The Joys of Illiteracy (Part 2)

About a year and a half ago, on our third day in Thailand, we wrote a blog about not being able to speak or read Thai and the difficulties that come with this handicap (like accidentally purchasing a pastry with "mystery meat" filling!) By now, most missionaries would be writing about how much progress they've made and how all those little communication problems that they ran into when they first arrived are becoming a thing of the past. Unfortunately, it seems that we are not "most missionaries!"

We are in very odd situation. We chose to learn Akha instead of Thai because we are working with the Akha people, however we are still living in the country of Thailand. So, although we do great when we're in an Akha village, when we are down in the city (where everyone speaks Thai), we are not much better off than the day we stepped off the plane. This fact, was clearly illustrated by our egg experience yesterday.

Paul and I were out running errands and decided that it would be fun to make chocolate chip cookies. So we stopped by a market to pick up some eggs on the way home. Buying eggs in Thailand is very different from buying eggs in America. I could tell you all the ways it's different, but I think that's another blog altogether, so I'll just tell you the one thing that matters for this story; there are three different colors of eggs: white, brown and pink. I've always thought that the pink dye was to signify that the egg was hard boiled while the white and brown were both fresh eggs. I normally buy brown eggs because that's what they sell at the market in MaeSalong, but the vendor that we went to yesterday only had white and pink eggs. So we bought 5 white eggs and headed home.

When it came time to make the cookies, I cracked the egg only to find that it was hard-boiled. Not only was it hard-boiled, but the yolk was a funky oily orange and the egg white had an odd opaque chalky appearance (Not like any hard boiled egg I've ever seen ... And certainly not anything I was interested in tasting!) So, with the cookies half made, I sent Paul off to the market again to get brown eggs this time. He came back with fresh eggs and the cookie project was saved.

Later, I got to thinking how all of that day's "egg hassle" could have been averted if I only knew how to say "Are these eggs fresh or have they been cooked already?" in Thai. While it can get pretty frustrating to continue having these moments even after a year and a half in Thailand, we've learned to laugh at our mishaps. And I comfort myself with the fact that I can say "Is this egg hard-boiled?" in Akha (even though that didn't help me much yesterday.) All in all, we're happy with the language path God has us on ... despite the slight inconveniences it sometimes creates in the city.

Tags:

• language
• missions
• food

Police, Parents and Prodigals

The highways in Thailand are scattered with police checkpoints. Imagine driving down a major highway like I-70 or I-5 and every few miles having to slow down and drive through a coned area with the Police stopping or searching every few cars looking for drugs or signs of human-trafficking and illegal immigrants. Being largely surrounded by Myanmar, Laos and Indonesia there is a significant need for these checkpoints. To the Akha, however, they serve as a frequent reminder that they are a people without a country and are often unwanted by the countries they are in. Even today as we drove down from Mae Salong with an Akha friend of ours we were stopped and he had to show proof (by ID cards) that he had the right to drive down to Chiang Rai.

Two nights ago, however, four of the families from our village were very grateful for one of these checkpoints. On Saturday night as things were winding down in the village and kids were heading home from playing in the village and the surrounding area on their day off from school, one of the village elders came running to me in a panic. "The police have my little boy! The police have caught my little boy! You have to go get him!" Soon the whole village was gathered and talking and we understood that five Akha boys from our village, aged 7 to 12, were at a police checkpoint thirty miles from our village.

Now, at this point, you need to understand a little bit about Akha boys. Perhaps the best American illustration that I can use to illustrate a typical Akha boy is that of Huckleberry Finn. Independent, adventurous, intimately knowledgeable about their surroundings, fearless (at least during the daylight hours) and generally unconcerned about trivial things such as their appearance or whether their parents know where they are.

Well, five of these little Huckleberrys from our village had apparently decided they were going to run away (probably to one of their relatives villages) to a town about 45 miles from Dama Gojo in Mae Salong. They gathered a few baht together and hopped in a song tau (Thai taxi/minibus system) towards Mahinte. No one from our village knew where the were until a phone call came from one of these police checkpoints.

Apparently, the policemen at this checkpoint thought it was highly suspicious that five Akha boys would be traveling on their own so they pulled them into their office and eventually got the story of what village they belonged to. They then called our village and the very worried parents sent the pastor (who speaks fluent Thai) and I down to fetch them.

About 9:00 at night we arrived to a sober group of hungry Akha boys. The police had turned them over to an Akha family who gave them a good talking-to and this vagabond group was not looking forward to going home to their worried parents. After visiting with the Akha family for a short while and purchasing some snacks for the boys to take an edge of their hunger (the adventure had distracted them from eating all day), all seven of us trudged through the rain and into our little four-seat Suzuki Caribbean.

