Laputta

View from a boat coming into shore (Merlin office visible centre-right)

Laputta is a small town, with 3 parallel roads and a market. At each end of the main road there are two Buddhist pagodas and a series of tea shops, with chairs so small and low when I squat down on them my knees touch my chin. There are no roads as such, just a few stones and an opportunity for the rain to make puddles so large you have to wade through up to your knees in the morning.

The office is beside the river, where all the boats are ready to travel to the many villages in the delta. Some of the villages are a 6 hour boat journey away, so you can imagine how remote they are and how difficult it is for them to access trade or healthcare. My desk overlooks the river, which means that I’ve upgraded seriously my office position from being behind a pillar. The river actually has a tide, so I wonder if it’s technically the sea, which would make it the Bay of Bengal, which in turn means that I have a desk overlooking the Bay of Bengal, which sounds a lot more romantic than it is.

If it’s raining, there's nothing to do in the town. If it’s not raining, there’s still nothing to do. But the local staff make the best of a quiet town by getting together and cooking, singing or watching films. Food choice is limited to rice and tofu, rice and chicken bones, rice and pig bones, oily noodles, rice on its own, rice and some green things, rice and crab shell, or there is a single shop which sells paratha. I’ve eaten a lot of noodles, and below is a picture of the sort of thing I have to eat. These noodles were kept in a bag in a fridge, the fat condensing on the bottom to emerge as what can only be described as a brain. The actual human brain wasn’t designed except by the chance outcomes of natural selection, but if it had been we now know that the designer was inspired by some frozen old noodles in a plastic bag. That’s a useful insight to have made 5000 miles from home.

Chilled monkey brain (aka chicken noodles)

On the weekends, the staff members (many of whom are from different parts of Myanmar) get together and cook the same sorts of food and eat with their fingers. I’ve not seen anyone yet who can eat rice with their fingers because it falls through the gaps in their hands and they have to scoop it up and throw it into their faces. That doesn’t stop me getting ridiculed for using a fork. Sometimes we play board games, and so far I’ve lost every single game of Pictionary and Scrabble I’ve played. Having said that, I may be the only person playing Insecure Scrabble.

Freudian slip?

The bathroom of our house is also the kitchen. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but it’s normal here. The shower and toilet are right beside the cooker, so during day-long cooking sessions for all the staff (every Sunday) one must also be very adept at not needing the toilet. And going for a shower means emerging half-naked to a table full of smiling faces. I don’t know if that’s a positive thing or not.

At night, when the kitchen is eventually free, there is still no peace. The frogs are out and loud, the mosquitos are biting any exposed flesh, and the lizards are running around every surface they can find. Occasionally a mouse might run through the kitchen in a blind panic, and I’ve been warned about rats coming through the toilet. Most mornings we have to wake up to a kitchen and lounge with strange poo pellets dropped across the tables and chairs, and I don’t know if these are from mice or from super-sized cockroaches. It’s not pleasant either way.

And still I’m aware this is nothing. I’m living in comparative luxury to many of my colleagues. “It’s like being in New York,” said one visiting staff member, so I hope I don’t sound like I’m complaining. Laputta is a special little town; it’s peaceful, happy, content and calm, which makes it one of the nicest places I’ve had the pleasure of staying. Fingers crossed the country opens up enough to let tourists come down and take tours along the river. Until then, I’m more than happy eating noodle brains.

Acronyms

Yet again this blog piece is nothing much to do with Myanmar; my apologies, I can’t seem to bring Myanmar to light except through my own head filter.

So today, as I’ve probably mentioned before, I need to talk about acronyms. They’re supposed to be beneficial and make life easier for people but recently, as I sit here trying to do a job in a remote town with few links to the outside world, I can’t see how they do anything more than breed confusion. And they do breed. During one of my first jobs, as an order picker at a clothes factory in Rutland, England, we discussed shortening the word ‘warehouse’, because we used it so often.

Let’s just call it the ‘ware’, someone suggested.

Or the ‘house’

We should just call it the ‘W’

’W’ has 3 syllables in it, I said. Warehouse only has 2; it’s easier to just call it ‘warehouse’

Oh yeah

The suggestions of either ‘ware’ or ‘house’ were preferable in the context of the discussion, but only to save one lonely syllable. Generally, word or term shortening is pointless. The letter ‘W’ should (almost) never be in an acronym; if it is hidden in an acronym, it’s probably wasting time. It’s the equivalent of a late substitution in a football game. Only the WI can barely get away with it, because ‘institute’ is such an annoying word. I suppose it would be technically simpler to call it the ‘Women’s I’, but that doesn’t come across very well. Nobody wants to hear you discuss women’s ‘i’s.

