It’s been neung deuan, or one month, since I’ve left home, and I have one month to go!
This week has definitely flown by! With many reports and other duties this week, I have not found time to write, so this update will be brief. I am so used to having time to myself, but this week it was “Go, go, go!” While I was at the EXTREMELY slow internet café sending my update last week, a guy started up a conversation with me, and after a lot of small talk, he invited me to go out with him and a friend of his. I ended up becoming friends with these two people, named Haley (from Seattle) and Brandon (from Ottowa, Canada) who were traveling just for the heck of it. They decided to come down to Ban Phao on Monday, and stayed the night, helping with the classroom and observing the village. At this point I realized that I have become somewhat proficient in the Lao language! They saw that I could hold conversations without looking at my phrasebook (which until then was my lifeline), and after commenting on it, I made it a point to communicate without the book at all. That was an epic failure. Although I am proud of how far I’ve come in learning the language, I realize I have so much more to learn in the coming month.
Wednesday was a day of rain, and I’m talking flooding, reasons why the houses are built on stilts, rain. Because of this, My parents told me not to teach in the morning, because no students would come. They also did not work, and instead showed me passports, family pictures, certificates that looked like high school diplomas, and friends. This was fun to see more about their life prior to my visit. I was getting ready to take a nap when I was told to come down, because some children were at the house. Surprisingly, some of my students came to the school hoping I would come, and when I failed to arrive, they walked to my house. We proceeded to have class, right there, because they wanted to so badly, then walked up to the school to find even more children waiting. What an awesome feeling to see children excited to learn!
On Friday, I awoke to find that my mother and sister had gone to the farm, and my paw told me to stay home again, and not teach. I found this extremely confusing, but after a while he just said “go to school” and I hopped on the back of his motorcycle. Not realizing how nicely he was dressed, I arrived at school seeing all of the children of the village dressed in their school attire. I thought “Great! Finally they have all come to learn English,” but when the parents came as well (also in their Sunday best… yes that is a joke considering a. Sunday is not the Sabbath for them and b. they do not dress up for worship) I realized that this was a special occasion. I went into a room next to the principal’s office, which my paw proudly said in English was the “Room to Read.” At first this confused me, but while looking around I saw books everywhere, in a horrible disarray, many of them labeled with a sticker that said the same words. Apparently “Room to Read” is Lao’s reading initiative, equivalent to D.E.A.R. (for those of you who forgot, or never had the privilege of participating, it was Drop Everything And Read, in elementary school). We sat for a while, and when it was time, I was herded to a classroom, cleaned, and with a fake tulip sitting on the teacher’s desk. After much chatting, clapping, and presentations, certain students’ names were called, they came in and bowed twice, and were given a certificate just like the one my paw showed me that his children had. Apparently Friday was graduation from regular Lao school! After the cookies and rambutan refreshments accompanied by the highly-acclaimed BPEB-ZEE soft drink, the principal told me to go home. But I was itching to go back into the Room to Read. I have a weird hobby of organizing other people’s things, but never bothering to organize my own. So I spent the day organizing, not stopping for lunch, and putting together broken books, separating the Lao, Lao-English, Lao-(insert Asian language here), solely English, and English-Spanish (what the heck) books. But that was not enough. Then I moved on to the arts and crafts section. At last, with dust on my clothes and paint on my hands, I left to go to Vientiane, in preparation for my visit to Thailand on Saturday.
The visit to Thailand was bland, to be honest. The purpose was to obtain a visa for another month, because it was cheaper than extending the visa, and that is about all that I got from it, other than delicious Thai tea mixed with condensed milk. I forgot my camera so did not go sight-seeing, and did not want to buy anything, because where we were it was all American products. I went with my boss and Brandon, the new friend, and they had already been, but the city (Nang Chai? Nani Thanh?) was not a very important one. The best part was leaving, crossing the Lao-Thai Friendship Bridge and the beautiful sight of the Mekong river.
