner around. I teach up in Umphiem Monday through Thursday and he teaches with my Tuesday through Friday. As you can imagine, there isn't a lot to do in a refugee camp in terms of serious entertainment. Once a week, we hook a TV and DVD up to a car battery and show a movie, but the rest of the time, we're on our own. There is one other school in camp with foreign teachers run by an illegal NGO that does not have permission to be in Thailand. Consequentially, their teachers don't have permission to live in the camp, although they do. But basically, if I want to speak English, it's just the students, Patrick and I.
We spend a lot of time sitting outside the classroom, drinking coffee and talking. Patrick is 28 (I think) and from Ohio, U.S.A. He has lived a lot of places and done a lot of things, including studying acting, painting and holding art exhibitions in Portland, Oregon, and working in a framing shop. My favorite stories from Patrick so far include the time he skipped school and ended up winning a t-shirt by singing "Ice, Ice Baby" on the Jenny Jones show. The New Years party he spent in the company of a bunch of wild, bisexual clowns is another one, as is the mad brawl he got into while exiting a bar one night in Mongolia.
Patrick first started teaching in Korea, where he met Brooke and made a lot of money by working crazy overtime hours, mostly with bratty kindergarten kids. He and Brooke once ate octopus so recently killed that the suckers from the tentacles sucked onto their tongues until they were properly dead.
Patrick comes from a fairly conservative family. His brother, for example, is a tax lawyer. He once dated a girl for five years who went absolutely manic, has tried to kill herself many times and is on countless meds. She recently spent two weeks in jail, although won't say for what. His current girlfriend is a wonderful Thai cosmetic salesgirl named Nok. She started out being his language teacher and now they are going to get married. The family is not so keen on this, but I am looking forward to a happy Thai wedding. Patrick's future plans: when he is finished with EIP, he and Nok are moving back to Ohio and starting a self-framing / Pad Thai shop. Good luck Patrick.
Brooke
Brooke is the other person who works for EIP. The program was her idea and she enlisted Patrick, who she had met in Korea, to come help her with it. Brooke is from America, but studied International Development at McGill. Small world eh? Brooke spends most of her time in Mae Sot doing the office work, keeping the funders happy, getting the funders, writing reports and doing our administrative work. She teaches up in Umphiem Fridays, so unfortunately, I don't get to see much of her.
My first weekend in Mae Sot, I spent a lot of time with Brooke. She and Patrick and I and a few people went out for beers. We were sitting around when someone came up with the idea of going to the local disco, Club Y2K. Brooke was very enthusiastic.
"It's great fun!" she said. "They have these bands and these girls come on stage in these crazy little furry red bikinis!"
What can I say? I like the girl. Actually, Brooke would be a hard person not to like. She has a warm smile and a warm heart. She's one of those people you just can't help but feel good to be around. On the weekends, we often get together for tea in one of the little Burmese tea shops in Mae Sot and talk about our life plans, where we are going from here, development issues and politics. We also go visit the Thai massage parlor that is near my house once in awhile for a relaxing and only sometimes uncomfortable Thai massage.
Brooke's significant other also causes her friction with her parents. She is dating a really nice Burmese guy named Ong Ja (I have no idea how to spell it actually and it doesn't really matter because that's not his real name). Ong Ja is a Burmese political activist working for an association for political prisoners here in Mae Sot. Although he himself was once a political prisoner in Burma, he is now a refugee, registered with the United Nations. He is hoping to be resettled to the United States and is waiting for an interview with the US resettlement team in January. Meanwhile, he is one of the most active members of his organization, writing excellent reports about the situation in Burma and hiding from spies. His brother, an activist working inside Burma, recently came to visit him and Brooke had dinner with them tucked away in a dark corner of a shady guest house. It all sounds rather dark and suspicious, but really, it's just every day life here and he is a wonderful man, with a smile warm enough to match Brooke's.
Tim
Tim and neighbour boy
When I moved into my new house, Brooke said to me, "Ah, you will be living next to Tim, the crazy Aussie." So already, I was looking forward to meeting him. Tim is a tall, gangly guy with a thin face and a wiry frame. I rarely ever see him out of his singlet. He recently turned 36, which was the occasion for much of the drinking that happened a few weeks ago. He is from Melbourne, Australia and his girlfriend works at the Australian Consulate in Vietnam.
Tim was accepted directly into Australia's best law school and dropped out after two years. He came to Bangkok rather randomly and got a job there working as an assistant editor. In Melbourne, he ended up directing two advertisements for one of the universities, both of which were huge successes. He claims he was well on his way to becoming a film director.
Instead, he flew to Thailand, and sat on an island for the next three or four months, drinking, writing, smoking and preying on the female tourist population. He ended up in Burma on whim completely uninformed about life there, but spent most of the time in a hotel room suffering from Typhoid until a random stranger shipped him back to Bangkok for treatment. When he went back to Burma, he was better informed and on a mission. From his time there, he wrote and published a book, which I have yet to read. He returned again some time later to film for a documentary, which he is now editing. And that's what he does with most of his time, and that's what makes him such a great neighbor: he sits in front of his computer all day, not bothering anyone, but occasionally comes out at night and gets wild. We have had many an interesting dinner and breakfast conversation, many a good coffee and far too many cold beers.
There are, unfortunately, about five dogs that frequent Tim's house for food on a regular basis. They are the typical mangy mutts of Thailand and most of them are friendly and getting friendlier towards me all the time. He also has a crazy little cat that he rescued from the monastery across the street. It had a broken tail, so it's tail is all screwy but it's brain is pretty screwy too. It's name is Little Foot and I will be looking after it while Tim jets back to Melbourne for Christmas vacation.
Well that's enough for today. Sometime in the future, I will get along to describing Mel, Miles and Jack and then you will know the most interesting people I spend my time with around here. For now, Merry Christmas everyone and Happy New Year!
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Meet my students...
WRITING EXERCISE
After a three-day workshop with an Australian journalist, Timothy Syrota, students were asked to write a detailed account of a significant experience in their lives. The stories are published here with permission from the students
Nickson
It was around 11 o'clock at night. There was a seriously dangerous sound from outside. One minute later, my mother woke me up and told me to run. The people who live next to our house were crying and in shock. Moreover, the bullets were coming around the camp beside my family and I.
A few minutes later, I heard a big voice from behind me. I looked behind me but nothing happened to me. Although I did see an old man who was around fourty years old who had been shot by the guns in his left leg. He said to his wife and children to run away quickly from the camp area to another. And you shouldn't take care of me, and you hadn't enough time, please run away.
This man's voice sounded like a pig being killed before it dies.
I thought that I was going to get my movies and things at my house. Although my mum said be quick so that my family and I could run away from our camp. Four or five minutes later, all of the houses, schools, hospitals, were burning and lighting.
At that time, some people with us sat on the field outside camp next to the Thai village called Hway Ko Loke. After that, we directly went to my grandmother's house who lives there. In the morning, I came back to our camp. What was burned had been changed. As a result, wood became charcoal and bamboo and thatch changed to ash. Everything was gone.
Cha Mu
Last year, on my summer holiday, I went to visit my parents, who live on the Thai/Myanmar borderline in a town called P'lu. In this place, we have Burmese soldiers, DKBA (Democratic Karen Buddhist Army) and KNU (Karen National Union). We're afraid of them.
After I had arrived and been there for two days, there was a problem in the house that is next to my house. This house was the home of a leader of the DKBA. In the evening around 6pm, my family and I watched karaoke and we laughed a lot. Suddenly we all heard a gunshot and my father switched off the electricity and the CD. Then we all went to the wall and peeked. We saw that there were more than twenty people who covered their faces with hats and surrounded the house. But they didn't care about us. I heard that they asked for jewelry from the wife. When they got it, they destroyed the television, car and drawers in the house.
At that time, my brother, who always visited this house, came back with his motorbike. He rode through the house and as for us, we didn't dare to stop him. We watched this situation nervously. When he arrived in front of the house, he was kicked by the army and his head hit by the edge of the gun. At the same time, one of the people sad, "Kill him now."
But the wife said, "Don’t' kill him. He is my son." So they didn't kill him.
But when they went back, they arrested my brother and the leader of DKBA. Before they left, they fired the house and they threatened us that we were not allowed to go in the house as they had left a bomb in there. But my uncle and my father went there and stopped the fire.
George
Last year, when I was sitting the entrance exam of ICFC (Intensive College Foundation Course), I was interviewed by the ICFC coordinators. They sat on a bench. The one who had a potbelly and was bald, was holding a microphone beside me. The one who had red-golden hair was with a tape-recorder. The other one was a woman. She looked like an Indian.
They all interviewed me but without a microphone and tape-recorder. As a resolute of this, I missed my words. I lost my self-confidence, I forgot how to answer. So, I lost my best chance. I mean that I failed and I didn't pass the entrance exam of ICFC because of the interview. I passed all the other subjects, but I couldn't attend that school because I failed the interview. So I realize myself that interviews are also important for further study. Although you are intelligent in other subjects, if you are not clever in the interview, you can't do anything that concerns the exam. So this is the big experience in my life.
Rose Gay Htoo
On May 29th, 2001, after I finished high school ten standards, I had to leave Laikaw and come to Thailand. It was the first time I was far away from my family. Moreover, I had to continue in my studies in a Karen refugee camp in Umphiem. It made me feel so upset when I arrived at Umpiem's bus stop. I had to take out my bag and arry it up to SEP (Special English Program). At that time, the weather in camp was very awful because it was slippery everywhere. It was cloudy and dark all day. Then I did not dare to take a bath. Furthermore, I was under the weather. I had to stay alone and study at SEP. Before I attended the school, I had to take the SEP exam and I had to stay at SEP dorms. I had no friends to talk to or go around with. People were friendly but I didn't understand what they were talking about in Karen because I couldn't speak their Karen language.
On the fifteenth of June, I told my aunt who took me to Thailand that I wanted to go back but she said, "you have o chance to go back." This sound hurt my heart a lot like and arrow that goes into your heart and draws blood. Everything was hanged in my life. I had never seen a school like SEP and houses like the houses in Umphiem camp. All of the houses are made by bamboo and thatch. There were no parks, no cinemas, no hotels and no restaurants. In my life, I had never heard that we had Karen refugees in Thailand. My parents never talked about Karen people and my aunt didn't tell me that Umphiem is a refugee camp. She told me that education in Umpheim is very good except the living standards are not, but you must try to live like them. I felt embarrassed that I am Karen but I couldn't speak Karen. Moreover, I didn't know about my people who had to be refugees in Thailand. Even if I ha never been in Umphiem, I wouldn't know about the Karen situation in Karen state. Now I know all about it. So I have to be proud of myself that now I become a real Karen. I thank my aunt. Because of her, I can study freely. Also I know my people so I am happy to stay in Umphiem camp.
Zaw Zaw Aung
When I was studying in the sixth standard in the high school of my village, I suffered from a serious pain I my lungs. It took a long time for it to be healed or recovered. I can recall the most specific time it troubled me.
It was a hot day. The crop fields, which are located on the right side of the school, had just been ripped. I could see several cowboys with their cattle from the second top floor of the school. It was lunchtime. Some students were running on the floor and grounds. Some were playing tops and some were playing football. Their white shirts and longies were full of dust and sweat. I was alone sitting at the corner of the second top floor, which was fenced by some intervals of wooden bars. The pain was increasingly more and more - eventually it was so much that I could not breathe. I closed y eyes and twisted and pummeled my belly. I guess I passed out for a while and when I woke up, I felt n o pain.
After the moment had passed, I was thinking, " do cowboys and other students have something of the same disease or pain like me? If yes, what time does it appear to them?" My head was full of those kinds of questions.
At that moment, the bell rang and I attended the rest of my classes that day.
Bway Kho Wah
When I as studying in tenth standard, I was a school group leader. Even though I as the student's group leader, my job was empty.
I heard some o y friends drank alcohol and took bad medicine, which gave them a good feeling. I wanted to taste and I copied my friends. I started skipping school with some of my friends. I did not dare to buy the bad medicine, but I asked some of my friends, who were my best friends, and they bought it for me. After that, I took five bad medicines at the same time and I felt dizzy and I wanted to sleep. But I could not sleep. I went to Zone B with my classmates and I spent the whole day o the road. We walked around Zone B. We didn't go to school the whole day. Even though I didn't go to school, my parents didn't know about me.
The second day, I went to school for one period and I started skipping school again. We went out and bought alcohol. We went to one of my friend's houses and we drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes. We spent the whole day like this. When I came back home, I thought my parents still didn't know about me, but they already knew. They asked me where I had been and I said that I had been at school. I tried to lie but they didn't believe me. My bother beat me and I wanted to cry but my tears didn't fall on my cheeks. I hated myself. To this day I have never skipped school or drunk alcohol again.
Dah Wah
In the year 1990-1991, I came to Thailand with my family. Because the SPDC (State Peace and Development Council) had come to my village, every family had to leave their poverty. They could take only a few things with them. By the time I came to Thailand, I was only six years old. I couldn’t take notice of everything exactly. My parents came to a Karen refugee camp, which was called Mor Ker, with me. When we arrived, many houses were already set up. I started studying. I was enjoying my studying.
In 1997, the DKBA came to the camp and burned the camp. At that time, I was a sixth-stander. I saw the burning. The bullets were shining dangerously. My family and I went down to the house and hid in a hole. The bullets came above my head. They nearly hurt my head. My legs were shaking, also my heart.
In the morning, I saw many people didn't want to eat, not even me. For the next two or three days everything was fine.
In the summer, my family and I went back to my village to visit. At that time, people could travel on the borderline. When I was again at my village, I saw the SPDC and DKBA. One of the DKBA visited my family. I also talked ot him, but I hated him a little bit. We spent only a few weeks there and we came back. For the next three years, all the people of Mor Ker had to move to a new refugee camp called Umphiem.
Poe Kler Htoo
I was born in Karen State in Pa Tu village. But I great up in a refugee camp. When I was living in Mor Ker refugee camp, I had a serious problem for the first time in my life. It put me in a fix. It was when the DKBA came and burnt the refugee camp. As a result, many houses were burned. Moreover, they shot guns. So a lot of people were running and shooting in the dark on the road. Because it was nighttime. That is the reason why I had to leave my house without knowing anything. So I was very depressed living in the refugee camp. It was five years ago, before we had moved to Umphiem Mai camp.
Secondly, on the twentieth of November 2004, it was nighttime when I was talking with my friends at ARC (American Refugee Committee) in Zone B. Suddenly, I heard Thai soldiers and my friends fighting each other on the main road in section one. Immediately, I went down and looked for my friends on the road. At that time, many soldiers were coming and beat my stomach and my head without any reason. Even though I wanted to explain the situation to them, they didn't listen to me and took me to the camp office in Zone A. Then, I had a conversation with the camp leader who works for the security of the refugee camp. However, I had no worries, because I knew myself that I was an innocent person. Also the leader understood me and let me free to go back home. But I have never forgotten being hurt by soldiers. It was the second sojourn in my beautiful life.
Thirdly, even though I am a refugee, I have a dream that one day Karen people will get back their homeland because our Karen people will be emancipated from the Burmese government. Our Karen people will abolish the SPDC in Burma. For this reason, the SPDC will be done and our Karen people will have freedom. Our Karen people will have a good education. Our Karen people will have a good relationship with the other ethnic groups. Also other ethnic groups will be free like the Karen in Burma. But I have never been satisfied being a refugee with less opportunities than other people. I have never been satisfied leaving our homeland and living in another country. I have never been satisfied with the killing of innocent people that is happening in Karen State. However, we are not wallow people in future. Therefore, one day, I have a dream: Karen people will get back their beautiful homeland and develop their lives. Moreover the world will know that the Karen people are one of the ethnic groups of Burma.
