David Francis reveals the motivation
behind his series of true tales from the jungle.
"JUST REMEMBER - YOU ARE PART OF THE VILLAGE"
After reading so many articles on the sordid side of Thailand, of
drugs, girls and boys available for sex, of con-men overcharging for jewels,
taxi rides, tours and such-like, I felt the need to show you the "other"
side of Thailand. Forget the shopping malls, the air-con and the glitter.
Make time to see the heart of the country, the real Thailand!
I have lived in a small village in northern Thailand for five years.
The most important things to the villagers are the Lord Buddha, the Royal
family, their own families and - survival. The village is one kilometre
from the main road and consists of a dirt lane that turns into a quagmire
in the rainy season - coming soon!
Some of the better-off people who have grown-up children working in
the cities, sending money home, live in brick houses with electricity.
It’s only been available here for four years. Some even have a fridge and
TV. The poorer people live in grass-roofed houses without electricity.
Most houses have a water well. If they have electricity and money they
will have a water pump. Poorer folk have a rope and bucket. When water
is scarce, everyone bathes in the river near the village, but certainly
not naked of course.
We have a small temple which earlier only had one nun, but now it has
many monks. When the monks came, the whole village - from very small children
to very old people - turned out to build them living accommodation. Now
we are building a bigger temple but it will take years, as it is dependent
on contributions and labour from a village which is, shall we say, not
very rich.
The nearest hospital is 10kms away, for those who can afford it. I regularly
give them lifts on my motorcycle. Those who cannot afford hospital ask
the monks to come and drive away the sickness or evil spirit which is possessing
them. In one year, four people contracted Japanese ‘B’ encephalitis. I
was one of them. I went to the hospital. The others could not afford it
and they died.
There was a lovely girl who ran a shop for her very old grandparents.
She was knocked down on the main road by a drunken motor-cyclist and died
instantly. The police told the rider to pay compensation to the grandparents,
of which he paid only a fraction. So apart from suffering the death of
a girl the whole village loved, the grandparents had to close the shop
and lost their only income.
Villages, and indeed towns, have a type of insurance in which those
who are members pay 20b each towards funeral expenses when another member
dies. People who go to pay their respects to the deceased and wish their
spirit well give a donation in an envelope. This is normally 20b, or more
if it was a close friend and if you can afford it. In most cases, 100 days
after the funeral, the family make a tamboon,
a merit-making party to let the spirit know it has not been forgotten.
Again, all are invited and donations are made to meet expenses. The same
thing happens at a marriage ceremony.
When the time comes to grow rice, sweetcorn, peanuts, cabbage or whatever,
the whole village gets together as a group, descending on each other’s
land in turn, digging and planting and then moving on to help on the next
person’s land. If someone can’t work themselves, they will pay for a substitute.
Sealing friendships
I wanted to build a little bridge from the road to my gate over a wide
drainage ditch and, like you do, asked the village headman for permission.
I was told I would have to put large concrete rings in the ditch to form
a drainage tunnel under the bridge.
When they were delivered, a guy who works as a trekking guide was passing
by and asked me what they were for. After I explained he said "Right,
you mix some cement to seal them and I’ll be back in half an hour."
Half an hour later, there he was with five other village blokes.
"We’ll put them in, you seal them" said my new boss. Like
most things it was easier said than done. It took three hours to finish
the job.
"How much do I pay them?" I asked the guide.
"Pay them? What are you talking about? This is a village!"
came the sharp retort. "Go and buy a couple of bottles of lao
khao, some Sponsor and some labcub
kem." That’s cheap rice whisky, a mixer and something to
nibble while you drink it. After we finished our impromptu little party
I thanked them heartily as they left.
"Just remember - you are part of the village. There will be a time
when you can help us" came the reply. I was a foreigner, and suddenly
a deeply moved one.
The village clubs together to buy seeds, fertiliser and chemicals in
bulk. This is true collective farming. If you do not own land yourself
you can work with the rest of them for 60b per day, a thought you might
bear in mind when you buy your next beer at 55b.
Some of the produce, such as sweetcorn, is cooked and sold from stalls
along the main road, usually by wives with very young children or older
women. You might have seen them as you rush by in a bus or rented car.
It seems odd to us to see a row of six or more stalls, all selling the
same thing at the same price. But there’s no bad feeling and if one stall
sells out they will borrow stock from one of the others.
If you happen to walk or bike past a field or house when a family is
eating outside you will usually be asked to sit down and eat, no matter
how poor or rich the people. Villagers like these, throughout Thailand,
are truly the very heart of Thailand itself!
Several tourists and expats are now locked in Bangkok’s
uncomfortable immigration detention centre because they have over-stayed
their visas. (...).
MISS
SUPAPORN. I am a single girl aged 27, single, 155cms
tall, 50kgs weight, do not drink & do not smoke. I like computers,
tour and travelling. (...).
David
Francis
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