Ponsinuane Primary School

I wish you all could meet the wonderful children I spend my afternoons with at Ponsinuane Primary School! This local public school has only 90 children and 4 small classrooms, but the spirit of the place is anything but tiny. Since 2002, youth from the community have been serving as volunteers with the village children, and one year later, they began to introduce after school activities into the primary school including: storytelling, reading, drama, games, music, garbage dividing, recycling and composting. The Ponsinuane Volunteer Group (PVG) now has its own building at the school and operates after school programs each afternoon, as well as volunteer taught English classes as a part of the regular school day. MCC supports a part time staff person (who is himself a young adult from the community) to help with the implementation of PVG's activities as well as sending me as a half time volunteer to teach English and help with the after school program. It is very special for these children to have the undivided time and attention that the volunteers give each day and for our part it's very meaningful to build relationships with the children!

World Views Make a Difference Towards Global Transformation

The 3rd International Conference on “Gross National Happiness”
Nongkai/ Bangkok, Thailand

I admit, I was more than a little skeptical when I was first told that I would be joining a delegation from our volunteer peacemaker team to attend a conference in Thailand on “Gross National Happiness” (GNH). What purpose could it possibly serve to hold an international conference on the hazy theme of happiness? And aren’t there more important things to be worrying about these days? My skepticism quickly faded, however, when the conference began and I learned what the concept of GNH was all about. You see, the king of Bhutan initiated the first GNH conference in 2004 because he was tired of the way the world judged the success of a country based solely on their Gross Domestic Product. He decided that in this age of environmental degradation, rampant globalization, cultural decline and scarce resources, it was time to work together towards a new paradigm of success. At the first international conference in Bhutan, the four pillars that “GNH” works towards were created. They are as follows:
· Good Governance
· Sufficiency Economy
· Sustainable Environment
· Cultural Recovery


This year’s conference had two unique parts. Firstly, we, representatives from Bhutan, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia, South Korea, Japan, Thailand, Fiji, Burma, Sri Lanka, Tibet, New Zealand, Brazil, Canada, U.S., England, Russia and Serbia gathered in a forest temple for three days in Nongkhai, Thailand. Monks, nuns and spiritual leaders from various religious backgrounds deeply enriched the experience. It was a meaningful time of religious and cultural dialogue, relationship building and discussions on such topics as “engaged spirituality”, “local wisdom”, “the urban/rural gap”, “right relationships with the environment”, “peace building” and much more.

After this informal, preliminary part of the conference, we traveled 12 hours by bus to Chulalonghorn University in Bangkok. It felt good to be back on the familiar ground of a university campus. In Bangkok, academics and representatives from governmental and non-governmental organizations from all over the world presented papers, held workshops and premiered films, all surrounding one or more of the four pillars of GNH. The Prime Ministers of both Thailand and Bhutan even made an appearance to offer their support at the opening ceremonies.

Highlights for me from this portion of the conference included a paper presented about conflict resolution used to help transform conflict between Buddhist and Muslim youth in a juvenile detention centre, a workshop about the storyteller’s role in society, a film By Helena Norberg-Hodge called “The Economics of Happiness”, a concert by a famous Sri Lankan musical ensemble and a conversation I had on a bus with an American woman who started an eco-village in Brazil 30 years ago. I don't know that I have ever been in the presence of such an eclectic mix of people before.

*If you want to learn more about the GNH paradigm, visit www.gnh-movement.org

Gross National Happiness Conference, Thailand

A version of the festival I talked about in my entry "Light in the Darkness" is held 1 month later in Thailand, so I got to participate in it again! Pictured here are my friends Kalia and Nic from MCC's peacebuilding team.

We marchedthrough the streets in a festive parade with banners bearing the four pillars of "GNH": Good Governance, Sufficiency Economy, Sustainable Environment and Cultural Recovery.

In a village close to Nongkhai, villagers organized a feast for all three hundred of us, complete with music and dancing! This group blended traditional Thai instruments with drums, a violin and an electric guitar.

Conference banners guided us through the forest at this Theravada Buddhist temple compound in NongKhai, Thailand.

Heart Dance

In the cool of the night
in rhythm with the ancient drums,
my heart pounds like love.
Love of a planet.

I’m afraid to look down at this page,
for already each second is speeding away
like the paper lantern we have flung into the heavens,
a new star
a new vision.
A vision of happiness for this continent
and for the planet it calls home.

Gathered from the far reaches of Asia
and beyond
we dance feverishly,
as though the fate of each sentient being rests in our spiraling arms,
no telling what may happen if we fall still.
still.
still as the monks in our midst,
wrapped warmly in their fire coloured robes.
Deep red for Bhutan, brilliant orange for Thailand.

And if I close my eyes and squint a little
every pounding heart will rise
into the night like so many paper lanterns.

*I wrote this poem during a particularly meaningful evening of the "Third International Conference on Gross National Happiness" held in Thailand. I will post some pictures and highlights of the conference very soon!

In a strange Lao style mix up, my fellow SALTers and I were signed up to run the 10k race instead of the 5K we had been training for. It worked out well in the end though and somehow all three of found it within ourselves to finish. My time came in at just under an hour, but don't get too excited; the route was suspiciously short. Our best guess is that we ran 8 or 9K. Larry, another MCCer who signed up to run the 21K had the opposite problem. The turn around sign was somehow knocked down and he (along with dozens of other runners) wound up running close to 30K! I'm excited to keep running in the mornings here and hopefully find opportunities to run a few more races, if not in Laos then when I return to Canada.