Say Say Lah
In 1986, I stayed in jail for six months in Burma. Because my father is a KNU soldier and the SPDC soldiers caught me. At that time, I was five years old. After they had freed me from the jail, I got a disease and nearly died. Even though they had freed me, I have to be afraid all the time because they knew me. I am worried that they will catch me again.
When I studied in tenth standard in 1998, they burned my house in my village. At that time, my mother did not stay in the house. If she had stayed there, they would have killed my mother.
Even though I have a chance to study, I am never happy because I am afraid all the time. On the other hand, I am lucky because my parents send me to school. If I compare my life with the other people, I am very lucky because other people don't have a chance to study.
In 2001, I went to the Thai/Burma border because the SPDC were aroused. They could catch us again, so my sister and I came to the borderline. When I arrived at the borderline, I was very surprised because I hadn't known that a lot of Karen people stayed in the border.
Now I live in a refugee camp and I know more about our Karen situation. I'm happy with them also. On the other hand, I knew why my father became a soldier. When I stayed in Burma, I never knew about our Karen situation. I know that the SPDC soldiers said that the KNU are not good.
In my life, happy and worried go together. All these stories, I will never forget, especially the experience in my life since I was a child, until this day.
Kler Paw
When I was in the eighth standard in 1999, I had an unforgettable picnic in my life. At that time, I was in Mawlamyine and I studied at Number Eleven High School. During December holidays, we decided to go somewhere with our friends together happily. We meant that we would go after we finished our second trimester examinations. As we know, boys and girls like a picnic very much. They always welcome it. Even older people like to have a picnic. As soon as one of my friends invited me to join a picnic party, I accepted it quickly. The picnic I went to was a happy occasion for me.
The picnic site was Kan Daw Kyi, which is located in Mu Don, Mon State. We went there by hired bus. After three hours driving from Mawlamyine, we arrived there. We chose a fine shady spot as our picnic ground. There were a few trees nearby. When we arrived at the picnic ground, we put down the things under some trees. We had pots of rice and curry, packets of some fruits, sweets and chocolates. While some were preparing for our lunch, a few boys and girls walked around the area. After a while, we gathered at the main spot to have a picnic lunch.
Though there were only a few boys and girls at the picnic ground, the place was alive with talking, laughing and clapping hands. When we finished our lunch, we played a parcel game. A parcel game was very popular for picnic parties in Myanmar. No one had to refuse to participate in it. The three boys of the picnic party played on an organ and the two hollow guitars. Some girls were good at singing. Some could dance very well. The occasion made the picnic party more friendly. Then, every partner became my close friend when we came back to our own place. How fine the picnic I went to was!
Naing Lin
The twenty-seventh of November 2004, was a snowing day. All the SEP students were tired, in view of the fact that they had carried rations from the ration store. I looked at my friend, called Rita's, face. She was sweating. I invited her to drink beer with me and she nodded.
We four, two girls and two boys, were sitting around the table. The time was nearly 11:00am. We put beer on the table but had no cups. We looked at each other, waiting for someone to start drinking it. But within five minutes, nobody had started. So I had to start. We only had one beer. It was gone within ten minutes.
After I drunk beer with my friends, I remembered something that my friend Rita had told me. She said that she had no more money to buy a coat. All I wanted was to share some of my money with her. However I did not dare to give her my money because she might think that I had fallen in love with her. I couldn't make a decision if I should give her the money or not. I continued talking to her. The two of my friends left from the table. So I made a decision that I would give her some money.
I went inside to my bed and took out 200 baht from my wallet and put it inside a diary book that I hadn't written anything in and gave it to her. First, she was surprised and refused to take the money. But when I said, "Don’t worry," she took it. I looked at her. She smiled at me. I was really happy.
This was what I have never done I my life. The day was the twenty-seventh of November, 2004, in the SEP dorm in section 6, Zone B. I will never forget this day that I had made someone happy.
Pho Kyaw Kyaw
I have many experiences in my life. But I clearly recognize only one in my high school life in 1999, in Nu Poe high school. It made me very upset at that time and also I found it difficult to solve. But later on I found a good way to pass it.
In June, 1999, when I was in grade 10 in Nu Poe high school, KT Taw, the mistress of high school in Nu Poe, treated me very badly and teased me every tie that she saw me.
One day, the second week of the school year, she taught in a grade nine class and I sat in grade ten class in the back row. She scolded her students and said that you, boys, did not respect the teachers like the students from grade ten. I then thought, it was not just and belonged to our class. So, I stood up and yelled at the mistress.
I said to her, "It is not a good example to the students, and makes the students upset by hurting other people that you don't know." Then she started crying at the time. I took my bag and left the school. I did not want to study any more with her.
When I left the school, I decided that as long as she taught in the school, I would never attend that school. After I had argued with her, she sent a letter to my parents that evening.
But I didn't go back home for two days. I spent time with my friends and drank a lot of alcohol. After two days had passed, I went back home.
My parents asked me, "What happened to you in the school? Here is a letter that came from the head mistress." The teacher and my parents had a meeting. But it was not successful because I didn't want to attend the school in Nu Poe, so they decided to send me to Mae Sot.
They sent me to a mission school, called True Life in God. This, I remember forever. It was the first time I had seen a partial teacher in my life. Also I didn't want to study in a school like that. But later, I heard that the teacher had resigned from her position and she had regretted that she had treated her students like that.
Johnny Htoo
During 1996 and 1997, I was attending the Kawthoolei High School in Karen State, which was located on the KNU Brigade Number (6). The high school was in a village called Kyite Don, where many resistance families were staying. Other business people were also staying there. I was in seventh standard and there were about seven hundred students in the school. Most of the students were from business families. A few people at school were from normal and resistance families.
On March 17th of 1996, there was an arrangement from the brigade general to provide military training to the students. The demand was for one hundred students who would be required to attend the training, including about thirty percent o the schoolgirls. Thus, on March 24th, 1996, I reenrolled my name to attend the training and many friends of mine did also. Then the training started.
The hatred of carrying guns, behaving actively and obeying rules were lost in my mind. There were three trainers at that time. I had to be in the training every day although I didn't want to. Uplift of dynamism of patriot spirit, uplift of fitness and obedience were given to me in my mind. The second step was to be involved in warfare, which the other people joined, not only me. At the military section, we had to follow all the things or orders that our officer asked of us. WE had to obey all the things, which we chose to be before. Combat, shooting, killing and learning about initial discipline were included in the training.
However, my true past experience is not only for the memories of learning these aggressive skills of warriors, but my actual dream is to remember the heart of the capacity to be active and to show our spirit of patriotism.
K'Shaw Paw
When I was in the seventh standard, I liked to ride my bicycle very much. but one day, I played with my friends, then I said that I will ride a bicycle down from the mountain. One of my friends asked me for a to ride a bicycle behind me. So I told her that I would try one time, then, if it is ok, I will bet you to ride behind me. I rode a bicycle down the mountain, then I couldn't control my bicycle. At that time, I was so scare, like I couldn't do anything, then I didn't see anything in front of me.
At the same time, I heard a loud sound calling me, "K'Shaw Paw! … 9 …10…"
My whole body was shaking and my face became red. In my heart I thought where the bicycle would go, never mind, I will let it be like that. I gave up, so my bicycle hit the tree that is in front of my house. Later, I fell down from the bicycle. My bum and my legs were very painful. Moreover, my legs got a wound.
Starting that day, until today, I have never ridden a bicycle, because it got me into a lot of trouble. The most important thing that I am afraid of is that I will lose my body.
Cho Cho Aung
Every year, there is a big festival for the students of Burma. In 1997, the festival was held in K'Chen State and I was chosen to go there as my school's representative. At that time, I was in sixth standard and thirteen years old. I knew that I had to go to K'Chen State and I felt very happy and excited. My aunt and cousin also prepared things for me such as clothes and pocket money for my trip.
Before I went to K'Chen State, I had to stay in P'Ahn for one month. I had to learn about dancing in P'Ahn for one month. From my village to P'Ahn, I had to go on a ship.
Two of the teachers from my school had to go also and went with my to P'Ahn. When I arrived in P'Ahn, my two teachers went and went on a bicycle to the place where I had to stay. We rode the bicycles for thirty minutes and arrived at the big building. I thought that it might be a government service's apartment. We went up to second floor and entered into a room. There was a woman there who was about fifty years old and she smiled at us. We also smiled at her. Then she told us to sit and gave us some water to drink. After that she said, "I'm sorry that I sent to message to you too late. The students who had to go to K'Chen State are too many. We are full. Yesterday I tried to send the message to your school but I couldn't find any messengers. I am really sorry that you and your students had to come here."
As soon as I heard that speech, I felt very sad. Then me and my teachers said goodbye to that teacher, took our bags and went to one of the teacher's friend's houses who lived in P'Ahn.
Bathsheba
On Friday, December 3rd 2004, at night time< I was in bed an going to sleep. Three of us were staying in the dorm and I was sleeping in the middle. AT about 11pm, one of my friends was shocked because she couldn't find her tape recorder when she wanted to listen to it. She called us to help find her. I was also shocked and awoke, wanting to know what had happened to us. We were afraid and I almost cried. WE all knew that the tape recorder was lost. Why our things were lost again and again? Some said that it was outside people who took them. "Is it really?" I asked and was shaken and afraid. Even though we locked the room with a key when we went outside, some kind of person stole our things. It made us afraid and worried that we dared not to sleep in our own dorms anymore. Lately one of my friends old me, "Don't worry, sleep well." We talked about funny things to try and forget the worry then about 12:30, I fell asleep.
Ler Lah Say
The scariest experience that remains with me always happened when I was six years old. I went to watch a football game with my father at the football ground. Before we got to the football ground, we had to cross the main road in order to reach the grounds. After we finished watching the football game, I came back before my father. Then, when I arrived at the main road, I saw a car coming at very fast speed. Before the car crossed in front of me, I tried to cross the road with a quick movement first. When other people beside me on the road saw this, they were very scared for me, because they worried that I would die in that accident. However, luckily, I was saved from that scare. When I got home, my parents scolded me and I cried. Then I went to bed and fell asleep. But I remember this memory all the time.
After a three-day workshop with an Australian journalist, Timothy Syrota, students were asked to write a detailed account of a significant experience in their lives. The stories are published here with permission from the students
Nickson
It was around 11 o'clock at night. There was a seriously dangerous sound from outside. One minute later, my mother woke me up and told me to run. The people who live next to our house were crying and in shock. Moreover, the bullets were coming around the camp beside my family and I.
A few minutes later, I heard a big voice from behind me. I looked behind me but nothing happened to me. Although I did see an old man who was around fourty years old who had been shot by the guns in his left leg. He said to his wife and children to run away quickly from the camp area to another. And you shouldn't take care of me, and you hadn't enough time, please run away.
This man's voice sounded like a pig being killed before it dies.
I thought that I was going to get my movies and things at my house. Although my mum said be quick so that my family and I could run away from our camp. Four or five minutes later, all of the houses, schools, hospitals, were burning and lighting.
At that time, some people with us sat on the field outside camp next to the Thai village called Hway Ko Loke. After that, we directly went to my grandmother's house who lives there. In the morning, I came back to our camp. What was burned had been changed. As a result, wood became charcoal and bamboo and thatch changed to ash. Everything was gone.
Cha Mu
Last year, on my summer holiday, I went to visit my parents, who live on the Thai/Myanmar borderline in a town called P'lu. In this place, we have Burmese soldiers, DKBA (Democratic Karen Buddhist Army) and KNU (Karen National Union). We're afraid of them.
After I had arrived and been there for two days, there was a problem in the house that is next to my house. This house was the home of a leader of the DKBA. In the evening around 6pm, my family and I watched karaoke and we laughed a lot. Suddenly we all heard a gunshot and my father switched off the electricity and the CD. Then we all went to the wall and peeked. We saw that there were more than twenty people who covered their faces with hats and surrounded the house. But they didn't care about us. I heard that they asked for jewelry from the wife. When they got it, they destroyed the television, car and drawers in the house.
At that time, my brother, who always visited this house, came back with his motorbike. He rode through the house and as for us, we didn't dare to stop him. We watched this situation nervously. When he arrived in front of the house, he was kicked by the army and his head hit by the edge of the gun. At the same time, one of the people sad, "Kill him now."
But the wife said, "Don’t' kill him. He is my son." So they didn't kill him.
But when they went back, they arrested my brother and the leader of DKBA. Before they left, they fired the house and they threatened us that we were not allowed to go in the house as they had left a bomb in there. But my uncle and my father went there and stopped the fire.
George
Last year, when I was sitting the entrance exam of ICFC (Intensive College Foundation Course), I was interviewed by the ICFC coordinators. They sat on a bench. The one who had a potbelly and was bald, was holding a microphone beside me. The one who had red-golden hair was with a tape-recorder. The other one was a woman. She looked like an Indian.
They all interviewed me but without a microphone and tape-recorder. As a resolute of this, I missed my words. I lost my self-confidence, I forgot how to answer. So, I lost my best chance. I mean that I failed and I didn't pass the entrance exam of ICFC because of the interview. I passed all the other subjects, but I couldn't attend that school because I failed the interview. So I realize myself that interviews are also important for further study. Although you are intelligent in other subjects, if you are not clever in the interview, you can't do anything that concerns the exam. So this is the big experience in my life.
Rose Gay Htoo
On May 29th, 2001, after I finished high school ten standards, I had to leave Laikaw and come to Thailand. It was the first time I was far away from my family. Moreover, I had to continue in my studies in a Karen refugee camp in Umphiem. It made me feel so upset when I arrived at Umpiem's bus stop. I had to take out my bag and arry it up to SEP (Special English Program). At that time, the weather in camp was very awful because it was slippery everywhere. It was cloudy and dark all day. Then I did not dare to take a bath. Furthermore, I was under the weather. I had to stay alone and study at SEP. Before I attended the school, I had to take the SEP exam and I had to stay at SEP dorms. I had no friends to talk to or go around with. People were friendly but I didn't understand what they were talking about in Karen because I couldn't speak their Karen language.
On the fifteenth of June, I told my aunt who took me to Thailand that I wanted to go back but she said, "you have o chance to go back." This sound hurt my heart a lot like and arrow that goes into your heart and draws blood. Everything was hanged in my life. I had never seen a school like SEP and houses like the houses in Umphiem camp. All of the houses are made by bamboo and thatch. There were no parks, no cinemas, no hotels and no restaurants. In my life, I had never heard that we had Karen refugees in Thailand. My parents never talked about Karen people and my aunt didn't tell me that Umphiem is a refugee camp. She told me that education in Umpheim is very good except the living standards are not, but you must try to live like them. I felt embarrassed that I am Karen but I couldn't speak Karen. Moreover, I didn't know about my people who had to be refugees in Thailand. Even if I ha never been in Umphiem, I wouldn't know about the Karen situation in Karen state. Now I know all about it. So I have to be proud of myself that now I become a real Karen. I thank my aunt. Because of her, I can study freely. Also I know my people so I am happy to stay in Umphiem camp.
Zaw Zaw Aung
When I was studying in the sixth standard in the high school of my village, I suffered from a serious pain I my lungs. It took a long time for it to be healed or recovered. I can recall the most specific time it troubled me.