I have spent the majority of my past 2 weekends in a restaurant called Joma, which serves western food and gives free WiFi, and this weekend finally got up the courage to talk to the waiters in Lao instead of English. Though embarrassing, it was fun to stumble through conversations, but they loved the fact that a westerner decided to speak Lao, because almost no one in the restaurant speaks any Lao. As soon as they saw I could hold a tiny conversation, they spoke 900 words a minute, exactly 7 of which I could understand. I counted.
I got yet another student today, who I did not ask to teach, making a total of 6 students that I teach on Sundays. Though fun at times, the unknown aspect of who will show up is somewhat frustrating. The one physically handicapped girl that I teach is the best, always smiling and happy to be given attention. Apparently the family does not care for her as they should, giving her minimal attention and care, which is probably why, at 12, she is still at minimal movement of her body. But she learns quickly, pointing to different objects correctly if I ask where they are.
I’m about to be picked up by my brother, hope all is well wherever you are in the world!
Loving Laos more and more each day,
Will
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Koi Sia Jai
Koi Sia Jai, I am sorry, for not sending the other e-mail (titled Kop chai lai lai) last week. It was supposed to go, but the stupid internet here is unbearably slow, and I had to return to the SEDA-Laos office to get my visa extended. Just pretend like it’s been a week since you have read the last e-mail, and are now reading this one with full anticipation. (Just kidding).
It is Saturday morning, at around 7:30, and I have been awake for a while, stuffing rice and cow manure into bags and loading them onto a wood cart, watching my sister wash clothes while she refuses to accept my help (probably because she thinks I will mess it up, which is very likely), and preparing to go to my Paw’s cassava farm! I was supposed to go last Saturday, but it rained and poured, and we were not able to make the trip. This week, I have come to realize more things about the Lao culture. First, they have no sense of personal belonging. Everyone shares, which in theory is great, until a westerner like me, with his bubble gum, peanut butter, laptop computer, and fancy cell phone (which I bought in Vientiane to communicate with my director, e-mail if you want the number), arrives, thinking everyone is stealing and taking/borrowing my things without permission. In reality, they do not realize anything is even slightly impolite, and gladly share their food and beer. Speaking of beer, this week many friends o my family came over to the house on Wednesday to celebrate my father’s recovery from a fall 2 weeks ago. Incidentally, he fell because he was inebriated, and he celebrated his recovery none other than by becoming even more inebriated. Which brings me to my second epiphany about Lao culture: they will have a party for anything. For all of you Andy Griffith watchers, it reminds me of the episode where the flower ladies are only allowed to sell moonshine on holidays, and end up making up holidays every day of the week. Off to the farm...
Back from the suan(farm), and surprisingly not tired or extremely dirty. I traveled a long way by boat through river Num, and by boat, I mean a canoe with a motor. I could tell my paw is proud of his land, and works hard to make it fertile. He owns a big chunk of land filled with cassava plants, looking out onto the beautiful puu khao kuay, the Bull Mountains. As I arrived onto the plot, I thought that the land could be better used as a resort to bring in tourists, because I could see myself loving the tropical feel of a land enclosed by forest, next to a river, with a beautiful sight of a mountain range. This week I managed to break not one, but two pairs of sandals, and thankfully brought other shoes to wear in the meantime before I buy superglue in Vientiane to glue the sandals back together. Sadly, I did not go to any weddings this week, but at the moment, while I am waiting for the bus, my family is preparing to go to yet another one.
It is Saturday morning, at around 7:30, and I have been awake for a while, stuffing rice and cow manure into bags and loading them onto a wood cart, watching my sister wash clothes while she refuses to accept my help (probably because she thinks I will mess it up, which is very likely), and preparing to go to my Paw’s cassava farm! I was supposed to go last Saturday, but it rained and poured, and we were not able to make the trip. This week, I have come to realize more things about the Lao culture. First, they have no sense of personal belonging. Everyone shares, which in theory is great, until a westerner like me, with his bubble gum, peanut butter, laptop computer, and fancy cell phone (which I bought in Vientiane to communicate with my director, e-mail if you want the number), arrives, thinking everyone is stealing and taking/borrowing my things without permission. In reality, they do not realize anything is even slightly impolite, and gladly share their food and beer. Speaking of beer, this week many friends o my family came over to the house on Wednesday to celebrate my father’s recovery from a fall 2 weeks ago. Incidentally, he fell because he was inebriated, and he celebrated his recovery none other than by becoming even more inebriated. Which brings me to my second epiphany about Lao culture: they will have a party for anything. For all of you Andy Griffith watchers, it reminds me of the episode where the flower ladies are only allowed to sell moonshine on holidays, and end up making up holidays every day of the week. Off to the farm...
