Getting There

Wow. What a drama this trip has turned into.

Firstly, I have thought for the past 7 weeks that I fly out of Thailand on Saturday night. On Wednesday night I realised that in actual fact, I fly out on Friday night. As you may or may not know, Thailand is currently experiencing its worst flooding in decades, thus, the usual bus from Mae Sot to Bangkok was not an option. I managed to battle a terrible internet connection to book the only flight out of Mae Sot on a 6-seater plane, to Chiang Mai, and then a flight from there to Bangkok. But, then I got a call on Thursday night saying that the engine of the little plane has malfunctioned and the flight is cancelled. Ok. So then I had to get up at 4am to get to the bus station in time to try and get a seat on the 6am bus to Chaing Mai instead. Ended up getting there ok, and finally got to Bangkok. At this stage my stress levels began to subside a little. After a 7 hour wait to check in at Bangkok international, I find that my first flight to Kuwait, with Kuwait Airways, has been delayed in Manila. So we are all sent to a hotel for the 8 hour wait. As I am going to miss my connecting flight from Kuwait – London, and therefore my London to New York flight, I am told I will be transferred to Lufthansa airlines in Kuwait, and will be flying to Frankfurt with them instead, and then on to New York. Hmm, ok. I can handle this. It means I won’t arrive in NYC until about 19 hours after I was meant to be there. But at least I am now in the care of Kuwait Airways now, so I am there problem to look after. After a pretty deep sleep (by this time I’ve been up for nearly 24 hours without any sleep at all) I get a wakeup call at 6am. In my bleary state I manage to shower and head downstairs for breakfast and my transfer back to the airport soon. The hotel allows me to use their internet free of charge as I need to get in touch with those meeting me in NYC. How kind. I’ve just finished breakfast and am about to go and wait for my pick-up when I am informed that, unfortunately, our pilot is not feeling well, and he cannot fly. So we are being delayed once more while they attempt to find a replacement pilot, and would I like to go back to my room to wait, as they have no idea at all how long we will be waiting for. Sheesh. The only slightly positive thing I can think of is that my connecting flight in Kuwait is around 10 hours after my arrival, so at this stage, I am hoping that this new delay won’t make me miss my connection. 

Tha brings me to now. Sitting in my room, in an incredibly fancy hotel, hoping against hope that I get a call soon letting me know that we will be in the air shortly.

At this point, I’m not entirely sure what else could hinder me getting to New York. So far I have faced the possibility of my own sheer stupidity and inability to read a flight itinirary me miss the flight entirely the wrath of nature, with her intense flooding. I’ve also dodged a bullet by having the engine of my tiny Cessna not fail on me mid-air

Kuwait City

This place is a desert indeed. Flying in, all I could see was dry, scorched earth. The men will not stop staring, and the women will not meet my gaze. They are so mysterious and alluring in their full veils, I strive to see their faces through the sheer fabric. The outdoor heat is dry and stifling. Much different to the wet, tropical heat of Thailand. There are “no smoking” signs everywhere, accompanied by ashtrays for your smoking convenience. The hotel is comfortable, but nowhere near as luxurious as the one in Bangkok. The food is a little rough. I detect two different goat curries, and opt for a giant bowl of the most delicious homemade Greek-style yogurt I’ve ever eaten. And an orange. I have the same meal for dinner.

It’s now only an hour until we are to be returned to the airport to check back in with Lufthansa for the flight to Frankfurt. I can only hope that on this flight I will not be seated next to a Kuwaiti man that will not stop unashamedly staring at me. Even while I sleep (probably more so when I sleep actually). Having a rather large Arab man sitting a mere 7cm from you and having no shame in staring at you intently for 8 hours gets a little tiring. 

And then...

Well, all I can say is that Lufthansa is an exponentially better airline than Kuwait and even though it was the biggest mission ever, being transferred to them made my two flights with them so much more comfortable, plus, they are randomly hooked up with Air NZ and gave me a heap of free air points which was pretty good. Needless to say, however, I finally arrived in New York on the verge of falling apart at the seams, as by this point I had been travelling for approximately 90 hours. And of course, the boys were late to pick me up as they had to battle the force that is New York traffic. But boy oh boy is I happy to see their tired, hungover and ragged faces. I am bundled into the van (a Chevrolet “Good Times” model), and the amazing party begins right then with slices and a show just off Broadway.

