Monthly Archives: October 2009

Daily Life, Laos, Teaching

Anticlimactic Halloween

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On this day at schools around the world, children dressed in costumes and celebrated Halloween. Last year, our whole ESOL department at Shanghai American School dressed as pirates. Here we are in all our swashbuckling glory:

Halloween Pirates 2008

This year, at my new school, I was the lone pirate. In fact, I was the only person – child or adult – who dressed up. I knew there wouldn’t be a parade or a party, but I just couldn’t let this most awesome holiday pass without digging into my costume box. I had lunch recess supervision duty at the basketball court, and I’d like to say the kids gathered ‘round and expressed their admiration for my unique form of individuality. In reality, they made fun of my “parrot,” a silver-sequined Christmas ornament that I wired to my shoulder seam, and tried to steal my plastic sword.

Supervision Duty

Not one to shy from the spotlight, I enjoyed all the stares and comments from kids, parents and other teachers. However, I felt a bit deflated in the cafeteria when a European teacher said in a rather surly voice, “That’s so AMERICAN.”
I wanted to respond with (ahem … cue the patriotic music, please), “Madam, if you are suggesting that my country has overpromoted this great holiday – a holiday that allows people of all shapes and sizes a reprieve from calorie counting and stress-related eating disorders … a holiday that fills our plastic pumpkins with unconditional joy … a holiday that gives ordinary citizens the freedom to dress in their most shocking, funny or slutty frocks … a holiday that cares not about religious affiliation, sexual orientation or political parties but only about uncensored silliness – if you are suggesting that my country has helped millions of people around the world discover the innocent chewy goodness of candy corn, the eerie yet satisfying glow of a jack-o-lantern at night, the ability of peeled grapes and cold wet spaghetti to trick unsuspecting haunted house guests, and the pheromonal qualities of a tight black cat costume … if you are implying that the United States is single-handedly responsible for the globalization of Halloween, well, then madam, I can only say I AM PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN!”
Instead, I lifted my eye patch and said with a whine, “This school is so LAME.”

Laos, Teaching

International Day

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At a school where …
• one second-grade class comprises 12 nationalities,
• many kids speak a different language with Dad than they do with Mom,
• the elementary teaching staff represents 5 continents,
• even the native English speakers get confused by each other’s accents, and
• an impromptu lesson about an insect in the room turns into a discussion of how to cook it …
EVERY day is International Day.

However, one day each year is set aside to celebrate the myriad cultures represented by our student body. At VIS, that day was Friday. Dressed in their traditional costumes, children puffed up with pride for their home countries and paraded around the school grounds. The younger group spent the morning in sessions that explored dance as a form of cultural expression, and then they joined the secondary students for an assembly at the covered basketball court. Student performances included a spectacular Bollywood-ish dance by two sisters from India, a poignant interpretive dance by a Nepalese girl, a silly crowd pleaser by the 8th grade class (“Did You Ever See a Penguin Come to Tea?”) that got the crowd up out of their seats, and a rap version of Frere Jacque by the middle school French class. A local Lao hip-hop dance troupe had everyone clapping and cheering.

The highlight of the day was lunch! Nearly every family contributed a dish from their home country, so the tables overflowed with delectable treats. I’m not sure exactly what I ate, but everything was scrumptious. Just when things were wrapping up, a German dad passed around some apfelkuchen. Mmmm … schmekt gut!

As an American, it’s always a little tricky to come up with a costume on International Day. One of my students said, “You could dress like the Green Lady.” I thought he meant a superhero like the Green Lantern or the Green Hornet, but eventually he struck a pose and I realized he meant the Statue of Liberty. Another student told me to dress like Uncle Sam. Instead I opted for a red, white and blue ensemble with some silver stars on my face. Those savvy little kids know their flags. “You could be from Australia! Or Burma! Or Chile!” Smart aleck TCKs.