Back from the suan(farm), and surprisingly not tired or extremely dirty. I traveled a long way by boat through river Num, and by boat, I mean a canoe with a motor. I could tell my paw is proud of his land, and works hard to make it fertile. He owns a big chunk of land filled with cassava plants, looking out onto the beautiful puu khao kuay, the Bull Mountains. As I arrived onto the plot, I thought that the land could be better used as a resort to bring in tourists, because I could see myself loving the tropical feel of a land enclosed by forest, next to a river, with a beautiful sight of a mountain range. This week I managed to break not one, but two pairs of sandals, and thankfully brought other shoes to wear in the meantime before I buy superglue in Vientiane to glue the sandals back together. Sadly, I did not go to any weddings this week, but at the moment, while I am waiting for the bus, my family is preparing to go to yet another one.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Kop chai lai lai
Kop chai lai lai, “thank you very much” in Lao, is something that I have said countless times these past two weeks because of the generosity of my family and the people of the Phao village, and something that I’ve realized I have neglected to say to close friends, family, and teachers back at home. Whether it was a kind word said during a stressful time, a much-needed e-mail, or an offer to chat, I am indebted because of the impact that you have had in my physical, emotional, and spiritual growth in various stages of my young life. That being said, a report from the life of a nineteen year-old rising sophomore at UNC, located in a village near Vientiane, Laos, spending 8 weeks teaching English to the local children during the week, and to adults in Vientiane on the weekends:
This week at school was stressful, and the key word I had to keep telling myself was “patience.” Although many of the kids enjoy the class and learning, there is obviously a wide range of interest, ability, and drive to learn. I went from having around fifty children attend class last week to about thirty, but only fifteen to twenty come each day, varying on the day and time. I have seen the dwindling numbers for mainly two reasons; a drastic drop in tangible and edible incentives to do well and try hard, and a rise in the learning-to-playing ratio. Every once in a while, a new game or song will catch their attention for a good 5 to 15 minutes, but there is a constant struggle to find the balance between work and play. I kind of like having fewer children, because I can give each one more attention, and have started to learn almost everyone’s name (although I probably will never pronounce them correctly, and am laughed at when I try a new name). I have students ranging from four to thirteen during the week who attend school irregularly between 8:30 and 3:30, with a 2 hour break for lunch. I am expected to arrive at around 7:45, leave at 11:45 for lunch at home, always consisting of sticky rice and some combination of protein and vegetable, and always accompanied by hot sauce of varying tastes and degrees, seemingly depending on the weather. If it is only mildly scorching hot outside, we must have a hotter sauce to make up the difference. Barb and Dave, you would be proud of my ever-increasing tolerance of spiciness. Before the first day was over, I had learned the word for spicy, “pet,” and had repeated it at least ten times. When I return at 1pm, some of the children, standing next to the classroom door, eagerly wait for me to unlock the building so they can play with the baan (soccer ball), playing cards, or puzzle that I brought. April, that ABC puzzle has been a hit! At 3:30, when the children leave, 2 students, siblings, ages 16 and 20, come in to practice their English. They have already had some training, and one can already read, but just needs to learn more and more grammar and vocabulary. The other one is learning to read, which is quite exciting. I have about 5 children on the brink of having the ability to read. The English alphabet is so weird. Why does the letter “H” (aych) sound so different from the sound it makes in a word? And why does “C” exist? There is already a letter for both of the sounds it makes, “K” and “S”. This, along with other random instances, has made it harder to teach English than I thought. It can be frustrating, because the English language comes so easily to me, to see others struggle to read a seemingly simple word. I have explanations for some things, but alas, what I have been led to say (in Lao) to students when I do not know the answer is “No ask. Remember.”
