I've got a snake in my bed.
It would be nice if it were a lover waiting for me there when I come home from work, but alas, there really is a snake in my bed.
Some days, within the quietness of small town living, life feels like a whirlwind. While my co-workers are busy with all the stuffy language of USAID project proposals and fighting for a piece of the multimillion-dollar pie, I am busily trying to finish writing up the human rights abuses that have been documented in Burma over the year for the chapter on women. All of us are busy interviewing applicants for the teaching position at the school next year as well as conducting entrance exams for new students. Added to this, starting on Monday, every time I leave my house, I am going to have to face getting covered in water. Thai New Year celebrations are beginning soon. In most cities in Thailand, the water fights are relegated to one or two streets, or the area near the river or water. In Mae Sot, we celebrate Burmese style, with the whole town becoming a free for all for a full week. If you leave your house, you should prepare to get soaked. Also, it is necessary to wear the brightest, ugliest, tackiest shirt you can possibly find. To help you out on this front, a whole wealth of stalls have popped up around town flouting their Hawaiian-style wares. I personally acquired a lovely red/orange/yellow/green flowered chemise that is all the rage in Water Festival fashions this year.
Although we have spotted a few cars with the tell tale splashes on their usually dusty exteriors, for the most part, we have a few dry days left. So this morning, bright and all too early, we headed out to one of the nearby refugee camps to do another intake exam. I woke up to the sound of my new "Hello Kitty" pink alarm clock telling me in a chirpy voice "Wake up! Wake up! Goooooood Morning!" I woke up, but I did not have a good morning. Perhaps it was the confusion of the million things that need to be done before I can take my beach vacation, perhaps it was evil vibes from the pink Kitty - I managed to leave my insulin vials in the fridge. I bought the cold packs with me, of course, but had nothing that needed to be kept cold. And, in the brilliant vein with which I started my day, I realized my error when I finished my breakfast and had just arrived an hour down the road in Mae La, the biggest camp on the border.
The intake exams weren't great. More than half the people who showed up didn’t meet the basic requirements of becoming a student at our school. But there were one or two bright stars in the bunch, and that's who we are looking for.
I spent the whole ride back trying to keep my eyes open and looking forward to my needle and fix. The truck pulled up at my house so I could grab my drugs and we spotted a big sign on my door:
JEN: DO NOT GO INSIDE YOUR HOUSE. A LARGE SNAKE WENT IN! I got keys from our landlady and a posse of Thais went in to get the snake but no one really dared to go into your upstairs rooms to find it. It went in under your front door. We searched all downstairs but suspect it went up.
My neighbor's door is locked, and clearly he has evacuated his building and left me this warning. I started swearing. I had been almost five hours without my insulin and needed some, stat. Brooke looked nervous and suggested a pharmacy in town. The driver, once the situation was explained, didn't see a problem going in with me, so in we went. He made me go first, and followed behind with a large stick. I think I lack the basic understanding of the danger presented by the snake. If someone had said that there was a black bear in my house, that would be a different story, something I could relate to. On the other hand, it isn't likely that a black bear would be any good at hiding in anyone's house. In we went.
I opened the big roller door that enters into my garage and stepped back quickly. Brooke waited in the car. Patrick watched us from a safe distance. Which makes one wonder: what is a safe distance anyways? Snakes are speedy suckers, I figure. Not like I have ever been face to face with a "large" one. Now I've got one for a bedmate.
The furniture, (what little I have) was in the middle of the room and things were a bit everywhere. It looked just as you would imagine a room might if a "posse of Thais" had come through it looking for a snake. My Thai wandered around behind me with his big stick. I crept inside, trying to look all around me all at once. Nothing moved or lurked or curled up anywhere so I grabbed my insulin and got out.
But now I wonder, when is it safe for me to go back?
Friday, April 08, 2005
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Photos
I have uploaded more photographs:
To see photos from the school and of my now former students, click here.
To see photos from my last border run into Myawaddy, Burma, click here.
The United States Agency for International Development (USAID) recently released a call for proposals. Agencies working with refugees and migrants in Thailand on health and education projects are urged to submit project proposals for a grant totalling $22.4 million(or is it 22.6?). The organization I now work for is fighting for a peice of that pie so the office is bustling with frantic activity. We have one month to submit a proposal responding to USAID's requirements for a five year program plan. If we succeed, the organization's will expand their activities as well as the locations they cover. Winning the proposal means I won't spend all of next year madly fundraising to keep the school afloat. It might also mean expanding the school. If we lose, the organization shuts down and I lose my salary and start fundraising.