It was a hot day. The crop fields, which are located on the right side of the school, had just been ripped. I could see several cowboys with their cattle from the second top floor of the school. It was lunchtime. Some students were running on the floor and grounds. Some were playing tops and some were playing football. Their white shirts and longies were full of dust and sweat. I was alone sitting at the corner of the second top floor, which was fenced by some intervals of wooden bars. The pain was increasingly more and more - eventually it was so much that I could not breathe. I closed y eyes and twisted and pummeled my belly. I guess I passed out for a while and when I woke up, I felt n o pain.
After the moment had passed, I was thinking, " do cowboys and other students have something of the same disease or pain like me? If yes, what time does it appear to them?" My head was full of those kinds of questions.
At that moment, the bell rang and I attended the rest of my classes that day.
Bway Kho Wah
When I as studying in tenth standard, I was a school group leader. Even though I as the student's group leader, my job was empty.
I heard some o y friends drank alcohol and took bad medicine, which gave them a good feeling. I wanted to taste and I copied my friends. I started skipping school with some of my friends. I did not dare to buy the bad medicine, but I asked some of my friends, who were my best friends, and they bought it for me. After that, I took five bad medicines at the same time and I felt dizzy and I wanted to sleep. But I could not sleep. I went to Zone B with my classmates and I spent the whole day o the road. We walked around Zone B. We didn't go to school the whole day. Even though I didn't go to school, my parents didn't know about me.
The second day, I went to school for one period and I started skipping school again. We went out and bought alcohol. We went to one of my friend's houses and we drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes. We spent the whole day like this. When I came back home, I thought my parents still didn't know about me, but they already knew. They asked me where I had been and I said that I had been at school. I tried to lie but they didn't believe me. My bother beat me and I wanted to cry but my tears didn't fall on my cheeks. I hated myself. To this day I have never skipped school or drunk alcohol again.
Dah Wah
In the year 1990-1991, I came to Thailand with my family. Because the SPDC (State Peace and Development Council) had come to my village, every family had to leave their poverty. They could take only a few things with them. By the time I came to Thailand, I was only six years old. I couldn’t take notice of everything exactly. My parents came to a Karen refugee camp, which was called Mor Ker, with me. When we arrived, many houses were already set up. I started studying. I was enjoying my studying.
In 1997, the DKBA came to the camp and burned the camp. At that time, I was a sixth-stander. I saw the burning. The bullets were shining dangerously. My family and I went down to the house and hid in a hole. The bullets came above my head. They nearly hurt my head. My legs were shaking, also my heart.
In the morning, I saw many people didn't want to eat, not even me. For the next two or three days everything was fine.
In the summer, my family and I went back to my village to visit. At that time, people could travel on the borderline. When I was again at my village, I saw the SPDC and DKBA. One of the DKBA visited my family. I also talked ot him, but I hated him a little bit. We spent only a few weeks there and we came back. For the next three years, all the people of Mor Ker had to move to a new refugee camp called Umphiem.
Poe Kler Htoo
I was born in Karen State in Pa Tu village. But I great up in a refugee camp. When I was living in Mor Ker refugee camp, I had a serious problem for the first time in my life. It put me in a fix. It was when the DKBA came and burnt the refugee camp. As a result, many houses were burned. Moreover, they shot guns. So a lot of people were running and shooting in the dark on the road. Because it was nighttime. That is the reason why I had to leave my house without knowing anything. So I was very depressed living in the refugee camp. It was five years ago, before we had moved to Umphiem Mai camp.
Secondly, on the twentieth of November 2004, it was nighttime when I was talking with my friends at ARC (American Refugee Committee) in Zone B. Suddenly, I heard Thai soldiers and my friends fighting each other on the main road in section one. Immediately, I went down and looked for my friends on the road. At that time, many soldiers were coming and beat my stomach and my head without any reason. Even though I wanted to explain the situation to them, they didn't listen to me and took me to the camp office in Zone A. Then, I had a conversation with the camp leader who works for the security of the refugee camp. However, I had no worries, because I knew myself that I was an innocent person. Also the leader understood me and let me free to go back home. But I have never forgotten being hurt by soldiers. It was the second sojourn in my beautiful life.
Thirdly, even though I am a refugee, I have a dream that one day Karen people will get back their homeland because our Karen people will be emancipated from the Burmese government. Our Karen people will abolish the SPDC in Burma. For this reason, the SPDC will be done and our Karen people will have freedom. Our Karen people will have a good education. Our Karen people will have a good relationship with the other ethnic groups. Also other ethnic groups will be free like the Karen in Burma. But I have never been satisfied being a refugee with less opportunities than other people. I have never been satisfied leaving our homeland and living in another country. I have never been satisfied with the killing of innocent people that is happening in Karen State. However, we are not wallow people in future. Therefore, one day, I have a dream: Karen people will get back their beautiful homeland and develop their lives. Moreover the world will know that the Karen people are one of the ethnic groups of Burma.
Say Say Lah
In 1986, I stayed in jail for six months in Burma. Because my father is a KNU soldier and the SPDC soldiers caught me. At that time, I was five years old. After they had freed me from the jail, I got a disease and nearly died. Even though they had freed me, I have to be afraid all the time because they knew me. I am worried that they will catch me again.
When I studied in tenth standard in 1998, they burned my house in my village. At that time, my mother did not stay in the house. If she had stayed there, they would have killed my mother.
Even though I have a chance to study, I am never happy because I am afraid all the time. On the other hand, I am lucky because my parents send me to school. If I compare my life with the other people, I am very lucky because other people don't have a chance to study.
In 2001, I went to the Thai/Burma border because the SPDC were aroused. They could catch us again, so my sister and I came to the borderline. When I arrived at the borderline, I was very surprised because I hadn't known that a lot of Karen people stayed in the border.
Now I live in a refugee camp and I know more about our Karen situation. I'm happy with them also. On the other hand, I knew why my father became a soldier. When I stayed in Burma, I never knew about our Karen situation. I know that the SPDC soldiers said that the KNU are not good.
In my life, happy and worried go together. All these stories, I will never forget, especially the experience in my life since I was a child, until this day.
Kler Paw
When I was in the eighth standard in 1999, I had an unforgettable picnic in my life. At that time, I was in Mawlamyine and I studied at Number Eleven High School. During December holidays, we decided to go somewhere with our friends together happily. We meant that we would go after we finished our second trimester examinations. As we know, boys and girls like a picnic very much. They always welcome it. Even older people like to have a picnic. As soon as one of my friends invited me to join a picnic party, I accepted it quickly. The picnic I went to was a happy occasion for me.
The picnic site was Kan Daw Kyi, which is located in Mu Don, Mon State. We went there by hired bus. After three hours driving from Mawlamyine, we arrived there. We chose a fine shady spot as our picnic ground. There were a few trees nearby. When we arrived at the picnic ground, we put down the things under some trees. We had pots of rice and curry, packets of some fruits, sweets and chocolates. While some were preparing for our lunch, a few boys and girls walked around the area. After a while, we gathered at the main spot to have a picnic lunch.
Though there were only a few boys and girls at the picnic ground, the place was alive with talking, laughing and clapping hands. When we finished our lunch, we played a parcel game. A parcel game was very popular for picnic parties in Myanmar. No one had to refuse to participate in it. The three boys of the picnic party played on an organ and the two hollow guitars. Some girls were good at singing. Some could dance very well. The occasion made the picnic party more friendly. Then, every partner became my close friend when we came back to our own place. How fine the picnic I went to was!
Naing Lin
The twenty-seventh of November 2004, was a snowing day. All the SEP students were tired, in view of the fact that they had carried rations from the ration store. I looked at my friend, called Rita's, face. She was sweating. I invited her to drink beer with me and she nodded.
We four, two girls and two boys, were sitting around the table. The time was nearly 11:00am. We put beer on the table but had no cups. We looked at each other, waiting for someone to start drinking it. But within five minutes, nobody had started. So I had to start. We only had one beer. It was gone within ten minutes.
After I drunk beer with my friends, I remembered something that my friend Rita had told me. She said that she had no more money to buy a coat. All I wanted was to share some of my money with her. However I did not dare to give her my money because she might think that I had fallen in love with her. I couldn't make a decision if I should give her the money or not. I continued talking to her. The two of my friends left from the table. So I made a decision that I would give her some money.
I went inside to my bed and took out 200 baht from my wallet and put it inside a diary book that I hadn't written anything in and gave it to her. First, she was surprised and refused to take the money. But when I said, "Don’t worry," she took it. I looked at her. She smiled at me. I was really happy.
This was what I have never done I my life. The day was the twenty-seventh of November, 2004, in the SEP dorm in section 6, Zone B. I will never forget this day that I had made someone happy.
Pho Kyaw Kyaw
I have many experiences in my life. But I clearly recognize only one in my high school life in 1999, in Nu Poe high school. It made me very upset at that time and also I found it difficult to solve. But later on I found a good way to pass it.
In June, 1999, when I was in grade 10 in Nu Poe high school, KT Taw, the mistress of high school in Nu Poe, treated me very badly and teased me every tie that she saw me.
One day, the second week of the school year, she taught in a grade nine class and I sat in grade ten class in the back row. She scolded her students and said that you, boys, did not respect the teachers like the students from grade ten. I then thought, it was not just and belonged to our class. So, I stood up and yelled at the mistress.
I said to her, "It is not a good example to the students, and makes the students upset by hurting other people that you don't know." Then she started crying at the time. I took my bag and left the school. I did not want to study any more with her.
When I left the school, I decided that as long as she taught in the school, I would never attend that school. After I had argued with her, she sent a letter to my parents that evening.
But I didn't go back home for two days. I spent time with my friends and drank a lot of alcohol. After two days had passed, I went back home.
My parents asked me, "What happened to you in the school? Here is a letter that came from the head mistress." The teacher and my parents had a meeting. But it was not successful because I didn't want to attend the school in Nu Poe, so they decided to send me to Mae Sot.
They sent me to a mission school, called True Life in God. This, I remember forever. It was the first time I had seen a partial teacher in my life. Also I didn't want to study in a school like that. But later, I heard that the teacher had resigned from her position and she had regretted that she had treated her students like that.
Johnny Htoo
During 1996 and 1997, I was attending the Kawthoolei High School in Karen State, which was located on the KNU Brigade Number (6). The high school was in a village called Kyite Don, where many resistance families were staying. Other business people were also staying there. I was in seventh standard and there were about seven hundred students in the school. Most of the students were from business families. A few people at school were from normal and resistance families.
On March 17th of 1996, there was an arrangement from the brigade general to provide military training to the students. The demand was for one hundred students who would be required to attend the training, including about thirty percent o the schoolgirls. Thus, on March 24th, 1996, I reenrolled my name to attend the training and many friends of mine did also. Then the training started.
The hatred of carrying guns, behaving actively and obeying rules were lost in my mind. There were three trainers at that time. I had to be in the training every day although I didn't want to. Uplift of dynamism of patriot spirit, uplift of fitness and obedience were given to me in my mind. The second step was to be involved in warfare, which the other people joined, not only me. At the military section, we had to follow all the things or orders that our officer asked of us. WE had to obey all the things, which we chose to be before. Combat, shooting, killing and learning about initial discipline were included in the training.
However, my true past experience is not only for the memories of learning these aggressive skills of warriors, but my actual dream is to remember the heart of the capacity to be active and to show our spirit of patriotism.
K'Shaw Paw
When I was in the seventh standard, I liked to ride my bicycle very much. but one day, I played with my friends, then I said that I will ride a bicycle down from the mountain. One of my friends asked me for a to ride a bicycle behind me. So I told her that I would try one time, then, if it is ok, I will bet you to ride behind me. I rode a bicycle down the mountain, then I couldn't control my bicycle. At that time, I was so scare, like I couldn't do anything, then I didn't see anything in front of me.
At the same time, I heard a loud sound calling me, "K'Shaw Paw! … 9 …10…"
My whole body was shaking and my face became red. In my heart I thought where the bicycle would go, never mind, I will let it be like that. I gave up, so my bicycle hit the tree that is in front of my house. Later, I fell down from the bicycle. My bum and my legs were very painful. Moreover, my legs got a wound.
Starting that day, until today, I have never ridden a bicycle, because it got me into a lot of trouble. The most important thing that I am afraid of is that I will lose my body.
Cho Cho Aung
Every year, there is a big festival for the students of Burma. In 1997, the festival was held in K'Chen State and I was chosen to go there as my school's representative. At that time, I was in sixth standard and thirteen years old. I knew that I had to go to K'Chen State and I felt very happy and excited. My aunt and cousin also prepared things for me such as clothes and pocket money for my trip.
Before I went to K'Chen State, I had to stay in P'Ahn for one month. I had to learn about dancing in P'Ahn for one month. From my village to P'Ahn, I had to go on a ship.
Two of the teachers from my school had to go also and went with my to P'Ahn. When I arrived in P'Ahn, my two teachers went and went on a bicycle to the place where I had to stay. We rode the bicycles for thirty minutes and arrived at the big building. I thought that it might be a government service's apartment. We went up to second floor and entered into a room. There was a woman there who was about fifty years old and she smiled at us. We also smiled at her. Then she told us to sit and gave us some water to drink. After that she said, "I'm sorry that I sent to message to you too late. The students who had to go to K'Chen State are too many. We are full. Yesterday I tried to send the message to your school but I couldn't find any messengers. I am really sorry that you and your students had to come here."
As soon as I heard that speech, I felt very sad. Then me and my teachers said goodbye to that teacher, took our bags and went to one of the teacher's friend's houses who lived in P'Ahn.
Bathsheba
On Friday, December 3rd 2004, at night time< I was in bed an going to sleep. Three of us were staying in the dorm and I was sleeping in the middle. AT about 11pm, one of my friends was shocked because she couldn't find her tape recorder when she wanted to listen to it. She called us to help find her. I was also shocked and awoke, wanting to know what had happened to us. We were afraid and I almost cried. WE all knew that the tape recorder was lost. Why our things were lost again and again? Some said that it was outside people who took them. "Is it really?" I asked and was shaken and afraid. Even though we locked the room with a key when we went outside, some kind of person stole our things. It made us afraid and worried that we dared not to sleep in our own dorms anymore. Lately one of my friends old me, "Don't worry, sleep well." We talked about funny things to try and forget the worry then about 12:30, I fell asleep.
Ler Lah Say
The scariest experience that remains with me always happened when I was six years old. I went to watch a football game with my father at the football ground. Before we got to the football ground, we had to cross the main road in order to reach the grounds. After we finished watching the football game, I came back before my father. Then, when I arrived at the main road, I saw a car coming at very fast speed. Before the car crossed in front of me, I tried to cross the road with a quick movement first. When other people beside me on the road saw this, they were very scared for me, because they worried that I would die in that accident. However, luckily, I was saved from that scare. When I got home, my parents scolded me and I cried. Then I went to bed and fell asleep. But I remember this memory all the time.
Jingle Bells!
I only just began writing Christmas cards this week. Not because I am lazy, although I am, but because it didn't really occur to me that Christmas was coming. Even though these cards have been posted, I wouldn't recommend that anyone hold their breath. The way things are going; the cards won't reach anyone until February. The weird thing is, mail from your end seems to be reaching me at the normal rate. Perhaps I need to bribe someone at the post office. As it is, I think I am annoying them. We had a long "discussion" today about where on earth Colombia is. I think we established that it was not in Europe, although I don't think we got much further than that. To my friends in Colombia: as of today, there is a Christmas card floating around the world somewhere with probably inadequate postage and your name on it.