Daily Life, Laos

And It’s All Small Stuff

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If I smell a little ripe today, it’s because:
(a) we can’t seem to figure out our bedroom A/C unit, so we wake up repeatedly during the night either in a pool of sweat or frozen solid, and
(b) we had no water this morning. Our helpful new night guard, Beng, fixed the water pump before he left, but by then I only had time for a quick prostitute bath with a packet of lemongrass wet wipes.
As Tony stared at the bathtub faucet and waited in vain for it to do something, he muttered, “This is a nightmare.”
In typical sympathetic fashion, I responded, “It’s not really a nightmare, is it? But it is frustrating.”
We both stomped out of the house, cranky and stinky.
My friend, Carine, lent me her car for a few days while she went out of town, but I had to return it this morning. On the way to work, I made a quick detour to the gas station and used my last few kip to put a couple liters of gas in the car. My empty wallet contributed further to my funk. (See the previous post, “A Fool and Her Money …” for background.) Grumpily, I put the car into gear and headed to school.
In that 10-minute trip, I witnessed several groups of Lao people waiting by the side of the road with their offerings of food for the village monks. The image of one little girl keeps popping into my head. She wore a public school uniform: a traditional dark blue sinh – a straight skirt woven of cotton or silk – and a button-down blouse. She must have been about 9 years old, so she had probably witnessed the morning collection of alms on nearly every one of her 3,000-some days on earth. Still, she knelt with her hands in prayer position and a smile stretched across her face as the monks chanted a blessing over her family.
The barefoot monks draped in orange are a common sight each morning here in Vientiane. But today, that little girl’s connection with the monks somehow soothed my frazzled nerves and served as a gentle reminder not to sweat the small stuff.

Daily Life, Laos

A Fool and Her Money …

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Today I had to borrow money from a friend to pay back another friend. How embarrassing is that?
It’s not about spending too much and living paycheck to paycheck. It’s about a ridiculous banking system. Our school deposits our salaries in the Laos Public Bank, which is open from 9 to 3 Monday to Friday. As people saddled with jobs, we are NEVER free during the bank’s operating hours. “Oh, well,” you’re thinking, “just use your bank card at an ATM.” Wouldn’t that be such a tidy solution? Unfortunately, the Laos Public Bank doesn’t issue ATM cards.
Rather than switch its account to the local branch of New Zealand’s ANZ Bank, which DOES have ATM cards and DOESN’T charge any fees for them, the school instead patronizingly offers us this service: We can bring our bankbooks and paperwork to the school cashier before 9 a.m. each Wednesday, and she will go to the bank and handle our transactions.
That’s a great system IF you don’t get sidetracked by the piles of paperwork on your desk, a concerned parent dropping her kid off at school, a depressed colleague needing to chat, a crying child, or any number of other obstacles that stand between your classroom and the cashier’s office early on a school day.
That’s a great system IF you don’t have any surprises during the week, such as a guard who makes off with your electricity bill money, a weed whacker that needs to be repaired because the aforementioned guard put the wrong kind of oil in it, or an unanticipated shortage of Beer Lao in your fridge.
That’s a great system IF you know what day of the week it is and therefore go to the cashier on Wednesday instead of Thursday.
That’s a great system IF someone reminds you that the following week is a holiday so you should probably take out some extra cash.
Perhaps you sense that I haven’t been entirely vigilant about the Wednesday banking. You would be right.
Two Wednesdays ago, I took out just a bit of play money. Then I realized we would be off work for a week, the bank would be closed for the holiday, and we had friends visiting. So I borrowed $500 from a colleague. Today, I frantically tried to fill out the banking paperwork before my 8 a.m. EAL Parent Coffee. At the last minute, I realized I had left my bankbook at home. Meltdown. Freak out. Waterworks. Pick your euphemism. It wasn’t pretty.
My fabulous colleague, Carine, sprinted across the room, gave me a big hug and asked how much I needed. Let’s see … $500 to pay back Bernadette, plus money to pay back our new guard for the weed whacker work, plus money to pay back our housekeeper who bought groceries out of pocket, and so on. Before I knew it, I was $800 in debt to Carine.
I can totally see how those dumb gamblers on TV get in so much trouble.