What would you do with $22.4 million?
To see photos from the school and of my now former students, click here.
To see photos from my last border run into Myawaddy, Burma, click here.
The United States Agency for International Development (USAID) recently released a call for proposals. Agencies working with refugees and migrants in Thailand on health and education projects are urged to submit project proposals for a grant totalling $22.4 million(or is it 22.6?). The organization I now work for is fighting for a peice of that pie so the office is bustling with frantic activity. We have one month to submit a proposal responding to USAID's requirements for a five year program plan. If we succeed, the organization's will expand their activities as well as the locations they cover. Winning the proposal means I won't spend all of next year madly fundraising to keep the school afloat. It might also mean expanding the school. If we lose, the organization shuts down and I lose my salary and start fundraising.
What would you do with $22.4 million?
Monday, April 04, 2005
The Dog
On Wednesday, one of my students, Phyo Kyaw Kyaw, was given a dog. He put it in one of the unused classrooms of the Teacher Preparation Course next to the EIP Boy's Dorm.
Thursday was the student's last day of final exams. There were six students left to make their final speeches and four students left to complete their teaching practicum exam. In the afternoon, they all sat their last TOEFL exam. While the teaching labs were taking place, I went to the market with the school director, Paw Yu Lee. We were picking up some bits and pieces for the end of exams party that night.
We heard the commotion while buying batteries in one of the stalls. There was drumming and music and the sound of many people. We came around the corner to see a group of colorful dancing people. It was a monk initiation celebration. I could barely see the young monks kneeling inside one fo the market stalls, sweltering in the heat, decked out in artificial flowers and elaborate dress, fanning themselves with bamboo fans. Before they become monks, children first become princes, taking on all the worldly richness they can before shedding it all for monkhood. The crowd consisted mainly of older people. There was someone playing an electronic keyboard, another on tambourine, and several men with bamboo sticks for a drumbeat. Old women were dancing, and people in the market had gathered around.
At first, Paw Yu Lee and I stood to the side of the only path through the market and watched. But after awhile, we wanted to continue on our way. Seeing someone else worm their way through the crowd, Paw Yu Lee said, "I think it's ok. We can go." She started to make her way through the dancing people.
I tried to follow, but the moment I stepped out of the shadows of the market stall where we had been standing, people started to notice me. I am not hard to notice, being big and white. Immediately, one of the dancers, a very old, very short woman with bright red lipstick over very few teeth and artificial flowers in her hair, came up to me and grabbed my hands. She wanted me to dance with her. I obliged, laughing, and waved my hands in the air, doing my impression of Karen-style dancing. This seemed to make the old woman happy, so I turned and tried to continue on my way. I couldn't move. The old woman was holding onto my bag. "Ok, ok," I thought, "I will dance a little more." And I did.
I tried to turn away a second time, but she grabbed my wrist with a grip of steel. All the while, she was grinning at me with her few remaining betel nut stained teeth and reeking of alcohol. By this time, I had been picked up on the radar of every drunken dancer in the party. Clearly, I was not going anywhere. I looked around a little desperately for Paw Yu Lee. She was on the other side of the fray laughing uproariously. I disengaged from the old lady, still doing the hand moves, and made my way through the crowd. I was now thoroughly engulfed by the dancers, in the middle of everything. Two very old men now barred my way, grinning. "Ok, ok," I thought again. "A little more dancing won't hurt." Someone snapped frantic pictures on a disposable camera. "Look," they must have been saying, "the elusive dance of the great white girl!"
The trick was getting past the portable electronic keyboard and the line of musicians, but with a little force and a big smile and not a few hand waving and some time later, it was done. Hot, sweaty and unable to stop laughing, I grabbed Paw Yu Lee and marched her out of the market. "But Jen," she said, "you dance Karen-style very well!"
Our errands didn't take much time and when we were finished the baby monks and their entourage had moved elsewhere. We got back just in time for the TOEFL exam. When the exam was over, the cooking began.
The cooking took hours because there was so much food and also because most of the students went away to "beautify themselves," take showers, buy more snacks (as if we needed more food) and rest up after the rigors of exam week. I squatted down on the hard packed earth floor of the kitchen, pounding chilies and spices with the mortar and pestle and chatting with Paw Yu Lee, listening to the sounds of camp in the late afternoon. Somewhere, a dog was howling. It felt like cooking dinner with my Mum. Paw Yu Lee is my age, but she was explaining to me how to make the special curry we would prepare that evening.
