My TIE project finishes later this week and I’m not ready to say goodbye. On March 10th I arrived in Yangon in jeans and a jumper, sleepy from a long flight. Fast-forward 4 weeks and I’m sitting in Café by Inya Lake, dressed in traditional Myanmar fabric and feeling full of energy despite the humidity, heat and lack of sleep.
I’m buzzing with excitement about all the wonderful (and sometimes strange) scenes I’ve witnessed and by the gratitude I feel for the kindness I’ve been shown over the last weeks: by my Prospect Burma colleagues, their friends and family and complete strangers. But also, by the messages I’ve received from friends and colleagues back in my “real life” that remind me that I have a pretty good home to come back to. I’m basically the luckiest person in the world (Hey! it’s not gloating if you’re appreciative ;) )
In my last post I wrote about how I’ve learnt to be comfortable being on my own. However, that satisfaction will never match the energy I get from human kindness, people inviting me into their life and wanting to be a part of mine. This isn’t news to me and of course the setting for these interactions isn’t limited to Myanmar, it’s just that I’ve had the privilege to experience situations with a heightened sense of awareness over the last weeks. In my day-to-day life I don’t make enough time to reflect and appreciate all that I have around me, so I wanted to share a few meaningful experiences that hopefully anyone can relate to in some way, no matter where they are.
It’s the little helpful gestures that make a big difference. When I was “stranded” outside a beach town waiting for a bus back to Yangon that didn’t seem to come I perched under a tree with some moto-taxi drivers to escape the mid-day sun. They must have noticed I was a bit worried: each one insisted on inspecting my ticket and called the number on it (a little bit over-kill but sweet none the less). They had no ulterior motives (they knew I wouldn’t be their customer) but still used their personal phone credit to make sure I’d be okay, simply because they thought it was the right thing to do. (The bus eventually came. Sort of. But that’s another story).
Every day banter with strangers makes life more interesting. People at markets here are calm and helpful. Ladies take me by the hand to navigate me to the right stall. One market lady in particular welcomed me when I returned: she pinched my arm and in broken English exclaimed: “You’re back! Is it cause you’re attracted to me?” followed by a hearty laugh.
The power of making somebody feel welcome is often underrated. My Prospect Burma colleagues made sure I felt welcome and part of the team. At the start of my second week, my colleague Yupar gave me a notebook with images of Yangon on them. She spotted them over the weekend and they reminded her of me. Her gesture, along with my long personal chats with my colleagues led to me constantly having a huge smile on my face and feeling like I was part of the team. (One that I’m not ready to leave yet!)
Being invited into someone’s home and life is humbling. My host took in a complete stranger into her home despite her busy life. Honestly, I don’t know if I would have done the same if I were in her position. Not only has she invited me in, but she’s also taken me out on Myanmar culinary adventures during which she openly shared her personal stories and perspective on the country. She’s also really into gender equality so we don’t run out of conversation.
Our paths eventually cross again making our memories more meaningful. I’ve also had a coincidental blast from the past. After a meeting at the International School (to scope out partnership opportunities for Prospect Burma), I ran into my old teacher and school counsellor from Vietnam days. Although now 10 years ago, they remembered so much about me (many things I wish he would have forgotten by now) and it made me feel like a little piece of a home that I will never be able to re-visit still exists. It sounds silly, but as someone who “doesn’t have any roots”, this reunion is incredibly meaningful to me. (My teacher also asked me to return and talk to students about ‘life after international school’, so I got a platform to chat people’s ears off about my last 10 years. The worrying thing is that they actually listened!)
Saving the best or last: Being invited into be part of someone’s family life makes for a wonderful sense of belonging. The most incredible experience of my time so far was the invitation to join my colleague’s family trip to a Pagoda Festival (Shwe-Settaw Pagoda in Magway), a 12 hour drive from Yangon and “normally off-limits to foreigners”: what an amazing opportunity to get a rare glimpse into Myanmar culture. Both spiritually and otherwise this was a big deal for the family and I feel so special to have been allowed to be part of it.
Seven of us piled into a mini-van (despite my reluctance they insisted I get the front seat) and drove through the night, arriving at the pagoda village mid-morning. My colleague’s description was spot in: it was a festival in the most literal sense with thousands of people, staying in basic accommodation sprawled along a river, market stalls and street hawkers everywhere and loud music blaring from rustic speakers. We were allocated a small bamboo hut where the seven of us were to sleep on mats on the floor.