Disabled Women Join in International Friendship Half Marathon Event

Photo by Kaylie Tiessen

In the early hours of Saturday, November 17, 2007, the streets of downtown Vientiane were strangely empty of their usual fleet of motorcycles, tuk-tuks and cars, but the Lao National Stadium and the surrounding streets were a hub of activity none the less. Runners and walkers of many ages and nationalities showed off their physical abilities in Vientiane’s 10th Annual International Friendship Half Marathon. And while athletic types, the stereotypical participants in such an event, were present in abundance, they did not hold a monopoly on attendance. Also present were nearly forty women from the Lao Disabled Women’s Development Centre (LDWDC), all in matching light blue t-shirts, some in wheel chairs, others supported by crutches or friends, who overcame the obstacles of their disabilities to participate in this athletic event.

Some of the more able bodied women and their able bodied supporters took part in the 5,10 and (in one instance) even the 21 kilometre races, while the majority of the group stayed inside the National Stadium and completed three symbolic laps of the track. Though this may seem an easy task for an able bodied person, it was a feat accomplished only through great determination by these strong-spirited disabled women, who wanted to raise awareness of the challenges that disabled people face everyday, as well as draw attention to their many abilities. Ms. Kinnilone, herself a disabled woman and long time employee of the LDWDC had a clear message to get across on race day. “I want to say to all disabled people in Laos, and especially the women, be sure to pay attention to your work and education. Be confident! Remember that you are still a valuable part of this society and don’t let yourself become depressed by your physical disabilities.”

And how do the women feel about this special day? “They [were] very happy to attend,” says LDWDC director Ms. Chanhpheng Sivila. “The women come from many provinces, and they heard about International Friendship Half Marathon in Vientiane, but never before had the opportunity to participate. This event is about friendship and the women are happy to join in with able bodied people.” Each woman was awarded a special certificate for her efforts as she crossed the finish line. It is certainly an accomplishment that each one can be proud of for a long time to come.

As for the Lao Disabled Women’s Development Centre, the race to raise awareness and support for disabled women didn’t stop at the finish line. Today, the centre draws disabled women (and a few men) from all parts of the country, who are given a chance to learn a practical skill. The LDWDC offers vocational training and employment to these individuals in sewing, paper making, weaving or basic computer literacy as well as introductory English language instruction. Upon completion of their training, participants are able to return to their home communities with a new level of self worth and dignity, as they are now able to use their newly acquired skills to contribute to the family livelihood.

In addition to benefiting the individuals who pass through the centre, LDWDC acts as a valuable resource to the wider community, by demonstrating the abilities and potential of people living with disabilities and by building awareness within the general public of the needs and aspirations of disabled people in the Lao P.D.R.

*The LDWDC is supported in part by MCC Laos. For those of you who know Jane Snider and Larry Nafziger, they have worked with the centre for the past three years.

Light in the Darkness

When I step outside, under the full moon, I find Nalene, Isaac and Meh Jenah carefully lighting dozens of tiny candles and melting their bottoms to secure them to our front gate. Strangers are welcomed tonight. The children play with sparklers and firecrackers in wild abandonment. It is the night before the Buddhist “Boat Festival”, and everywhere I look, the world is lit up in celebration. Just when I think the beauty of the night has reached its pinnacle, relatives from next door, a young couple and their eight year old daughter pull up in their truck and open the door to me. This is my invitation to the riverside festivities.

We park as close to the river as we can and then, pushing through throngs of people, we stop to purchase little arrangements of candles on top of banana leaf rafts, one for each of us. And then it’s time to slide and scramble, down the slippery bank. My friend firmly takes hold of one hand so I don’t get lost in the crowd, and with our other hands we hold our candles high above our heads. As we reach the water’s edge, I cannot help but gasp audibly. Drifting southward down the river are thousands of tiny candles. So many prayers light up the darkness. Across the river in Thailand are many more flickering candles, backed by a sky full of fireworks. We are not alone.

But we don’t send our candles to float on the river just yet. Instead, I find myself pulled into a tiny boat. And suddenly we are out on the river, speeding among these luminous prayers, a cool breeze playing with our hair. Just as suddenly we reach a barge in the middle of the river, lit up with flickering green and orange lights, perfectly synchronized to look like a boat and its rowers. We clamber up the side of the barge (which reaches past my shoulders when I stand up in our wobbling little boat), to find a feast spread out before us, behind the curtain of festive lights. Here we are far from the crowds, with only a handful of people seated here, gathered to eat, drink and celebrate. Our laughter too adds to the brilliance of this night.

When we’ve eaten our fill and basked in the glow the moonlight and candlelight long enough, we go to the edge of the barge, slide onto our stomachs and reach far, far down to the water below, to release our newly lit candles. This festival is held in honour of a religion not my own, but its beauty has moved me. As I watch my candle float around the barge and out of sight, I pray passionately to the Creator God I know, thankful for and inspired by the radiance of this night.

It’s after midnight when we arrive home and for once I am the one who must call through the window of the sleeping house for the door to be opened.

Judging Poverty

How do I pull together the pieces of my week in the heart of the Lao countryside? When I sleep the glow of verdant rice paddies is still emblazoned in my mind and the aroma of steaming sticky rice, freshly harvested. But so too are the tired eyes of mothers, young women wrinkled and work hardened well before their time in an effort to keep their little ones full of rice. We travel to village after village, attend meeting after meeting, all full of disadvantaged people. We’re here to assess their level of poverty, their need of our assistance. “How many months in a year do you lack enough rice to eat?” and “Do you have any livestock?” and “What do you do when your children get sick?” Judging poverty.