The food was delicious. We had coconut rice, thick and creamy, and chicken and pork. The table was full of meat, something that never happens. After dinner, we hooked up the TV to the car battery and did some wild karaoke. Yours truly might have sung a few songs and done some dancing about.
When it was all over, seventeen students and their three teachers stumbled off to bed with full bellies and relieved minds, exams over, another year at EIP completed.
The next day, there was no longer a dog in the unused classroom.
Thursday was the student's last day of final exams. There were six students left to make their final speeches and four students left to complete their teaching practicum exam. In the afternoon, they all sat their last TOEFL exam. While the teaching labs were taking place, I went to the market with the school director, Paw Yu Lee. We were picking up some bits and pieces for the end of exams party that night.
We heard the commotion while buying batteries in one of the stalls. There was drumming and music and the sound of many people. We came around the corner to see a group of colorful dancing people. It was a monk initiation celebration. I could barely see the young monks kneeling inside one fo the market stalls, sweltering in the heat, decked out in artificial flowers and elaborate dress, fanning themselves with bamboo fans. Before they become monks, children first become princes, taking on all the worldly richness they can before shedding it all for monkhood. The crowd consisted mainly of older people. There was someone playing an electronic keyboard, another on tambourine, and several men with bamboo sticks for a drumbeat. Old women were dancing, and people in the market had gathered around.
At first, Paw Yu Lee and I stood to the side of the only path through the market and watched. But after awhile, we wanted to continue on our way. Seeing someone else worm their way through the crowd, Paw Yu Lee said, "I think it's ok. We can go." She started to make her way through the dancing people.
I tried to follow, but the moment I stepped out of the shadows of the market stall where we had been standing, people started to notice me. I am not hard to notice, being big and white. Immediately, one of the dancers, a very old, very short woman with bright red lipstick over very few teeth and artificial flowers in her hair, came up to me and grabbed my hands. She wanted me to dance with her. I obliged, laughing, and waved my hands in the air, doing my impression of Karen-style dancing. This seemed to make the old woman happy, so I turned and tried to continue on my way. I couldn't move. The old woman was holding onto my bag. "Ok, ok," I thought, "I will dance a little more." And I did.
I tried to turn away a second time, but she grabbed my wrist with a grip of steel. All the while, she was grinning at me with her few remaining betel nut stained teeth and reeking of alcohol. By this time, I had been picked up on the radar of every drunken dancer in the party. Clearly, I was not going anywhere. I looked around a little desperately for Paw Yu Lee. She was on the other side of the fray laughing uproariously. I disengaged from the old lady, still doing the hand moves, and made my way through the crowd. I was now thoroughly engulfed by the dancers, in the middle of everything. Two very old men now barred my way, grinning. "Ok, ok," I thought again. "A little more dancing won't hurt." Someone snapped frantic pictures on a disposable camera. "Look," they must have been saying, "the elusive dance of the great white girl!"
The trick was getting past the portable electronic keyboard and the line of musicians, but with a little force and a big smile and not a few hand waving and some time later, it was done. Hot, sweaty and unable to stop laughing, I grabbed Paw Yu Lee and marched her out of the market. "But Jen," she said, "you dance Karen-style very well!"
Our errands didn't take much time and when we were finished the baby monks and their entourage had moved elsewhere. We got back just in time for the TOEFL exam. When the exam was over, the cooking began.
The cooking took hours because there was so much food and also because most of the students went away to "beautify themselves," take showers, buy more snacks (as if we needed more food) and rest up after the rigors of exam week. I squatted down on the hard packed earth floor of the kitchen, pounding chilies and spices with the mortar and pestle and chatting with Paw Yu Lee, listening to the sounds of camp in the late afternoon. Somewhere, a dog was howling. It felt like cooking dinner with my Mum. Paw Yu Lee is my age, but she was explaining to me how to make the special curry we would prepare that evening.
The food was delicious. We had coconut rice, thick and creamy, and chicken and pork. The table was full of meat, something that never happens. After dinner, we hooked up the TV to the car battery and did some wild karaoke. Yours truly might have sung a few songs and done some dancing about.
When it was all over, seventeen students and their three teachers stumbled off to bed with full bellies and relieved minds, exams over, another year at EIP completed.
The next day, there was no longer a dog in the unused classroom.
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