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?