WHO is another. That’s double ‘u’, aich, oh. It’s a 5 syllable brain teaser to say three letters. We’re all better off calling it the World Health O, and then we can all save ourselves 2 syllables each time. Over a lifetime that’s probably enough syllables saved to feed a starving family for a year. A syllable saved is a syllable earned. Imagine all the times you’ve said ‘www’ and didn’t save time by saying ‘world wide web’ instead. Even George Bush cut it down by a third.

Acronyms are not needed for single syllable words and are only required for multiple syllable words at a push. Yesterday, I was looking for the meaning of the acronym ‘PSF’ in the context of sanitation activities Merlin recently finished, so I googled it and discovered more than 20 alternative interpretations. These included: Pennsylvania Shakespeare Festival, Prolate Spheroidal wave Functions, Palestinian Popular Struggle Front, and Price per Square Foot. It took me more than 15 minutes to eventually find what I was after (we have very slow internet here), but somebody could have just saved me all that time-wasting by writing down ‘Pond Sand Filter’. It was a 4 syllable term, which had been conveniently shortened to a 3 syllable term.

I can understand their use in text-speak, because text messages take a while to write out and they are, in most cases, widely known, such as LOL and LMAO. LOL has even become a single-syllable word in itself and has yet retained its meaning, which I like. That’s language evolving and being useful. If people in the aid world called the WHO the ‘hoo’ it would be both funny and useful, but they don’t; they make it, literally, 5 times more difficult to say.

And as a favour to you all, I’m going to acronymise (new word?) that last sentence - IPITAWCTWTHIWBBFAUBTDTMILFTMDTS. Look that up on google.

Negative Reinforcement

A further word about warning signs, if I may. In the shared toilet here in the Merlin Laputta office there is a sign saying: “Please do not throw tissues tothe [sic] toilet bowl. Thank You.” I’m starting to like these toilet signs because I don’t see them anywhere else; there must be something about the toilet which makes people susceptible to suggestion, or perhaps makes people feel comfortable telling others what to do (or, as is often the case, what not to do). There might be something in that for the justice system.

This particular sign is innocuous. There is a missing gap between the ‘to and the ‘the’, but I don’t care about that (I’m actually impressed I managed to say a “the the” sentence just now (and now I’m even more impressed I’ve just said a sentence with “a the the” – sounds like I’m sneezing (wow, see how many brackets I’ve got in this sentence))).

I’m also very happy to see the words ‘thank’ and ‘you’ separated, as they are often compounded nowadays, but even that wouldn’t have bothered me; I’m trying not to be a grammar snob. The problem is I honestly can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do, or not to do, in the toilet, and I’m going through options in my mind. Here’s a list of possible options I’ve considered (please let me know if you can think of any more):

1. Use tissues for whatever purpose you have, but throw them on the floor
2. Use tissues for whatever purpose you have, but put them gently into the toilet bowl, preferably with your little finger sticking out
3. Use tissues for whatever purpose you have, but then do anything else other than put them into the toilet bowl (suggestions: talk French to them, soak them in your armpit sweat, put them back on the roll where you found them)
4. Stop playing fetch with the toilet, it is not a dog
5. If you are using tissues far away from the toilet bowl (and why are you doing that?) throw them on the floor
6. If you are using tissues far away from the toilet bowl (and why are you still doing that?) put them gently in the toilet bowl at a close distance, pinky optional
7. If you are using tissues far away from the toilet bowl (come on now, this is getting silly) do anything other than put them into the toilet bowl (suggestions: wrap them into a sandwich and feed them to the receptionist, paste them to the wall in a post-modern protest against hats, quickly design a shuttlecock out of them)
8. Do anything you like other than throw tissues to the toilet bowl (suggestions: throw tissues in the toilet bowl, confuse yourself by hiding in a box, perform a karaoke segue of pre-1985 Billy Joel songs)

All of the above are possible outcomes of the warning sign in the toilet. It’s enough to give me nightmares. I’ve a feeling the closest I am to understanding the request is number 6, and I assume it’s to stop people running in and throwing used tissues at the toilet from the door. Alas, this is only an assumption and I’m frankly scared someone might walk into the toilet one day and ask: “why on earth aren’t you talking French, Michael? Come on, now, get to it. And let’s see that little finger while you’re at it!”