Then we’re on to another village. By now it’s nearly dark but the children crowd around me and speak to me in quiet voices and I take picture after picture just to show them their face, maybe for the first time. These children are hungry. Their hair is tinged with orange and their bellies are swollen. I carefully record each of their ages in my notebook, sometimes doubling the age I initially guessed. “Who are you?” they say. “I am from Canada,” I say, but I’m met with blank expressions. “It’s close to America,” I say “have you ever heard of America?” The children shake their heads, “no”. By now their parents have gathered too and the meeting has started. The black night is lit by a candle, a bamboo torch, a fire. “Where do you get your water?” and “What do you eat when you run out of rice?” and “How do you irrigate your rice paddies.” Judging poverty.

I want to stay in each village for a week, a year, but as quickly as we come, we’re off again, flying over potholes into the depth of night. My head rings with the answers to our questions.

“We walk 30 minutes to the river to get our drinking water and to bathe and to fish, but the river’s running dry.”

“We have no water to irrigate our fields.”

“We collect food from the forest and sell rattan from the forest too,
but the forest is disappearing.”

“We can’t afford to take our children to the hospital
unless we think they’re going to die.”

“There are more people now than before.”

“There is less food now than before.”

They are poor. With enough time and resources, we could find work in each and every village we visit. As it is, we must judge the depth of their poverty and be selective.

Tha Thom District, Central Laos

UXO in Laos: Generating Pain and Hindering Development, 30 years after the Vietnam War

Photo by Maryanne Mutch

To reach the village of Yam Cha Yeum Xay, we must venture down the river in a shallow wooden boat, the noise of the engine causing the water buffalos to look up from their contemplative cud chewing as we pass by. Our vista of tree covered mountains, topped in mist, and the dense jungle whose ancient trees reach skyward and whose vines and runners reach down to graze our shoulders, lets me cling to a fantasy that we intrepid explorers are the first to ever experience this beauty. But when we step onto solid ground again and cross a rickety bamboo bridge, we find a village full of people, well established in this place. They wash their clothes on these banks. The water buffalos grazing on the shore belong to them. They eat the fish of these waters everyday. This place is their own.

We are here to ask questions about agriculture, sanitation and nutrition in order to find out whether this village would be a good location for a new MCC food security project. But development in this place has more than the usual obstacles. Bombies (as the Lao call the bomblets of cluster bombs) and other unexploded ordnance (UXO) which have remained hidden in the earth since the time of the Vietnam war (or as it is called here “The American War”), are ready to maim or kill the unsuspecting farmer who strikes it with his hoe or the curious child who is fascinated by this strange new toy.

Here in the village of Yam Cha Yeum Xay, we are sent to visit one such child in his home. Twelve year old Lampan Vanmasane was excited to have a break from school last April for Lao New Year. He spent the day fishing in the river with a friend. As the boys started for home, Lampan realized that he had forgotten his shoes on the bank and so he sent his friend on ahead while he ran bank to collect them. But as Lampan bent down to slip on his shoes, he saw something shining in the water. “I thought it was a flashlight,” he recounts now, as we sit cross legged in the only room of his family’s bamboo home, set high off the ground on stilts.

Lampan was disappointed with what he found, however, for when he reached down to pull this “flashlight” out of the water. What he held in his small hand was only an old, rusty tube of metal. But as he threw his discarded treasure back into the river, the impact triggered an explosion, sending tiny shards of metal shooting out in all directions, including one small piece, which lodged itself in Lampan’s side. Though he still feels sharp pains in his side six months later, Lampan was lucky. Not only did the water keep the debris from traveling further, but the scrap of metal in his body did not pierce any internal organs.

The noise from the explosion set the village into action. Lampan was quickly laid into a boat and taken to the nearest road, where he traveled first by military jeep and later by bus, through most of the night. Finally, at 3 a.m. he reached the hospital. The cost of transportation and two weeks in the hospital set Lampan’s family back over $300 U.S., more money than most Lao families see in a year. Three of the family’s precious cows were sold to pay the debt. “I am happy that we were able to take care of my boy,” Lampan’s father tells us. The security of owning livestock is a luxury beyond the means of many of his friends and neighbours.

And so, if we decide to work with food security in this place, we must first cover the expense of having the rice paddies and river in this area cleared of UXO. The situation is filled with irony. It was North Americans who left behind these deadly souvenirs and now, as a North American relief and development agency we must deal with the consequences. But it is the Lao people who pay the true cost, year after year, in the loss and injury of their animals, friends and families, stretching on into the unseen future.

Hello, my name is Jessica and I am an awkward falang!

During our first weeks in this new country, we four young women who were new to Laos became an informal support group for each other, a safe place to vent about our cultural blunders and questions. Though we are still very much falangs (foreigners) we are no longer feeling quite so awkward, nor do we so each other all that often.
Occasionally, however, I do find myself slipping back into the awkward category. I am now that strange, white girl who jogs around my neighbourhood at dawn. As it turns out, although running here in Laos is perfectly culturally appropriate, it’s still extremely rare to see. But as I dodge chickens and potholes, speeding up to avoid mangy dogs and slowing down to let a herd of cattle pass, I catch glimpses of my neighbours lives as well.
I call out “Sa bai dee!” and I press my palms together and bow a little as I run by and they call out whichever word or two of English they happen to know, looking up from their cooking fires to grin at me. Their smiles widen as I call back in my increasingly less broken Lao. These 10 second encounters often set the tone of my day. And there is more. In the middle of November the “Lao Disabled Women’s Development Centre”, an MCC assisted project, is sponsoring a half marathon, a 10K and a 5K run to raise awareness of disability issues in Laos. I’m not quite up for that half marathon just yet, but we SALTers have made a pact to run that 5K.
There is one small obstacle. I have never really been a runner before, at least not since my 10 minutes of track and field fame in elementary school. But I look at the whole situation like this: two months ago I couldn’t read or write Lao and now, in the simplest sense of the words, I can. In comparison to that, how difficult can running be? I think it’s a challenge I’m ready to take on.