As I was huddled in my blankets in the frosty ten-degree night, writing these Christmas cards in the last moments before the generator went off for the night, I heard singing from outside. A group of students from one of the other schools in camp were outside the dorm, holding candles and guitars and singing a mix of Karen and English Christmas carols. They have beautiful voices and sing lovely harmonies. The insects were calling softly from the banana trees and I stood with a few of the girls from the dorm, hugging each other for warmth, smiling at the candlelight and looking up at the stars.
The next day, our students sprang into action. Last year, they had gone caroling in the camp for three nights, six hours each night and raised the equivalent of about $100. That's a serious wad of cash around here. Although they loved the singing and found it very lovely, they were suddenly worried that they would be cut out of the game. An emergency meeting was called. The singing practice begun. I spent the next two evenings correcting papers in the classroom at night, while the students tried to figure out the words and tune to such classics as "Jingle Bells," "Silver Bells," and, of all things, "Feliz Navidad." They sound very lovely so it hardly seems fair to bother them about pronounciation, the correct tune or any such trifles. There were lots of laughs though, particularly as several students routinely mix up Jingle Bells and Silver Bells and sing the words from on to the tune of the other. I will miss the actual caroling, which is not too upsetting. Six hours of singing is a little much. But combined with this, there are six hours of walking in the dark and six hours of scaling and descending steep, muscle breaking hills. Thankfully, I am safely back in Mae Sot for the evenings in question. Otherwise, there could be no hope for me.
Meanwhile, we are all singing "Jingle Bells" under our breath, almost all the time. There's nothing that says it's the holiday season more than the endless repetition of the same old songs.
Suddenly it feels like Christmas.
As I was huddled in my blankets in the frosty ten-degree night, writing these Christmas cards in the last moments before the generator went off for the night, I heard singing from outside. A group of students from one of the other schools in camp were outside the dorm, holding candles and guitars and singing a mix of Karen and English Christmas carols. They have beautiful voices and sing lovely harmonies. The insects were calling softly from the banana trees and I stood with a few of the girls from the dorm, hugging each other for warmth, smiling at the candlelight and looking up at the stars.
The next day, our students sprang into action. Last year, they had gone caroling in the camp for three nights, six hours each night and raised the equivalent of about $100. That's a serious wad of cash around here. Although they loved the singing and found it very lovely, they were suddenly worried that they would be cut out of the game. An emergency meeting was called. The singing practice begun. I spent the next two evenings correcting papers in the classroom at night, while the students tried to figure out the words and tune to such classics as "Jingle Bells," "Silver Bells," and, of all things, "Feliz Navidad." They sound very lovely so it hardly seems fair to bother them about pronounciation, the correct tune or any such trifles. There were lots of laughs though, particularly as several students routinely mix up Jingle Bells and Silver Bells and sing the words from on to the tune of the other. I will miss the actual caroling, which is not too upsetting. Six hours of singing is a little much. But combined with this, there are six hours of walking in the dark and six hours of scaling and descending steep, muscle breaking hills. Thankfully, I am safely back in Mae Sot for the evenings in question. Otherwise, there could be no hope for me.
Meanwhile, we are all singing "Jingle Bells" under our breath, almost all the time. There's nothing that says it's the holiday season more than the endless repetition of the same old songs.
Suddenly it feels like Christmas.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
The King's Birthday
I fully realize that I have not yet provided you with the description of the Loy Kathong festivities, which did, indeed involve drunkenness and fire in large quantities. However, last week was the King's Birthday which involved a whole new set of festivities, and life is sweeping me along so quickly, that there hardly seems time for me to keep my head above the water, let alone write everything down.
Khun, the young eccentric owner of the most popular ex-pat's bar in town said, "Tabasco sauce is so Western. We will drink chilies." It was Tim's birthday, the Australian author/ documentary film maker who lives in the house next to mine and I was ordering him the typical Albertan birthday drink: the Prairie Fire. A Prairie Fire is a tequila shot with Tabasco sauce.
So Khun brought out the shot glasses and found some chili peppers, the small green ones known as "mouse droppings." The smaller the chili, the more intense the flavor. He dropped a chili into each glass and crushed it in the bottom, then topped up the glass with tequila, stirred it up and let it sit for awhile. When the four of us at the bar got to drinking those tasty little shots of fire, that's when the drinking started to get serious.
I can't even remember now what it was that made me laugh, but I was in the middle of shooting another round and the tequila was already going down my throat when I started laughing. Rather then spit all over everyone I tried to restrain myself and predictably, ended up getting a great deal of tequila up my nose. If it had just been tequila, I wouldn't have any complaint, but this round had been sitting on the bar for quite some time, soaking up the chilies and getting feistier by the moment.
Let me tell you something folks: chilies are not something you want going up your nose.
For the next few moments, I couldn't even tell you what was going on in the bar. I'm told that I squeaked. I couldn't talk for a few minutes. My head was a tingling mass of fire. My nose was in serious pain. SERIOUS pain. And of course, everyone was laughing. And, of course, there were more chili tequila shots to be drunk.
Unlike Tim, the King gets a huge party to celebrate his birthday. It is a national holiday. The center of town is transformed into a huge market fair complete with Ferris wheels, dodgem cars, Thai dancing and boxing matches every night. I thought it would be a quiet night, restricted myself to only a few beers and went down with my friends to check out the scene and see my first boxing match.
The crowds down in the market were intense. The crowds around the boxing ring were even more so. It brought back memories of my mosh-pit days, pressed up against the crowd, amoung the steaming sweat of bodies, swaying together with the press of people. We got there early and had places right up close to the ring. The wait before the fight started was entertained by strange conversation with drunken Thai and Burmese men, who are always fascinated by my height, what I am doing in the crowd and my ability to drink shots (in this case, most of the men were drinking concoctions of Red Bull mixed with Whiskey). I have no idea what they are saying, they cant understand me, we just stand there gesturing and laughing and generally having a good time. It's a bit like watching a movie with the sound off, trying to guess what the characters might be saying.
The boxing was interesting, but we didn't see the best fighting in Thailand. Although there is good fighting here in Mae Sot, the night we went down was mostly younger boys in the ring. That's good because they fight with big gloves, shorter and fewer rounds and less intensely. There are rarely any knock outs. The older men fight five long rounds, sometimes bare knuckled. They either get knocked out and usually there is some blood being spilled or spat out with some teeth. There is music being played while they fight: a drum and a high pitched horn and sometimes the fighters look like they are dancing, swaying and dodging and moving to the music.
When the fighting was over, most people had already left the fair. We wandered around as people shut down their stalls and wandered home. One of the guys I was with wandered past one of the fried bug stands and popped a medium sized beetle in his mouth, crunching on it loudly. "Come here and kiss me," he said with a beetle leg stuck between his teeth. We ended up buying a bag of grubs and yes, I did pop one of them into my mouth. They are a kind of worm that lives in bamboo trees and my students talked about them with relish when I described the escapade to them. They make a light, crunchy snack, a bit like a rice crisp.
Bars were closed in respect for the King and conversation among the people I was with was interesting and nowhere near winding down, so we stopped in the only place still open and serving beer: a brothel. We stayed there talking for several hours then decided to head home for the night. We were one bike short because Tim had gotten a ride down to the fair so I gave him my bike and said that I would walk home. I wanted to clear my head from all the craziness of the weekend.
Walking home at night in Canada is, indeed, an excellent way to clear one's head. But I live in Mae Sot now and walking home at night is not something I will ever do again. I had forgotten about the Pariah Dogs.
If you are riding a speedy bicycle, motorcycle, going about in a car or walking during the day, you hardly notice the Pariah Dogs. If you do, you may think they are merely someone's pets. They sleep during the day and hide from cars and people. But at night, the Pariah Dogs rule the streets.
Almost as soon as my friend's bikes were out of sight, a few came into view and I realized what a bad decision I had made. I stepped into someone's garden and relieved them of a couple of bricks making up a flower border. Then I stepped into action. I can't even remember the number of confrontations I had with the dogs, only that I can't remember the last time I felt so scared. At one point, I made the mistake of letting one circle behind me so that they were coming at me from all sides. Where I would have been without my bricks, I do not know. Tim said he could hear me coming down the street ten minutes before I arrived. The dogs were howling all around me. I dared not run, but walked calmly and strongly among them, often growling at them, threatening to hit them with my bricks, even getting up the courage to walk towards them in confrontation. By the last three blocks though, I was swearing at the mangy mutts loudly and profusely.
I haven’t been so happy to see my bed in a long long time.
And that's just a normal night in Mae Sot: a little boxing, some grub eating, chilling in the brothel and a walk home through packs of wild dogs.
And that's not even the half of it.
Khun, the young eccentric owner of the most popular ex-pat's bar in town said, "Tabasco sauce is so Western. We will drink chilies." It was Tim's birthday, the Australian author/ documentary film maker who lives in the house next to mine and I was ordering him the typical Albertan birthday drink: the Prairie Fire. A Prairie Fire is a tequila shot with Tabasco sauce.
So Khun brought out the shot glasses and found some chili peppers, the small green ones known as "mouse droppings." The smaller the chili, the more intense the flavor. He dropped a chili into each glass and crushed it in the bottom, then topped up the glass with tequila, stirred it up and let it sit for awhile. When the four of us at the bar got to drinking those tasty little shots of fire, that's when the drinking started to get serious.
I can't even remember now what it was that made me laugh, but I was in the middle of shooting another round and the tequila was already going down my throat when I started laughing. Rather then spit all over everyone I tried to restrain myself and predictably, ended up getting a great deal of tequila up my nose. If it had just been tequila, I wouldn't have any complaint, but this round had been sitting on the bar for quite some time, soaking up the chilies and getting feistier by the moment.
Let me tell you something folks: chilies are not something you want going up your nose.
For the next few moments, I couldn't even tell you what was going on in the bar. I'm told that I squeaked. I couldn't talk for a few minutes. My head was a tingling mass of fire. My nose was in serious pain. SERIOUS pain. And of course, everyone was laughing. And, of course, there were more chili tequila shots to be drunk.
Unlike Tim, the King gets a huge party to celebrate his birthday. It is a national holiday. The center of town is transformed into a huge market fair complete with Ferris wheels, dodgem cars, Thai dancing and boxing matches every night. I thought it would be a quiet night, restricted myself to only a few beers and went down with my friends to check out the scene and see my first boxing match.
The crowds down in the market were intense. The crowds around the boxing ring were even more so. It brought back memories of my mosh-pit days, pressed up against the crowd, amoung the steaming sweat of bodies, swaying together with the press of people. We got there early and had places right up close to the ring. The wait before the fight started was entertained by strange conversation with drunken Thai and Burmese men, who are always fascinated by my height, what I am doing in the crowd and my ability to drink shots (in this case, most of the men were drinking concoctions of Red Bull mixed with Whiskey). I have no idea what they are saying, they cant understand me, we just stand there gesturing and laughing and generally having a good time. It's a bit like watching a movie with the sound off, trying to guess what the characters might be saying.
The boxing was interesting, but we didn't see the best fighting in Thailand. Although there is good fighting here in Mae Sot, the night we went down was mostly younger boys in the ring. That's good because they fight with big gloves, shorter and fewer rounds and less intensely. There are rarely any knock outs. The older men fight five long rounds, sometimes bare knuckled. They either get knocked out and usually there is some blood being spilled or spat out with some teeth. There is music being played while they fight: a drum and a high pitched horn and sometimes the fighters look like they are dancing, swaying and dodging and moving to the music.
When the fighting was over, most people had already left the fair. We wandered around as people shut down their stalls and wandered home. One of the guys I was with wandered past one of the fried bug stands and popped a medium sized beetle in his mouth, crunching on it loudly. "Come here and kiss me," he said with a beetle leg stuck between his teeth. We ended up buying a bag of grubs and yes, I did pop one of them into my mouth. They are a kind of worm that lives in bamboo trees and my students talked about them with relish when I described the escapade to them. They make a light, crunchy snack, a bit like a rice crisp.
Bars were closed in respect for the King and conversation among the people I was with was interesting and nowhere near winding down, so we stopped in the only place still open and serving beer: a brothel. We stayed there talking for several hours then decided to head home for the night. We were one bike short because Tim had gotten a ride down to the fair so I gave him my bike and said that I would walk home. I wanted to clear my head from all the craziness of the weekend.
Walking home at night in Canada is, indeed, an excellent way to clear one's head. But I live in Mae Sot now and walking home at night is not something I will ever do again. I had forgotten about the Pariah Dogs.
If you are riding a speedy bicycle, motorcycle, going about in a car or walking during the day, you hardly notice the Pariah Dogs. If you do, you may think they are merely someone's pets. They sleep during the day and hide from cars and people. But at night, the Pariah Dogs rule the streets.
Almost as soon as my friend's bikes were out of sight, a few came into view and I realized what a bad decision I had made. I stepped into someone's garden and relieved them of a couple of bricks making up a flower border. Then I stepped into action. I can't even remember the number of confrontations I had with the dogs, only that I can't remember the last time I felt so scared. At one point, I made the mistake of letting one circle behind me so that they were coming at me from all sides. Where I would have been without my bricks, I do not know. Tim said he could hear me coming down the street ten minutes before I arrived. The dogs were howling all around me. I dared not run, but walked calmly and strongly among them, often growling at them, threatening to hit them with my bricks, even getting up the courage to walk towards them in confrontation. By the last three blocks though, I was swearing at the mangy mutts loudly and profusely.
I haven’t been so happy to see my bed in a long long time.
And that's just a normal night in Mae Sot: a little boxing, some grub eating, chilling in the brothel and a walk home through packs of wild dogs.
And that's not even the half of it.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Sweet December
This week began with my kidnapping at the hands of the evil Education Destruction League (EDL). Because of my kidnapping, I was did not arrive at camp Monday morning to teach classes. This caused a great deal of confusion which lasted until the EDL delivered a note explaining that they hated EIP school and had a mission to destroy it unless the students could show enough strength and unity to warrant it's existence. Their first task was to pick up a package at a certain location. Inside the package were painting supplies and a letter demanding that a mural be painted on the outside of the classroom. If the mural was complete by 3pm, the anti-education terrorists would release me.
While my students were painting their hearts out, I took advantage of the free time to go for a hike in the mountains. The camp is divided into two zones, A and B. The residents of the zones came from different camps before coming to Umpiem. Umpiem exists because two camps were burned down by Burmese troops. I went for a hike starting up the hill opposite camp in what is known as Zone C, or the graveyard. From there I went over the hill, down into a valley and up another hill and down another valley. It was hard work and I quickly got covered in sweat and, as I progressed, mud and dirt. The hills are steep so although I hiked for several hours, I hardly got anywhere. Going somewhere wasn't exactly my goal anyways. I just wandered around, picking the most well trodden paths and singing random songs, so that I wouldn't surprise anyone who didn't want to be surprised. I found out afterwards that this was a good strategy, as those hills lead to Burma, only 8km away and are regularly patrolled by KNU forces (the Karen armed force, fighting the Burmese government for independence and protecting the camp from their raids). Singing is something I do when walking alone in Canada to frighten bears. Although I knew it wouldn't do much for the snakes and spiders, I thought that no one could accuse me of spying or possibly feel threatened by a naïve white girl tripping along, dripping with sweat and singing Amazing Grace (because actually, I know the words to remarkably few songs). Of course, this strategy only works when going downhill. Going uphill, there is no breath available for anything.