The off-limits to foreigner’s thing was also more true than I thought. Just after we cleaned the hut and set up our mats, it was made clear that foreigners were not to stay in that camp. There was a bunch of back and forth in Burmese and my colleague’s mum decided they would just hide me. We went along with that plan for a while, but I could tell the family getting visibly anxious with me around and eventually the hut-manager asked us to leave. Although I could have probably found accommodation on my own elsewhere, the family insisted we all leave together. I felt awful as their kind invitation ended up being an awkward inconvenience for them.
Eventually we found a different hut, also right by the river so it ended up being okay. Just when I felt like they regretted having me tag along, my colleague translated that her mother had asked whether I’ll come back with them next year.
Her mother was so sweet and adopted me for the weekend watching me like a hawk. We communicated with gestures and super basic Burmese: “Jah day! Jah day” (It’s okay it’s okay!), “Jezuba” (thank you!) “Toi Do May” (let’s go!). She leapt at every opportunity to help me, whether it was chucking me into the river and ensuring I properly scrubbed myself with soap (literally, she splashed me until content that I was clean), painting Thanakah on me (the yellow paste), or running over to tie up my longyi (Myanmar skirt) and re-adjusting it throughout the day.
She was also concerned about my eating enough. On the drive up, right after a hefty breakfast during the long drive she chucked a sweet potato at me (she even peeled it for me!) and insisted I eat the whole thing. This trend continued and she also kept telling the others to look after me.
My colleague’s family and friends didn’t need reminding to look after me though: everyone was so forthcoming in making sure I was happy, offering me to use their things, take my picture and accompany me to the toilet (the outhouses were a few minutes’ walk from the hut). My colleague’s younger brother spoke great English and offered to answer all my questions (which he patiently did!)
While the family were praying at the pagodas, I had a look around. Old meets new: neon lights, goods being sold inside, little girls selling bags with fish in them (they had scooped them out the moat outside the pagoda. You could buy them to set them free, so the girls can scoop them up again and re-sell). Crowds gathering to make donations and offerings to the Buddha (and take selfies with me, the only foreigner around). A bit hectic for my taste but we also came across a more peaceful place: a truly stunning pagoda with over 380 stupas. Great for photos!
We woke up at 4.30am the next day to make offerings at the Pagoda (mostly fruit bowls and other food) and then started the journey back to Yangon (via 6 or 7 more pagoda stops).
Throughout the drive we passed dozens of road-side “fundraisers” for Buddhist monasteries. They shake their silver begging bowls and usually have really loud, broken speakers so you can hear them from far away. Our driver rolled down the window and chucked out a 100Kyat note (5p) at them. As I’ve never seen someone literally throw money out the window, I was visibly entertained. He offered me to take over “the giving”, so I spent a good amount of the drive folding up 100 Kyat notes and chucking them at the fundraisers. Kind of bizarre.
Group toilet break en-route
I’ve made some wonderful memories on this short trip that will stay with me for a lifetime.
The sentiment of all of these experiences can easily be replicated in daily life anywhere, and for me they are the foundations of what make me truly happy (once I’ve been fed ;) ).
I was asked what stands out the most to me in Myanmar. Cultural identities are diverse and still really strong throughout the country. Many people still wear the traditional dress in daily life and cling on to their cultural heritage with pride. Myanmar is also very religious (predominantly Buddhist but also Christian and representatives of most other world religions). While in the West religion is declining, new pagodas are being built here left right and centre. Although I’m not one to advocate religion (I have my own opinions about this), the strong faith has made people here the most generous in the world (fact) not just measured by their willingness to donate the little bit of disposable income they do have but also with their radiant positive attitude (my observation).
The most striking difference to Brits/ Germans is how infectious peoples’ smiles are here (no offence… on average we really just don’t smile enough back home!). For many (probably most) people life in Myanmar is still incredibly tough. There are no or little social safety nets and labour is still predominantly manual. Farming, for example, is done with wooden ox-carts and ploughs. The only thing reminding me that I’m not in the middle ages are some plastic rubbish discarded on the side of the road.
Construction workers (men & women) building roads do so by hand: from bashing up stones with a hammer, to cooking tar in old oil barrels over fires in a ditch. They don’t have enough food or water to keep them hydrated in the boiling sun, so passer-byers hand out donations. A pretty miserable site, but the reaction when making eye-contact is a massive, beaming smile.
Apart from the first bamboo-hut owner at the pagoda, I have yet to come across a grumpy or gloomy looking person. (I therefore find it extra confusing how atrocious acts have been and continue to be committed in this country but that’s not the point).
Despite their hardship, people focus on the little things and make them count and that’s what’s been fuelling me with energy. I’m grateful for all the unforgettable encounters I was able to experience over the past month.
I don’t feel ready to go home yet, but I’m looking forward to seeing my Octopus team. They’re a pretty smiley bunch too.