Gwen in Thailand

  As I write the young work skills teacher, Boe Reh is lying on the floor near me in the ‘office’, sound asleep and snoring softly. Out of one window, I watch a man drawing water up from the well with a bucket, which he then transfers to large plastic containers. Beneath me, the students are having a computer class, sharing one laptop between three. Mobile phones are common but this is the first time most have used a computer so they are learning to open documents, send emails etc. A low rumble of conversation percolates upwards as they chat to each other with the occasional burst of laughter. A former student on a work placement is also hanging out in the office. He is learning English via an app on his phone. I catch the phrases ‘ How is your love life? ‘ and ‘Will you marry me? ‘ I regret not hearing more as I have to go and teach.     Is his programme called     ‘ English for the desperate single man‘?   Drawing water from well Last weekend, on the way back from Mae Hong Son on the

  The longer I am here, the more I accept as normal things that, at the outset, seem strange. Then something happens to remind me that I am living in a very different culture or cultures, Thai or Karenni, depending on where I happen to be. Mae Hong Son, where I go for a visa renewal, is a typically northern Thai town with the golden spire of a wat (Buddhist temple) peeping through the trees on the hill above. Friday night in the guesthouse, a minibus arrives and    a number of orange clad monks descend. Are they here for a religious festival? The following day I pass a wat overlooking a small lake on my way to a cafe that makes its own bread (sigh of ecstasy). Next to it, on open ground, are large canopies, plastic chairs underneath, with a giant photo of an elderly monk at the entrance. Thai police, male and female are closing off the roads.  I chat to the cafe owner, asking about the festival. ‘Yes, it is funeral’.     Regrouping my thoughts, I realise that the picture is of a dead m

  One lunchtime, I notice Tse Reh sitting in front of a laptop, practising his new computer skills, wearing dark glasses. ‘Why? ' I enquire. He removes them and I see red eyes . ‘Are your eyes sore?’ I ask, then, when he looks blank. I repeat ‘sore',  mime a headache by clutching my head saying ‘sore head’ and wincing, then repeat same with eye. Who needs proper sentences? He understands. ‘Yes, teacher.’ I guess he may need glasses and thinking I could buy some reading glasses on my next visit to the metropolis of Mae Hong Son, I wonder what strength he might need. Do I buy a variety and see if any work? Who to consult? Google of course. I     learn about reading charts and tests for reading glass strength and, briefly, fantasise about how, in another life, I might have become an ophthalmologist. Google makes experts of us all though as Ian, my dearly beloved, used to quip. ‘The definition of expert, ‘ex’ is a has been and ‘ a spurt’     is a drip under pressure....’ So I remov

  Bo Reh gives me a pink and black booklet, ‘The Loyal Karens of Burma’ from the Historical Collection of the British library. Published in 1887, this was written two years after the British annexed Burma. There's nothing like getting the latest perspective! The British signed a treaty allowing the Karen states independence, probably due to the fact that they were less economically productive and so not worth subduing rather than from noble intentions. The  comments on the Burmese and Karen character  reflect colonial attitudes of the time, with the title of the book suggesting where the writer’s sympathy lay. Sample: ‘ The ordinary Burman is cringing to his superiors and overbearing to his inferiors. The Karen loathes this.’ And ‘ Treat a Karen firmly and kindly, and he behaves like a real gentleman’ . I doubt the writer ever reflected on the fact that a subjugated people might have behaved in a more servile manner than those who did not have to rely on an oppressor for their liv

About 5.30 am I hear the sounding of chopping as one of the students starts splitting logs in order to get large pieces of kindling for lighting the little brazier. Another starts pounding chillis in a large mortar for breakfast. Groups of five take it in turns to cook each day. It is quite cool at night during this season and I throw on another of the thin cotton patchwork blankets. They are surprisingly heavy but poor at keeping the heat so I try to balance warmth versus weight. I think longingly of my lovely, light duvet at home. Before the sun has burnt off the morning mist, the students are already warming themselves around fires they have started under the coconut palms. I have the luxury of my own room and a rather hard mattress on the floor but they sleep on thin woven mats on wooden platforms, about 10 of them in together, each wrapped in a blanket. That probably does not encourage lying in. The smell of woodsmoke percolates through the shutters and I grab a few more minutes

  And so to a guest house in Mae Hong Son for one night. I am trying not to get overexcited at the thought of the luxuries that await- clean, white sheets, a bed, a shower with hot water, an ensuite bathroom, food that is neither rice nor fried.                                 Wats in Mae Hong Son Bu Reh’s friend arrives on his motorbike. He has Thai papers and so can take me to Mae Hong Son. First we go to his sister’s house so and  he can check with her where the guest house is. The sister speaks good English and this provides me with a timely opportunity to check out the situation regarding refugees and dentists.  One of my students Maw Prae Meh, has toothache.  A few days ago, one of her friends tells me ‘Teacher, Maw Prae no sleep. Tooth hurt.’ Maw Prae looks at me with large pain filled eyes while holding a hand to her jaw. ‘Let me look’ I ask and she opens her mouth. At the back there is a molar, possibly a wisdom tooth with very obvious signs of decay. My heart sinks. She must