Thailand... so incredibly overdue!

Hello my lovely readers!

I'm sorry it has taken me just shy of two months to write this!  The first month, January, I had the excuse that I was horribly busy at work, catching up on journals the students handed in over the Christmas holidays.  But in February, I just knew I really really needed to write this - but I also really really needed to do a couple of jobs for Wide Island View and I really really need to reply to a couple of emails.  So what do you do when you can't decide which job is the most important?  Err... you don't do any.  Apparently.  Dammit.

Anyway, today I realised it was almost two months since we returned to Japan and almost exactly two months since I last blogged.  So here I am, writing for you.  I apologise that much of Thailand will have faded from my memory in that period, but time helps you sift the important from the less so, so I think I'll now be able to write less, but about the things I found really special.  So when I write a 10,000 word essay be thankful - if I'd written last month it would have been three times as long!

Where to start?  For anyone who has been in a coma or doesn't use facebook (same thing, really!), Jeff and I spent a week in the Baan Dada orphanage in rural Thailand.  We went with a group of JETs and were lucky enough to have three of our lovely Hiroshima friends also on the trip (the others were from near Kyoto).

As background, Baan Dada is near the border of Burma/Myanmar.  There are some small communities who have been pushed out of Myanmar by the Burmese (Myanmarese?), but they are not welcome in Thailand and have become refugees in tiny, extremely poor border towns (I use 'towns' in the loosest sense of the word.  As in, houses around a dirt track).  Most of the Baan Dada kids (all?) are from these communities (Mon and Karen people), so were rescued from extreme poverty when they came to the orphanage. Some of the kids are not even orphans - one boy lives there but his mother works in the kitchen.  At first this seemed surprising, but it only takes a moment of thought to realise how much better off her son would be playing with all the orphans, having the orphanage send him to school, eat the orphanages food, etc, in return for her being an 'employee' of the orphanage (I assume she is not paid and is allowed to live there in return for her work, all functioning as more of a family than a place of employment).

Before we went to Baan Dada I had been volunteering once a month at an orphanage here in Japan.  The Japanese orphanage is run rather as you would expect - a staff to child ratio of rather more than a school, with plenty of adults available to look after the little ones.  At Baan Dada I was amazed to discover there is one main Dada ('dada' means brother in Thai, while 'baan' means house) who has been there for about a million years (he's only in his 40's, so I may be exaggerating)  and a second Dada who has been helping out for the last four years but may get posted to a different orphanage at any time if there is anyone else more needy. These two Dadas care for between 50 and 60 kids (estimates differ depending on how many are home from university/work at any one time).  Dada 1 appeared to be more in charge of the paperwork and business side of running the orphanage, although he was super hazy on the kids ages and even seemed to have a tentative grasp on their names!  Don't let that lead you to think he didn't care - he was a lovely man and I have so much admiration for him, but he was one of those people who is so laid-back you expect him to fall asleep on his feet.  Dada 2 was a bit more involved in the kids and seemed to be in charge of the physical aspects of the orphanage - beautification, building a new mud hut playhouse, etc.

However, no-one was in charge of dressing kids (the youngest were three or four) or making sure they were ready in the morning.  There were two rules that seemed to apply at Baan Dada - first, organise yourself because no-one else will do it for you and second, keep an eye on anyone younger than yourself.  We saw the first rule in full force when we were riding the truck to school with the kids.  One boy came out late and the truck had already started driving away.  No-one even considered telling the driver to wait, they just watched in a disinterested fashion while he ran up the road clutching his bag in one hand until he was close enough to leap onto the bars of the truck.  Watching this I had guilty pangs about all the mornings Dad had to drag me out of bed to get me ready for school before he started work.

The second rule I realised when we went to the markets with a small group of kids.  Each kid had latched onto an adult with a one-to-one ratio, except for Jeff 'Child Magnet' Wigg, who had one on each hand.  I was with the oldest girl, a 13 yr old.  I had never understood how we managed to not lose children, because the Dada's never did head counts or anything.  However, one hand in mine, this 13 yr old used her other hand to do a quick head count before everyone dispersed in the darkness.  It was the strangest mix of childish innocence, hand-holding with an adult, and responsibility - having the ultimate say at the end of the night on if we had everyone and were ready to leave.

