July 27: As Usual, I Don't Know What's Going On

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Journal
Sunday, July 27

As usual, I don't know what's going on. On Saturday, Thra Simon laid out the next day = we would go back North to the KNLA headquarters for worship again, then I could catch a ride into Mae Sot (south) to cross back into Burma legally and renew my visa. Imagine my surprise when we turned south after leaving the camp and drove to Mae Sot. When we reached the town limits, Thra Simon asked me where I wanted to go. I said that I thought we were going to worship somewhere. But no. He'd gotten a call that the woman we had visited the weekend before (the one in the hospital bed with the IV) had died and they were going to the funeral. Apparently, I was going to the bridge to renew my visa. If I had known, I wouldn't have worn my Karen clothing. So I walked across the bridge, a white woman wearing Karen into the offices of the Myanmar border police. Well, they chuckled and made a comment, but I felt a bit foolish.

After a good western lunch I went shopping in the market. I bought more sarong material which needed to be sewed up so I went to "my" seamstress. As I sat waiting for her to finish, one of the nearby merchants in market came up and started talking about me. She rubbed my arms and asked "Are you Karen." Well, no. I'm American. That seemed to elicit a barrage of conversation among the merchants. One of them was dragged up to talk to me. "How old are you, Mother" he asked. A perfectly polite question there. It took them a moment to understand "58" though I'm sure they were simply stunned. "You look beautiful" he said. I asked the woman how old she was. 40. Perhaps she thought I was her age (I'm such a dreamer). Their lives age them, though at the moment I think my life is aging me.

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July 26: Is an educated Ministry Necessary?

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Journal Saturday, July 26

We left school at noon yesterday to make the trip to Mae Sariang. It's about 5 hours on a twisty mountain road that doesn't look anything like the only highway between two cities. The plants are taking over in some places; in other place, the edges have crumbled the 2 lane highway into a one lane road. The views were breathtaking. For awhile, it runs beside the Moie River with the rugged hills of Burma on the other side. Then it veers into Thailand, down into valleys filled with rice paddies and up into highlands covered with jungle. Just when you think you've had enough of the roller coaster ride, it flattens out and leads into Mae Sariang, a small city (or large town) much less crowded and hectic than the border city of Mae Sot. It's a beautiful town, peaceful and flowery with its own style of Buddhist architecture, quite ornate eaves and tiered roofs which aren't consigned only to the wats. Even the spirit houses and bulletin boards use the motif.

We (Doe Doh, Mamu and I) were there to pick up Gail Mou (Mamu's husband) who has been teaching in the Bible school there for the past week. The school was started five years ago by Pat and Jeffrey Anderson, an elderly missionary team from Great Britain who refuse to retire. They tried, but they moved back to Thailand and started something new instead. Mostly through small donations, their foundation, Crestos, has helped them reach and care for people in Singapore and Thailand. Now, it has helped them start an orphanage in a small village just outside Mae Sariang, and buy an old rice mill and failed hotel which are now a Bible college. The rice mill has become an assembly hall and the hotel is their hostel, class rooms, recording studio, office, and living quarters. They've also built dorms, started a piggery for its methane as well as the meat, dug a catfish/tilapia pond, and other stuff I can't remember. I can't find them on the internet, but their lives are making a difference in the world, unlike much of what you can find on the internet.

The school is a true Bible college for Thai Karens. The curriculum is the Bible. Covering a chapter a class and looking at every verse, they go through the entire Bible during their four year course of study. There are about 68 students there, some with very little prior education. We arrived in time for "family night" when they celebrate the birthdays of all of the July babies. Part of the celebration was a debate for the fun of it. The question: is an educated ministry necessary? That seems to be a big question there. They seem to agree that a Bible school of some sort is necessary, but does a pastor have to have passed 10 level? The debate (like the classes) was in Karen, so I'm not sure what they said but I gather the winning side essentially said that even the person in the kitchen with no education ministers. It seems to beg the question, but I suspect the debate itself was less important than the experience and fun.

I slept in the "hotel" on a real bed with my own bathroom that wasn't just INSIDE the building, it was inside my room. Such luxury. And a western breakfast of cereal, milk and toast. I woke in time for the morning worship (6:00). It was distinctly different from the morning worship at KKBBSC. Jeff sat on the couch with the translator (neither he nor Pat speak Karen though they know Thai) and the students sat scattered on the floor. After a song and prayer, one of them read a Psalm which Jeff then explained. Real questions were encouraged, then the time was over. It lasted over an hour, but the time flew by (possibly because they made me sit on the couch – I love this Pee business – and my butt was very happy). It wasn't the mindless rote recitation I hear every morning. The children don't really know what they're saying in English, but they dutifully sing the sounds and read the words. At least, that's how it feels.

