The Decision is in

Sunday nights I usually dine at SP Kitchen with my neighbor, Tim, and an older couple who work at the refugee's medical clinic, Elisabetta and Jonathan. The restaurant is very close to our homes and serves Thai, Burmese and Western food. Elisabetta, who is Italian, has taught the kitchen how to make pasta and other Italian dishes from scratch. She is responsible for half the menu there. Between the four of us, we know all the people who work there and, excluding the odd tourist who wanders in, usually all of the clients as well. It's not the Sunday night Jones family dinner, but it's as close as I'm going to get.

Last night, I did not have dinner at SP. Instead, I met Brooke and Patrick for dinner at the Stone Table, a restaurant closer into town with more tourists and a pricier menu. I hadn't eaten there yet, partially because of its lukewarm review, partially because it makes me think of the dead lions of Narnia. Initially Tim wasn't going to join us. He spent the whole day waiting around for a car to take him over the border to a covert celebration of Karen Revolution Day.

This is Mae Sot: eating dinner with a bunch of people, mentioning the holiday on Monday for the Revolution Day, someone says that they are going to watch the boxing in Karen State, over the river, inside Burma, someone else asks if they have any room in the car, and suddenly we are all planning an illegal border crossing under the protection of an armed rebel group to attend illegal anti-government festivities in a totalitarian state. What else did I have to do with my Sunday afternoon?

I'm laughing as I write that because it sounds so grand and dangerous and shocking. But this is Mae Sot and it would be impossible to live and work here without dealing with the armed rebel group in question in some shape or form. The leader, now getting on to retiring age and going senile, whose birthday was the cause of another recent holiday, is my friend's landlord. The education branch of the group runs all of the schools in the refugee camps along the border. Nobody sets up a school without going through them and giving them final management control over their school. I work in a school in a refugee camp, what does that tell you?

When I say "armed rebel group" though, you mustn't picture CIA covert operations, black vests and face paint, highly trained, coordinated units with high tech weapons. There is a reason this civil war drags on for generations. Both sides are under funded, under trained, uncoordinated and rife with inner tension and disagreements. They haven't died out for a good reason either, so it wouldn't pay to underestimate them, but they are by no means terribly effective, particularly when it comes to non-military tasks like organization. It quickly became apparent to me that our escort into Burma was not likely to happen. In order for me to go, someone had to arrange a certain number of cars and in order for it to be interesting, these cars had to arrive at a certain time. My faith in their ability to achieve this, for a few foreigners to watch some boxing, was very slim, so I quickly bailed and spent my day hanging out, working, cleaning, the usual Sunday activities. Tim, on the other hand, really thought he would be able to go. He is doing a photographic series on boxing and wanted pictures of Thai/Burmese fights in Thailand, on the border and inside Burma. He woke up at 6am to pack and prepare. By 6pm, I had him sitting on the floor drinking beer and telling me stories about why his embassy had to get him out of the country the last time he was in Burma, illegally filming in Rangoon. By 7pm, he abandoned all hope of seeing any Karen Revolution Day boxing and joined me for dinner.

When the four of us get together, my two co-workers, my neighbor and myself, things get crazy very quickly. We don't even order for half an hour because we are so busy with the jokes and stories and the gut laughter and the flowing beer. It takes me forever to make my announcement, the reason why I have arranged the dinner for that evening.

"Here's to Mae Sot," I said, raising my glass. "Sign me up for another year of this!"

The occasion clearly called for a night of tequila and chili shots at Khun's, our favorite bar, where no one is surprised by the news, but everyone is happy. We drink our beer, we take our shots. We talk and talk and laugh and if I were even to repeat half of the stories it would make a book that no one would ever believe. Why am I staying in a small border town in the middle of nowhere? Where else on earth can I find this much color?

When I say that I am staying, it's actually a pretty nebulous concept at this point. We should be able to pull together funding, although that's a bit dicey. Because we have so little funding for teacher's salaries and the living conditions are, ahem, "not ideal," it will be difficult to find qualified, adaptable teachers. The organization that helps us with camp passes and logistics may go under this year. Blah, blah, blah. I signed myself up for a project that may not run at all but I signed myself up to try and keep it running. And lets be honest, I didn't "sign" anything. If I wanted to sign a contract, I would have to draw it up between myself and myself. "How much will you be getting paid?" someone asked, because they thought my decision would come down to money. The real question is, "Will I get paid?" Come on, if you knew all these answers, would it be nearly so interesting?

I think some people are worried that I am giving up my dreams to hang out here on the border. I'm not. I'm here for another year and while I'm here, I have a plan to make the school self sustaining, so I can walk away after graduation next year, and know it will stay alive. All my dreams, which are always changing anyways, will still be there for me. One of those dreams is picking up a few of these amazing journalists and photographers around here and heading to the India / Pakistan border, so if there are dreams out there of me coming home soon, I'm afraid its rather unlikely. Meanwhile, I am going to have one hell of an experience here, learning to manage a school, recruiting teachers, getting funding and taking a few shots of tequila and chili when the going gets rough. It's going to be great.

I'm looking at getting a cheap flight home for a bit in May to see friends and I will definitely be home at the end of July to see family, so I am not disappearing into the ether. Thailand is a great place to travel and if you are in my neighborhood, I have a house that is not in a refugee camp, which is open any time. The letters and packages and emails have been amazing. It's certainly not all rose here and every word from home helps me through.

Who would have thought? Wake up one morning with a cancelled plane ticket and mononucleosis, end up on the Thai border taking on a school.

You gotta love it!