So that is a fairly general background to operations at the orphanage.  As for the physical set-up of the place, it was a mix of concrete blocks and mud bricks.  Buildings were far from fancy, but the small things lent it a charm - foot prints in the concrete from an old pet, murals on walls, children's art displayed and designs made by stones inset in mud brick exteriors.

The orphanage buildings for the children comprised the two gender-separated sleeping blocks, a music room, a 'library', the nurses room and the kitchen.  Many of these had walls that didn't reach the roof or, in the case of the kitchen, were completely open.

If you followed the dirt path through the centre of these buildings you had the choice of a metal bridge on a lean, with only one handrail, or crossing the dry stream bed where snakes occasionally liked to sunbathe.

The path then continued with jungle encroaching on the left side and the orphanage gardens on the right.  Most days an uncle of one of the boys could be seen crouching in the gardens, working, while his pet parakeet sat on a handy bucket or post, supervising (once when I was walking past, the boy asked me if I had seen his bird.  I had just heard it squawk, so I helped him hunt the trees for it until we found it!).

Continuing on past the vegetable gardens, the path made an abrupt turn right and headed into a circle of wooden huts and the concrete block volunteer house.  This was our little refuge, for when the demands of playing with kids or working in the hot sun got too much.  Here we had a Western toilet (a toilet seat cannot be over-rated!!) and a warm shower (even if I never figured out which one it was!).  We had a friendly (huge) bathroom lizard that I thought was art until Jeff assured me it was real.  We also had a huge stash of bottled water and not enough coffee.

Our time at the orphanage was... magical.  Being a senior high school teacher and being, well, me, I'm not so good with little kids.  I'm awkward and don't know how to take the initiative.  But watching Jeff with the little ones made for so many mushy moments.  They loved him so much and he usually had two or three competing for his attention at any one time.  This ranged from bigger boys trying to race around with him to (my favourite) the teeniest girl there launching herself onto his lap when she got a fright in the truck.  I guess she figured the biggest person around is the best for fighting off scary tree branch noises??  I had always suspected Jeff's love of puppies would translate to liking kids, but I had never seen it for myself.  Now I know that not only does he like kids, but they LOVE him!  Of course he has been teaching elementary school for almost three years now, but I don't get to see it so I didn't realise the extent of his popularity with the wee ones!  If you want further proof of Jeff's connection with the kids, just take a look at our (many!) Baan Dada pictures on facebook.  There are many, many pictures of Jeff with a bunch of different kids.

So while Jeff was being all popular, what was I doing?  Well, as you know, I'm better with girls and as you can figure, I'm better with older kids.  The first night we were doing a 'meditation' session in the library - because nothing says relaxation like meditating with 20 kids leaning on you, right?  (Actually, I can't blame them.  My stomach rumbled so loud during meditation that I heard the next volunteer along giggling!  Some things don't change...).

Anyway, while we were talking then meditating, the two girls on either side of me slowly slid towards me, leaning against me, then putting my arms over their shoulders.  The one on the left was the one I mentioned earlier, who did the head count at the market (by the name of Nongdee, perhaps?), but the one on my right was Notoba.

Nongdee (we'll call her that.  It may be right!) was an open-faced, smiley, confident girl.  Notoba, on the other hand, seemed like a puppy that is used to being kicked.  She often looked almost furtive, but seemed like her heart would burst with happiness when I put my arm around her shoulders or got her to sit on my knee.

The first night the kids went to bed shortly after meditation, but the next night was Christmas Eve and we did carolling.  This involved vast numbers of children and all the volunteers wandering around in the darkness until we bumped into houses (I think the kids knew where they were going...), when we would sing a couple of Christmas carols.  The occupants of the house would then hand over a little money or a gift - the huge bunch of bananas was a hit - which an older kid would collect, to later be shared out between all the kids.  This singing/wandering in the Thai jungle thing lasted hours, but the whole time Notoba stayed firmly attached to me.  The only times she let go was when she went to fetch me a banana and when another kid took my head torch and caused the strap to come undone.  Fiercely jealous of not just me, but of my possessions, she leapt like a little wildcat, snatching my head torch from the other kid so she could fix it for me.  I tried to take it and fix it myself, but she wouldn't let me, insisting on fixing it herself before she gave it back.