My Impending Silence

Ok. This is going to be my last post for a while and here’s why:

This week I am attending a 4 live-in day training seminar run by the UNHCR on humanitarian negotiations, and then on Friday night I am off to Bangkok to catch a flight on Saturday to New York to meet 6 of my favourite people in the world and travel around with them for three weeks. 

So, as far as these magic postcards go, I might write some while I’m in the USA, but I’m not sure, there are a lot of factors to take into consideration, like how many hours spent in the van each day, and whose floor we’re sleeping on on any given night. So check back here occasionally if you’re interested in shenanigans only possibly when you cram 6 New Zealanders, 1 Texan, several guitars and an accordion into a small van that will travel the east coast of the USA on a budget of $0 per day. Oh, the band's I'm touring with are The Outsiders (click here)and Freddy Fudd Pucker, in case you're interested. They're pretty great, but then again, I'm pretty biased.

I'm aware this is sideways, but I can't figure out how to rotate it

As promised, here is a picture of me trying to play golf last weekend. Do not be fooled, that sweet looking muscle is a mere illusion, and I am a very bad golfer, despite what this picture may or may not depict.

Right, I have a massive amount of work to get finished before I go away, and since this UN training thing has only just been offered to me in the last 12 hours, I need to try and cram 5 day worth of work into Sunday afternoon, and I’d also like to fit in a swim if possible because it is very very hot today. 

So ka kite ano, talk to you in a month!

Living in Reality

Helping teach drums to kids in the Child Recreation Centre

This past weekend was probably the best one I’ve had in Mae Sot to date. A friend of mine here is going home to the USA tomorrow (sob), so the weekend was basically just filled with whatever she wanted to do. Highlights include a Cowboy and Indian themed Thai restaurant, complete with a Saloon and horses, Bloody Mary’s, Margaritas and whacking balls at the driving range. I couldn’t deal with going to the sauna with the others, it was too hot, I needed it to have a/c, which would have defeated the purpose I suppose.

There are photos of aforementioned ball whacking, when I track them down I’ll post some here, so if me making a fool of myself is something that interests you, check back in a couple of days. As I usually assume when I try something new, I thought I’d be an instant natural at golf; but as per usual, it turns out I am very bad at it. And who knew how much physical exertion it takes to whack tiny golf balls? Today I have sore muscles in some places I didn’t even know existed. But don’t you worry, we are going to persevere with this new-found fun, and next time you see me, I’ll be a golfing pro.

Clucking over an abandoned baby

Right, it has come to my attention that some of you imagine me to be living in a grass hut in the middle of a paddy field, sharing a bed with refugees, with a war raging around me. So, it’s time to squash some of these images, as this is not at all what my life is like. 

I live in a little two bedroom apartment with an Australian woman. It’s a really nice house – I have a proper bed, we have hot water, wireless internet, a TV and even a cleaning lady! Incidently, I do live right next door to a large rice paddy. As far as the conflict situation goes, well, there is not fighting going on around me. There is a lot of fighting going on inside Burma, up and down the border. Since I’ve been here, the closest it’s gotten to me is 15kms from Myawaddy, which is the Burmese town on the other side of the river to Mae Sot; Myawaddy is around 5kms from my house. Occasionally some of the thunder is so epic that I do a double take and have momentary thoughts of it being shelling. 

In November last year, after the “elections” held by the Burmese “government”, there was a lot of fighting in the actual township of Myawaddy, and there were a couple of stray shells that landed on the Thai side, around Mae Sot. Approximately 20,000 Burmese people fled across the border into Thailand during the fighting, with the majority coming to Mae Sot. The Clinic and our schools turned into make-shift refugee camps. Most of those people have been able to return home to Burma, but there are still around 7000 refugees from November in hiding up and down the border, that we are supporting with rice etc. It is anticipated that there will be more fighting at the end of the rainy season, which is just ending now (yay!), so who knows what the next few months will bring. 