Daily Life, Laos

Changing of the Guard

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We hired Ae, our night guard/gardener, at the recommendation of a VIS teacher, who was friends with his previous employers – a couple who had worked for a charity organization here but returned to the States last year. The teacher said Ae was desperate for work and had been calling him frequently to find out whether any of the new teachers wanted to hire him. Without pursuing any other options, we offered him a job. In retrospect, it’s highly likely the VIS teacher simply wanted to get Ae off his back.

Within the first couple weeks Ae was already asking for a loan. I sought the counsel of everyone I could find (Lao and foreign), and they all responded with a resounding, “Don’t do it!” However, Ae showed Tony his dilapidated little thatched-roof shack and told us (through a translator) that he couldn’t pay his children’s tuition. Saavy little bastard. When it comes to children and education, I’m a big fat sucker.

So, against the unanimous advice of friends, colleagues and strangers, and without Tony’s blessing, I gave Ae the equivalent of $120. He agreed to let us deduct about $12 from his pay every month till the end of the school year. Even the Lao teacher who translated during this discussion shook her head and suggested we take out a bigger chunk each month.
But did I listen? Of course not.

Last week, I gave our maybon Daeng the electricity bill and the money to pay it (about $150, a fortune even to us). Unfortunately, she delegated that task to Ae.

For the next few days, Ae kept trying to tell me something. He made gestures that looked like a bird flying overhead and rambled in Lao. I told him repeatedly to tell the story to Daeng so she could translate, but he acted embarrassed and wouldn’t do it. Finally, I called another Lao lady, who talked to Ae and conveyed his story: He was riding his motorbike to the electric company when all the contents of his shorts pocket blew out. He didn’t realize what happened until it was too late. He claims that’s how he lost our bill, all our money, and his whole salary.

Tony wanted to fire him on the spot, but I convinced him to sleep on it. Neither of us actually slept that night. Tony was seething with anger; I was confused about how to proceed. I feel a constant nagging guilt about our relative wealth in Laos, and I worry about being culturally insensitive. I decided to call our landlady, Mrs. Villay, who owns most of the homes on our block and seems to be the matriarch of the village.

Mrs. Villay lives two doors away, so she immediately came over with an old bill (so the electric company could call up our current charges) and a feisty attitude about Ae’s story. “We couldn’t believe you hired that man!” she said. “He’s not well. He spends all his money on cards. He is not responsible, so he cannot work for you.”

When I told her that I wanted to believe Ae, she scoffed. “He stole that money from you,” she said. “I am sure of it!” She has had her own share of sneaky employees; one maybon stole gold from the spirit house. “When I caught her, she cried and said her baby was sick, but I took her to the village chief and now she has to pay me back a little bit every month,” said Mrs. Villay. “You have to be strong!”

Strong is not a word often used to describe me when it comes to confrontation. Gullible, wussy avoider is much more accurate.

Anyway, this afternoon Mrs. Villay came over to help us fire Ae. Ugh. He turned in his keys and rode off on his moped, and Mrs. Villay said, “I think he’s happy. Now he doesn’t have to pay you back.”

We considered not replacing Ae. However, the grasses and rainforest plants in our big yard seem to grow about a foot a day, and there’s no way I’m going near them with a weed whacker when I know snakes are lurking nearby. So I asked Mrs. Villay if she knew of a trustworthy person looking for work. As it happens, her lovely handyman, Mr. P, has a son who is interested in the job. We hired him 20 minutes after firing Ae.

So Beng starts tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed!

Laos

What Wat?