The others stayed in the orphanage where Gail Mou has been living. They came around and gathered me up for shopping. Gail Mou is a small business man. He buys cheap and sells a little higher. When he's in Mai Sariang (an area he knows well since he came from Mirapu camp which is an hour away) he stops at the Karen Women's shop and buys up Karen shirts, bags, and skirts because he says it's the cheapest place to get them. So, of course so did I. I bought a scarf the women use as a hat and I'll use as a stole. After a trip to Saturday market, we left for the twisty ride home. Why do you get so tired just sitting in the car?

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July 20: Another Day of Thanksgiving

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 (I'll be traveling on Thursday, so I've posted this entry a day early.)

Journal Sunday, July 20

It was another day of thanksgiving, this time in Klee Thee Klou. Newton is starting the Batchelor of Theology program that he's been dreaming about and today was the service to thank God for the dream coming to fruition. There are seven students and miscellaneous volunteer teachers led by a woman who just returned home for getting her Master's in India, a graduate of KKBBSC.

It was good to be back there with Newton and Boo Poh. Felt like home. The students were introduced during the service and of course they sang. Two hours later, as the third sermon was getting started, I was sure it would never end...but it did. It ended with pictures being taken of the students and the illustrious guests. After talking with Newton, I've decided to spend my last 2 weeks down there helping with the English. Paw Thwe Wah is teaching English; I've heard her teach the kids living in the church's dorm and it's not inspiring. She teaches as she was taught in Burma – rote repetition. I've included a picture of her at the waterfall a few weeks ago. She recently came over from Burma and is illegal so she rarely leaves the village. Not only was she out (mostly because she was in the company of 2 Europeans and the police checks rarely bother with cars driven by Europeans) but she was wearing pants for the first time in her life. She's in her 30's, and the pants were an incredibly liberating experience for her.

When we got to Mae Sot on the drive home, Simon turned into side streets on the edge of the city and stopped at a nice house behind gated walls (which is typical here). I had no idea what was going on as we all (the group included 7 students who went as a choir to sing at the service) climbed out of the car, kicked off our shoes, and entered the house. In the first room, a frail old woman sat cross-legged at the foot of a bed. When Simon and Saw Li Tu went into another room, I caught a glimpse of an elderly man, very portly, sitting in a chair. We were there to pray for him. the students sang and Simon prayed. When he finished, the woman began singing "The Church in the Wild Wood", her favorite hymn. They served us Tang and we left. The man is Saw Tamala Baw, the chairman of the Karen National Union who replaced Ba Thin Sein (who I told you was President. Apparently, titles are flexible.) He's elderly and very ill; there are elections in the Fall.

Next, we visited a very frail, elderly woman in a compound of homes for elderly people on a back alley in Mae Sot. As a Rev. and foreigner, I was ushered into her small room with Dr. Simon and Tee Toh (head teacher at the school) while the students sang outside her door. She was helped to sit up by the helper in the home who tenderly washed her with a wet cloth. In great dignity, the woman sat cross-legged on her mattress. I wanted so much to take a picture – my camera was on my lap – but it seemed an invasion of privacy. Sometimes, I surreptitiously snap a shot during the prayer, but Simon asked me to pray. As I prayed, with the young people outside and the old person, "sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything" (well, actually, she had eyes) I thought of the journey of life, how long and fast it is, and how we will become what she is. There was a time when she controlled life, now it controls her. I don't know who she was but I was told later that her husband (now deceased) has been an important Karen juror. Now she sits up with help and listens to the songs and prayers without sign of recognition – except for the warm, toothless smile she gave me as we held hands and I left. There were others. We would stop and I would dutifully get out, not knowing where I was or why we were there, and we made the Sunday afternoon calls on the elderly, the sick, and the dying. I miss that. There was a 94 year-old woman in a hospital type bed with IV, oblivious to our presence as she seemed to look out the window; an elderly man who was Simon's uncle, and an elderly man who was Tabluh Htoo's cousin and Tee Toh's grandfather. It's a small community here; many of them were KNU workers of some sort, possibly the ones who started the struggle, now it's left to the next generation. And they're going to third countries.

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July 19: Papa's Birthday

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Journal
Saturday, July 19, 2008

The day started at 5, as usual, but that was all that was usual. Instead of unsteady violins, I was awakened by the sound of giggling and chairs being moved outside me window, which was the wrong wall for the noise. I got dressed to see what was going on, and the common room was now all chairs, the hot water table had become a worship place, and the kids were all sitting on the veranda. Thra Simon was among them and I asked what was going on.

"For my birthday," he said with ill-concealed glee. "The senior students have been invited for worship."

Less than half of them came, so there were many empty chairs. I don't know their reason for not coming. Five o'clock is the usual time for getting up. But I think Thra Simon and Tablut Htoo were a little disappointed. The students led the worship in Karen, so I can't tell you what they said though singing "Happy Birthday" was part of it.

