The Silent Killer

First off, I’d like to apologize for not getting this up a little earlier. Unfortunately, this may become a pattern as our wireless modem was needed, so now we are back to nothing. We have access to the internet at Mercy but it is purposely slowed down so that the children do not spend all of their time surfing the internet. I’d say the idea works, because we do not even want to bother with it. Also, more than 50 computers are hooked to the same server, so that also causes a delay in the response time. So it is back to the internet café for us. Even though it is right down the street, we do not always have time to get to it. But I promise I will try my best.

In my morning class we read and analyzed a newspaper article from the Bangkok Post about Burma. Some of the words were quite hard to translate but we made it through. I was surprised by the deep questions my students asked, and the great observations they made. For example “How does the UN know how many people died if they are not allowed to cross the border?” or “Why is the meeting with all of the leaders of the Asian Countries not until the end of next week? Don’t they need immediate help?”

My students also asked that we focus on ordering in restaurants and reading a menu in a future class. Last Friday they went to an Italian Restaurant for lunch and were completely lost when they received the menu. In Thailand usually one meal is sufficient; they do not have appetizers, a main course and then dessert. We conversed a little more and then one of the students asked me if we had Swiss Chard where I live. I thought it was quite a funny question to ask, but I said yes. So he asked if it was in all restaurants or just the more expensive ones. How is one to answer this? Misty and I were just looking at each other, wondering where this question was coming from (Misty joined our class today because hers was cancelled). Well it wasn’t until a few minutes into the conversation that I realized he was actually asking if we had service charges! Now everything made for sense. In Thailand, if you go to a fancier restaurant, 7% VAT is added to our bill, but tipping is still at your discretion and is not required. I am not sure if Thai people tip, because I have never really seen it. Usually I only see farangs tipping, in restaurants that are geared towards their taste buds.

We decided to stay around for lunch. We spent some time with the children who have not gone back to school yet and then went upstairs to the staff cafeteria. On the menu today was rice, fish, some kind of cabbage soup, cucumber and pears for dessert. Most of the fruit comes through donated shipments that we receive from Australia.  The fish was prepared the typical way, salted and fried, still with bones and eye balls. I picked away at it, and was pretty proud of myself when it was mostly fish bones left, and the head. However, the computer lab technician was quick to come show me that you can eat the head too. I could not handle seeing him chew the eyeball. Yucky. Picking the fish away from the bones was a challenge when I first came here, and now it is like nothing to me. However, I will not be eating fish heads. I do not think the staff mind though, as it means they can have a second.

We went to the Dubliner for supper as it was ladies night and ladies can order anything on the menu for half price. We especially enjoyed it because we can use our VIP discount on top of that, so a pretty high-so meal ended up being quite reasonable. The power went off at least 7 times because of the rain, so there were moments when we were sitting completely in the dark. I had a very western selection, an Irish version of chicken pot pie. It was okay, but I could not finish it all. Even though we eat a lot of Thai food, it does not fill you up with the same kind of carbs that western food does. We talked a bit with the manager and then we were off. We went to Emporium, the high-so shopping mall down the street, to look for the children’s artwork that is now on display there. But even after asking for help at 3 different information booths we were unable to find it. We ran into one of the sponsors from Mercy and he tagged along with us for a little while. It is funny that we always end up meeting someone that we know there.

 

We priced out a few birthday cakes for the party tomorrow. I think we are going to end up going with a DQ cake, as it is the cheapest cake here and buying 2 will still be within our budget after we factor in all the rest of the party food.

I should also mention that my presentation on working with Children with Special Needs has been moved to this Saturday because all of the preschool teachers from the 29 preschools will be at the sports day, and after the activities are over they have a meeting. So instead of having everyone come together again, I will be presenting at their meeting. I am a little nervous now as there will be upwards of 100 people in attendance. I am not sure if the house parents will also be in attendance. I have found a translator who is able to translate, especially with all of the technical words. I probably should get started on that. I asked to only present for an hour, which in reality would be about 30 minutes of information, translated. This will also leave some time for questions at the end.