As for the refugee situation in town, well, the closest refugee camps are about an hour out of town, and technically, all the registered refugees are meant to be in them at all times. But in reality, this is not the case, although there is a bit of a crackdown going on at the moment, so some people are finding it harder to get in and out. There are Burmese people all over town, living, working and just going about their daily business. Some of them are here legally; they might have a Burmese passport and a legitimate Thai visa, some have no passport but have a work permit to allow them to work in one of the many factories in town. Then there are others who are just straight up illegal – they have crossed the border illegally and may be working here or whatever, these people are particularly prone to mistreatment by the police on a regular basis. There are also refugees registered with the UN or IRC that are kicking about town, not living in a camp at the moment, although they will be registered at one. Short of asking people directly, however, there is no way of knowing anyone’s status in town. And clearly, asking people is neither appropriate nor necessary. 

There are checkpoints at on all the roads to and from Mae Sot, with armed guards that check the people going through them. They don’t care so much about people coming into Mae Sot, but whenever I leave, the bus stops at about 4 checkpoints, particularly on the road to Bangkok. Obviously, they are looking for illegal Burmese people. Often one or two people are taken off the bus on a trip to Bangkok, it’s pretty sad. They will generally be forced to pay a big bribe, or be imprisoned until someone can pay for them to get out, and if they have no money whatsoever, they will probably be sent back to Burma.

Swimming at the reservoir

And finally, who are the people that come into the clinic each day? Well, about 40-60% of them cross the border illegally each day to get here. So they come from inside Burma. Often people travel very long distances to get here, with the entire family in tow, in case they cannot return home, or their village is attacked etc. and they get separated. So they are not all from the Karen State, but from all over Burma. Each refugee camp has its own basic medical facilities, so we don’t get that many registered refugees, although we do still get quite a few. Many of our patients are Internally Displaced People in Burma, which more or less means they are refugees, except you cannot officially be a refugee if you still live inside your country. The other half of the people that make up the caseload at the Clinic are the Burmese workers that live in the Mae Sot area. They either cannot afford or cannot access the Thai healthcare system due to their legal status in Thailand. If you want to learn more about the Clinic, check this out.

So there we have it. I don’t live in the middle of a rice paddy in a hut, and there is not constant conflict going on around me. Though I’ve yet to witness any conflict, and I hope for the sake of everyone around me that I never do, it is quite strange to be living in a place in which particularly loud thunder can be misconstrued as a bomb blast. Occasionally I can hear gunshots at night, so it’s hard to know what’s going on sometimes, but don’t worry about me! Even though the prospect of conflict is real, I’ll be fine; the fighting doesn’t really come across the border!

PS: I got my enrolment confirmation in the mail on Friday. I hope you took heed of my rant the other day and enrolled! The election is next month!

It's a fine line

I have stumbled upon something very strange. One of the features of this blog is that I can see statistics relating to the traffic that comes to the site – I can see which countries people are in when they read it, which web browser they are using etc. I can also see what website referred them to my blog. Last night I was having a quick squiz at these stats and noticed a referral from another blog about Burma. So I clicked on it and had a read. It was the first post of some guy who is going to be working with Burmese people infected with HIV/AIDS. A pretty great thing to be doing, and not so strange at all. The strange part came as I got further down in the post – he was reviewing other blogs on Burma, and mine was one of them.

Now, I have received a lot of constructive criticism on my writing in my time – innumerable essays at university, a dissertation, a thesis, and reports at work, conference papers, and academic papers up for publication and so on, but I have always known this criticism was coming. It was very unusual indeed to be reading an in-depth, critical review of my writing by a complete stranger, of which I had no previous warning. And to be honest, his criticisms weren’t really that constructive, they were mostly just criticisms. I’m ok with criticism; obviously, just like every other person in the world, I prefer complements, but I think that being able to take criticisms is a positive personality trait. 

So anyway, this guy tried to deconstruct my entire blog, it’s very weird. Take, for example, this quote from him:

One can tell from her reading that she is young and not an experienced writer. Although, I do not think that her blog is trying to be artificially scholarly in the slightest. Rather, I believe she is writing for herself and friends, only to inform them of her travels. She is living in Thailand/Burma and is only trying to tell her story, making her blog reasonably informal.