It was a fully enjoyable walk and I met almost nobody. I walked through grassy hills and down into a jungly valley where I found a tiny stream winding it's way through dense greenery. The sunlight filtered in through thick overhanging vines and fell upon a patch of bamboo where yellow butterflies played. The people I met were laborers returning from cutting the leaves used for roof thatching in huge bundles upon their backs. We said hello and they asked where I was going. Despite the steep muddy hill and their immense burdens, they still moved much faster than me and were soon on their way back to camp.
I spent the afternoon in the tea shop eating bean curry with flatbread, a dish that, when ordered in Burmese sounds like, "baby-o". At 3pm, I observed from a hill opposite school that the mural was complete and the terrorists released me, to the pleasure of my anxious students.
They thought it was all over and we spent the night playing games and having fun. But the next morning, my co-teacher Patrick didn't arrive for class. We thought he was just sleeping in. It was a "cold" misty morning, the kind where no one wants to leave their blankets. Students went into Patrick's room three times before I had to point out to them that it was unusually messy.
His room had, in fact, been ransacked at some point while I was teaching and the culprits had left a mysterious note: a picture of Patrick tied to a chair with his mouth taped shut and a phone number to call at 11am. The terrorists, our third teacher Brooke's Burmese boyfriend, gave the location of a second package which the students found in the boys shower room. The accompanying instructions demanded that the students make a school sign or mascot and gave them some building supplies. The rest of the day was spent sawing and planning and painting and nailing and laughing a lot, as the students were beginning to catch on to what was really going on with these wily terrorists.
That evening, someone from Mae Sot was up at camp and came over to the school to chat with me. They were up for a Sweet December party, a Christian celebration of the beginning of advent usually involving whisky and sticky rice, or a midnight trip to church, depending on who is doing the celebrating. I then realized that my visa would expire the next day but thought little of it. There is a small $5 fine per day of overstay.
"Are you sure about that?" asked my friend. "Our organization recently got a memo from the Thai government saying that they are putting in place a 5000 baht fine for overstayed visas."
Not wanting to risk it, I tore up to the dorm, grabbed my bag, put on my running shoes and ran down through camp, through the market to the road. As I ran, heads turned (no one runs, it's too hot, too rocky, too hilly and why hurry?). Little children laughed and ran after me shouting, "bye bye! Bye bye!" (Incidentally, they never shout "hello" no matter if you are coming or going.)
"One, two, three!" shouted a small boy.
"Four, five, six!" I panted as I ran by.
I made it to the road and found a truck waiting. One can never be sure about the schedule of the public trucks. Sometimes they go by once an hour, sometimes not for several hours. Sometimes they stop at 2:30pm, sometimes the last one goes by at 6pm. I was in luck. The driver told me that he wouldn't leave for another half an hour, so I grabbed some food from the market and sat in the shade.
Fifteen minutes later, I realized that I had left my keys next to my bed up at the dorms. At that exact moment, the driver motioned to me that he wanted to go. I did a frantic mime to him about my keys and tried to tell him I would be back in fifteen minutes. He seemed to understand, so I tore off.
Back I ran, over the stony trail, slogging my way uphill at every step, sweating past the market stalls, and weaving in and out of people. Past the children I went once more, hearing their chorus of "bye bye!" fade behind me, giggling as a small boy raced with me for a while, his pants falling down to show his small bottom. I passed several of my students, panting, "Keys!" and raced on.
The last stage of the trip is a serious uphill climb up steep steps. I thought I was going to have a heart attack and faint.
At the dorms, I grabbed my keys, wished everyone a good night again and raced back down with 7 minutes left until the deadline. Now I was heading downhill and seemed to have gotten my wind. The danger was not to trip over the uneven path or down the steep stairs. I jumped over a chicken only to narrowly miss landing on it's chick. I darted around men going to prayer only to almost hit a boy carrying a large load of wood. I jumped over small sewage streams and bounded over rocks. I raced the boy with his bottom hanging out of his pants again, running through the laughter and calls of the children for the third time today. Stall owners in the market laughed out loud as they saw me race by for the third time. And when I got to the road without a second to spare, exactly on time, I felt like I had won the Olympic obstacle race.
But my trials were far from over.
I got into the truck and we started heading off through the mountains towards Mae Sot. I was the only passenger, which made me nervous, but it did mean that I had the privilege of sitting up front with the driver, which reduces me chance of getting car sick. The driver is chatting away to me in Thai and I am pretending to understand, but I don't at all. I think he is talking about marrying me, at least it is something to do with the rings I am wearing. This is making me a little nervous.
After awhile though, I understand what he is really talking about and it makes me a lot nervous.
The driver of the truck is asking me if I can drive. I nod my head. He takes my hands and puts them on the steering wheel, then puts his hands beside his head and mimes himself sleeping. The man wants me to drive the truck through the windy, wacky road through the mountains where I am sure to crash into a cabbage truck if I don't drive off the side of the road. He is very insistent and his message is clear. I think seriously about it, but I know it cannot be done. Not only is the road insane, but I haven't yet driven a car on the other side of the road, let alone a large truck. A motorcycle, sure, but shifting gears with the left hand and fast thinking as trucks roar around the corner and pass you going uphill… it's not going to happen. But this truck driver wont' take no for an answer.
I make him a deal, he will drive through the windy parts and I will drive on the flat parts. I figure that if I have to drive, I can best handle that and hopefully by then, we will pick up some passengers. He seems happy and I devote all of my energy to making sure he doesn't fall asleep.
By the time we get out of the mountains, the sun is setting. There is a part of the highway where you come around a corner and go down one final steep hill and the view is spectacular. All of the plains spread out before you, bathed this evening in the golden glow of the last rays of the sun. There is a large sunflower field where the flowers have already lowered their heads for the night and white gum trees dripping their green leaves. It was an amazing sunset, so beautiful it was impossible to feel stress or anxiety or worry while watching it. Everything just melted away. Soon afterwards, we picked up passengers and I made it safely back to Mae Sot, picked up my bike and dinner and headed home. There were no Sweet December celebrations for me, but I suspect there will be plenty of drinking whiskey and counting down until midnight this time next month anyways.
In the morning I biked out to the border and walked over the bridge to Burma just as the sun was rising. Visitors to Burma from this entry point are only allowed a one day visa and may not leave the border town. I didn't even get a chance to explore the town. I sat in the customs shed and then walked back across the border to the Thai side, got a new tourist visa, hopped on my bike, picked up some sweet coconut sticky rice by the road and got back to work in time to catch the truck going back up to camp. I even passed someone along the way on my bike, which is simply unheard of. My Pheasant #3 and I are the slowest thing on the road beside the cows and the farmer's tractors. By the time I got to the office, I felt like Bionic Woman.
Up at camp, the students had completed their last challenge from the terrorists: making a school song. The song was really quite impressive, involved guitar playing, drums, an air guitar and the girls jumping around ("dancing"). Patrick and I really feel as if this week has been a success and helped the students come together and overcome the problems they have been having working and living together as a team.
Now it's the first Friday morning of December after one full month of being here. Hard to believe that the time has gone by so quickly. I am back in the office planning lessons for a regular week of school where I will actually have to teach again. That's fine, but I can't help thinking: why can't I get kidnapped by terrorists more often?
While my students were painting their hearts out, I took advantage of the free time to go for a hike in the mountains. The camp is divided into two zones, A and B. The residents of the zones came from different camps before coming to Umpiem. Umpiem exists because two camps were burned down by Burmese troops. I went for a hike starting up the hill opposite camp in what is known as Zone C, or the graveyard. From there I went over the hill, down into a valley and up another hill and down another valley. It was hard work and I quickly got covered in sweat and, as I progressed, mud and dirt. The hills are steep so although I hiked for several hours, I hardly got anywhere. Going somewhere wasn't exactly my goal anyways. I just wandered around, picking the most well trodden paths and singing random songs, so that I wouldn't surprise anyone who didn't want to be surprised. I found out afterwards that this was a good strategy, as those hills lead to Burma, only 8km away and are regularly patrolled by KNU forces (the Karen armed force, fighting the Burmese government for independence and protecting the camp from their raids). Singing is something I do when walking alone in Canada to frighten bears. Although I knew it wouldn't do much for the snakes and spiders, I thought that no one could accuse me of spying or possibly feel threatened by a naïve white girl tripping along, dripping with sweat and singing Amazing Grace (because actually, I know the words to remarkably few songs). Of course, this strategy only works when going downhill. Going uphill, there is no breath available for anything.
It was a fully enjoyable walk and I met almost nobody. I walked through grassy hills and down into a jungly valley where I found a tiny stream winding it's way through dense greenery. The sunlight filtered in through thick overhanging vines and fell upon a patch of bamboo where yellow butterflies played. The people I met were laborers returning from cutting the leaves used for roof thatching in huge bundles upon their backs. We said hello and they asked where I was going. Despite the steep muddy hill and their immense burdens, they still moved much faster than me and were soon on their way back to camp.
I spent the afternoon in the tea shop eating bean curry with flatbread, a dish that, when ordered in Burmese sounds like, "baby-o". At 3pm, I observed from a hill opposite school that the mural was complete and the terrorists released me, to the pleasure of my anxious students.
They thought it was all over and we spent the night playing games and having fun. But the next morning, my co-teacher Patrick didn't arrive for class. We thought he was just sleeping in. It was a "cold" misty morning, the kind where no one wants to leave their blankets. Students went into Patrick's room three times before I had to point out to them that it was unusually messy.
His room had, in fact, been ransacked at some point while I was teaching and the culprits had left a mysterious note: a picture of Patrick tied to a chair with his mouth taped shut and a phone number to call at 11am. The terrorists, our third teacher Brooke's Burmese boyfriend, gave the location of a second package which the students found in the boys shower room. The accompanying instructions demanded that the students make a school sign or mascot and gave them some building supplies. The rest of the day was spent sawing and planning and painting and nailing and laughing a lot, as the students were beginning to catch on to what was really going on with these wily terrorists.
That evening, someone from Mae Sot was up at camp and came over to the school to chat with me. They were up for a Sweet December party, a Christian celebration of the beginning of advent usually involving whisky and sticky rice, or a midnight trip to church, depending on who is doing the celebrating. I then realized that my visa would expire the next day but thought little of it. There is a small $5 fine per day of overstay.
"Are you sure about that?" asked my friend. "Our organization recently got a memo from the Thai government saying that they are putting in place a 5000 baht fine for overstayed visas."
Not wanting to risk it, I tore up to the dorm, grabbed my bag, put on my running shoes and ran down through camp, through the market to the road. As I ran, heads turned (no one runs, it's too hot, too rocky, too hilly and why hurry?). Little children laughed and ran after me shouting, "bye bye! Bye bye!" (Incidentally, they never shout "hello" no matter if you are coming or going.)
"One, two, three!" shouted a small boy.
"Four, five, six!" I panted as I ran by.
I made it to the road and found a truck waiting. One can never be sure about the schedule of the public trucks. Sometimes they go by once an hour, sometimes not for several hours. Sometimes they stop at 2:30pm, sometimes the last one goes by at 6pm. I was in luck. The driver told me that he wouldn't leave for another half an hour, so I grabbed some food from the market and sat in the shade.
Fifteen minutes later, I realized that I had left my keys next to my bed up at the dorms. At that exact moment, the driver motioned to me that he wanted to go. I did a frantic mime to him about my keys and tried to tell him I would be back in fifteen minutes. He seemed to understand, so I tore off.
Back I ran, over the stony trail, slogging my way uphill at every step, sweating past the market stalls, and weaving in and out of people. Past the children I went once more, hearing their chorus of "bye bye!" fade behind me, giggling as a small boy raced with me for a while, his pants falling down to show his small bottom. I passed several of my students, panting, "Keys!" and raced on.
The last stage of the trip is a serious uphill climb up steep steps. I thought I was going to have a heart attack and faint.
At the dorms, I grabbed my keys, wished everyone a good night again and raced back down with 7 minutes left until the deadline. Now I was heading downhill and seemed to have gotten my wind. The danger was not to trip over the uneven path or down the steep stairs. I jumped over a chicken only to narrowly miss landing on it's chick. I darted around men going to prayer only to almost hit a boy carrying a large load of wood. I jumped over small sewage streams and bounded over rocks. I raced the boy with his bottom hanging out of his pants again, running through the laughter and calls of the children for the third time today. Stall owners in the market laughed out loud as they saw me race by for the third time. And when I got to the road without a second to spare, exactly on time, I felt like I had won the Olympic obstacle race.
But my trials were far from over.
I got into the truck and we started heading off through the mountains towards Mae Sot. I was the only passenger, which made me nervous, but it did mean that I had the privilege of sitting up front with the driver, which reduces me chance of getting car sick. The driver is chatting away to me in Thai and I am pretending to understand, but I don't at all. I think he is talking about marrying me, at least it is something to do with the rings I am wearing. This is making me a little nervous.
After awhile though, I understand what he is really talking about and it makes me a lot nervous.
The driver of the truck is asking me if I can drive. I nod my head. He takes my hands and puts them on the steering wheel, then puts his hands beside his head and mimes himself sleeping. The man wants me to drive the truck through the windy, wacky road through the mountains where I am sure to crash into a cabbage truck if I don't drive off the side of the road. He is very insistent and his message is clear. I think seriously about it, but I know it cannot be done. Not only is the road insane, but I haven't yet driven a car on the other side of the road, let alone a large truck. A motorcycle, sure, but shifting gears with the left hand and fast thinking as trucks roar around the corner and pass you going uphill… it's not going to happen. But this truck driver wont' take no for an answer.
I make him a deal, he will drive through the windy parts and I will drive on the flat parts. I figure that if I have to drive, I can best handle that and hopefully by then, we will pick up some passengers. He seems happy and I devote all of my energy to making sure he doesn't fall asleep.
By the time we get out of the mountains, the sun is setting. There is a part of the highway where you come around a corner and go down one final steep hill and the view is spectacular. All of the plains spread out before you, bathed this evening in the golden glow of the last rays of the sun. There is a large sunflower field where the flowers have already lowered their heads for the night and white gum trees dripping their green leaves. It was an amazing sunset, so beautiful it was impossible to feel stress or anxiety or worry while watching it. Everything just melted away. Soon afterwards, we picked up passengers and I made it safely back to Mae Sot, picked up my bike and dinner and headed home. There were no Sweet December celebrations for me, but I suspect there will be plenty of drinking whiskey and counting down until midnight this time next month anyways.
In the morning I biked out to the border and walked over the bridge to Burma just as the sun was rising. Visitors to Burma from this entry point are only allowed a one day visa and may not leave the border town. I didn't even get a chance to explore the town. I sat in the customs shed and then walked back across the border to the Thai side, got a new tourist visa, hopped on my bike, picked up some sweet coconut sticky rice by the road and got back to work in time to catch the truck going back up to camp. I even passed someone along the way on my bike, which is simply unheard of. My Pheasant #3 and I are the slowest thing on the road beside the cows and the farmer's tractors. By the time I got to the office, I felt like Bionic Woman.
Up at camp, the students had completed their last challenge from the terrorists: making a school song. The song was really quite impressive, involved guitar playing, drums, an air guitar and the girls jumping around ("dancing"). Patrick and I really feel as if this week has been a success and helped the students come together and overcome the problems they have been having working and living together as a team.