The whole week this type of behaviour continued - when camping she would ran to my side if I waved her over and if I walked away she would sit hugging my water bottle until I returned.  Most nights she insisted on giving me a good-night kiss before bed.

On the last night, I told her I would be leaving early the next day.  She gave me a hug that lasted ten minutes and I suspect she was crying.  I felt so terrible leaving her.  Finally I called her away from the others, into the darkness.  I had a little toy attached to my backpack, a pink 'baby Elmo' that Jeff had won me in a game machine here.  I asked her if she liked it and she nodded furiously, so I took it off and gave it to her.  I told her it was something to remember me by.  She looked overjoyed, but in a way that was almost too much for her to handle, that almost bordered on horror.  She clutched it to her chest and ran away into the darkness, off to her bedroom, forgetting to give me my good-night kiss.

That was the last I saw of her.  The next morning Jeff and I left early for elephant riding and river rafting and she wasn't up yet.  However, I had told her she should write to me in Japan and when the non-rafting volunteers caught up to us, I was handed a letter she had written me that morning.  She had asked another volunteer how to spell everything properly and wrote it out painstakingly.  She finished it with an illustration of her and I, depicted as pink Elmos.

This week I finally got my act together to reply to her.  I am sending her some photos of the two of us, a one page letter, plus some Hello Kitty writing paper and pencils so she can write to me.  Also some origami paper with Engrish instructions.  I don't know how much use that will be...  

Anyway, as you can see, Notoba and I were pretty tight and I felt awful leaving her.  Apparently she has one buddy in the orphanage, but it's clear to see she doesn't get along with the other kids well, so the lack of a mother is especially hard.  

I should stop here because it's past midnight and this blog is already incredibly long, but I just wanted to mention the camping trip.  We had been told we would go camping in the jungle and we were not disappointed!  To get to our spot we had to wade three rivers, ride in the back of a ute crammed with gear, then trek along a cow path for what seemed like hours but was, I suspect, about 15 minutes.  We also had to avoid fresh poop on the aforementioned cow path.  Easier said than done when you're wearing a backpack while carrying three pillows, a couple of sleeping bags, two days worth of water and a packet of toilet roll!

Setting up camp involved cutting bamboo to size, then using it as tent poles to hang tarps across (none of us were wilderness-savvy enough for this job - we just watched the older boys work!).  The first girls tent looked like a real tent and even had mosquito netting on either end, brought especially from the bedrooms.  The second, older girls tent, had one tent-like side and one vertical side.  The boys tent,., well, what it looked like was irrelevant because it was full of ants.  The boys ended up storing their gear under there at one end, away from the ant trails, and all sleeping round the riverside campfire under the brilliant moon.  

I had really really wanted to sleep outside too, but I thought I was being stupid because I had a space saved in the tent with the mosquito nets, plus my bedding was all wrapped round Notoba (the space next to mine) and I would need to carefully take my pillow from under her head to take it outside.  However, come sleeping time, one of the other volunteers didn't have a space to sleep AND there was a spare sleeping mat, so I decided it was a sign - I was meant to be sleeping outside.  

Having just farewelled Jeff about 15 minutes earlier, I cheerfully trooped back to the campsite with my bed roll, sleeping bag and pillow and announced I was there to stay.  I set myself up on the last bit of sand (most of the riverbank was stones), at the head of Jeff and the other male volunteers and lay there gazing at the beauty around me.  It was an incredibly beautiful night - a full moon, or one night off it, and a clear sky.  It was one of those brilliant nights when you could read a book by moonlight.  I knew I should sleep, but I couldn't stop marveling at the moonlit jungle and the silvery river only metres away.  Finally I managed to shut my eyes and drift off to sleep.  