I have a newfound respect for the entity of school; not because of the drive of the Lao children to learn, but because I now know the work that teachers must put into planning and executing every hour of every day. To you teachers out there, I see how rewarding, but also how exhausting it can be. I have gotten a taste of everything, posing as a kindergarten teacher one minute, a foreign-language teacher the next, a middle-school teacher telling students that the next note I see, I will make them stay longer to help clean the room. Lao children are essentially the same as American children. They would rather play than work, but when work is fun they love it, and they appreciate kind words and the good feeling of success when they’ve gotten the answer right. They help each other and cheat sometimes, and are quite competitive, which I have been able to use to my advantage, creating games to force learning and memorization. Songs have been great, ranging from “The Alphabet Song” to “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.”
With school over at 5, I walk home to help my 16 year-old sister with household chores that she is responsible for. That is her job, day in and day out, to cook meals, sweep floors, do laundry, and make everyone else feel better after a long day. My mother and father own a potato farm and a rice field, but last year both lands were flooded, so this year they are having to work extra hard to make up for lost profit. My grandmother, at 86, is the only grandparent left, and spends her days at a Laotian-style spinning wheel, making religious decorations of some sort (I still do not know what their importance is), and conversing with other people of her same age. Although in general Lao people look very young for their age, there is a point when they go from middle-aged to old, and I have not seen a middle ground. I think because of their lack of health, once they reach a certain point, hair and teeth start to fall out and skin wrinkles deeply. It is sad to see this, but they are accustomed to that type of aging, and have come to expect it, though I see a change in the younger generation, who more ardently wish to brush their teeth and wash their hands.
Today I was supposed to go to the potato farm with my father, but it began to rain, and here, it RAINS. It is the start of monsoon season, which everyone seems to be extremely thankful for after the long hot dry season, but it had put a damper on some of my activities. On Monday, I was at a wedding in the village, and it started to pour, thankfully right after we made the ceremonial walk around the village to the tent where the second part of the ceremony is held. If there is a reverent part to the marriage, I have never been invited to that part. I only see partying, merry drunkenness, and laughter. I don’t know why, but there have been many weddings and parties here recently. I have already been to 3, and my sister, Tawng, nicknamed Lem-Bo, (meaning big-boned, I think, because she is a little heftier then her pint-sized siblings) attended another today. They love to dance, but not at all like my parents dance, and DEFNITELY not like I dance. Everyone pairs off, one guy and one girl, but we do not touch, and all we do is sway from side-to-side, and move our hands like we are in a hula dance. I am always asked, “Muan baw”, or “Fun, no?” And it is all I can do to keep myself from saying, “You’re missing out on the FUN of dancing!”
Another week under my belt, and I don’t know how I feel. I do miss people at home, but also love that I am getting settled into my niche in Ban Phao. Time is moving slowly and quickly at the same time, and what I know is that I have six more weeks of struggles and fun, new experiences, and definitely more memories to make. That’s it for now, have a great week!
