Back to the Border

It was a grand combination of my adventurous spirit and immense naiveté when the word “yes” flowed from my lips to the question, “Are you willing to buy a one way ticket to Bangkok, take a train to Chiang Mai, take a 5 hour bus ride to the Thai Burmer border, be picked up from an illegal migrant from Burma, and live with her until I can come check on your progress?”  This question was asked to me eight years ago in the Atrium on the Seattle University campus, over a frothy Starbucks cappuccino.  My professor (and now long term mentor and friend) then handed me a large pink post-it.  Or was it orange?  I can’t remember.  But I know that on one side there were directions written in Thai, and the other directions written in English.  I shared the news with my parents.  My mother refused, my father applauded, and I clicked the “purchase now” button on the Eva Air website.  

I was 22 years old and I felt full with good fortune and ready to take on the vague yet complicated task.   I flew to Bangkok.  I took a train to Chaing Mai.  I stayed there a week, wondering the streets, eating the food, drinking the beer.   I went to the bus station and showed the women my orange (pink?) sticky note.  She looked at me as if to say “You are not really going there” and I looked back at her as if to say,  “Am I really going there?”  Money was exchanged (no words) and a paper scrap was placed into my sweaty and shaky hand.    I took a seat in the way back of the van.  I pulled out my (gasp, this is only 8 years ago) Walkman and my CD case trying to decide what the soundtrack to this mountainous drive should be.  I can’t remember what I played, probably Enya, or George Winston, or some classical music that would aide the slow the panic attack that was having a fiesta in my stomach and slowly moving up my body into my sternum and making it hard for me to breathe.  One hairpin turn after another, and I realized I had no clue what I was doing, or where I was going.  Five hours pass and what seemed to be countless mountaintops.  Two checkpoints with young armed solders managed to make me break a sweat more intense than any hot day or long run have since.  Slowly people left the van, until it was me and the driver, and maybe one more passenger, and we were still driving into the mountains.  My breath grew deeper and I, for the first time since my near fatal ferry boat ride in Nicaragua two years prior, had the visualization of a light switch where I could actually turn off my panic.  I reached my right hand out, put out my index finger, and turned off my panic switch.  Thank God, it worked. 

An hour later we arrived.  The van pulled over and the driver motioned for me to get out.  I took my backpack and got out at the rice stand where I was told to wait.   Moments later a motorcycle came booming around the corner with a husky woman covered in tattoos driving.  What in the world, I thought to myself.  She stopped the bike, looked at me, and said “Geneva?”.  WHAT THE HELL I thought to myself.  I pressed my hands down against the precious skirt I had worn for the occasion, and hopped on her motorbike, side saddle, with my jam packed REI bag hanging desperately from my small frame as we whirled around the corners on a bumpy dirt road.

It is hard to explain the life that unfolded after this fateful rice stand pick up.  Pee Bua, the woman who picked me up, was adorned with tattooed lyrics of freedom fighting songs all up and down her arms, and covering her whole back.  She and her husband fought for the Shan State Army against the Burmese Military Junta.  They fought for freedom, peace and the ability to retain their social and cultural beliefs.  Just a few years prior to my meeting Pee Bua, her husband was beheaded in front of her, and she and her young son were forced to run into the jungle to escape the same fate.  She walked for days through the jungle and ended up in this village in Thailand, the same village where I was to live with her for over a year.   At this point in the story I am at a loss for words on how to describe my experiences.  Pee Bua took me in like I was family, as did the entire village.  We grew to be like sisters.  We worked for over a year together on various projects that increased health service delivery to Burmese migrants.   With her limited English, and my limited Thai, we were able to communicate quite well and after a short time it was obvious that we really respected and adored each other.     When I said goodbye to Pee Bua and her family many years ago I promised my return, but deep down wondered if I would ever get back to this remote migrant village.  Just recently, I have been able to weave primary data collection into my thesis and within a month or so I will be back on the border.  I will stay in Pee Bua’s home and travel to all of her projects on the border documenting the success she has accomplished since the organization I worked for started funding her projects nearly a decade ago.  Pee Bua is delivering health care services to the most marginalized population in Thailand; undocumented migrants.   I have encountered many strong, brilliant and bold women in my lifetime and am fortunate to be surrounded by them in my family.  But Pee Bua stands out in my mind as one of the most influential and life altering humans I have ever had the honor of calling a friend.    I am approaching my 30^th birthday in a few weeks, and I can’t think of a better place to start this new decade of life than in the high mountains of Northern Thailand with a group of migrants from Myanmar who, in my opinion, truly embody the nature of life and love and perseverance amidst seemingly endless struggles.   Below are some photos from the Thai/Burma border:

Main road in Pieng Leoung

Creative little guy on the border

This is the hike from the village to the refugee camp.  I ventured out alone one day and got lost.   Sticking to the rules of monastery, without making eye contact these young monks silently motioned for me to follow them.  They delivered me safely to the camp for my meetings.

Showing migrant students their first globe!   The look of surprise on their faces to discover all that is beyond Thailand or Burma was priceless.

Migrant School

Reading to a kindergarten class

Pee Bua at the local hospital where I will be conducting a lot of research next month

Real men participate in condom blowing up competitions.  I was up next, it is harder than it looks!

Precious little faces!