a movie, a dream, a reality

I feel as if I am in a movie almost every moment. One of those movies about an ordinary guy who goes to some far off place to escape his life, and finds more than he could have imagined. I don't know whether to laugh or to cry or to sing with joy. Everyday I think both about leaving and about staying forever. I am simultaneously in a trance as I am n a hyper-attentive state. There is no end to the beauty, no end to the sadness, no end to the contradictions. The happiest people I have ever met in one of the saddest situations. The hardest working, unable to work. The smartest people with the most primitive education. The lowest quality house I have ever lived in, yet I take of my shoes every time I come in the door.

I have only been here about a day, and it feels as if I am in another world.

From the moment I jumped out of the car on the highway and was met by Dhay Poe (administrator at LMTC, the school I am teaching at) saying, "Hi Austen!" And I looked up and saw thousands of lights coming out of the jungle canopy on the mountainside. It looked like a scene from Avatar, or the hobbits arriving at Lothlorien in The Lord of The Rings, But it wasn't it was me and it was real life. But I knew this was a magical place. With the cover of night I walked down a forest path, walked through a river and on on a motorcycle ride worthy of fast and furious and into the refugee camp.

In many ways I was shocked at the low-quality of the living conditions, but I shouldn't have been, I suppose I had been spoiled by Thai hospitality. My room was open to the air, with a few foot gap between the top of the walls and the roof. He showed me the bathroom and said I was welcome to take a shower or wait until the next day. I would have taken a shower if I had realized where it was. It took me a while to realize that the "shower" did not refer to a spout that sprayed water on you when you turn a nob as I had supposed, but rather to a bucket in the bathroom with a ladle in it.

I met the principal the next morning, an old man who walks with a cane. He walked over the same eroded mountain trails I had the night before nearly fell on multiple times while trying to get to my house. He didn't once.

The mountain trails

He talked about how the revolution had affected his life from a very young age. How he was convinced by his high school teacher to be a teacher instead of a soldier up to founding this school He said how they asked him to be headmaster and he didn't think he could, but here he was.

"We are always supposed to have at least one native speaker." He told me, but it had become difficult because the Thai military had been cracking down on letting foreigners into the camp. He then told me about his belief in God and how he had prayed for me to arrive safely. He talked about the many religious at the school, there are Buddhist monks, animists, but mostly Christians. Most all the teachers are Christian, but one. "He is a communist," the principal said as if that was a religion. "He to it when he was with the Burmese during the war."

These two girls are independently learning how to play the violin. They have no teacher. 

I met the communist/atheist professor the next day. We talked about physics and how I would happy to help with anything as I had studied Mechanical Engineering. "I like to do science and physics experiments," I told him. "We can't do much here. It is a pity we do not have a nuclear lab!" he said while walking away laughing.

With the light of morning I was able to see the lay of the land for the first time.

The school is backed right up against the mountains, a huge tower cliff right behind it. Surrounding the cliff is dense jungle forest with mist rising out of it every morning. The view is fit for the center spread of National Geographic.

This cliff is right behind the college and is probably over 1000 feet high. 

I met more of the professors later that day. Maria speaks perfect English and has to be at least in her sixties, if not older. She walks on the mountain paths of mud in her perfectly clean traditional Karen clothes. She learned her impeccable English in Baptist mission schools with American teachers.

Then there is Thara Harold. He says how he wants to study overseas, but he can't. I 'm stuck here, and I'm getting old. A few grey hairs are showing up on his head, but he speaks English well and is quick as can be. "We just want freedom. This is not freedom. Peace? peace is too much to expect."

I go to class and we talk of democracy and war and freedom. Things I studied in history that were abstract concepts that described revolutions hundreds of years ago. But not here. Here it is what they live every day. It is why they can't leave.

Students play soccer on the small cement playing field. 

Revolutions, war, peace councils. These are not distant events we learn about from their air-conditioned rooms. These are the things that govern their current existence. Their relatives are part of the revolution, part of the war, they wait to hear the results of peace treaties that could change everything about their lives.

As I sit there with a dog sleeping on the cement floor while the lecture on history and literature continue, chickens running around outside, monks chanting in the distant monastery, that rises along with multiple christian crosses out of the beautifully dense mountain forest, I want to jump up and shake myself to make sure that this is all real. Can it really be happening to me?

View from the college: if you look very closely you can see the cross of a church. 

Every day I think about going home. But I can't. I just can't. This is too amazing, too incredible, too difficult to miss.

The Karen believe strongly in ghosts. From their animist background, many believe in the spirits of the trees and forest.

The name of the Karen's homeland is Kaw Thoo Lei. I have heard many translations, the most common being Land Free of Evil, but also Land of Green Ghosts.

I don't put much stock in ghosts or ghost stories, but my first night sleeping in the camp I "saw" (I am not sure if I was dreaming or in some half-awake trance) a ghost next to me. It scared me and I tried to hit it, and it was gone. It was probably just a random brain spasm, but perhaps it is because, as I often feel, this place is magical.