An hour later, we were back in the village again having added another surreal chapter to our lives with the Akha.

Tags:

• Akha
• children
• culture
• Thailand

A Tale of Three Chickens

I have been reading through Exodus, where God gave the law to Israel after taking them from Egypt. Pages of commandments about what is appropriate compensation to pay if your bull eats your neighbor's crops. I must admit, I was dragging my way through it - wanting to skip ahead to more exciting reading. But an interesting event in our village has shed new light on this passage for me, and the importance of justice in every culture.
Yesterday while we were sitting with our village enjoying fruit and conversation, a young woman from our village shouted something about a dog and ran down the hill toward her home. A short time later she came back, quite distraught, with her largest rooster dangling in her arms. Over the next 20 minutes, two more chickens were found, all three had been killed by two village dogs.
In an Akha village, dogs and chickens are all livestock for the dinner table. They are not caged up, but roam the village freely eating what scraps they can find. Although these animals often appear to be wild, they all have owners who feed them and, eventually, eat them. Generally all the animals co-exist peacefully, dogs learn as puppies that the chickens are not for them to eat.
But on this day the young Akha woman had lost three chickens, quite a large loss, meat enough to feed her family for some time. The two dogs which had attacked her chickens were owned by two different families.
We wondered how this situation would be handled. In our experience, village issues are often handled either by fists or by ignoring the real issue. But in this case there was a precedent, a village law. In front of the whole village a scale was brought out and the dead animals were weighed. Once all three had been weighed the woman was offered her choice of market value cash for the chickens or new chickens from the dog-owner's flock. She chose the money (about $12) and the dog owners were given the dead chickens. No fights, no hard feelings. Justice exists to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Tags:

• akha
• village
• culture
• animals

The Rat and the Cat

Last year we had a bit of a rat problem. And you might have noticed in Paul's recent post, Our Akha Homecoming, that we are again sharing our Akha hut with these little rodents. Having dealt with rats before, we knew exactly what to do... (drumroll please!) Glueboard Rat Traps to the rescue! I don't think they are very common in the U.S., but they are the standard way to catch a rat here in Thailand. If you haven't already figured it out by the name, this trap consists of a piece of cardboard (about 15"x 15") on which a super-sticky-goo must be spread. Finally, a tasty treat is put in the center and when Mr. Rat goes for the food he gets stuck; the more he moves around trying to free himself, the more he gets stuck.

The other night we set our trap, and sure enough around 3 o'clock in the morning we woke to a commotion in the kitchen. We weren't particularly excited about having an execution ceremony then and there, so we left the rat alone and said "We'll deal with it in the morning", (...secretly hoping we could get one of our Akha friends to kill it, since we're both a little wimpy about that sort of thing.) We tried to go back to sleep, attempting to ignore the intermittent thumping and whining coming from the kitchen.

About 30 minutes later, we heard another commotion. The thumpings were much louder this time and we thought, "We must have caught a second one, a 'biggun' by the sounds of it!" However, after a few seconds, we heard the sounds move quickly towards the main room of our hut and it was obvious that this was no rat! We hopped out of bed and turned on the light. It turns out a village cat had heard the cries of the rat and assumed he'd get an easy meal, but he didn't plan on getting his tail caught in the super sticky glue! When we found the cat, he was tearing around the hut at near-light speeds with the piece of cardboard (rat and all) still stuck to his tail. While our hut has many cat-worthy escape routes, this terrified cat with the large piece of cardboard stuck to its tail was having a hard time getting out. Finally, armed with a couple brooms, we were able to herd the cat out into the night.

Although we're not keen on having a good night's sleep interrupted by a rat and cat fiasco, we have to admit that we still love the adventure in our lives! But even more than the adventure, we love living & working with the Akha people. By sharing in these simple day-to-day experiences, we come just a tiny bit closer to understanding the life that an Akha leads, allowing us to share the love of God in a way that's relevant to their lives! This is why we're here in the village!

Tags:

• akha
• village
• animals
• humor

Learning to Share

Without children's church or nursery, church services in an Akha village tend to be a bit nosier and more "active" than in America. Little ones roam about during the two hour long service, toddling up and down the aisles, playing as quietly as can be expected, sometimes sitting down to play a little game, or landing on mom's lap for a quick nap. Some of my readers, especially those with small children, may wonder how this system works at all. What I haven't mentioned yet, is the widespread use of bribery during those two hours. Every Akha mom makes sure she has a few sugary treats in her bag on Sunday morning to keep potentially noisy mouths busy with other endeavors.

All parenting philosophies aside (not to mention dental concerns), the candy does seem to accomplish its goal beautifully. As an added benefit, it makes going to church a really special event for kids who don't normally get the luxury of snacks.