This time I avoided singing Billy Joel songs inappropriately – granted that’s a first for me – but I’d prefer to be faced with signs that are clear, directive and don’t lead to confusion. I quite like the idea of toilet signs preventing catastrophe, there’s definitely something in that, but as I’ve mentioned before let’s keep these signs positive, please, positive.

Meeting

In any given meeting it’s almost guaranteed there will be some individuals who say very little or perhaps even nothing at all. They will sit there and observe the others, smiling occasionally, watching for cues of interaction, marvelling at the speed with which some people appear to vocalise their thoughts.

Today, I attended a ‘village health committee’ meeting in a relatively isolated village, and I observed exactly this phenomenon again. The committee was made up of twelve elected members, each of whom represent the village’s health affairs and, essentially, coordinate the health affairs of their village, with support from our organisation. I was fortunate to be a guest of honour in the meeting and I sat next to the village administrator, delivering a set of questions about the formation of the committee, the village health needs, and their future aspirations. In this regard, despite the meeting being held entirely in the Myanmar language, I was able to participate and in a sense direct the course of the meeting’s topic.

Of the twelve attendees, however, I soon noticed that only three people were regularly talking, almost jumping over each other to offer one of their gems of wisdom. This included the facilitator of the meeting and two other men. The others were mostly nodding, watching the speakers closely, smiling enthusiastically, and laughing at all the right moments. It got me reflecting about the nature of meetings and also the assumptions we make about personalities in social situations. It was very easy amongst the group to defer decisions and insights to the talkative ones, as though their fast-hitting ideas were good by virtue of the speaker’s quickness and verbal fluency. But there was no reason to think they were particularly insightful or as important as anyone else’s would have been (at least, I don’t have the evidence otherwise) it’s just that talkative people often seem more impressive. I soon realised the participation of only a quarter of the people was not getting the most out of everybody. It was the equivalent of playing a football match and only letting the goalkeeper and two defenders touch the ball (mathematically almost correct, arguably, because the goal keeper isn’t an out-field player).

Because this meeting phenomenon is so common (and because I understand that roughly 30-50% of all people in the world are introverted, more or less, depending on where you live[1]), this sort of thing should be expected. So something clearly needs to change – and it sure shouldn’t be the personality types of introverts any more than it should be extroverts. Smaller groups and an understanding facilitator would be a start, I suppose. Using the principle of consultation is a key factor too. I personally get frustrated when agendas aren’t stuck to, because this allows some people to talk about whatever pops into their heads, a bit like children chasing bubbles. I tried saying whatever popped into my head once and ended up talking about one-eared dogs in space; but it still probably seemed impressive to people listening.

Until quietness is recognised and accounted for, I worry that the other half in the corner will remain quiet and their equally important and intelligent ideas, arguments and choices will remain unnoticed. And your football team will continue to be merely a trio of average players.

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[1] Referenced from Susan Cain’s book Quiet.

Boat

The last time I went on a boat on choppy waters I ended up being sick over the edge, just before my friends jumped in to go swimming. I didn’t tell them until we’d got back to land they probably had bits of last night’s rice in their hair, mixed with orange juice and stomach juices. Needless to say, we’re no longer in contact with those friends and I’m sure that’s one of many reasons.

I got to go another boat today, only this time I wasn’t sick. Nor did anyone go swimming, because I was warned there were snakes doing their own snorkeling in the rivers, and we wouldn’t very much want to join them.

Riverside homes

The boat, a barge-sized thing with oodles of cheap 3-in-1 coffee on-board, took us along the Delta’s river network for about an hour, and dropped us off at a community health centre where midwives and health workers were being trained. There they told me that, sadly, one of the midwives had been killed the previous night by a snake. Apparently, she had been awoken at midnight by what she thought was a cat scratching her elbow, but fifteen minutes later she was struggling to breath. When she then woke up her fellow health workers in a panic she didn’t realise she only had ten more minutes to live, and not enough time to get help.