Will
This week at school was stressful, and the key word I had to keep telling myself was “patience.” Although many of the kids enjoy the class and learning, there is obviously a wide range of interest, ability, and drive to learn. I went from having around fifty children attend class last week to about thirty, but only fifteen to twenty come each day, varying on the day and time. I have seen the dwindling numbers for mainly two reasons; a drastic drop in tangible and edible incentives to do well and try hard, and a rise in the learning-to-playing ratio. Every once in a while, a new game or song will catch their attention for a good 5 to 15 minutes, but there is a constant struggle to find the balance between work and play. I kind of like having fewer children, because I can give each one more attention, and have started to learn almost everyone’s name (although I probably will never pronounce them correctly, and am laughed at when I try a new name). I have students ranging from four to thirteen during the week who attend school irregularly between 8:30 and 3:30, with a 2 hour break for lunch. I am expected to arrive at around 7:45, leave at 11:45 for lunch at home, always consisting of sticky rice and some combination of protein and vegetable, and always accompanied by hot sauce of varying tastes and degrees, seemingly depending on the weather. If it is only mildly scorching hot outside, we must have a hotter sauce to make up the difference. Barb and Dave, you would be proud of my ever-increasing tolerance of spiciness. Before the first day was over, I had learned the word for spicy, “pet,” and had repeated it at least ten times. When I return at 1pm, some of the children, standing next to the classroom door, eagerly wait for me to unlock the building so they can play with the baan (soccer ball), playing cards, or puzzle that I brought. April, that ABC puzzle has been a hit! At 3:30, when the children leave, 2 students, siblings, ages 16 and 20, come in to practice their English. They have already had some training, and one can already read, but just needs to learn more and more grammar and vocabulary. The other one is learning to read, which is quite exciting. I have about 5 children on the brink of having the ability to read. The English alphabet is so weird. Why does the letter “H” (aych) sound so different from the sound it makes in a word? And why does “C” exist? There is already a letter for both of the sounds it makes, “K” and “S”. This, along with other random instances, has made it harder to teach English than I thought. It can be frustrating, because the English language comes so easily to me, to see others struggle to read a seemingly simple word. I have explanations for some things, but alas, what I have been led to say (in Lao) to students when I do not know the answer is “No ask. Remember.”
I have a newfound respect for the entity of school; not because of the drive of the Lao children to learn, but because I now know the work that teachers must put into planning and executing every hour of every day. To you teachers out there, I see how rewarding, but also how exhausting it can be. I have gotten a taste of everything, posing as a kindergarten teacher one minute, a foreign-language teacher the next, a middle-school teacher telling students that the next note I see, I will make them stay longer to help clean the room. Lao children are essentially the same as American children. They would rather play than work, but when work is fun they love it, and they appreciate kind words and the good feeling of success when they’ve gotten the answer right. They help each other and cheat sometimes, and are quite competitive, which I have been able to use to my advantage, creating games to force learning and memorization. Songs have been great, ranging from “The Alphabet Song” to “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.”
With school over at 5, I walk home to help my 16 year-old sister with household chores that she is responsible for. That is her job, day in and day out, to cook meals, sweep floors, do laundry, and make everyone else feel better after a long day. My mother and father own a potato farm and a rice field, but last year both lands were flooded, so this year they are having to work extra hard to make up for lost profit. My grandmother, at 86, is the only grandparent left, and spends her days at a Laotian-style spinning wheel, making religious decorations of some sort (I still do not know what their importance is), and conversing with other people of her same age. Although in general Lao people look very young for their age, there is a point when they go from middle-aged to old, and I have not seen a middle ground. I think because of their lack of health, once they reach a certain point, hair and teeth start to fall out and skin wrinkles deeply. It is sad to see this, but they are accustomed to that type of aging, and have come to expect it, though I see a change in the younger generation, who more ardently wish to brush their teeth and wash their hands.
Today I was supposed to go to the potato farm with my father, but it began to rain, and here, it RAINS. It is the start of monsoon season, which everyone seems to be extremely thankful for after the long hot dry season, but it had put a damper on some of my activities. On Monday, I was at a wedding in the village, and it started to pour, thankfully right after we made the ceremonial walk around the village to the tent where the second part of the ceremony is held. If there is a reverent part to the marriage, I have never been invited to that part. I only see partying, merry drunkenness, and laughter. I don’t know why, but there have been many weddings and parties here recently. I have already been to 3, and my sister, Tawng, nicknamed Lem-Bo, (meaning big-boned, I think, because she is a little heftier then her pint-sized siblings) attended another today. They love to dance, but not at all like my parents dance, and DEFNITELY not like I dance. Everyone pairs off, one guy and one girl, but we do not touch, and all we do is sway from side-to-side, and move our hands like we are in a hula dance. I am always asked, “Muan baw”, or “Fun, no?” And it is all I can do to keep myself from saying, “You’re missing out on the FUN of dancing!”
Another week under my belt, and I don’t know how I feel. I do miss people at home, but also love that I am getting settled into my niche in Ban Phao. Time is moving slowly and quickly at the same time, and what I know is that I have six more weeks of struggles and fun, new experiences, and definitely more memories to make. That’s it for now, have a great week!
Will
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