Journal entry!

Journal entry for 4/11/09

Kuong Jor 8:00 pm

I feel nearly as if I am watching an anthill. The noise, more of an incessant buzzing, becomes insect-like in my inability to comprehend. There are lined faces, paired with grey buns and deep set eyes, sitting on small plastic chairs they have brought, or the woven mats that litter the covered area in front of the camps only television set. Kids of all ages, including infants sleeping near their mothers, grandmothers, aunts, or even sisters, eat their small treats and fight or socialize with each other, usually a bit of both. It seems the talking is as important as the show, at first, with only a few staring intently at actors lips, but it really just fades out so slowly that you don’t notice until the next commercial when the sound picks up again. It’s a wave that washes out too quietly to be of note but crashes over, grabbing attention back. A man in a mask is welding right outside the canopy- every time he uses whatever it is you use to weld (torch? Grindy thing?) the one light over head flickers. Everything here runs off of the same limited power supply, and it’s times like this you really notice. I’m sharing a bag of incredibly (to unbearably) salty tamarinds with two small girls from the orphanage/boarding house. One of them was crying this morning, I’m not sure why. The language barrier frustrated me most here, surprisingly, when I want to be able to show the kids that I’m interested in their problems, since there doesn’t seem to be anyone around to help them in their squabbles- or then again, maybe they do, I can’t always tell. I can’t notice everything. I do what I can though, and a little later we’re playing ‘ try to paint me with this mystery white baby powder smelling paste more than I can paint you tag through the room’ and tickle fighting across the bed. I know that I’ve done somewhat well in cheering her up and making her a little more confident around me at least when this evening she sees me reading, and as I stand up to follow her wherever she goes, she takes my hand and leads me along, unwilling to let go even as we join to TV watching monstrosity. It’s important, this physical sense of touch, when you’re missing out on the verbal. I notice every touch or gesture a thousand times more, appreciate an arm linked through camaraderie, or a guiding hand, all the more for usually having no explanation. Saeree Wittaya would have been an entirely different if we shared language, but here my desire transcends just wanting to make things easier for myself, probably because there are those who I spend my time with conversing and socializing. Here, I wish I knew, simply to do the best I can while I’m here.

A man, referred to only as ‘the Frenchman’ (and he has the kind of attitude that seems he would enjoy the novelty) who is a doctor, an MD he specifically stated, came to the camp. As Sai Oo had said, he is an interesting man, always wanting the best and knowing precisely what that entails. He built (funded, planned, etc.) the kitchen for the boarding house, and now plans to remodel the clinic and build a new boarding house. His truck is fancy, carrying a fridge with food for the kids, bringing clothing as well. His hair is still dark, but his whiskers show more grey, and don’t cover the plump underneath his chin. Talking with him is a little awkward- here is none of your usual fellowship found with other aid or NGO workers. As he said, he is the ‘big boss’ of his own NGO. He no longer takes volunteers, they don’t know enough about the situation. Sai Oo said when he wants it done, it is always now, and under his supervision, per his plans. But the ends are worth while, it seems, and there is no need for extensive waiting or proposal writing with him. He says he will, he will. The conversation with me, sai lang, and sai oo is mostly English, though I am the only native speaker. Frenchman comments that he doesn’t work so much with Americans, and makes, I think a joke, about my inability to read his French brochure. He can read English, right? 20 working both here and Burma has given him a reputation and respect he likes you to know, for he was ‘the first,’ and is proud of it. Still, ‘it is so difficult’ he says, a world weary look on his face that I have trouble with. So many problems. Yes, yes, I see. You just do what you can, right? I just try to help the children. I think that here they know him, and how he works, how he thinks, more than he might hope, but as I do, you put up with personality traits and paternal overbearing nature in order to reap the benefits of his real generosity and commitment to helping.

Do all NGO’s have this self effacing superior founder? It’s hard to say. Do I have traces of it? I hope not. At least not to others here. Perhaps my aims, being infinitesimally more modest, or just sillier, make it easier. I don’t know much about the situation, or do much to change it, but I do try to be a friend or sister or anything that the children would make of me while I’m here, playmate, moderator, or just company. I hope that keeps me humble.

AND TODAYYYYYY

I went to the little party (at 6:30 am holy moses) for Seng Harm's one month old baby- they shaved its head, getting rid of bad luck, had a monk, named it, tied a string around its wrist for luck. I mostly ate sunflower seeds and tootsie rolls (the thai equivilent) with a few girls.

then we passed out the clothes the french man brought, which was fun. he is a bit of a nut, but he has been here a long time. he just touts it a little much for my taste.. haha. but he's funny, and will be here a few days, and I'm sure I'll like him more as time goes on. i think he really does care. he just is pleased with the work he's done, and that he has thai documents, and pictures with the big head monk of burma who is his friend, and that the police don't bother him and both countries let him in and out.. I'll limit myself.

Sonkran tomorrow, water festival! what what. Youngs friend braided my hair, but it hasn't been washed in a month so I feel kinda bad for that. and I'm home in two weeks.. whoa.