Weird right? He goes on to credit my choice of titles:

Although the blog skews towards the informal side, she does try to use some formal aspects in order to engage people with the serious topics she is depicting...Firstly, her blog titles are fairly formal and well thought out. They do not necessarily tell you much about what is going to be depicted in the posts, but rather seem to have metaphorical value.

But then he admits that he’s not really sure what the blog post entitled “Pumped by your heart to the tips ofyour arms and your legs” is trying to say, metaphorically speaking. Of this, I am quietly smug, as this is actually a line from an excellent song by my favourite band. The song is the title track, with the whole album being about HIV, so for me, and those of you that know the song, this title is very fitting for a discussion on the disease. 

He then critiques this post, saying things like:

The hyphen shows that she is trying to be dramatic, theatrical, and trying to exaggerate her point.

...[she is] describing very important information and the daunting topic of HIV, however she seems to do so very informally. The first paragraph felt very casual...She uses the language “lots” and “wee-bit.” These words specifically sound very informal and colloquial.

I’m fine with all of this “critique”, it’s no big deal, I write the way I write, whatever. But there is a fine line between constructive critisim and just being a jerk. Where this guy starts to get to me, is here:

This is obviously informal and trying to be humorous, yet none of the topics she depicts are comical, causing some discrepancy...Although her blog is going to be similar to mine, I maintain that a formal voice should be used for the topics explored through these countries. Talking about HIV, orphans, lack of education, and a controlling government are all topics that should be talked about in a formal voice.

From this, I am inferring that he thinks I am being disrespectful of the people I am writing about, because I am not writing about them as though I am writing an academic article on the subject. That really annoys me. For this random stranger to assume that I have no respect for the people I am surrounded by on a daily basis. Jeeze. I don’t know about that. He sounds like an arrogant jerk to me. But then again, for me to be judging him on what he says in a random blog post would be to stoop to his level.

All this got me thinking, why do I write this blog? Who is it for? Well, primarily, it is for myself. For me to have a record of my time over here, to be reflected upon sometime in the future. Next, it’s for you, my readers who, for the most part, are my pretty good friends and family. And finally, it’s for the people of Burma – if I can help even one of you understand what it’s like for these people, where they come from and the hardships they have to face, I will be happy. 

As for the way I write, I write the way I think, and the way that I would have a conversation with you. Using big fancy words and getting all academic on this isn’t the way I want to write here, if I were to write this that way, I’d just feel like I was being a pretentious dickhead. But then again, the last thing I want is to be disrespectful to anyone, ever. So if you think that the way I write this is inappropriately informal considering some of the issues that I write about, I’d love to know. If you agree with this guy, and think I should be writing this as though it is an academic piece of writing, then please, let me know.

The last thing I want to mention is that, I have to see the lighter side of the things that go on here. If I wrote every post about the reality of daily life, this would be an incredibly depressing blog. But would you rather that I dwell on the 4-5 people that die here per week, or the 7 babies that are born here on average per day? Or should I tell you about the person that was shot in the head outside my house last year (before I lived here, obviously), or should I instead tell you about all the puppies that are born on my street? What about the TB and e-coli that live in the bodily fluids that gets all over my feet at work each day? Would you rather that every post is about something depressing, and that I can’t change? Or would you like me to keep things a bit lighter? Because I don’t know if I have the mental strength to delve into how awful it truly is for the people that live here on a regular basis in this blog. I’ve said it before here, if I spend all my time thinking about the bad stuff that goes on, I am going to come home broken.

The floor is open to you now, my dear readers. How do you think this should be being written? Do you think I am being disrespectful? I welcome your feedback on this post – you can either email me directly, or comment in the section below, it’s pretty easy and you can post anonymously.