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Thursday’s Vientiane adventure with Tony N. and Rand included stops at two local Buddhist temples: Si Muan and Si Saket.
Wat Si Muang
Various legends surround the original construction of Wat Si Muang, but here’s the gist of the story: King Setthathirat moved his capital from Luang Prabang to Vientiane in 1563, so a group of sages selected a site for the big stone pillar that would become the home of the city’s guardian spirit. The pillar was suspended with ropes over a large hole in anticipation of a human sacrifice to the spirit. Finally, a pregnant woman leapt (was pushed?) in to the hole (sometimes with with her horse or a young monk, depending on who’s telling the story), and the pillar was released. Many people believe offerings at the temple will bring good luck to women trying to conceive.
Wat Si Saket
This temple was built in 1818 by Lao prince Chao Anou. He later rebelled against Siam’s influence in Laos, bringing Siamese wrath and destruction to Vientiane. For some reason, they spared Wat Si Saket, which was restored by the French in the 20s and 30s. The wat’s perimeter walls feature niches with more than 2,000 little silver and ceramic Buddhas with another 300+ standing and sitting Buddha statues on the steps below the niches. Some date back to the 15th century.
In one small space, there’s a pile of damaged, mostly headless Buddhas from the 1828 Siamese-Lao war.
I’m a wee bit obsessed with nagas, the serpent deity, so I loved the 5-meter long “haang song nam pha.” The whimsical naga stands at the back door of the wat’s ordination hall, and it’s really just a fancy wooden watering can for the ceremonial cleansing of Buddhist images.

Disclaimer: My camera battery was dead, so these shots were taken with my phone.

Laos

Lao Textiles

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As Rand, the two Tonys and I walked around Vientiane yesterday, we popped in to Lao Textiles, a company run by an American woman named Carol Cassidy. I mistakenly thought it was a weaving workshop, and I wanted to see whether we could all take a class. Rand, a self-proclaimed interiors junkie, had read about Cassidy and said it was the only “don’t miss” on his list of things to see here. Serendipity brought us to her doorstep!
When we first arrived, her assistant gave us a quick tour and some background information. When Cassidy showed up, she absolutely fell in love with fellow creative spirits Rand and Tony N.
Nursing a broken foot, she plopped down in a chair and chatted with us as though we were neighbors or longtime friends. It soon became clear that she was not some idealistic do-gooder who breezed in to Laos and produced a few scarves. Although her relief work has created jobs and changed the lives of Lao villagers and landmine victims in Cambodia, she has also built a wildly successful textile empire in Southeast Asia.
Her staff use modified looms that Cassidy designed to combine European and Lao weaving techniques, enabling them to create longer and wider lengths of silk fabric with stunning traditional and contemporary patterns. She still sells scarves and wall hangings in her restored Vientiane mansion and upscale U.S. boutiques, but she also has contracts with several haute couture houses, the Guggenheim Museum, and some very wealthy American socialites. For one rich family, she produced gold silk wallpaper! As we walked through her studio, she pointed out various projects underway on the looms, including solid fuchsia silk for a Yves St. Laurent sofa and creamy silk with a gold and silver pattern destined to be Chanel curtains.
Cassidy told us that some big projects can take more than a year to complete, and I read on her website that only two centimeters per day are woven on the most complex designs.
She clearly enjoyed discussing the design world with Rand and unpretentiously asked him questions about different artisans and designers who might appreciate her creations. Tony N flipped through iPhone images of their furniture designs, and she gleefully inquired about their work. As we were leaving, she practically begged for their contact information.
My Tony and I felt so fortunate to be participants in this conversation. We obviously wouldn’t have been able to engage Cassidy so much on our own! Note to self: Always take Tony N and Rand along when you visit artsy destinations.
For more information on Carol Cassidy, check out her website at www.laotextiles.com.

Here are some photos of her workshop. I don’t know why I didn’t get a shot of HER or any of her finished work. Duh.