Now it's the first Friday morning of December after one full month of being here. Hard to believe that the time has gone by so quickly. I am back in the office planning lessons for a regular week of school where I will actually have to teach again. That's fine, but I can't help thinking: why can't I get kidnapped by terrorists more often?
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Monks on the Move
I just got back into town from another week up at camp. This time I kept my lunch on the long winding road back to Mae Sot. This might have something to do with the quality of the lunch, or something to do with the benevolent presence of five monks who shared the ride with me. I don't know what it is about monks, but I quite enjoy their company. We pass large numbers of monks on the road, brilliant orange, yellow and dusty red robes walking against the lush greenery. This weekend is a big Buddhist celebration. There is a festival near where I live and tomorrow we will go out to the border and put lots of candles in the river. Every night, there are fire balloons up in the sky, floating like stars in the breeze. The town is full with festive visitors, and everything feels a little restless and on the verge of turning crazy. Of this weekend I expect to witness mass drunkenness, lots of fire and several fights.
More later...
More later...
Friday, November 19, 2004
Christmas is Coming...
I am currently in the last phases of my ritual initiation into life in Thailand, or so I hope. As any traveler knows, this initiation consists of spending a large amount of time near the vicinity of a bathroom and there is little one can do about it save for hoping that the moment strikes somewhere more opportunely than an 8 hour bus ride. I take back my earlier posting about how I am entitled to at least two years of sickness free. After a long night of becoming intimately acquainted with my new bathroom, I realize the sheer folly of those words.
Thankfully, I spent another splendid week up at camp teaching, with only a few digestive disturbances that did not interrupt any of the lessons I was teaching. On the three hour truck ride back to Mae Sot, I experienced what I thought was merely car sickness - something I knew would be inevitable on those crazy turns through the mountains. Again, I felt thankful that I was able to vomit in style, outside of the truck, without splashing anyone. Nobody even blinked.
I had a few hours of reprieve in which I bought some groceries, finally figured out how to make an international phone call and chatted with my next door neighbor Tim, who recently returned from visiting his girlfriend in Vietnam. I made the rather unfortunate mistake of eating a great deal for dinner, despite the fact that my stomach had already began to quietly complain.
As for the rest of my night, I won't get into great detail. I only felt safe leaving my house around 1:30 in the afternoon today, feeling rather hollow as if I have lost half of my weight. I rode my bicycle extremely slowly and am now relaxing in the office with the air-con on full blast and a cup of sugary coffee in hand to restore my blood sugar levels.
Hopefully the ordeal has passed.
I am trying to upload some photos of camp and am unsure of the results. One thing is certain, I fear I have lost my cd into the bowls of this capricious computer.
I am struck with how simple life is up at camp and how beautiful. Sitting outside my classroom up on the hill, looking down at the camp as the sun sets, it is hard to imagine that I spent my whole summer in the grand metropolis of Montreal, full of social events and festivals and so much activity I hardly knew what to do with myself. Now I spend my evenings watching the sun set, the wind in the leaves and the moon trace its path across the sky. I usually go to sleep around 9pm because that is when our generator stops and I wake up around 5:30am because that is when my students wake up and we all live in a bamboo dorm with thin walls so it is impossible to be quiet.
My mum wins first prize at the letter writing contest with two letters waiting for me in my mailbox today. Will I be able to wait until I am up at camp with nothing to do to open them? That is the question. Myself, I am off to the post office soon but have forgotten half my letters up at camp, silly Jen.
Christmas is coming! I know one goose who will not be getting fat and that's me. I have a Christmas request though, for anyone with a bit of free time on their hands. Letters are the best presents, of course, but anyone with a bit of free time over the hols could always put together a CD and stick it in the mail. It's light, fits into an envelope and makes a great cheap gift! You can imagine me listening to your songs after a long day of teaching, drowning out the sounds of the rats and dreaming of home before drifting off to sleep. I'm not picky about the genre of music, surprise me with your favorite tunes and don't forget to name your compilation. Suggestions: "Essential Lesbian Love Songs," "Dance Mix 2004," and "Songs for JoJo."
Another idea for Christmas: hobbies in an envelope. What on earth am I going to do with all my free time here? So far, writing, learning languages and reading books comes to mind. If anyone has any other suggestions, send them over.
Meanwhile, my stomach seems to have stabilized and although I haven't been able to retrieve my CD, it looks like my photos are on the computer. Time to connect this puppy up to the big world and see what I can do. Have a great week everyone. Love,
Jen
Thankfully, I spent another splendid week up at camp teaching, with only a few digestive disturbances that did not interrupt any of the lessons I was teaching. On the three hour truck ride back to Mae Sot, I experienced what I thought was merely car sickness - something I knew would be inevitable on those crazy turns through the mountains. Again, I felt thankful that I was able to vomit in style, outside of the truck, without splashing anyone. Nobody even blinked.
I had a few hours of reprieve in which I bought some groceries, finally figured out how to make an international phone call and chatted with my next door neighbor Tim, who recently returned from visiting his girlfriend in Vietnam. I made the rather unfortunate mistake of eating a great deal for dinner, despite the fact that my stomach had already began to quietly complain.
As for the rest of my night, I won't get into great detail. I only felt safe leaving my house around 1:30 in the afternoon today, feeling rather hollow as if I have lost half of my weight. I rode my bicycle extremely slowly and am now relaxing in the office with the air-con on full blast and a cup of sugary coffee in hand to restore my blood sugar levels.
Hopefully the ordeal has passed.
I am trying to upload some photos of camp and am unsure of the results. One thing is certain, I fear I have lost my cd into the bowls of this capricious computer.
I am struck with how simple life is up at camp and how beautiful. Sitting outside my classroom up on the hill, looking down at the camp as the sun sets, it is hard to imagine that I spent my whole summer in the grand metropolis of Montreal, full of social events and festivals and so much activity I hardly knew what to do with myself. Now I spend my evenings watching the sun set, the wind in the leaves and the moon trace its path across the sky. I usually go to sleep around 9pm because that is when our generator stops and I wake up around 5:30am because that is when my students wake up and we all live in a bamboo dorm with thin walls so it is impossible to be quiet.
My mum wins first prize at the letter writing contest with two letters waiting for me in my mailbox today. Will I be able to wait until I am up at camp with nothing to do to open them? That is the question. Myself, I am off to the post office soon but have forgotten half my letters up at camp, silly Jen.
Christmas is coming! I know one goose who will not be getting fat and that's me. I have a Christmas request though, for anyone with a bit of free time on their hands. Letters are the best presents, of course, but anyone with a bit of free time over the hols could always put together a CD and stick it in the mail. It's light, fits into an envelope and makes a great cheap gift! You can imagine me listening to your songs after a long day of teaching, drowning out the sounds of the rats and dreaming of home before drifting off to sleep. I'm not picky about the genre of music, surprise me with your favorite tunes and don't forget to name your compilation. Suggestions: "Essential Lesbian Love Songs," "Dance Mix 2004," and "Songs for JoJo."
Another idea for Christmas: hobbies in an envelope. What on earth am I going to do with all my free time here? So far, writing, learning languages and reading books comes to mind. If anyone has any other suggestions, send them over.
Meanwhile, my stomach seems to have stabilized and although I haven't been able to retrieve my CD, it looks like my photos are on the computer. Time to connect this puppy up to the big world and see what I can do. Have a great week everyone. Love,
Jen
Sunday, November 14, 2004
CORRECTION
My phone number has no 9 in it, that was something I made up based on a faulty understanding that applies to cellular phone.
My phone number (from Canada): 011-66-055-534-015
Although I'm still not sure if you drop the 0 or not.
After a 10km bike ride on the ancient machine known as "Pheasant 3", a big bottle of beer and several hours bargaining under the sunshine, I am happy for the cool reprieve of the office. I have several items for my new house, however, including an army suplus hammock and, strangely enough, a German army jacket to keep me warm up at camp this week. It is very hard to purchase such an item when you are sweating copiously and I'm not entirely sure how much the heat has affected my purchase. What on earth am I doing with a German army jacket in a refugee zone? I tell myself, no one here cares about the Germans, they have far more immediate enemies.
Next door, Tim, "the crazy Aussie" has left behind five mangy dogs and one crazy kitty. The front entrance to the house is like a garage, so I open a big door and all the dogs stream into the entrance and sit down in the shade. When I tell them to shoo! at least they listen. Not so the kitty who has escaped what looks like formidable fortifications next door. Soon after the landlady has locked her in after delivering breakfast, she is out and hanging out at my place. There are holes in the concrete in the garage area of our living quarters and I have no fortifications to stop the cat from entering through the bars where my actual houe begins. It's a cute cat, nothing if not spunky and terribly lonely. I have to be careful not to kick it, it is always around my feet. When not looking for loving, it is jumping up the walls, climbing everything that can be climbed and running around, generally looking crazy. To exit my house this morning, I had to wrap it up in a blanket and run for the door. I still haven't been back.
Although I have an international phone card, I have yet to find an international phone, hence my lack of communication.
I'm back off to camp tomorrow, where I hope it will be cooler. I will try to write some letters while I am there and actually post them on Thursday. Until then,
Jen
My phone number (from Canada): 011-66-055-534-015
Although I'm still not sure if you drop the 0 or not.
After a 10km bike ride on the ancient machine known as "Pheasant 3", a big bottle of beer and several hours bargaining under the sunshine, I am happy for the cool reprieve of the office. I have several items for my new house, however, including an army suplus hammock and, strangely enough, a German army jacket to keep me warm up at camp this week. It is very hard to purchase such an item when you are sweating copiously and I'm not entirely sure how much the heat has affected my purchase. What on earth am I doing with a German army jacket in a refugee zone? I tell myself, no one here cares about the Germans, they have far more immediate enemies.
Next door, Tim, "the crazy Aussie" has left behind five mangy dogs and one crazy kitty. The front entrance to the house is like a garage, so I open a big door and all the dogs stream into the entrance and sit down in the shade. When I tell them to shoo! at least they listen. Not so the kitty who has escaped what looks like formidable fortifications next door. Soon after the landlady has locked her in after delivering breakfast, she is out and hanging out at my place. There are holes in the concrete in the garage area of our living quarters and I have no fortifications to stop the cat from entering through the bars where my actual houe begins. It's a cute cat, nothing if not spunky and terribly lonely. I have to be careful not to kick it, it is always around my feet. When not looking for loving, it is jumping up the walls, climbing everything that can be climbed and running around, generally looking crazy. To exit my house this morning, I had to wrap it up in a blanket and run for the door. I still haven't been back.
Although I have an international phone card, I have yet to find an international phone, hence my lack of communication.
I'm back off to camp tomorrow, where I hope it will be cooler. I will try to write some letters while I am there and actually post them on Thursday. Until then,
Jen
Friday, November 12, 2004
My New Home
After a long search which resembled some kind of treasure hunt, I finally found myself a home here in Mae Sot. I moved out of the office this morning and into my "house". I was going to live in this very cool teak house with a yard and everything. Brooke, my co-worker, found it for me during the week but by the time we went last night to look at it, someone had already moved in. Alas. I did get a nice place though. No yard and in a complex with a place on either side but very spacious. Downstairs is tiled with a "garage" type area open to the street and a teak chair to relax in the breeze, a living room and a small kitchen and bathroom. The bathroom is equipped with a hot shower and sit-down toilet because two foreigners lived there awhile ago and had them installed. It is a bit unusual for a place, so a good bonus. The stairs and all upstairs are teak, so it looks very homey and comfortable. There are two bedrooms with ceiling fans and big windows (although no balcony). Included is a good mattress and mosquito net. The phone line is already hooked up and the kitchen has dishes and stuff. There are a few items of furniture and the landlady was over this morning cleaning the place up for me, although it is pretty clean anyways. She takes care of the bills also and has a good reputation (rare among landladies). So I'm pretty excited about it. It is located right across the street from the Buddhist Temple and my next door neighbor is "Tim, the crazy Aussie" (according to Brooke). But he is a friend of Patrick's (my other co-worker). This Tim character is currently in Vietnam visiting his girlfriend and left behind him five dogs and one very cute cat which the land lady is feeding in order to prevent them from joining the roving packs of dogs that haunt the night streets of the town. The place is about a ten minute lazy bike ride down the main highway, so good roads and very close to a restaurant favored by ex-pats and the massage parlor recommended to me by Brooke (to be visited this weekend for a two hour Thai massage).
On Monday, I headed up to Umpiem Refugee Camp for my first week of teaching. I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed camp. Brooke and Patrick had to go to a meeting in Bangkok and felt bad leaving me up there by myself for my first week. Although I had a lot of free time (I only teach for about 12 hours a week), I never felt lonely. After only four days with them, I am in love with my students. They are bright, intelligent and full of laughter. They talk in the same tone about their boyfriends, the football game in camp, and their father who is a soldier in the jungle who they have not seen in four years and don't expect to ever see again. Then they joke about how I have a blue nose again from the whiteboard markers and we laugh.
Camp is surprisingly cold. It is up in the mountains and gets a good breeze. I snuggle into my fleece blanket and comforter at night and will go out this weekend and buy myself a sweater. Coming back into town yesterday was like descending into a heat wave. Although I sleep warmly up in camp, I am kept awake by the sounds of the rats at night. Eventually, I am sure I will get used to it. For now, I wake up five to ten times a night, sure that, despite my snugly tucked in mosquito net, they are right by my head or ready to bite my toes (as my students tell me that they sometimes do).
The food is cooked by the students and purchased with their rations with some extra funds to cover the teacher's food. It isn't anywhere near as bad as I had thought. In fact, my blood sugars are fabulous, maybe because it is very similar from day to day.
Breakfast: Rice
Lunch: leftover Rice
Dinner: Rice.
There is always something to go with the rice and sometimes it is good and sometimes it is bland. However, because they are expensive, food is always peanut free.
I spend time at camp planning my lessons and writing in my journal. I have started several letters which I haven't yet sent and would love to have letters to read and respond to. All mail, no matter how short or insignificant would be such a pleasure for me.
My address:
Jennifer Jones (EIP)
c/o Consortium Thailand
PO Box 27
Mae Sot, Tak. THAILAND
63110
I even have a phone, although please remember that I am 16 hours ahead of Calgary and 14 hours ahead of Montreal (I think). I am in camp Monday morning (my time) to Thursday afternoon. I think you can reach me by dialing the following number from Canada:
+ 011 66 9 055 534 015
All this to say, I am having a great time, but would love to hear from you. And, of course, emails are equally good.
Have a great week!
On Monday, I headed up to Umpiem Refugee Camp for my first week of teaching. I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed camp. Brooke and Patrick had to go to a meeting in Bangkok and felt bad leaving me up there by myself for my first week. Although I had a lot of free time (I only teach for about 12 hours a week), I never felt lonely. After only four days with them, I am in love with my students. They are bright, intelligent and full of laughter. They talk in the same tone about their boyfriends, the football game in camp, and their father who is a soldier in the jungle who they have not seen in four years and don't expect to ever see again. Then they joke about how I have a blue nose again from the whiteboard markers and we laugh.
Camp is surprisingly cold. It is up in the mountains and gets a good breeze. I snuggle into my fleece blanket and comforter at night and will go out this weekend and buy myself a sweater. Coming back into town yesterday was like descending into a heat wave. Although I sleep warmly up in camp, I am kept awake by the sounds of the rats at night. Eventually, I am sure I will get used to it. For now, I wake up five to ten times a night, sure that, despite my snugly tucked in mosquito net, they are right by my head or ready to bite my toes (as my students tell me that they sometimes do).