Making bad decisions but not regretting them

Looking to Burma

This weekend three girlfriends and I decided to get out of Mae Sot and head up the border a few hours to a little town (that shall remain nameless for reasons that will soon become clear), for a night away. It was a lovely quaint little town, and as we have all been feeling the stresses of work recently, we decided we needed a break. This town is on the same river, the Moei River, that Mae Sot is on and it too forms the border with Burma. This trip made us all realise how poor our Thai is, particularly me. All communication was very stilted, and I have decided that whatever fool thought that publishing phrase books for tonal languages is a moron. The written words mean very different things if you don’t know the correct tone to use. Anyway, we figured out a place to stay, food to eat and all was well. We spent a good couple of hours or so on Saturday afternoon sitting at the rivers’ edge staring at picturesque Burma and its stunning jungle-covered mountains. So close, and yet, so far. We discussed the idea of crossing, tossing up the possible repercussions. It started to get dark, so the idea was abandoned. We had a pretty hilarious dinner at a tiny restaurant where there was no English at all, the highlight was definitely the amazing early ‘90s Michael Jackson dvd they were playing – absolute gold (or should I say absolutely amazing gold g-string leotard worn over jeans).

Looking to Thailand

Sunday morning came, and with it, the laziness that Sunday morning is famous for. Eventually we made it to lunch, and then decided that we would head back to the river to stare at Burma a bit more. Once there, the decision was made: we were going to cross. Our combined Burmese is exponentially better than our Thai, so negotiations were made, and into the narrow, rickety long boat we piled, along with Burmese villagers returning home from the Thai markets. 

Getting off the boat and stepping into Burma felt very strange. The potential repercussions we could face were severe, and I think we were all feeling a good dose of anxiety and nervous excitement about what we were doing. The previous day we had seen a pagoda on the other side – this was where we said we wanted to go. So upon arrival, our friendly boat driver led us up the hill to said pagoda. It’s incredible how very different it is over there. It really is a totally different world. The jungle is pristine and spectacular. We think of Thailand as being lush and green and full of jungle – it has nothing on the remote areas of Burma like this. 

Once over the rickety bridge and up the mud-slick hill, we were in a monastery, one so very different from those in Thailand, a mere 50m across a stretch of water. The family invited us in, and we were told the head monk would come and see us. Expecting an ancient old noble looking man, we were pleasantly surprised when the handsome, muscular young monk came to greet us (it seems all the monks in these parts are inappropriately attractive). He was delighted to meet us, and we had a wonderful conversation with him – largely thanks to one of us that speaks very good conversational Burmese. There were many questions back and forth, my favourite being his asking us what religion we were, to which the other three replied, Christian and Buddhist. I was slightly apprehensive about what to say, but I figured that since I have the word tattooed inside my mouth, I’d tell the truth, which is that I have no religion at all. His response was most unexpected: a huge grin, a laugh and a thumbs up. He told us that he thought it was fantastic that I have no religion, as this means I am free to think whatever I want, and that must have a very open mind about the world. I’m not going to lie to you, I was very pleased at this response, he was pretty impressed when I told him I’d studied all world religions though, after which he proceeded to tell us that he knows about what Hitler did to the Jews.

Eventually the conversation shifted, and we asked him exactly where we were in Burma – the response was not the greatest, there is a lot of fighting in this particular district. The nervousness that had finally settled in my stomach began to bubble up again. And when he responded to the question “are there any soldiers in this village?”, with “yes, around 50 – 60”, we decided it was probably wise to high-tail it out of there before word spread of our presence. We weren’t sure who controlled this area, and therefore what kind of soldiers they were – DKBA, KNLA, KNU or straight-up Burmese army, whoever they were, it was best we didn’t find out. Our monk friend was very understanding that we wanted to leave now, and after showing us the breathtaking view from his incredibly peaceful pagoda, escorted us back to our boat. After an entirely uneventful trip back across the river, we found ourselves safely back in Thailand. 

Now, I am fully aware that this was perhaps the most moronic and dangerous decision I have ever made, and that any number of things could have happened over there. But you know what?  Nothing happened except for wonderful things. Anyway, I've done it now, and I'm not planning on doing it again. And there are obvious reasons why I’m not telling you where I was, or the names of the village, or the monk. My second adventure into Burma was certainly shorter than my first, and much more illegal, but it was exciting, and wonderful, and once again, I was taken aback by the hospitality and sincere kindness we were shown. I can’t love these people enough.

Mae La refugee camp - the biggest and oldest of all the camps on the border

Everybody Get Up And Vote!