She was not a Merlin staff member, but it was still a terrible thing to hear. I’m not so sure how everyone else in the room felt about it; I had to remind myself most people living here had experienced a loss of life and community unlike anything I had experienced myself. Laputta, the town where I am now working, had been massively hit by a series of calamities throughout the past decade including the 2004 tsunami, the 2008 cyclone Nargis, and the 2010 cyclone Giri. Cyclone Nargis alone killed 198,000 people in Myanmar and hit this town the worst (80,000 people were killed in Laputta, where there are now only 47,000 residents – the number of deaths here is roughly the same as were killed by the atomic bomb in Nagasaki) and the village I saw had been completely leveled by the storm and now rebuilt, save for the Buddhist temple which holds its own relic of the disaster.

A temple's fallen spire, still unmoved after 5 years

Laputta is a small town, quiet and slow-moving, and, along with its surrounding villages, rightly proud of its community spirit and sense of connectedness. The village I visited was delighted to share the story of how, during last week’s cyclone near-miss, they had sheltered hundreds of people from surrounding sites and used new technologies to warn people of the impending potential disaster. In some parts of Myanmar this warning ended up with its own disasters, but here in Laputta it was a sign of strengthening capacity and greater forethought amongst its leaders.

When our boat returned to dock in Laputta’s main town, the storms for this season had just started. Now there are two months of heavy rains to look forward to, and even choppier waters ahead.

Live shot from a scooter, speeding (sort of) along the main street

 

Lonely house, as viewed from the boat

Train

I didn’t get to leave Yangon after all, that’ll take a bit longer than I thought. Getting authorisation to travel around the country is getting more and more difficult as the country welcomes more foreigners (such as me) and yet remains struggling with the same resources as before.

So, to pass the time in Yangon I decided to catch a train, as you do.

Much like the circle line on London’s underground network, Yangon’s own circle line goes round the edge of the city and back to the beginning, stopping off at various places but, unlike London, it provides a view of the city, some pleasant and others not so. The fact that it’s the only train going round in a circle makes it easy to gesture what train you want to the guards at the station without speaking Myanmar (draw a circle in the air with your index finger). No small talk necessary.

The station itself is, from the outside, a very attractive piece of architecture and on the inside is your usual train station. Except that passengers wander willy-nilly from platform to platform in front of moving trains and mothers watch unconcerned as their young children climb onto the tracks.

A Woman In Black moment...

One man tried to convince us to cross platforms with him. I couldn’t tell if this was from genuine concern that we were about to catch the slow train to Mandalay, or whether he was trying to kidnap us, like an alternative train-spotter. He was quite charming and shook our hands, but we stayed firm and thanked him. I still can’t imagine what he wanted from us and he only came back to try kidnapping us again twice.

When we finally got on the train, my colleague and I sat on a wooden bench next to a young family, whose father was cradling his baby to sleep. But a man in a uniform tapped me on the shoulder and moved us both behind a roped-off section, where the train police sat. The benefit of this was that we got a seat to ourselves the whole time, opposite 2 very polite, knife-wielding men, but the downside was that we became like 2 pandas in a zoo, and the subject of many stares. To be fair, we were also staring back at everyone else and as the journey got underway I saw a number of people coming and going, some of whom smiled and waved at us, and others who probably held the same disdain for us as a Londoner would of people standing on the left of escalators. Thankfully, I was reassured this wasn’t London when I heard Celine Dion blaring from a teenager’s mobile phone.

 

A man bravely performs a Stand By Me homage

For the whole journey, the train moved at a snail’s pace and I had it in my head the train was being pulled by a contender in Myanmar’s equivalent of the world’s strongest man competition, edging the carriages along one inch at a time. It took 3 hours to get round the city in the end. Along the way I saw people throwing tables through windows, children selling cups of water for about 4p, a few people openly defecating beside the tracks, and people drinking from river water contaminated with piles of waste. The open defecation thing is a real concern across many parts of the country and has largely to do with the lack of education about how such habits can cause health problems, and I can’t say drinking contaminated river water is any better.

Homes caught between the railway and a dirty lake

When I wasn’t noticing those things, the relaxed atmosphere of the train meant I could stick my head out the window any time I wanted, or even hang precariously from the place where the door should have been, and not even the police would stop me. The train was moving far too slow for me to get my head lobbed off by another passing train.

Street food

Workers up to their waists in water

By the time the journey was over, and the various groups of foreigners got off (who must, by the way, seem extraordinarily daft to the locals, getting on and off at the same stop and not doing anything), we made a dash for the side exit, not wanting to run into the kidnapping train-spotter again.

Back at the station with Percy