Post from Michelle:
A trickle of sweat rolls down the spine of my back. It tickles a little. The afternoon sun, high above, makes the white pages of my book glaring bright and I have to squint to read. I sit on the bungalow balcony letting the sun soak through my skin and turn it a couple shades darker.
I hear laughter in the distance and look up. Across the river I see a line of children making their way through the rice paddies. They laugh and yell, run and skip. Older children lead the way and little ones struggle to keep up. I watch as they make their way over the river on a rickety bamboo bridge and then turn down the dirt path in front of my bungalow. Their semi-uniform line reminds me of a rag tag marching band except their music is their laughter.
Soon the children pass under me, oblivious to my watching eyes. The same dirt that covers their skinny arms and legs has seeped into their clothes leaving a brown orange film, muting out the underlying colors. All the boys wear dirty baseball caps too large for their heads and all the girls carry shoulder bags. As they march pass, my heart inside is warmed as much as my outside solar-heated skin. Despite their obvious poverty they skip and play and laugh as children should - with carefree spirits embracing Life. A young girl at the end of the line looks up and catches me watching. I smile and she smiles back shyly.
Later in the afternoon I walk with Catherine (our new Irish friend) down the dirt path to the Riverside Guesthouse next door. I can still hear the children's chattering voices drifting in the air. I am curious to know what they are doing. A large round-faced Thai man greets us and introduces himself as Johnny. Off to the side, nestled by small bamboo bungalows, I can see the children sitting in rows under an open-air thatched roof.
Johnny tells us they are Burmese refugee children and he has donated some of his land to start a school for them. Every afternoon they children come to be taught, hopefully, by tourists and volunteers. His face suddenly brightens as he asks us to teach.
We wander to the back of the school hut and watch. A woman visiting from Turkey is teaching. I watch in interest as she struggles to teach English words, numbers and songs. Confusion mixed with wonder crosses the children's faces. I can see they understand very little of what she is saying. It is hard to teach when the teacher doesn't speak in their native language. They try to listen and behave but soon are fidgety and bored. So the class breaks into small groups. I sit with the older girls and help them write their alphabet. I write a letter and then they copy it. Next, I write my name for them and then they write their names in Burmese. The strange curling characters of their names look as foreign to me as my written name probably looks to them - two different worlds meeting under a thatched roof. We can't communicate by words but plenty is said through the small touches, nodding of heads, pats on backs and glowing smiles.
Later, a Thai man in a long black ponytail teaches the children math and Thai. The warmth between teacher and students makes it apparent he has an on-going relationship and commitment to the children. I found out later he comes everyday from town to teach the children as a volunteer.
The sun is beginning to glow its familiar evening 'it's time to relax' light. School is over and the children strip off their clothes and run to the river to play. Their brown bodies shine like polished stone as they splash, laugh, and play the way children should - with carefree spirits embracing Life.
I hear laughter in the distance and look up. Across the river I see a line of children making their way through the rice paddies. They laugh and yell, run and skip. Older children lead the way and little ones struggle to keep up. I watch as they make their way over the river on a rickety bamboo bridge and then turn down the dirt path in front of my bungalow. Their semi-uniform line reminds me of a rag tag marching band except their music is their laughter.
Soon the children pass under me, oblivious to my watching eyes. The same dirt that covers their skinny arms and legs has seeped into their clothes leaving a brown orange film, muting out the underlying colors. All the boys wear dirty baseball caps too large for their heads and all the girls carry shoulder bags. As they march pass, my heart inside is warmed as much as my outside solar-heated skin. Despite their obvious poverty they skip and play and laugh as children should - with carefree spirits embracing Life. A young girl at the end of the line looks up and catches me watching. I smile and she smiles back shyly.
Later in the afternoon I walk with Catherine (our new Irish friend) down the dirt path to the Riverside Guesthouse next door. I can still hear the children's chattering voices drifting in the air. I am curious to know what they are doing. A large round-faced Thai man greets us and introduces himself as Johnny. Off to the side, nestled by small bamboo bungalows, I can see the children sitting in rows under an open-air thatched roof.
Johnny tells us they are Burmese refugee children and he has donated some of his land to start a school for them. Every afternoon they children come to be taught, hopefully, by tourists and volunteers. His face suddenly brightens as he asks us to teach.
We wander to the back of the school hut and watch. A woman visiting from Turkey is teaching. I watch in interest as she struggles to teach English words, numbers and songs. Confusion mixed with wonder crosses the children's faces. I can see they understand very little of what she is saying. It is hard to teach when the teacher doesn't speak in their native language. They try to listen and behave but soon are fidgety and bored. So the class breaks into small groups. I sit with the older girls and help them write their alphabet. I write a letter and then they copy it. Next, I write my name for them and then they write their names in Burmese. The strange curling characters of their names look as foreign to me as my written name probably looks to them - two different worlds meeting under a thatched roof. We can't communicate by words but plenty is said through the small touches, nodding of heads, pats on backs and glowing smiles.
Later, a Thai man in a long black ponytail teaches the children math and Thai. The warmth between teacher and students makes it apparent he has an on-going relationship and commitment to the children. I found out later he comes everyday from town to teach the children as a volunteer.The sun is beginning to glow its familiar evening 'it's time to relax' light. School is over and the children strip off their clothes and run to the river to play. Their brown bodies shine like polished stone as they splash, laugh, and play the way children should - with carefree spirits embracing Life.