A Day in My Life

After my lengthy series of disconnected stories, have you ever wondered what it is I actually do in a day? Every day is quite different, but yesterday, my day looked something like this.

6:00 a.m. –I drag myself out of bed and then out into the cool air for my morning run.

6:40 a.m.-My chore for the morning is to sweep and mop the floor.

7:15 a.m.-After my first bucket bath of the day and some serious ironing, I’m neatly dressed, coiffed and sitting down to a breakfast of stir fried tofu and leafy greens over rice.

8:05 a.m. –I pull into the MCC office compound, only slightly late, after weaving my way through an army of motorcycles, bicycle drawn carts and a few luxury SUVs. Today’s projects include working on a newsletter for MCC’s ethnic minority teacher education program and reorganizing the office library.

12:00 p.m.-I eat lunch with my Lao colleagues at “MCC Restaurant” (so called because one of MCC’s long term employees has eaten there every day for the last seventeen years). In this open air, road side shop, our rice noodle and beef soup (feuh) is cooked over an open fire and then topped with green onions, bean sprouts, lime and mint.

2:00 p.m.-After a long Lao style lunch break, My English classes begin at Ponsinuane Primary School. My co-teacher, Happy, recently spent a year in British Columbia volunteering with MCC and so we teach Canadian English.

3:00p.m.-While the other children run and shout and play, it is the grade 3’s turn to visit the school’s little library. A group of girls crowds around, and we take turns reading aloud from Lao story books. When it’s my turn they shriek with laughter and call out the corrections to my frequent mistakes, fully enjoying the opportunity to correct a teacher.

5:00p.m.-After the adventure of my drive home, it’s time for bucket shower number two. I’m on babysitting duty today, and so I scoop up baby Joshua, and Isaac runs ahead excitedly, and we head outside for a walk. We’ve soon collected a small crowd of curious children and even the adults can’t help but stare at the foreigner and her Lao children as they pass.

7:00p.m.-Supper tonight is spicy, green papaya salad, bits of grilled pork and sticky rice, all eaten with our hands of course. Dragon fruit makes a nice dessert. I practice my Lao with my sisters as we clean up together and we laugh so hard that the aunt next door comes over to see what’s wrong.

8:30p.m.-I study Lao and help my sister with her English homework while endless Thai soap operas play in the background. The children come and go, as do a steady stream of neighbours and relatives who stop by to chat or drop off a bunch of sweet bananas.

10:00p.m. Following bucket bath number three, my lights are out and I’m soon fast asleep.

Dressed for Work

If "MCC worker" is synonymous with a get up of birkenstocks and wrinkled cotton skirts, think again. In Laos everyone is expected to be extremely well dressed in most every setting. To work each day I wear a traditional Lao skirt (or sin) and a neatly ironed collared shirt. The large pleat at the waist makes the sin the clothing of choice for driving a motorcycle or sitting on the floor. Sins come in many beautiful colours and patterns, but the decorative strip (or tinsin) at the bottom of the skirt is what makes people take notice.

Peace in Translation

In an unexpected addition to my job description, I am now becoming highly involved in MCC LAOS’ team of young peace educators. This is a brand new initiative and so progress is slow, both in terms of waiting for funding to come through and in terms of defining who we are as a team, and what it is we’re setting out to accomplish. “What is peace?” is a question we wrestled with at a recent meeting. Language barriers aside, peace is a very flexible word and it must be put into context if it is to have any meaning at all. And so I launched into an explanation of “Negative Peace” as the absence of war and direct violence, and “Positive Peace” as the presence of justice and over all well being.

“Ahhh,” said the soft spoken young woman on my left, “then we must not tell the children that this is about peace, for in Lao we have only the word ‘Santiphab’, which means the absence of war. We must tell the children that this about happiness.” This idea made me anxious right away.

“Oh no!” I warned, in my calmest and most culturally appropriate tone of voice, “Happiness is not the same as peace. A person can be very happy themselves even though everyone around them is suffering!” Around the table eyebrows raised and people quickly looked away to hide their amused smiles. Someone reached out gently to touch my arm.

“To Buddhist people, it is not possible to be happy while others suffer needlessly. No one who is selfish can also be happy. The children will understand.”

I learned an important lesson about peace building across cultures that day. I also began to wonder: when did the idea (so prevalent in North America culture) come about, that one can be happy so long as their personal needs are met? Here in Laos, on the other side of the world, I am working for peace, but the need for peace builders back home is just as strong.

Souk's Story

Sixteen year old, Souk Khonmannee (a member of the Pho Noi ethnic group) has just started out on a very large adventure. Along with seven other young people of ethnic minority background, she has been sponsored by MCC to participate in a three year teacher training program, located in the town of Luang Nam Ta. Drawing students from all over the country, the training school is a two day journey from Souk's home in a small village.

