Space Between Privation Nonkhai, Thailand
My day started at 5pm yesterday. Despite this, it still managed to be completely full.
I stumbled off the train from Bangkok into the misty rice paddies and greenery of the north. Odd feeling walking into the dew of the morning in Nongkhai. It's strange wearing long sleeved shirts and pants again. I haven't been chilly in a month.
It was early, way too early for me to begin thinking after the sleeper train, which didn't include much sleep. Nongkhai hugs the Mekong River, and is a main transport hub from Bangkok to Vientiene. The river is the border, and Laos is right over that thick band of water.
Huge river. I've seen the Mississippi and the Zambezi, but god, this one is big.
Got in a tuk-tuk from the train station, who assumed I was going over the bridge to Laos. Not many people stop in this town for more than a day. It's a border town mostly, with a few farang here and there taking pictures of Wats.
My guesthouse is right on the water. I got in and flopped down on my bed for three hours, woke up at 5, and started my day. I met my dorm mate when I got up: a french-canadian coming from Laos in town for a Yoga class. Told her about the orphanage, my plans, and convinced her to come meet the kids.
We got a tuk-tuk from the corner, haggled with him for a few minutes. The tuk-tuks here are amazingly different from Bangkok. They look like big fat harleys married with circus wagons. Brightly painted cabs sitting on the backs of these giant bikes. The engines sound huge, full of roar, but have absolutely no muscle. The drivers look pretty mean gripping their long curved handlebars, riding high off the ground, reclining on their tall multicolored seats. I think they pretend not to notice their little motors revving high in fourth gear, maxing out at 20 miles per hour while children-laden scooters passed us on the road. To them it's all about appearance.
This became painfully apparent after the 45 minute drive out of town. Our driver said he knew where to go, but didn't. We stopped at a tiny town full of fruit stands so I could make a phone call. One cell phone on a table in the middle of this village was the payphone. A hundred people's only connection to the outside world. I called this guy named Ood who runs the office at the orphanage.
"Give me to the taxi driver." said Ood.
The gruff, unshaven taxi driver in camo pants took the phone bashfully. Listened for awhile, nodded, pretended to be cool. "Cap Cap Cap" he said, which is like "yea yea yea."
Ushered us back into the tuk-tuk, drove us around for another 15 minutes, got lost again. Eventually, he stopped at a street corner and with his macho swagger walked over to this tiny little old woman in a wheelchair, and quietly asked for directions. We drove back down the road we were just on, turned into a little brown driveway, stopped in a dusty parking lot.
Squat concrete building, faces peeking out of windows, bashful ones hiding behind curtains. The second we got there, these little girls started to scamper out of the doorway. Every one of them putting their hands together, bowing, saying "Sawasdee Cah" very politely.
After ten minutes we were inside around a couch, with four kids climbing all over me, laughing hysterically. They called me "fadang." for awhile.
"What your name?" an older one asked.
"Toh.." (pause) "..bee" I said.
They call me Tohbee now. None of them are Lisu, fortunately.
I try to remember their names but it's really hard. They're all monosyllabic and are like transcribed sounds. I sat over a table with a piece of paper from my sketchpad. All of them crowding around the paper, trying to see what i'm doing. I drew little caricatures of each of them, as they giggled and hid their faces. It wasn't hard. BIG smiles all around.
Kong is the one with the part. Kat is missing a front-tooth. Ying is just a big hat with two hands because she was hiding. The whole time there was a kid sitting on my back and one wrapped around my arm, quietly poking my side.
Dinner came fast, and they fed us sticky rice, fried fish and stringbeans. We sat at the "grown-up" table, and spoke with the older girls and guessed eachother’s ages. The oldest one, Ja, made us this amazing coconut milk soup with pumpkin just for us because we were guests.
Afterwards we played this game which involved throwing a stack of cards on the floor, picking up the ones that turned over, and then playing ten hands of rock scissors paper yelling "Chom! Chom! Chom!" The first round I threw I either did something really good or really bad because everyone yelled "Ooooooh!!!" when all my cards turned over. Still haven't figured it out.
Ood picked us up soon after that, and we said goodbye to the tender little kids. Ood is a normal looking thai guy. He's 32, wears sneakers and a t-shirt. He's also one of the most kind, generous and giving people i've ever met. Left his family business in Bangkok to come work with kids. 7 days a week, long long hours. He lives at one of the orphanages with the boys.
Anyhow, he took us to this big sleepy building into a room covered in mats with kids lying in them, staring up at us in the dark. All of the kids are on anti-retrovirals, and their medication keeps them awake. Not enough beds, not enough rooms. Lots of them sleep on the floor.
Ood tells us that they just lost half of their annual funding for the 50 kids they take care of.
I ask him how much they lost, and he tells me $50,000.
Per child, per year, that's not that much money where I come from.
I'll save the soapbox for my next missive. Still working on figuring out my perspective, but my focus is solidifying here. Lots of input, overwhelming stimulus. I'm probably going to spend a week with these kids, but I'll write when I can.
Much love to all,
Tobias