Kind of.  The downside of the camp was that kids love to camp.  And they feel sleeping on camp is a waste of time.  A select group of boys (in all fairness probably the same ones who made the tents and set everything up) stayed up ALL NIGHT talking and feeding the bonfire.  I am a pretty heavy sleeper, so I believe I got some sleep.  Maybe even two hours of it.  Cue spending the next day feeling like a zombie until I snuck into the little girls tent, lay down in my original spot and took a really long nap!!  

There were two other incidents which I consider particularly worthy of mention during our camping trip.  The first was quite early in the morning while we were all still lolling around in our blankets, not quite giving up on sleep.  Suddenly one of the male volunteers looked down at his bedding and said, "Oh, hello little scorpion." Wtf?!?!  While it was small, as I later told the guy, he deserves 10 million cool points for his relaxed response to finding a scorpion in his bed!  

End of story is he lost the scorpion in his blanket, found it again, then one of the kids knocked the stinger off it and left it to wander around our beds again.  Err... ok!  

Our second wildlife adventure started off more tame.  We were cleaning up the camp, preparing to leave, when one of the female volunteers shrieked and dropped the rubbish bag she was holding.  Out crawled a decent sized spider - not as large as Avondale spiders in Auckland or the Huntsman spiders here in Japan, but with a larger body than either of those.  Sarah, one of the Hiroshima volunteers, loves insects, so she came over to have a look, then picked it up and moved it away.  

About half an hour later I felt something on my ankle.  I looked down to see the same large spider on my leg.  Startled, I shrieked and kicked my leg, sending it flying.  I then felt foolish having reacted so badly to 'just a spider', so I went over to check it was ok.  But this time one of the 'boys' (he's at uni) from Baan Dada saw. "Oh, don't touch it!" he told us.  "This one is very poisonous!  In the jungle there is this one and the tarantula; their bite can kill you!"  Sarah, standing next to me, went a little pale.  "So, umm, I shouldn't have picked it up, then?"

However all's well that ends well.  The guy then picked up the spider with a stick and took it deeper into the jungle to throw it away.  The kids had protected us from the scorpion and the killer spider, even while they poisoned us by cooking with river water (over the camping trip we had three volunteers go home early feeling ill!) and most of us returned to the orphanage with nothing worse than ant bites!  

I'm going to stop now because this has got crazy long.  Oh, ok, just a couple more points, in reference to some of our facebook photos:

* The pole pictures.  The deal was the poles were greased with car oil and cooking oil.  Prizes were tied to the top.  Kids had to figure out how to climb up there to get the prizes.  Kids are amazing.  They will do anything for some free candy!

* The gift-giving pictures.  On Christmas day we took the Baan Dada kids out to the Mon and Karen communities.  I had come to Thailand viewing the orphanage kids as the ones to be pitied, but I realised on Christmas how wrong I was.  The Baan Dada kids had so much to be thankful for - they were rescued from the lives of poverty and hunger that was their fate in the communities they came from.  And they know it.  They were amazing about sharing with each other and they loved the opportunity to give gifts to other kids.  Christmas truly is about giving, isn't it?  I realised the best 'gift' we gave the Baan Dada kids was the money to buy gifts to give to other kids!  

The highlight of my Christmas day was watching one of the older Baan Dada boys who had returned to the orphanage for Christmas, dressed in his skinny jeans, smart shirt and shades, leaping off the back of the truck and running up to a little girl on the deck of a bamboo pole house, arms laden with gifts.  The little girl, only a toddler, looked so amazed at all the gifts handed up to her and could only look to her mother for confirmation that it was real.  Then the guy jogged back up to the truck, leaving the gifts next to the girl, the only colour or adornment in the bare brown house on its patch of dirt.  This young man wouldn't have looked out of place in any big, fashionable city, but he had a background that meant he would appreciate the worth of everything he had, in a way we can never truly understand.  

Ok, now I really really need to get to bed!  I intended to get up and exercise before work tomorrow morning, but it's 1am now so I doubt that's going to happen!  Never mind - this blog entry was something I had been meaning to do for the longest time.  I hope to later tell you a little about our week being tourists, but it's much less important, to my mind, than sharing our experiences at Baan Dada.

I hope you're all well.

C

xo