The food is cooked by the students and purchased with their rations with some extra funds to cover the teacher's food. It isn't anywhere near as bad as I had thought. In fact, my blood sugars are fabulous, maybe because it is very similar from day to day.
Breakfast: Rice
Lunch: leftover Rice
Dinner: Rice.
There is always something to go with the rice and sometimes it is good and sometimes it is bland. However, because they are expensive, food is always peanut free.
I spend time at camp planning my lessons and writing in my journal. I have started several letters which I haven't yet sent and would love to have letters to read and respond to. All mail, no matter how short or insignificant would be such a pleasure for me.
My address:
Jennifer Jones (EIP)
c/o Consortium Thailand
PO Box 27
Mae Sot, Tak. THAILAND
63110
I even have a phone, although please remember that I am 16 hours ahead of Calgary and 14 hours ahead of Montreal (I think). I am in camp Monday morning (my time) to Thursday afternoon. I think you can reach me by dialing the following number from Canada:
+ 011 66 9 055 534 015
All this to say, I am having a great time, but would love to hear from you. And, of course, emails are equally good.
Have a great week!
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Day 1
First Law of Thai Driving: S/he who honks hir horn shall do no wrong.
After 21 hours of air time, 2 lengthy stop-overs, overnight in Bangkok airport and eight and a half hours on a bus, I arrived in my new home: Mae Sot, Thailand. Brooke, my new co-worker, picked me up at the bus-stop and took me out on our push-bikes to look around town a litte. I got a great 11 hours of sleep and found myself in a truck heading out to the refugee camp bright and early the day after my arrival in this country. Which is where I learned the Art of Thai Driving.
Masters of the Art have the ability to drive very fast in all conditions, including hairpin turns on windy mountain roads (which include about half of the drive Camp), while overtaking other vehicules including large trucks, while driving around hairpin turns WHILE overtaking large trucks, and when one feels so inspired. Bonus points are added if the driver squeals the tires while going around turns.
I notice Brooke closes her eyes and tries to sleep for the hour and a half drive.
It's beautiful countryside. My heart opens as we near town on the eight and a half hour drive from Bangkok to Mae Sot. Sometime about mountains and abundant greenery makes me happy. There are waterfalls and rice feilds. The drive through the mountain may be scary but it is exhilerating to be on the top of the world, staring down a cliff face close to the sky in the sunshine with a strong breeze whipping back your hair.
I'm exhausted. I never meant to write this long. I'm actually starving but since I haven't learnt any Thai or Burmese yet and Brooke and Patrick are both in Camp for the next few days, my fear of peanuts is holding me back from a gross pig out.
That's about to change.
After 21 hours of air time, 2 lengthy stop-overs, overnight in Bangkok airport and eight and a half hours on a bus, I arrived in my new home: Mae Sot, Thailand. Brooke, my new co-worker, picked me up at the bus-stop and took me out on our push-bikes to look around town a litte. I got a great 11 hours of sleep and found myself in a truck heading out to the refugee camp bright and early the day after my arrival in this country. Which is where I learned the Art of Thai Driving.
Masters of the Art have the ability to drive very fast in all conditions, including hairpin turns on windy mountain roads (which include about half of the drive Camp), while overtaking other vehicules including large trucks, while driving around hairpin turns WHILE overtaking large trucks, and when one feels so inspired. Bonus points are added if the driver squeals the tires while going around turns.
I notice Brooke closes her eyes and tries to sleep for the hour and a half drive.
It's beautiful countryside. My heart opens as we near town on the eight and a half hour drive from Bangkok to Mae Sot. Sometime about mountains and abundant greenery makes me happy. There are waterfalls and rice feilds. The drive through the mountain may be scary but it is exhilerating to be on the top of the world, staring down a cliff face close to the sky in the sunshine with a strong breeze whipping back your hair.
I'm exhausted. I never meant to write this long. I'm actually starving but since I haven't learnt any Thai or Burmese yet and Brooke and Patrick are both in Camp for the next few days, my fear of peanuts is holding me back from a gross pig out.
That's about to change.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Last Post Before Lift-off
Sleeping in until noon didn't leave me with enough time to do anything remotely useful with myself today. Once again, I parked myself in front of the computer, wishing I had more emails to reply to than I do. That's just a hint to remind you all that blogging is not a substitute for email on either of our accounts. I've been preparing for my classes a bit. I'll be teaching writing and speaking 12 hours a week (which is nothing) and doing interesting topics such as poetry translation, interviewing skills and negotiation. Going through the course outlines I think to myself, "wow! Am I sure going to learn a lot!" Then I gulp a little as I remember that I'm supposed to be the teacher here. For example, the exam preparation hand-out says that student's should be prepared to answer questions such as the following:
I've also been doing some research on the area in which I will be living and on the refugee population there. Finally I have this Burma/Myanmar thing figured out. Burma is the name the country took after independence from Britain back in the day. The military junta that took over and is now ruling today changed the country's name and the name of some of it's cities and landmarks to Myanmar without consulting the population. "Myanmar" means "Burma" in the Burmese language. However, over 40% of the population in Burma aren't ethnic Burmese. For many people, Burmese is a second or third language, if at all. So the whole "Myanmar" thing is just a rude insult that reminds everyone of how un-democratic things are there.
I know this because I recently read Burma: Country in Crisis, a super short, concise little booklet on the state of affairs in Burma. If I haven't already bored you to tears and you are not my parents (some of it is pretty brutal) you may want to check it out. What I found most "interesting" (wrong word, I know) is the section on drug production in Burma. Heroin production is going through the roof, flooding the market with cheap, pure, addictive as hell drugs. They say that you can follow the drug route by following the increased rates of HIV infection from the dirty heroin needles.
On a more positive note, I have downloaded some photos from the EIP website. I hope to be adding my own photos of life on the border in Thailand every week, but these will do for now.
My plane leaves on Sunday. I got a great deal but it's going to be one long haul through L.A. and Seoul before I get to Bangkok at 1:30am on November 2nd. Unless you hear from me before Sunday, you won't be hearing from me for a little while.
Brooke in camp
My soon to be home: the Girls Dorm
- If a poem rhymes in the source language, should you try to make it rhyme in the receptor language? Why or why not?
I've also been doing some research on the area in which I will be living and on the refugee population there. Finally I have this Burma/Myanmar thing figured out. Burma is the name the country took after independence from Britain back in the day. The military junta that took over and is now ruling today changed the country's name and the name of some of it's cities and landmarks to Myanmar without consulting the population. "Myanmar" means "Burma" in the Burmese language. However, over 40% of the population in Burma aren't ethnic Burmese. For many people, Burmese is a second or third language, if at all. So the whole "Myanmar" thing is just a rude insult that reminds everyone of how un-democratic things are there.
I know this because I recently read Burma: Country in Crisis, a super short, concise little booklet on the state of affairs in Burma. If I haven't already bored you to tears and you are not my parents (some of it is pretty brutal) you may want to check it out. What I found most "interesting" (wrong word, I know) is the section on drug production in Burma. Heroin production is going through the roof, flooding the market with cheap, pure, addictive as hell drugs. They say that you can follow the drug route by following the increased rates of HIV infection from the dirty heroin needles.
On a more positive note, I have downloaded some photos from the EIP website. I hope to be adding my own photos of life on the border in Thailand every week, but these will do for now.
My plane leaves on Sunday. I got a great deal but it's going to be one long haul through L.A. and Seoul before I get to Bangkok at 1:30am on November 2nd. Unless you hear from me before Sunday, you won't be hearing from me for a little while.
Brooke in camp
My soon to be home: the Girls Dorm
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Sick of Being Sick
After this summer, I was sure that I had paid my dues and wouldn't throw up for another year, at least. Admittedly, I haven't drunk myself sick in some time (since, I think, the Cafeteria Christmas party the year I quit). I was, however, hospitalized this summer when I couldn't stop vomiting. Two hours of throwing up your own bile is enough to make your stomach muscles cringe at the thought and your throat sore for several weeks, not to mention draining your body of all energy it ever had. Prior to that little episode was an eight hour vomit-a-thon just before University convocation while my body tried to purge itself of the peanut-laced baklava I had eaten following a most delightful summer picnic with my mum. Compared to an anaphalactic rush to the emergency ward for life-saving injections and oxygen, thowing up was quite a mild reaction and I didn't even mind the sore throat that followed for the next few weeks (wearing off just in time for the hospitalization incidentally).
I come out of these experiences with an addiction to cough drops and an optimistic hope that I have at least a year of being sick-free. Alas.
The damned peanuts caught up with me again, this time at one of their favorite haunts (why wasn't I expecting it??) a little Vietnamese restaurant in China town. Tricky damned things fooled me into thinking it was just the peanuts in everyone else's food that were bothering me. It couldn't be my own food, not with the waiter repeating my order twice with "no peanuts" and a reassuring smile. I downed a handy pink benadryl and made it through dinner. I put my chances of throwing up at 65% after the meal. I went with my family to look at the River Front Aquarium and felt marginally better, putting my chances down to 45%. Sometime on the car ride home though, I got that feeling. I managed to make it home. That's when I knew that my meal had peanuts in it, too. Passing back up my throat, being torn apart and ripped open and vulnerable to the sneak attack, peanuts once again led a successful attack. I managed to grab another couple of pills and clutch my epipen, cuddling with my mum while she watched baseball. Eventually, my throat opened enough for me to croak a little if I wanted to talk. Vomiting, however, continued until 9am the next morning.
The moral of this story:
a) Never let your guard down, peanuts are some sneaky bastards.
b) The world now owes me at least 2 year of being sick-free!
I come out of these experiences with an addiction to cough drops and an optimistic hope that I have at least a year of being sick-free. Alas.
The damned peanuts caught up with me again, this time at one of their favorite haunts (why wasn't I expecting it??) a little Vietnamese restaurant in China town. Tricky damned things fooled me into thinking it was just the peanuts in everyone else's food that were bothering me. It couldn't be my own food, not with the waiter repeating my order twice with "no peanuts" and a reassuring smile. I downed a handy pink benadryl and made it through dinner. I put my chances of throwing up at 65% after the meal. I went with my family to look at the River Front Aquarium and felt marginally better, putting my chances down to 45%. Sometime on the car ride home though, I got that feeling. I managed to make it home. That's when I knew that my meal had peanuts in it, too. Passing back up my throat, being torn apart and ripped open and vulnerable to the sneak attack, peanuts once again led a successful attack. I managed to grab another couple of pills and clutch my epipen, cuddling with my mum while she watched baseball. Eventually, my throat opened enough for me to croak a little if I wanted to talk. Vomiting, however, continued until 9am the next morning.
The moral of this story:
a) Never let your guard down, peanuts are some sneaky bastards.
b) The world now owes me at least 2 year of being sick-free!
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Something Random
Rock Paper Scissors Champion Crowned
Toronto. Herald News Services.
A 34-year old man from Burlington, Ont., is the 2004 Rock Paper Scissors champion of the world.
Lee Rammage claimed the title on Saturday in Toronto, along with $7,000 in prize money.
He says being up on stage with the crowd chanting was intimidating at times, but he kept his focus and pulled it off.
"It was pretty intimidating a couple of times because you get down a few hands, and you're thinking, 'Man, I can't believe I've gone this far and I might lose,'" he said.
Rammage credits his victory to a gender-specific strategy.
"Men almost always threw rock at the beginning, so I played that up," he said.
Toronto. Herald News Services.
A 34-year old man from Burlington, Ont., is the 2004 Rock Paper Scissors champion of the world.
Lee Rammage claimed the title on Saturday in Toronto, along with $7,000 in prize money.
He says being up on stage with the crowd chanting was intimidating at times, but he kept his focus and pulled it off.
"It was pretty intimidating a couple of times because you get down a few hands, and you're thinking, 'Man, I can't believe I've gone this far and I might lose,'" he said.
Rammage credits his victory to a gender-specific strategy.
"Men almost always threw rock at the beginning, so I played that up," he said.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Adventures in Thailand
Thailand
So this is where I'm heading. I'm not sure if the photo is big enough to see Mae Sot, the nearest town to the camp where I will be working. Hard to believe that I will be there in only a few weeks, leaving behind the cosy comfort of my wool-wrapped snow-covered life in the suburbs for a bamboo room with a mosquito net, mat on the floor and rats. I spend tonight savoring a solitary glass of white wine, looking at old photographs and dreaming about where I will be a month from now...
Teach English at the Umphium Mai Refugee Camp in Thailand
Posted By: English Immersion Program (EIP)
Date: Monday, 4 October 2004
Position: English Teacher (full time)
No. of positions available: 1
Length of contract: October or November 2004-April 2005 (renewable)
School: English Immersion Program (EIP)
Location: Umphium Mai Refugee Camp, Tak Province, Thailand
To Apply: a cover letter and resume to Brooke
Responsibilities:
We are looking for a native English speaker who:
Stipend and Benefits:
Here are the answers to a few questions that might come up about this position:
Date: Monday, 4 October 2004
Position: English Teacher (full time)
No. of positions available: 1
Length of contract: October or November 2004-April 2005 (renewable)
School: English Immersion Program (EIP)
Location: Umphium Mai Refugee Camp, Tak Province, Thailand
To Apply: a cover letter and resume to Brooke
Responsibilities:
- Teach intermediate-advanced English to 19 Burmese refugees ages 18-25 (12-18 teaching hours per week)
- Update and improve the curriculum provided
- Live in the student dorm (inside the refugee camp) 3 nights a week.
- Take an active part in managing students in and outside of class
- Help recruit a new English teacher for the following school year
We are looking for a native English speaker who:
- Has a university degree and at least 1 year teaching experience
- Is motivated, flexible and has international experience
- Is culturally sensitive and discrete
Stipend and Benefits:
- 8,000 baht per month (about $200 US)
- Free use of bicycle in Mae Sot
- Free visa & renewals
- Breakfast and dinner provided at school
Here are the answers to a few questions that might come up about this position:
- What are the living conditions?
- Is it safe in Mae Sot and in the refugee camp?
- Can you live off your 200$/month stipend?
- Are there any difficulties with visas?
- What is the working week like?
Living conditions in the refugee camp are very basic. Water does not run regularly and there is little access to electricity. While in camp 3 nights a week, teachers sleep in the EIP student dorms. There is a male and a female dorm, both are bamboo houses with thatch roofs which usually have electricity from 7 to 9 each night. The female teacher will have a small room to herself inside the dorm with bedding and a mosquito net. A thin mattress will be provided to sleep on. The female dorm has a bathroom with a Thai-style toilet and space to shower. There is no hot water to use for bathing.
The EIP students cook breakfast and dinner for the whole school. Meals usually include stewed vegetables and rice. The food can sometimes be quite bland. Some teachers bring some snacks with them from Mae Sot for dessert. EIP has one classroom (another bamboo hut) close by the dorms. Students have class here from 8 AM to 3PM Monday to Friday and they study in the classroom at night, often by candlelight.
There's a market street near school with shoe and clothing shops, kitchenware and tea shops. In the market you can find basic necessities like shampoo, toothpaste and toilet paper. The refugee camp is located on a mountainside, so walking to and from the market, though a short distance is not leisurely. It takes about 5-10 minutes but it is mostly steep uphill or downhill. Thanks to the mountainous location, however, there are very few mosquitoes. There are dirt roads through the camp, but not all the way to the school. You will be dropped off about a 5 minute walk from the school and must hike to the dorms and classroom area from there.