We walked to and from Mercy in a total of 3 times today. Even though the walk is quite long (from Walmart to the old Chinese Restaurant in Amherst) the length of it never really occurs to me. Only sometimes I mind the heat. Walking to Mercy is my time to think and is usually spent in silence, with Misty and I saying very few words to each other, but mostly becoming tangled in our own thoughts. On the way,  I pass by street vendors, auto part shops, a metal work shop and a string of carpentry type shops. The closer I get to the heart of the slums, the poorer the shops become. One has a lot to think about on this walk; the different lives these people lead, the amount of physical labor they do, wonder when their work day starts and ends, as many times they seem to be working no matter what time of day you go by. The Thai sort of RedBull probably helps. Without showing any sign of tiredness, I wonder how their bodies are able to keep going.

As I walk into the slums I pass countless vendors, selling their foods that have undoubtedly been sitting in the heat for a few days. I smile as I walk by a child, waiting at a vendor with her mother, wearing nothing but a shirt and a diaper. The diaper, a good sign as it is so rare here. No shoes covered her feet, which is hard to think about considering all of the filth and garbage that is lying on the ground. Walking further into the slums I am approached by an AUDI automobile, and I am not in the least bit surprised to see the driver from Mercy with a white man in the passenger seat; one of the many who come here thinking they are getting the real experience and making a difference; however only donating money and taking more than they are giving in return. Sometimes I feel like they should live more like the children when they come here; walking to and from where they are to where they want to be, or relying on the local transportation. Instead their every wants and needs are catered to, much to the disadvantage of the children and the staff.

It is hard to imagine that everyone and everything in the slums are illegally inhabiting the land. Nobody who lives here has the rights to their land (in the slums) and in a matter of time, many of these shacks could easily be destroyed. For all of these people, this is the only choice they have, and inside those small roomed shacks are the only things they own. Once again I am reminded of how devastating slum fires are.

One thing that always amazes me is that the children can usually retain the smile on their faces. However, one does not have to look too hard to see the loss of innocence and childhood that many of these children have been robbed of. Their eyes tell stories that even I am too afraid to completely understand. I try, but I do not think anyone could ever achieve a complete understand unless they have lived it themselves. Yet, they continue to get up in the morning and carry on, as if the world has never disappointed them.

This morning I watched the adults in the AIDS hospice listen to a presentation on living and dealing with AIDS. I did not understand much of it, but the visuals helped a little. The adults asked a lot of questions and seemed to be really engaged. It was only the healthier ones who took part. It is hard to imagine that the others may never come back to the stage where they will learn how to take care of themselves when they are back on their own. For many of them, they are headed down another path, and there is no turning back. I slowly watch as some of the adults fade away into a vegetative state. Their bodies are nothing but skin and bones, and they lye in their beds all day, waiting for time to pass; knowing their end draws very near. Today I learned that AIDS does not kill people, but it is the infections that come with AIDS, after their bodies can no longer fight the enemy, that kills people. People die. As much as we want to deny this or pretend it does not actually happen, it does. It happens in Thailand, it happens in Mercy, and it happens in Canada. Today momma showed me pictures of when she was healthy. Her hair was longer, she was larger and healthier looking. Sadly, I did not even notice how unhealthy she looks now until I looked at a picture of what she used to look like before she got sick. I often walk around the hospice and wonder what many of them were like before AIDS took over their lives.

I am afraid. I am afraid to look into their eyes and to feel all of the emotion they are feeling. As much as I try to acknowledge them, the ones who are really really sick, I find it so hard. I want to show them that I care, and that I know, but I cannot engage in eye contact long enough. Their eyes are sunken, and their face shows worry, fear, and sometimes even the look of death, or what I would imagine the look of death to be like. I cannot look into their eyes for I fear that I will not be able to handle all of the answers and all of the pain they pass on to me in that exchange. I cannot look into their eyes for I do not have the strength, but I try every single day. Each day I get a step closer, whether I walk into the worst part of the hospice to serve lunch wearing a mask, or whether I say hello as I pass by some of their beds, I try.