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