Daily Life, Laos

Lao Starbucks

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We are so thrilled to have two of our favorite people visiting this week – Tony and Rand! They were in Hong Kong for business, so they popped over to Laos to hang out for a few days. Yesterday, Rand mentioned his desire for traditional Lao coffee, something I had also been eager to try. I knew there was a coffee stall right in front of my house, but I had never been brave enough to check it out. The lady working at the stall had lots of business in the schoolkids on lunch break, who were buying iced juices. I ordered three “kaa-feh boh-laan,” and then we watched her cook up some black sludge in a small metal pot. In three coffee-stained glasses, she measured out about two fingers of sweetened condensed milk, a layer of coffee sludge, and several spoonfuls of powdered creamer. She stirred it up and poured the heavenly concoction into ice-filled cups. Delicious!! She may just be my new best friend. (That’s our house right behind Tony, so you see how convenient it will be for me to get my fix!)

Daily Life, Laos

Flat Tire

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Yesterday I needed to get something at school, but I didn’t feel like driving the car such a short distance (it takes me awhile to do the 20-point turn to get out of our driveway), so Tony agreed to give me a lift on his motorbike. We had just pulled out of our gate (otherwise known as the neighborhood tuk tuk station) when a tuk tuk driver called out and pointed to the motorbike’s flat rear tire. I made the international gesture for “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” and all the tuk tuk drivers pointed to a little stall down the street. As we pushed the bike in that direction, the ladies at the produce stands all clucked in sympathy and waved us toward the “tire repair stall.” There, a guy on a stool took the tube out, patched it and put the tire back together for the equivalent of 60 cents.
When I was making coffee this morning, our gardener, Ae, knocked on the kitchen window (scaring the crap out of me) and called for me to come outside. He made a “pbttttthh” sound and mimed a tire going flat. I popped out to see, and sure enough, it was flat as a pancake. I guess you get what you pay for.
Somehow I understood Ae’s explanation that we shouldn’t have gone to the corner tire repair guy. He offered to take the bike to a proper place to get it fixed, which he did for the whopping price of $1.17.

Laos Tire Shop

Daily Life, Laos

Vay-freakin’-cation

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We were starting to doubt if we’d make it to October, but – voila! – we did, and we’re enjoying our first week off school. This is the week of Boat Racing Festival in Laos, a holiday to mark the end of Buddhist Lent. According to the Vientiane Times,

“The annual festival serves as a reminder to farmers that the rainy season is over for another year, so they can begin harvesting and preparing their soil for the next planting season. The end of Lent allows monks to leave their temples overnight to visit relatives after three months of immersing themselves in Buddhist teachings. According to tradition, during Lent monks are not allowed to travel so they don’t accidentally step on insects or damage villagers’ rice paddy walls.”

Yesterday, I went for an early morning bike ride and saw crowds of people heading to the temples wearing their finest traditional clothing. They carried ornate silver pots, orchids, baskets of sticky rice and other offerings. After sunset on the banks of the Mekong River, villagers gathered for the traditional ritual of layheuafai. They set adrift little boats made from banana leaves with flickering candles to pay homage to the river.
As much as we would have loved to see this, Tony and I were scared off by the crazy riverside street fair. We walked through it during the daytime, and we just couldn’t imagine how it could get any more crowded or frenzied. At one point, I was meandering along when I noticed a panel covered with blown-up balloons on my right and a guy throwing darts on my left! I was walking right through the Pop-A-Balloon game! There were no signs or other warnings. Absolute chaos. One of my colleagues lost her handbag in last year’s melee when someone cut the strap, and other teachers reported stories of stolen cameras and pickpockets. So we decided to stay far, far away from the river this weekend.
Unfortunately, that means we’ll also miss the dragon boat races. Linda, a friend from school, was rowing with a village team, and I had planned to cheer her on. But alas, I got spooked by the crowds. So we watched the races on TV. Pretty amazing!
We’re sticking around Vientiane for this weeklong holiday, trying to catch up on work and taking advantage of our loaner car to get some errands done and do a little sightseeing. Today we checked out a nearby swimming pool. It’s big enough to swim laps, and it was totally empty! I was psyched until I noticed the mold all over the sides and the brackish color of the water. Still, I’m not completely deterred. I’ll wear goggles and try not to get water in my mouth. How bad could it be?