Living so far away from everyone and everything she knows will certainly be difficult, but Souk knows what it means to persevere in the face of a challenge. When she was just nine years old, Souk’s mother passed away and her father remarried. Rejected by her stepmother, Souk was fortunate enough to be adopted by an uncle.

Though she speaks Lao, Pho Noi and Khmu (along with some very basic English) and is studying hard to become a teacher, Souk does not come from a highly literate family. While her father can read a little, her mother could not read at all.

It is Souk’s vision to work to counteract the low literacy rates, particularly among the ethnic minority groups. Unlike many young people in Laos today who flock to city centers, Souk dreams of becoming a teacher in a ban nok (remote village) because often times in such places, “there are no teachers”.

Issues of Ethnicity in Laos

Though South East Asia has a rich and ancient history, the country borders which appear on official maps are a relatively new creation. Many of these border lines were put in place by European colonizers, and they do not accurately reflect the people who live in this region. Millions of those who belong to the Lao ethnic group reside across the border in Thailand, and likewise Laos is home to many people who do not identify with the Lao ethnic group.

For this reason, when we talk of “Lao” culture and tradition, we are speaking only of the customs of approximately half of Laos’ population, those who identify with the Lao ethnic group. As for the other half of the population, they belong to well over a hundred different ethnic groups, which vary greatly in terms their diets, language, religion, traditional clothing, etc. The Hmong and the Khamu are two of the more populous ethnic minority groups.

As citizens of one of the world’s most impoverished countries, young people in Laos are faced with many challenges as they work their way through the education system and find a place for themselves in the working world. For those young people who belong to one of Laos’ many ethnic minority groups, issues of language, culture and discrimination are added to the usual obstacles. In an effort to reduce some of these obstacles, MCC has chosen to assist in the training of ethnic minority teachers in Laos. Having teachers who belong to the same ethnic minority group as their student will not only allow for the education of non-native Lao speakers, it will also increase the likelihood that the teachers stay on in their placements long term, thus providing stability for their students.

The Ride Home from Sangthong

As Katelin and I pile into the back of a very crowded pick up truck, we can hardly believe that this is our mode of transportation all the way back to the city. We sit on the middle bench of the three wobbling wooden benches and so the journey home is a balancing act, clinging to the makeshift roof with one hand and our backpacks with the other. In this public “bus” the many rules of Lao social etiquette seem to be thrown out the window. We bump along, occasionally ending up in each others laps after a particularly large pothole.

After four solid days of rain (our portion of Vietnam’s typhoon), the road is a mess, sometimes washed out completely. We plow on, weaving our way along the Mekong River (to the right) at the base of jungle covered mountains (to the left). Mercifully, despite the fresh duck’s blood and other strange delicacies I have recently eaten, the combination of medicinal ginger and fresh air keeps my nausea at bay. Sometimes we pass through tiny villages, mere collections of rice paddies and huts, but more often the road dirt road is the only sign that any member of the human race has ever set foot in this place.

The woman sitting across from me is beautiful. Her posture is as elegant as her hair, swept into a sleek spool on top of her head. Her facial features and the weave of her traditional skirt tell me that she is not Lao in the fullest sense of the word, but rather a member of one of Laos’ many ethnic minority groups. A small child sleeps, strapped to her front and another sits beside her. The man next to this tiny girl has a gun strapped to his backpack. No one seems concerned and so, after 20 minutes of “Hotel Rwanda” like scenarios running through my head, I come to accept this as just another reality of life in Laos and I relax. On we fly, red mud splashing up at every dip and turn.

First Impressions of Lao Rural Life

The Laos I am experiencing here in Sangthong district does indeed feel like another world. Just when I thought I was grasping the language and lifestyles of the people of Laos, I visited this not so far off village, and discovered that the only culture I am really learning is that of Vientiane. Life in Sangthong works differently.

For one thing I know that the people in this district do not have nearly as many resources as my friends in Vientiane. Heidi and Micah (the MCC workers I am visiting here) are introducing me to this new Laos. This is a place where 80% of the population does not have access to electricity. This is a place where wealth is measured in rice. This is a place where meals consist of whatever can be foraged in the woods after the rice crop has been sold off to pay a medical bill. Most families are one expensive illness away from lifelong debt. Or starvation.

I’ve often wondered since my arrival in Laos why I haven’t yet experienced extreme culture shock. I know now that if I lived in Sangthong as Heidi and Micah do, I most definitely would experience that shock and confusion. It’s easy to romanticize the lives of this genuine and passionate MCC couple in their rustic bamboo house on stilts, but I don’t envy them the challenging cultural issues they must confront on a daily basis, as the only foreigners in the entire district. What should we feed the 10 children in our house so that we can eat or breakfast without being rude? Which neighbour did we offend by forgetting to invite them to our little girl’s birthday party? I’ve realized my journey in learning about Laos has just barely begun.

The Freedoms and Limitations of Youth

I’ve made the acquaintance of a very distinguished woman tonight. Meh Tuu (great grandmother to Isaac and Joshua) is the latest addition to this very full house. Even as I begin to write about her just now, she comes and sits down beside me on my bed, flipping through my little photo album and commenting duly on my young looking mother and handsome boyfriend. When I put down my pen she takes the opportunity to have a (mostly one sided) conversation.