"Papa's" birthday is definitely a big deal. Yesterday, they killed the fatted pig, a sight I've been avoiding but inadvertently saw. Thra Simon's kitchen has been the busiest place in the camp as they prepare food for all of the guests and dignitaries. I got in the way and poked my nose in the kettles trying not to see the pig's head in the basin by the stove. The men who had slaughtered the pig kept bringing in pieces and laying them on the table. I hope the Board of Health never visits this place. There were basins of garlic and onion, what may be banana leaves in noodle sized strips, "sea flowers" which I think is a white seaweed, curly fungus that might be mushrooms, lemongrass, and pig parts. I'm such a hypocrite. I'll eat the meat, which I did for supper – small pieces of well cooked ribs. I must remember to become a vegetarian.

The "thanksgiving service" lasted for 2 ½ hours and was quite a big deal. Simon had invited the 15 member American team that had come by on Thursday to return at 11:00 on Saturday, so he obviously intended to invite them to his party, though that wasn't what they had in mind. They wanted to witness to refugees. They had no idea what they were in for. They sat uncomfortably on stage, I suspect as a show piece for Thra Simon. The Chairman of the KRC, Robert Htee spoke (He's also some officer in the KKBBSC) and Newton preached. Then various groups performed and Newton's mother, the eldest woman there, prayed for all who had July birthdays. There is a certain reverence given to elders, and especially the crones. Kind of nice, now that I seem to be on the receiving end of that.

The meal afterwards was grand: fish, chicken, all kinds of pork, soup, some greens, and birthday cake for dessert. I spent the rest of the day showing Americans around. First, the witnessing team, then 2 from Colonel Tim. He's an American who was here 2 weeks ago interviewing the WWII vets. His mind goes a mile a minute and doesn't seem to be particularly focused but he seems to get things done. His real goal is to find ways to support the pro-democracy movement in Burma (smells of CIA to me) and to do that he's created his own NGO that seeks to synchronize the work of all of the different groups, as well as doing some kind of energy thing in Burma. His efforts have been a little sidetracked by the Nargis debacle. This summer, he's gathered a group of his daughter's college friends to help him set up an office in Mae Sot and start fundraising. He's also doing a video (hence the videographer who came today. But it's difficult to get a good picture of what he's doing (which seems to be the problem his volunteers are having.

Another effort that reminds me of CIA undercover work to overturn governments is the Free Burma Rangers. I'm not thinking of the idealistic folks who are taking medical supplies into Burma, but the leader of the group, I'm told, is an ex- Navy SEAL or some such elite group. I wonder.

This week I've felt terrible homesickness. I've attributed it to this being the 6 week mark, which is when I usually go home, but I think there's another factor. If I were settled here and knew I were staying, I'd probably still be up for the adventure of it. But my life is definitely temporary. I'm in a dark room with no daylight and no air flow and a lot of dust from decaying bamboo walls. I have no control over my go-to-sleep time; I'm dependent on the whims of the folks in the common room on the other side of the wall. In the morning, I'm awakened before I want to be. I "put up with it" because I know it's only temporary. If I were staying longer, I'd beg a hammer and nails to put more places to hang clothes in the latrine. I'd move to a brighter room or clean the one I have in spite of the dust. I would settle in.

This camp is like that = a temporary, makeshift jungle of bamboo buildings that has settled in. It wasn't built to last. Any day they would return home. But, for the old timers on this side of the stream it's been 18 years. Houses spread out and accommodations are made. William has lined the walk to his house with stones and potted plants. He has a small plot of carefully planted grass inserted blade by blade into the clayey ground. I kid him that he'll need a lawn mower to replace the scissors he now uses to mow his lawn. I can see him as the suburban house holder, every weekend working on his small piece of the world, happy as a clam because that's what he's doing now in this temporary place that promises to last too long.

Soon, I'll be leaving. I have only two more weeks of classes here at Mai La. And like hundreds of other volunteers, I'll go home and leave them here. A few days ago, William sadly noted that so many have said they'd stay in touch or send a book or CD to help him with his studies, but they always forget. They get on with their very different lives and Mai La and its "temporary" residents seem a world away, which they are.

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Undated: Grandmother Marcia

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Journal 11

Why do they keep calling me Pee (grandmother)? I know it's meant with the utmost respect, but how do they know I'm not 25? That's how old I feel. Except in the morning when I'm trying to get up from a wooden bed and extricate myself from mosquito netting. I'll have to dye my hair again.