The EIP teachers this year haven't found the living conditions to be a problem. The camp is stunningly beautiful which makes up quite a lot for the inconveniences associated with living there. The weather in Umphium is quite cool compared to other parts of Thailand, which is very pleasant. However, in rainy season (July-Oct) it can be very muddy. While living with the students, teachers learn a lot about Karen culture—their traditional dress, dances, language & food. The students are a lot of fun to socialize with. EIP has evening activities like film or karaoke nights. We run our TV and VCD player on car batteries.
On the days you are not teaching in camp you will probably want to live in Mae Sot (a large town 1.5 hours from camp). EIP has an office in Mae Sot where you can plan your classes and have access to the internet. In Mae Sot, living conditions are quite good. There are Thai, Western and Burmese restaurants. The healthcare is good and you can buy almost anything you would like including some Western products like peanut butter and M and M's.
There have been no major security problems along the Thai Burma border for many years. There is an occasional bomb set off on Burmese side of the border, but they are small and I've never heard of them harming anyone. There is some malaria in Umphium and Mae Sot, but if you use a mosquito net you should have no problem. Usually people who have malaria here, got it from working for long periods of time in the deep jungle. It is not necessary to take anti-malarial drugs while working in Mae Sot or the refugee camp.
Previous teachers have been able to live on 200$ a month when we are careful about how we spend our money. We have access to bicycles for transport and we live in small apartments we rent for 1,800 baht per month. We go out to eat almost every meal because food is very inexpensive. You can eat delicious Thai food for a dollar or two. We spend most of our stipend on food, calling our families long distance, going out with friends, renting movies, buying clothes. When you first move to Mae Sot you will need to spend some money on furnishing your apartment. EIP will provide you with a thin mattress and a mosquito net, but you may also want to buy:
- A fan
- Bedding
- An electric wok
- A kettle
- A phone line or mobile phone
So in the first month or two you may spend more than 8,000 baht, but in later months you may spend less. If you would like other amenities like a cable TV or a fridge, your costs will probably exceed your stipend.
EIP is supported by two legal education NGOs working on the Thai Burma border. One of the NGO's will take care of your visa. EIP teachers will receive a Non-Immigrant Visa which will allow them to work legally in Thailand, in Mae Sot and in the refugee camp. We have had no problems with visas this year.
Although you may only have 12 teaching hours a week you will be busy full time. Previous teachers have spent between 5 and 6 hours a week correcting homework and 12 hours planning classes each week. In your free time at camp students often approach the teachers for help with their homework or just to chat.
EIP has a list of skills for the students to learn in each class over the year. For example during each school year in writing class students should learn how to write:
- Persuasive essays
- Comparison and contrast essays
- Resumes
- Reports
- Action plans
- Project proposals
EIP has some books on these topics and some activity ideas from previous teachers. However, the writing teacher is expected to look through this information and create her own lesson plans. She may wish to supplement EIP’s materials with internet research. For some topics EIP has some handouts but the teacher will probably want to make additional worksheets for the students. All EIP teachers are expected to teach in a way that actively involves the students in every class.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Winter
Late Saturday morning: the parents have taken the car into town, the older brother has yet to wake up, I curl up in a red fleece blanket with a steaming cup of tea and drag a chair out onto the deck to watch the rain fall. Cold enough to see my breath, surrounded by the sound of drips, fog encasing the mountain valley. As far as I'm concerned there is no one else in the world for my solitary moment. Hear the car door slam, brother arises and the day moves on...
Driving home from the mountains, the rain turns to snow and the snow turns nasty. Fog coats the landscape, swirling snow gusts across the highway. I actually fishtailed turning off the highway on the ice. I am not supposed to be here right now, I think. I am somewhere on a beach full of sunshine watching the hotties walk by. That doesn't seem to help the snow go away.
Driving home from the mountains, the rain turns to snow and the snow turns nasty. Fog coats the landscape, swirling snow gusts across the highway. I actually fishtailed turning off the highway on the ice. I am not supposed to be here right now, I think. I am somewhere on a beach full of sunshine watching the hotties walk by. That doesn't seem to help the snow go away.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Vaginas
A moment to meditate in between the wild dance party with which I like to start my day (preferably done solo but with the blinds raised so any lucky passer-byers on the street can join in if desired), and an Engineers Without Borders lecture this evening. The theme of the mediation, inspired by this morning's post: the ever popular, delicious and temporarily elusive vagina. Thanks to Carol and her blog for contributing this thought to my musings: Dodge Trucks and Vaginas Check it out.
More on why I love vaginas later.
More on why I love vaginas later.
Kissing In
The last thing I thought about before going to sleep last night was, of all things, how I still hadn't looked online to see if photos of my breasts had appeared online since the Dyke March in Toronto this summer. Photos of our topless escapade have not, as of yet, made it onto the offical website or on a google image search for "Dyke March Toronto," alas (although I will admit, they can be found elsewhere online.)
While in the googling mood, however, I looked up images of Queer McGill and found this lovely reminder of the Queer McGill kiss in back around this time last year. That weekend, and not soley due to the kiss in alone, I think I doubled the number of people I had ever kissed in my life. Of course, back then, the thought of getting some kind of infectious virus from my activities never even crossed my mind. And now I have to endure all sorts of jokes from family and friends about my promiscuity when it comes to making out which might have been appropriate last year, but seems unfair since I haven't participated in one of the famous Queer McGill mass make out sessions since.. hmmm... April?
I'm not bitter. But this morning, as I was standing in the shower, wishing I had someone to kiss, I realised that I couldn't, even if I did.
While in the googling mood, however, I looked up images of Queer McGill and found this lovely reminder of the Queer McGill kiss in back around this time last year. That weekend, and not soley due to the kiss in alone, I think I doubled the number of people I had ever kissed in my life. Of course, back then, the thought of getting some kind of infectious virus from my activities never even crossed my mind. And now I have to endure all sorts of jokes from family and friends about my promiscuity when it comes to making out which might have been appropriate last year, but seems unfair since I haven't participated in one of the famous Queer McGill mass make out sessions since.. hmmm... April?
I'm not bitter. But this morning, as I was standing in the shower, wishing I had someone to kiss, I realised that I couldn't, even if I did.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Cow-town Bound
On September 1st, 2004, I had a one-way ticket from Calgary, Alberta, my hometown, to Sydney, Australia. I had a newly-made Australian passport, paid for to be printed expressly, so that I would have it in hand before leaving for the trip. I had thrown a party earlier in the summer and given away 85% of my worldly possessions, an incredibly liberating experience. All I owned could be found in a few cardboard boxes at my parents house and one backpack for my travels. On September 1st, 2004, however, I did not board my flight to Sydney. Instead, for the first time ever, I called my travel agent and cancelled the trip, swallowing a whopping $500 non-refundable portion of my ticket and trying not to cry. I would talk about it with the few people who knew my situation in Calgary and joke about how I had finally learned the importance of buying travel insurance.
A few days earlier, I had gone to the doctor's for a routine yearly check up, including some blood tests at the lab. I went straight from the doctor's office to the lab and got the test done. My ex-boyfrined faints every time he has a needle put into him. Thankfully, I have no such problems. Having been diagnosed with diabetes almost five years ago, it would have been extremely problematic. Every three months I visit the lab and have a few vials of my blood sucked out. The doctor's office called on Monday. That's a bad thing. If you have tests done, it's better if no one calls you about it, it means that everything has gone well. They fit me in on Monday and I spoke to a doctor about the results: low platlet levels. Nothing to worry about, I was told. Normal range is between 150-400 and I was down to 135. Some people live normal lives with only 90. Normally, I would go back for another test in a month to check up on it and otherwise not even think about it. But I was going to Australia. We decided to do another test that day, just to see how things were going, not expecting anything to have changed in such a short time, and I would take a letter from the doctor to Australia with me and get a test done there in a month.
The doctor called Tuesday morning, the day before my flight to Australia. They squeezed me in that afternoon. Platlets at 101. Still not distressing. White blood cell count, however, had halved. Neutrophilis, also halved (these are things in your blood that fight infection.) Now we have a problem. The doctor advises me not to take my flight. She referrs me to the Urgent Internal Medicine clinic at the Foothills Hospital where I can expect to see a specialist by the end of the week. For those unfamiliar with the Canadian medical system, seeing a specialist normally takes several months.
It was too late to call the travel agent that night to cancel the ticket. So, on the morning of September 1st, I made a series of unpleasant phone calls. I lost my $500. I also had to tell my brother, mother and father, waiting for me on the sunny beaches by the Great Barrier Reef in Cairns, Australia, that I would not be joining them, but not to worry, everything would be all right. I emailed my aunt and uncle, prominent doctors at Foothills Hospital.
And I spent the rest of the day completely alone. I told no one about what was happening, so it was assumed that I was in the air on my way to sunnier places. I knew almost no one in Calgary and didn't feel like talking to anyone anyways.
The next day, the Urgent Internal Medicine clinic called and requested that I repeat the blood tests, in case the whole situation was merely a lab error. That made me laugh. Could you imagine cancelling a trip to Australia just because someone was being careless in the lab? The lab results on September 2nd showed no change in the situation. My older brother, having recently completed his canoe trip across Canada, flew from Vancouver to be with me. My uncle took us out for dinner. Having looked over my test results, he explained four or five possible causes of the problem including my immune system attacking my spleen, a virus, and a problem with my bone marrow.
On September 3rd, the lab results reported no change. I spent the morning at the Foothills Hospital getting some blood tests done and seeing a hematologist. She did a comprehensive exam and booked me in for a bone marrow test. By then, she had eliminated a problem with my spleen. There were two options remaining and she diagrammed them for me on the back of one of my lab result forms. Because platlets and white blood cells (and hemoglobin, which was thankfully doing fine in my blood) are all made in the bone marrow, either something, such as a virus, is killing them, or the bone marrow is having problems making them in sufficient quantities. This means acute leukemia or lymphoma. I nodded my head, took a deep breath and said, ok.
My brother was excellent at distracting me from these thoughts. We spent a day raiding Value Village for warm second-hand clothes since I had almost none and watching Harry Potter 3 at the cheap cinema. We went to the Labor Day football game and watched Calgary get pathetically beaten by Edmonton. I got another lab test done on Monday. If the results remained the same or worsened, I would be going in for a bone marrow test on Wednesday, an extremely unpleasant procedure with what could only be extremely unplesant results. We were hoping to catch a virus of some kind.
On Tuesday I saw the hematologist at the hospital again. The results were back from the lab: platlet count back into normal range and white blood cells skyrocketing, definitely indicating the presence of a virus! The bone marrow test was cancelled, I tested positive for mononeucleosis that week and didn't go back to the hospital again!
In the wake of such wonderful good news, it seemed entirely inappropriate to complain about the loss of a mere travelling experience. Besides, more good news followed. I discovered that I was, in fact, covered under my parent's travel insurance plan and have begun the lenghty process of filing a claim, requiring huge quantities of obscure paperwork which will eventually refund me for the entire amount of my lost airplane ticket to Calgary.
And that's the story of how I came to be sitting on my ass, living with my parents in Calgary instead of diving on the Reef in Australia.
Jen
A few days earlier, I had gone to the doctor's for a routine yearly check up, including some blood tests at the lab. I went straight from the doctor's office to the lab and got the test done. My ex-boyfrined faints every time he has a needle put into him. Thankfully, I have no such problems. Having been diagnosed with diabetes almost five years ago, it would have been extremely problematic. Every three months I visit the lab and have a few vials of my blood sucked out. The doctor's office called on Monday. That's a bad thing. If you have tests done, it's better if no one calls you about it, it means that everything has gone well. They fit me in on Monday and I spoke to a doctor about the results: low platlet levels. Nothing to worry about, I was told. Normal range is between 150-400 and I was down to 135. Some people live normal lives with only 90. Normally, I would go back for another test in a month to check up on it and otherwise not even think about it. But I was going to Australia. We decided to do another test that day, just to see how things were going, not expecting anything to have changed in such a short time, and I would take a letter from the doctor to Australia with me and get a test done there in a month.
The doctor called Tuesday morning, the day before my flight to Australia. They squeezed me in that afternoon. Platlets at 101. Still not distressing. White blood cell count, however, had halved. Neutrophilis, also halved (these are things in your blood that fight infection.) Now we have a problem. The doctor advises me not to take my flight. She referrs me to the Urgent Internal Medicine clinic at the Foothills Hospital where I can expect to see a specialist by the end of the week. For those unfamiliar with the Canadian medical system, seeing a specialist normally takes several months.
It was too late to call the travel agent that night to cancel the ticket. So, on the morning of September 1st, I made a series of unpleasant phone calls. I lost my $500. I also had to tell my brother, mother and father, waiting for me on the sunny beaches by the Great Barrier Reef in Cairns, Australia, that I would not be joining them, but not to worry, everything would be all right. I emailed my aunt and uncle, prominent doctors at Foothills Hospital.
And I spent the rest of the day completely alone. I told no one about what was happening, so it was assumed that I was in the air on my way to sunnier places. I knew almost no one in Calgary and didn't feel like talking to anyone anyways.
The next day, the Urgent Internal Medicine clinic called and requested that I repeat the blood tests, in case the whole situation was merely a lab error. That made me laugh. Could you imagine cancelling a trip to Australia just because someone was being careless in the lab? The lab results on September 2nd showed no change in the situation. My older brother, having recently completed his canoe trip across Canada, flew from Vancouver to be with me. My uncle took us out for dinner. Having looked over my test results, he explained four or five possible causes of the problem including my immune system attacking my spleen, a virus, and a problem with my bone marrow.
On September 3rd, the lab results reported no change. I spent the morning at the Foothills Hospital getting some blood tests done and seeing a hematologist. She did a comprehensive exam and booked me in for a bone marrow test. By then, she had eliminated a problem with my spleen. There were two options remaining and she diagrammed them for me on the back of one of my lab result forms. Because platlets and white blood cells (and hemoglobin, which was thankfully doing fine in my blood) are all made in the bone marrow, either something, such as a virus, is killing them, or the bone marrow is having problems making them in sufficient quantities. This means acute leukemia or lymphoma. I nodded my head, took a deep breath and said, ok.
My brother was excellent at distracting me from these thoughts. We spent a day raiding Value Village for warm second-hand clothes since I had almost none and watching Harry Potter 3 at the cheap cinema. We went to the Labor Day football game and watched Calgary get pathetically beaten by Edmonton. I got another lab test done on Monday. If the results remained the same or worsened, I would be going in for a bone marrow test on Wednesday, an extremely unpleasant procedure with what could only be extremely unplesant results. We were hoping to catch a virus of some kind.
On Tuesday I saw the hematologist at the hospital again. The results were back from the lab: platlet count back into normal range and white blood cells skyrocketing, definitely indicating the presence of a virus! The bone marrow test was cancelled, I tested positive for mononeucleosis that week and didn't go back to the hospital again!
In the wake of such wonderful good news, it seemed entirely inappropriate to complain about the loss of a mere travelling experience. Besides, more good news followed. I discovered that I was, in fact, covered under my parent's travel insurance plan and have begun the lenghty process of filing a claim, requiring huge quantities of obscure paperwork which will eventually refund me for the entire amount of my lost airplane ticket to Calgary.
And that's the story of how I came to be sitting on my ass, living with my parents in Calgary instead of diving on the Reef in Australia.
Jen
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