Being in the presence of Meh Tuu is refreshing. As an 80 year old woman in a country where 45% of the population is under the age of 15, Meh Tuu has far surpassed an age where she is expected to conform to the many rules and social niceties of Lao culture. While most Lao woman sit primly on the floor with their legs positioned modestly beneath and their traditional skirts ever so carefully tucked around them, Meh Tuu can sit however she like, wear whatever she finds comfortable, and is not afraid to speak her mind. Through it all she somehow maintains inexplicable dignity and poise. There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye which causes children to flock to her, climbing her like a tree and beckoning forth her gutsy, unbridled laughter. Despite the language barrier, Meh Tuu’s openness makes her a fascinating person to talk to.

As I began to reflect on the significance of age and more specifically on the freedoms and limitations which accompany various ages, I realized some interesting things about how my age impacts my life here and now. As most of you know, I am 19 years old. That, I know is very young, and for a long time I have seen my youth as only a limitation. I often feel that the world is full of things that I could or should be doing, if only I was older or more experienced. More over, whichever stage I happen to be at in life, I know I spend an excessive amount of time planning and anticipating (or more often worrying) about which ever stage I feel should come next. Since arriving in Laos, I am slowly beginning to see that these thought patterns are neither accurate nor healthy.

Firstly, although, unlike Meh Tuu, I am expected to comply with the many aspects of social etiquette common to all young women in Laos, I realize now that my youth also gives me some incredible advantages. My youth allows me to live as a part of a Lao family here and be seen as their daughter. My youth allows me to visit people in their homes without seeming intimidating or threatening. My youth allows me to work as one member of a larger team rather than always being expected to lead, teach and advise. I really believe that because I am young and lacking in power and status, I am allowed to experience many aspects of life in Laos, that would otherwise be kept hidden from me, and for that I am truly thankful.

Furthermore, living with a “what’s next?” mindset did not allow me to fully appreciate or experience moments as they unfolded. Living in the here and now is essential in Laos. Things are rarely planned in advance at all nor can I begin to predict what sort of unplanned events might occur, and so anticipation of the sort I dwell in at home is futile. It’s good to remind myself that I can’t measure time or productivity here in ways that are familiar to me. I am not all convinced that the time I take to complete the stack of paperwork on my desk is more "productive" than the time I spend sitting beside Meh Tuu, eating roasted yams as she stirs a bubbling pot of bamboo soup.

Gapgo

The appearance of a large lizard (or gapgo) in our outdoor kitchen added some life to after dinner cleanup this evening. If any of you are conjuring up images of the teaspoon sized geckos that frequent the walls of many tropical abodes, I invite you to make space for a new image. Pale green, spiky and the size of my forearm, this creature was every bit a full fledged lizard. As we crept close enough to snap a few photos, my sisters told me tales of leaping lizards (yes, the figure of speech is based on a reality). The only solid advice I could pry out of them on how to deal with a lizard which has attached itself to your arm was to scream run and peel off your clothing as fat as you could. I think I’ll work on the prevention side of things and try to avoid such scenarios altogether.

Every library book I so eagerly absorbed this spring before coming to Laos was filled with descriptions of Laos’ incredible eco-diversity. Everything from giant catfish to rare white tigers can supposedly be found in this country, but so far the only exotic creatures I have encountered are this lizard, some overgrown cockroaches and an excessive amount of geckos and ants. From all accounts, Vientiane (the capital of Laos and my home) seems a world apart from the rest of the country in many respects. Vientiane certainly does a good job of presenting an appealing face to the outside world, but I am excited to begin my travels into the countryside. The other world.

Tuk-Tuks and Temples

Tuk-Tuks (tiny colourful taxis) and Buddhist temples abound here in Vientiane. Tuk-Tuks are abundant and cheap but not particularily reliable. I learned the hard way that just because the driever agrees to take you some where, does not mean that they know where they are going! Although I was very late for my meeting, I did get a neat tour of the city.

Temples are a green and peaceful haven within the city, and are among the very few public gathering spaces. They often serve as schools, orphanages, funeral homes, fairgrounds and community centres as well as worship spaces. Their ornate architecture and rich colours stand in stark contrast to the surrounding neighbourhood.

My Life in Pictures

At four years old, Isaac, my host brother is every bit as mischievous as he appears. He is also the second best English speaker in the house and we've bonded over the fact that we miss our dad's who are far away in North America.
My host sister Goong is an excellent cook. Here she is with dinner for the two of us. When the whole family is home we eat at the table, but when there are just a few, we eat on the ground as is traditonal for the Lao people.

The other side of my bedroom, as well as a look at my very high quality, if not so stylish by Lao standards, helmet. I received some concerned comments the first time I posted a picture of myself riding a motorcycle with no helmet! Don't worry, I never got out of the parking lot that day.
Though I live in a well off family, some food just tastes better when cooked in the back yard!
This is Joshua, my 1 year old host brother. Don't be deceived by his relaxed pose here, he's always on the go! It's been a really interesting learning experience to observe the differences between North American and Lao parenting techniques. For my first month living with the host family, caring for Joshua and doing my own laundry were my only chores. As it turns out, neither one is considered to be a "real" chore here in Laos. This week I will start cooking "foreigner food" for dinner at least once a week, as well as learning the Lao ways of cooking and cleaning. I'm actually really excited to have more household chores to do as this will help me to feel more like a real member of the family, and less like a spoiled foreign guest.
*My apologies for the sideways photos! If anyone knows how to rotate pictures on blogspot, your help would be much appreciated.