Yesterday at church, I snapped this priceless picture of two brothers (ages 1 and 3). They were sitting quietly at their mother's feet eating their lollipops contentedly when they realized that their own lollipop tasted best just after they'd had a taste of their brother's different-flavored pop!

Tags:

• Akha
• children
• church
• humor

Years Go By

One of the favorite jokes in the village is my age. Sometimes it's me joking aroung saying that I'm getting old because the Akha kids run circles around me, sometimes it's my Akha friends who say that since I don't have black hair I'm obviously one of the tsaw maw (the best translation we have is elder or grandparent). But the joke became a little closer to reality when I learned - much to my discomfort - that in the Akha account of time and age I'm 30 years-old. Yikes!

This recent revelation that I've reached the big three-oh has inspired some thoughts of days gone by. Now I know many of you reading this blog have seen 30 come and go. Some of you have even seen 30 years twice over. You're probably reading this and thinking I'm insane for writing about my old age, but you have to realize the shock is not just from turning 30, but from hitting that mark 2 years early!

How did I get these extra years? Well, as best as I can tell, here's how:

In the Western world we count from zero. This not based on natural truth as much as it is based on a philosophical idea. Our sense of time and mathematics, however, depends heavily on this idea so the first 12 months of our lives are spent in the zero^th year, not turning one until twelve months after we are born. (If you know much about interest and finance the idea is simalar to interest being accrued at the begining of a period vs. the end of a period.) Children have an acute understanding of the problems this system creates which is why we have so many six-and-a-half year-olds running around. In fact that system is not used in school. We do not say that a child in the first year of school is in the 0^th grade, we say they are in 1^st grade.

So it seems that traditionally the Akha say that a child is one-year-old throughout it's first year of life, counting ahead rather than behind. That accounts for one of the extra years added to my life, but still would have made me only 29 years-old. As my discussion with our friend MiNah proved, the Akha accounting of years is even more involved. Traditionally the Akha say that when a baby is born it is anywhere between 8 and 10 months into it's first year. Naturally within their culture the Akha seem to believe that life begins at conception. This being the case, three months after a child has been born it is beginning its second year - or as the Akha would say two-years-old.

This accounting of time seems to have changed as birth certificates and the western calendar have made their way into Akha culture. But, based on the zodiac (12-year cycle of animals) calendars familiar throughout Asian cultures including the Akha hilltribe, the 28 year-old friend of mine in our village was born two years after I was, making me 30 Akha-years-old.

Tags:

• Akha
• culture

Our Akha Homecoming

This has been a very enjoyable homecoming to the village. Sure, we have some rats again and all of our snacks were eaten by some Akha boys with too much time on their hands, but it is so good to see our Akha family again.
Especially nice has been the chance to spend some time with the current Pastor / intern. With our traveling and his schedule and responsibilities we haven't seen a lot of each other since he started in May. Last night we were able to spend some good time with him, just sitting around talking over the delicassy of the season - corn on the cob.
There is something wonderful about village life. Time moves differently here. Right now, sitting in our bamboo hut listening to the kids on the salah outside chatting about their treasures from the Saturday morning market, I'm struck by how far removed we are from the rest of the world, the wars in the Middle East, even from the political issues in Thailand. It reminds us that this Akha village is where our hearts are, and though we are often pulled and distracted by many good things that require much of our attention and time, this is where we feel most at home.

Tags:

• Akha
• village
• family

In Memory of ...

On June 20th, we joined a long list of couples who have suffered a miscarriage. You'll have to bear with me as I find it a little odd to write about this . Most people don't write about their miscarriage for all the world to read, but then again most people don't live 8,000 miles away from their friends & family. However, we know many of you have been praying for us and are anxious to hear how we're doing.

It's been a long time since we've done a blog update and that's mostly because we've been occupied. I know that's a weird way to describe it, so let me explain. We've been in the city for about a month and while our daily lives have progressed in pretty much normal fashion (no more or less busy than normal), our minds have been terribly busy with the unusual task of working through emotions that don't behave as they "should" (otherwise known as grieving.) Unfortunately, all this emotional & mental labor left little room for blogging.

And now that we're feeling ready to write blogs and move on, it seems wrong to just pick up where we left off with out acknowledging the loss of our unborn child and the process that brought us to this point. There are so many lessons and experiences from the past month that we'd love to share (and maybe later on we will, as we're leaving our Baby Notes Blog
active), but we really just want to share with you a spirit of rejoicing. As an Akha woman in our village recently reminded us, our little Bean is in God's country; he skipped the struggles of this world and all he knows of life is the glory of heaven.

(Note: To read a more detailed story of what has happened in the past month, you can download our most recent newsletter.)

Tags:

• family
• personal
• grief