Every week, I find an excuse to take the hour trip into Mae Sot, which means spending the night since the line buses stop at noon. I don't do it for the accommodations. The beds are only marginally better than wood. I don't do it for a hot shower because they aren't. I don't do it for the night life. I think there is some but I haven't found it. I choose to stay in out of the rain and sleep for 10 hours. I might do it for the food, a taste of Western at Dave's café with bacon and eggs for breakfast. But I think I do it just for the hustle and bustle of "real" life. Mae Sot is a major metropolis. Two traffic lights. And a lot of motorbikes, some cars and trucks. It's a change from the surreal quiet of the camp and the feeling of confinement. I would make a terrible refugee. I catch the 7:45 bus out in the morning and just watch the traffic, the people going off to work, taking kids to school on the motorbike, opening shops, and starting life again, and I return to the sense of waiting.

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July 12: Visiting the Clinic

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Journal July 12

Thra Simon took me and Ebenezer (a Swedish pastor originally a Tamil refugee from Sri Lanka. A good portion of his congregation is now Karen refugees, so he came to see what was going on) to Dr. Cynthia's clinic. The clinic has been around for about 20 years and provides medical care for Burmese illegals, the ones without refugee status. I don't know what the figures are on them; I've heard there are about 300 living at the dump in Mae Sot but I haven't located the dump yet. Many are migrant farm workers. I remember when I worked at the Cambodian refugee camp on the other side of Thailand in 1981, many of the people coming in from Cambodia hadn't gone into camps. They were "sheltered" by Thai families, many of them being used for slave labor. That seems to be somewhat true here. Employment is tenuous. Dr. Simon told me that 17 or 18 bodies were found in the rivers – a work detail the employer decided was cheaper to shot than pay. Because they're illegal, they have no recourse if the person who offers them work doesn't pay them.

I'd heard about the clinic since coming to Mae La. To get to it, you turn into an unprepossessing side road between shops. The whole compound of buildings seems to be the clinic with places to sleep, people everywhere, a room filled with mothers and children. I have a few pictures, but it wasn't a place I felt comfortable photographing. Too personal. Ebenezer wanted to see Dr. Cynthia whom he had met when she came to Sweden to accept the "alternate" Nobel peace prize given by the King. I'm not sure the person taking the message understood him (I have problems) and returned with the message that she was too busy to see anyone. I didn't meet her, but I checked her out on-line. Try this link:

http://www.time.com/time/asia/2003/heroes/cynthia_maung.html

July 11: Discovering the "Future"

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journal 9
July 11, 2008

My time at the camp is more than half over and I'm beginning to think of home. The head teacher, Ti Toh comes over periodically to check on "his" computer. I'm giving my laptop to him and I think he wants to make sure I don't break it before he gets it. I showed him the Bible study programs last night and he was jumping in his chair with excitement. But his real enthusiasm is for the internet. What a difference it makes to the people here, yet it's opening them up to the world. They have very limited access to computers. There is a computer lab with some older desktops and a teacher but only the older students are scheduled for classes. Some of the teachers have laptops left by volunteers like me, and an Australian has generously provided satellite. Students gather around my laptop in the evening, setting up their first email account and discovering "Facebook" type sites where they begin using their new English to talk to people outside of the camp! They also hear from friends who have gone to third countries, who send pictures and keep in touch. It's hard for us to imagine how exciting that can be for young people for whom the bamboo-barbed wire fence has defined their world.

Last night a student came to my room and asked if he could talk with me. I was sitting on the floor using my laptop, so he settled on the floor. He's 32 and suddenly realizing the power of education.

"From 12 to last year I didn't really pay any attention to school. I'm not clever, but I want to do something to help my people." When he finishes at the Bible school this year, he wants to go to Australia and work on a degree in Political Science because he thinks that will give him the tools to come back and be a leader for his people. We talked for a few hours. He doesn't use the computer. He doesn't know how to search the internet. He doesn't know what's available in the world. He doesn't know what his gifts are. He doesn't really know what a degree in Political Science will prepare him to do. We looked at a few schools to see what kind of courses he would be taking and what it would prepare him to do, but he has a lot of work ahead of him. I think, for the first time, they're beginning to consider the "future". They are realizing that there are now options to sitting in the camp and playing the guitar all day. They have the difficult task of considering the impact on their personal lives and balancing the needs of their community and the continual desire of the Karens to return to their land and to be autonomous (or at least semi-autonomous. They're proposing a federalist form of government for Burma which had been the original promise.) But that desire is affected by a generation now raised in the camps. I asked my class when they had come to the camp and almost all of them were either born here or were brought by their parents when they were a few years old. This is what they know; Burma or Kawthoolie is a story told by their parents. If this generation goes to a third country, will they come back to help their people? This is like the Babylonian Captivity or the great Diaspora. How do you keep a sense of "people" when the community is scattered. This camp time will be crucial to the Karen's (and other Hill Tribes) understanding of who they are as a people.

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