Sheltering from Rain in Myanmar

Early morning, Eline left on a solo expedition to renew her visa. Passport control, on the Entry Port of the Union of Myanmar, is run by excessively friendly officers, one of which catches me in my pre-coffee confusion of whether to stand or sit. Passports are kept at the office... for our own safety of course.

On the Burma side, it is business as usual, as if it were any other border crossing in the world. Ants hard at work. Busy bees scoring a couple thousand Kyat (local currency). "Minglaba! Hello!" come from far and wide, off the sidewalk and from inside shops. Friendly faces greet the sleepy foreigner and stir life back into my dreamy estate.

"Ommo," is my driver for the day and he pushes me through the city of Myawaddy in a Burmese cyclo; a multifunctional wheelbarrow, suitable to transport matter and masses. The roads off the well-built main road are plackarded with signs reading "Crime free week" and "City of Myawaddy works together to eradicate problems of drug use". Farther from main cement, roads quickly deteriorated into pot-holes and dirt.

Unfortunately, economic strains are revealed through foods and bricks of Kyat bills locals carry (a stipling inflation). Roti Myawaddy comes without a rich serving of condensed milk as is the norm throughout Thailand. Samosas, too, lack a variety of vegetables, and ones I taste, with a watered down chilli sauce, were made of onion. I am confident to say that a lack of sweetness and richness in food breeds evidence of limited economic wealth.

Sheltering from the rain at a coffee shop, I become witness to the military face of Burma. A policeman at a table adjacent jumps up to regulate traffic. All traffic is forced to turn left. Several more policemen join, each geared with a masschetee, gun, and a pocket reading "US" (Is it fake or donated?). The commotion is for the locomotive of military vehicles that drive by wrecklessly, jeeps loaded with six to seven men and a centered machine gun.

Ommo takes me to a temple built on top of a giant green crocodile. It is a men's sanctuary so women are forbidden to walk the bridge. Pas de problemes, as instead I become enthusiastic for the opportunity that has presented itself otherwise: bearing witness to hundreds of water bottles that have been donated by the Thai government and which are being loaded onto a truck, ready for transportation to the Irrawaddy delta. Due to the rain, many delays are expected. Shibube (Thank you) Thailand.

However, the view of each temple top is gratifyingly calming with mountains scenting the horizon with an assured everlasting persence, with golden wats spirituality and collective hope to remain united against irreputable behaviour of a disgusting regime.

Cyclone Nagris: Myanmar Citizen Journalism

Warning: Graphic Material in links
In the wake of Cyclone Nagris the international media has had a hard time getting into the Irrawaddy Delta to capture some images. Recently, a few Burmese citizens' videos and photographs have surfaced graphically depicting the damage. Via ABITSU (All Burma I.T. Student's Union) we are given this video from Laputta, one of the most heavily hit areas. It shows massive devastation and copious amounts of floating dead bodies.

Salai Thang captured photographs of the damage and the dead at the time of the cyclone and has posted them to this photo album.

The uncensored and graphic nature of these media pieces stands in direct opposition of the SPDC junta's media claims about the cyclone.

Photos from citizen journalism of Cyclone Nagris, Myanmar

Mae La Refugee Camp

As we walked along Mae La's main street, a dirt pedestrian road bordered by two story bamboo huts, a man came over a bridge ahead of us. I leaned over to Eline, "He looks rugged." Well-worn rubber boots, farmer's hat, and typically Burmese stout build. When his eyes caught us walking towards him, he stopped in his tracks, and covered his mouth. As we met he started becoming very emotional. His face read of long years working in fields and living in the jungle, wide and honest. After limp handshakes, his eyes fell misty upon us, and his chest started quaking. He made an action of a wave coming down onto his shoulders, perhaps Cyclone Nagris or an SPDC attack. He bisected his torso with his hand, pointed to one side and shook his hand away. Then he bisected my body and pointed at my better half, Eline. It would seem that he lost his wife. After the explanation, the strong "rugged" man fell into tears in front of us. I held his hand, but could offer very little verbal comfort. After our moment together, he blessed us and we parted ways.

Mae La is a vibrant, happy place full of playing children; home to about 40,000 refugees, mostly Karen minority. This encounter reminded us of the harsh reality facing the refugees not in Thailand by choice, but trying to make the best of it. 500,000 people are on the run from the Irrawaddy Delta and the Thai-Burma border camps are feeling the influx, though to what extent we are not sure.

The camp sits along a highway in a narrow valley surrounded by mountains and limestone cliffs. Inside its barb-wire fence, makeshift bamboo huts crowd over dirt paths and small streams. Australian, German, Japanese, American, and many other nations' flags decorate NGO walls. Schools and hospitals are extraordinarily prevalent. Churches, Buddhist temples, and Mosques belay diversity of religion living together in the camp.

Winds of Change

Thai visa application was accepted in Jakarta, followed by 24 hours of travel back to Mae Sot. My previous volunteer position has ended in my absence as my students were accepted into a post-10 school, their version of university, congratulations! I was intent on continuing to teach but I was planning on moving out of the group's home upon returning with Eline anyway. We have checked into a $4 a night guesthouse with a primitive kitchen and a beautiful balcony where we will spend the next couple of weeks.

The current plan is to move to Rangoon (aka Yangon) as soon as possible. A Katrina-sized cyclone unexpectedly jumped out of the Bay of Bengal into the Irrawaddy River Delta killing an estimated 10,000 people and making over a million homeless. In Yangon, the capital city to the East of the river delta, 59 people were killed and major damage done to the infrastructure.

In the Bangkok airport, news agencies have personnel holding signs directed at tourists returning from Yangon asking for any photos coming from the region. There is a huge lack of information coming from within. A task for me? Perhaps.

The national referendum vote for the pro-junta constitution was scheduled on May 10th. This date will be upheld in the majority of the country except in the disaster areas where voting will be pushed back to May 24th. Due to the secretive nature of SPDC, the controlling junta, relief workers including UN employees are being denied visas until after the referendum vote, I am told.

In the coming weeks Eline and I are going to try a few avenues for visa acquisition though it sounds like we will have to wait just like everyone else. Using Mae Sot contacts, we are going to get in touch with a school in Yangon for the opportunity to obtain 10 week work visas. Meanwhile, a boarding school on summer holiday needs some sort of summer classes to entertain a gaggle of kids too far from home to return for break.

Indonesian photos soon!