Now, I don’t want to sound like some kind of condescending jerk, but I sincerely hope that all of you that are eligible to vote in the upcoming New Zealand elections have enrolled to vote. Even and especially those of you who, like me, will not be home when the elections are held (in case you’ve been hiding under a rock – Saturday 26 November, 2011). If you are overseas, you need to make sure that you are still enrolled in NZ and that the electoral office knows where you are, because you will need to cast a special early vote. And if you are not from NZ – I hope you vote in your elections when they come around.

Why am I telling you this? Well, being allowed to vote is something that has always been pretty important to me. I remember when I turned 18, heaps of my friends saying things like “oh it’s great, now you can drink!” Well, I didn’t care that much about that because fake ID’s had been letting me do that for years. No, finally being given the right to vote was the most exciting thing about turning 18 for me. Finally being recognised as a citizen of my country whose opinion mattered. The year I turned 18 just happened to be an election year, and I vividly remember the 17^th of September 2005, walking down to my former primary school to cast my first ever vote. The process wasn’t that exciting, as I’m sure you know, but the concept was.

So, back to the question, why am I telling you this? Well, most of the people I work with have never voted in their lives. The clinic I work at is full of literally hundreds and thousands (over 150 000 patients per year) of people that have been denied the right to choose the government that decides their future. And the results of this denial are catastrophic. The Burmese “government” spends exponentially more on its military than it does on health care and education (the official figures are something around 28% vs 0.9% and 1.1% ish respectively), oh, and Burma is not at war with any external enemies.

Burma had a brief taste of democracy after it gained independence from Britain, this democracy only lasted from 1948 – 1962, at which point “General” Ne Win staged an epoch-marking military coup, taking over the country. In 1988 there was a massive student-led uprising in the country against the military junta that had oppressed its people for over three decades. This was the time in which the founder of my work, the Mae Tao Clinics’Dr Cynthia, fled across the border into Thailand with thousands of others, as the “government” retaliated violently and without compassion.

Eventually, in May 1990, the “government” allowed the first free elections in over thirty years. The National League for Democracy (NLD), Daw Aung San SuuKyi’s party, won a landslide 80% of the vote. The “government”, however, annulled the results of these elections and very soon after made it illegal to be a member of the NLD, imprisoned most of its elected MPs (Burma still has a huge number of political prisoners), and so began Aung San Suu Kyi’s first long period of house arrest. And the “government” continued to oppress, imprison, torture, rape and generally terrify its population. In 2007 there was another fairly significant uprising, dubbed the “SaffronRevolution” because it was started by monks (in the tiny town of Pakokku that I visited in July). Once again, thousands of people were killed and imprisoned and the uprising was a failure. Finally, on the 7^th of November 2010, the regime decided to allow elections once more, however, these election have been widely condemned by the international community as a sham: neither free nor representative, and accusations of rampant fraud by the “government”  are generally accepted (they “won” 80% of the vote). Yet this new and “elected” “government” continues to rule with terror, systematically oppressing its people and violating a host of international humanitarian laws including such atrocities as using rape as a weapon of war, and flagrant use of landmines.

So, back to my original point. I really hope that you are all enrolled to vote, and that, when the time comes, you embrace your right to choose the government that leads the nation you come from. There is a massive culture of apathy towards voting in NZ, especially amongst the younger generations. Many people think that their vote doesn’t count for anything, so who cares? But you know what, it actually does count. Every single vote counts. And if you really don’t care, and you don’t agree with any Party, then vote “no confidence”. This way, you are still exercising your right to vote. We don’t know how lucky we are to come from a country that is truly democratic. And in my opinion: if you don’t vote, I’d better not hear you complaining about ANYTHING that the next government does.

Show your respect for all those around the world that are denied this fundamental right, but exercising your right. There are people that would literally kill for the rights we ignore or don’t care about. Please enrol, and please vote.

As Aung San Suu Kyi has famously stated: "Please use your liberty to promote ours". Don't be a dickhead. Vote.

Plus, if you do, these very cool dudes will think you are rad:

Here's some links that will take you to the enrollment site if you’re so rubbish that you can’t even figure it out yourself -

If you're overseas: http://www.elections.org.nz/enrolment/how-to-enrol/how-to-enrol-overseas.html 

If you're in NZ: http://www.elections.org.nz/enrolment/

P.S. I figured out how to embed links!

A day in the life

Most photos courtesy of my friend Jo Olney