The Colour of My Skin

In a tiny open air bus this morning, a perfect stranger stroked my arm and praised the whiteness of my skin. It still feels very odd to me to live in a place where my paleness is so openly coveted. Back in North America, the media has been tempting me all my life to crave just the opposite look. No tanning beds here, every advertisement speaks of miracle formulas to whiten your face, arms, armpits. They seem mostly to be a mixture of bleach and sunscreen. It doesn't stop there. In the full heat of the sweltering sun, one can expect that most people commuting by motercycle will be wearing some sort of heavy sweater or jacket to protect themselves from the sun. The more image consious might go so far as to carry an umbrella with one hand and drive with the other and today I even saw a pair of mittens.

It's hard to know how to react to all of this. I know that I had no control over my skin colour or any other characteristic that I just so happened to be born with. Every day I strive to deepen my relationships with my Lao family and friends, push my interactions past appearances and stereotypes. But even as I learn to communicate more and more each day, I am also becoming very aware that I will always be white, I will always be a foreigner and no matter how much I strive to walk in solidarity with the people of Laos, I do not share their history and circumstance.

Water

So many of my cultural mishaps and adventures here seem to revolve around water. Too much water, not enough water, not the right kind of water. I've slowly learned that my Lao friends do not consider a person to be truly clean unless they've had at least three bucket showers that day, I've learned how to use the minimum amount of water possible to wash dishes and clothes, but as is evident in this next little incident, old habits die hard.

"Ao nam baw?" I ask. "Would you like some water?" My family could not contain their laughter and cries of astonishment as I filled their water glasses after one particular meal. Let me elaborate. It is the custom of the Lao people to wait until after a meal is complete to drink water. Despite living with two toddlers, it is me who feels like a baby most of the time, wide eyed and helpless, and so I try to offer help in whatever little ways I can. The tap water with which I filled their glasses, however, may as well have been gasoline from the looks they gave me. Tap water here is almost as potent. How naive and lucky I am to have been brought up in a country where it seems like the most natural thing in the world to turn on the tap when thirsty!

Transformation

In an open air warehouse across the street from the MCC office yesterday afternoon, I manoevered my motercyle with great concentration around a chalked in figure eight. When the afternoon's downpour subsided, fireworks signalled the start of a cremation at the nearby wat (Buddhist temple). If you had read me this excerpt from my life a year ago, I'm sorry to say that I would have laughed in your face! Asia is truly the last place on Earth that I expected to end up, and I'm not really sure that I knew that Laos existed. Furthermore, those of you who know me well know that I have not always had the most positive relationship with motorized vehicles. Once upon a time, I was convinced that I would never learn to drive a car, let alone a motorcycle. People change; God works in unexpected ways.

So what's changed? Physically my hands are a little raw from doing all my laundry by hand, my muscles are growing from lifting baby Joshua and I have a new freckle two. Emotionally and spiritually, this year is already stretching me in more ways than I can count. I can feel myself exuding a new confidence. Yes I can drive a motorcycle in a city that is becoming less foreign to me everyday. Yes I can eat whatever unidentified substance you have just piled on my plate.
Familiarizing myself with this place is, as a class mate put it earlier today, "like coming out of a thick fog". The squiggles on roadside signs burst into clarity, jumbled conversations spring into order and baffling cultural practices repeat themselves predictibly. I wish I could say that the sun has come out and everything from now on will be bright and sunny, but for now, I'm happy living in the humidity of a Lao afternoon in rainy season.

The Buddha Caves

During my first weekend in Laos, I was lucky enough to participate in an MCC retreat 7 hours South of Vientiane. We piled into a very narrow, very shallow boat, climbed some very steep stairs built against the side of a cliff and entered a cave filled with Buddha images. It was discovered by a fisherman several years ago, but most of the carvings are thought to come from the 1300s!

Lao Language School

Here (left to right) are Emily, myself, Katelyn and Kaylie in front of Candlelight Language School. Kaylie is here on a three year MCC term, and the rest of us are here with MCC's one year Serve and Learn Together program. We are all enjoying the three hours of language classes we have each day. Suddenly, the little squiggles and bumps on the page make sense. We can read! We still don't know most of what we are reading, but our vocabularies are growing each day. It's hard to believe we've only been here three weeks!

Odawan

I have a new name; Odawan. Last night the extended family gathered on a straw mat in the living room around steaming pots of fish, noodles and greens. After the usual discussion about the food, and laughter at my broken Lao, the elder of the group decided that it was high time to give me a Lao name. "Jessie is just too hard for us to say!" it was explained to me. After some questioning as to the meaning of the name Jessica, I was given the name Odawan. In Lao it means "wealthy and honoured one". I have never connected much meaning to my English name before, nor did I find it particularly fitting in my North American context, but here in Laos I certainly do feel both wealthy and honoured. I think often of a favourite reminder of my grandpa's: "to whom much has been given, much is required". I wonder now, in the early stages of my stay here in Laos, what will be required of me this year? As I wait, I laugh at myself for the myriads of cultural mistakes I make each day, I learn to speak a few syllables at a time and I grow to love my host family. There is beauty in this waiting too.

I was asked in an email just now whether we get any rain here these days. I couldn't help but laugh out loud! Each morning I wake up early to the study pounding of rain on the roof, the lashing f wind against my window. This morning it rained harder than I have ever seen it rain before. Riding to school this morning on the back of Goong's motorcycle, we came across a road that was completely washed out! We stopped to push the motorcycle back the way we came, but it was no use, there was just to much water in that engine. And so the two of us pushed that bike through thigh deep water all the way to a little repair shop a few kilometres away. When I finally got to language school, I was very late and very wet. Yes, we do get a little rain here!

One last thought. I recently got an email from my sister asking me why I didn't update my blog more often. I responded that nothing very interesting was happening these days, and no one wanted to hear what I had for breakfast for goodness sakes! I'm not so sure about that anymore. On Friday I woke up to a lovely bowl of rice soup abounding in shrimp, squid and two personal sized octopus. "Saep baw?" (Delicious, no?).

My New Family

I moved yesterday into the home of my host family which is quite a ways out of town. It feels good to be more independent and also it forces me to speak a lot more Lao. I live with euay (sister) Meena who is young and spunky and her little boys, Joshua ( a walking talking 1 year old) and Isaac (4) . It's a busy house! My Lao vocubulary for phrases like "Take that out of your mouth!" and "Colour on the paper, not on the wall!" and "Please put your brother down!" is expanding rapidly. There are also two girls named Goong and Kai (17 and 13) who live in the house as temporary foster daughters. Everyone in the house is trying to learn English and they are eager for me to teach them and also to tech me Lao. Here, my new family calls me "Jedsee", because in the Lao language you cannot end sylable with an "s". Being a small, white falang (foreigner) in Laos is good for the self esteem. Yesterday Nalene (my 8 year old host niece who lives next door) pressed her tiny hand in to mine and called me "Euay Ngam" (beautiful sister).

Vientiane Afternoon

It is quiet and peaceful here on the guest house porch. The Wonderland "Guest House" across the street has turned off its blaring music, and for the moment, no is belting Lao karaoke from the bar further down. Sound is now reduced to the neighbours ping pong game, a few motercycles on the street, our water pump, and the calls of various birds and insects. Here in the shade I don't feel the intense heat, but it is still very humid. There has been no rain so far today. Laos is not like other tropical places I have known where the rain is predictable. Here it may start raining any time of day, and the rain may last for a week or be gone in an hour.

This afternoon, Phylis (one of the country representatives for MCC) walked us around the neighbourhood. We learned that Vientian is made of many villages ("Ban" in Lao) each made up of 100 houses. Every village has its own temple. Needless to say, there are countless temples in Laos, each with their intricate golden pillars, serenely smiling Buddhas, steeply sloping red tile roofs and orange garbed monks. We enter one temple, slipping off our shoes at he door. Inside a gathering of people are blessing a new motorcycle. The bike is tied to a string which leads through a window into the temple. Further along is a large alter featuring a giant stone pillar and a number of Buddha statues in varying sizes. Everything is decked out with colourful, flashing Christmas lights.

There is much legend surrounding this particular temple ("wat" in Lao). So the story goes, in ancient times the people had a vision that before the temple could be built, someone must sacrifice their life for the good fortune of the city. And so they dug a large pit and waited for a willing volunteer. Finally, a pregnant girl jumped into the pit. The stone pillar was brought down on top of her and the temple was ready for construction. To this day, residents of Vientiane claim to see this girl in the form of clouds overhead.

In front of the alter, people pray for miracles. When they feel that they have received one, they bring offerings of bananas, coconuts wax flowers and incense. All this can be purchased from the row of stalls across the street.

First Impressions

Our small Lao Airlines plane features two propellors and an inflight snack of lychee fruit and flat pop. Laos spreads before us in fleeting images through heavy for as we circle in for landing. What we see is an intricate quilt pattern of rolling hills, dense jungle, and neatly measured squares of brilliant green race paddies and bownish blue fishing ponds. The Mekong river rips through the landscape, powerful and brown as coffee. This lush scene is brightened by the red tile roofs of houses and temples, matched closely by the red dirt roads.
We are met by a heavy downpour as we leave the airport, along with three MCC trucks. Following closely alongside the frothy Mekong, we finally reach the MCC guest house, and wade through ankle deep water to reach the door. Although holding our eyes open is a chore, we are hungry for our first Lao meal. Spaghetti, to the best of my knowledge, is not traditional Lao food, but after three days of airplane food, it is comforting.

Exchange

Khamla from Laos sleeps in the room next door to mine. She speaks English well and is eager to tell me all she can about her country. She tears pages out of her journal and fills them with maps to places that I must visit and the names of her friends and family that I must greet. On Monday we SALTers going to Laos stayed up late talking to Khamla about what to expect, what foods we must try and what to avoid if at all possible. From all accounts, Laos sounds like a fascinating and beautiful country. We tried as best we could to tell Khamla what to expect from her conservative Mennonite family in Ohio. That, I feel, will be a cross cultural experience within a cross cultural experience.

Harmony

These first few days of my MCC orientation have been some of the most meaningful and enriching of my life. Sharing the orientation with us, the North American SALTers are the International Voluntary Exchange Program (IVEP) participants. These charismatic young adults come from countries all across the globe, and their presence is adding so much to our week here at MCC headquarters.

It will be a long time before I forget the powerful music we created in an impromptu choir practice during our first night here. There I was, gathered around a piano, played by Renata from Paraguay, with Bridgette from South Africa belting out a strong lead to "What a Friend We have in Jesus". Desi from Indonesia, Janah from Zambia, Amy from the U.S.A, Leonard from Switzerland and myself all harmonizing in our mother tongues. This struck me as peace building in a more concrete way than anything I have studied out of a text book in my peace and conflict studies classes.

Leaving

It's coming. As of Saturday I'll have left home, left behind my family and friends, left the country. There's a strange irony in all my talk of leaving lately. I seem to be forgetting the place to which I'm arriving. Neither the piles of clothing and the half empty suitcases on my bed or the 2 or 3 good byes I say each day, are enough to make me truly believe that in two short weeks, I'll be stepping out of a tiny plane, onto the banks of the Mekong river in Laos.