ခရီးသွား မှတ်စု လေးမြို့မှ အပြန်
An extract from my journal:
On our return journey, the boatman informed me we would stop at a village named ကုန်းချောင်း (Kone Chaung) by the river for lunch. As the boat approached the riverbank, a few rudimentary bamboo huts concealed behind the wild bushes came into view in the distance.
"These people here are seasonal workers but not a native," the boatman explained.
"They came from the outskirt of Mrauk-U to do bamboo business here. You would be surprised that some of this bamboo even made its way to Buthidaung and Maungdaw townships. Yes, that far," he assured me.
The tide was low.
Under the baking sun, a group of men was constructing bamboo rafts. Children in their birthday-suit, free-range chickens, piglets, and dogs were aimlessly meandering around along the riverbank among the busy passers-by. The boatman led me to a one-and-only shop in the quarter. A family of three was having their lunch under the extended marquee built in front of the shop. The shop owner, a woman in her late forties, asked the boatman if I were a traveller. He gave her the answer by nodding his head.
The conversation swiftly transitioned to Burmese as the business commenced. She told me I could have instant coffee, but only three choices were available: Sunday, Premier, and Birdy. The varieties of low-quality cheap bread in the clear plastic package piled up in one of the plastic trays on her weathered wooden table. While browsing her displayed stocks, I could not help noticing that she brought down three grilled fish, which she stuck under the thatched roof and took into the kitchen on the left side of the shop.
I decided to have a cup of instant coffee as I waited for the boatman who returned to the boat to get his lunch box. I looked around and found an array of overturned ceramic mugs and picked up one, but only to find that it was a chipped mug.
Back at home, mum and I would take turns lecturing each other about how dangerous the chipped Chinas are for the health as the cracks in them can hold bacteria and are always unsafe. Now I suppose I had maturely grown out of those first-world problems. I do not care anymore! I picked Premier coffee mix out of the three available choices, emptied the content into the mug and poured the hot water from the flask I found nearby. I then rolled up the sachet to stir my coffee.
I was not hungry, so I sipped the coffee and waited for the boatman to return. He brought fried rice and chicken curry, which he offered me. I felt that it would be too unpolite to refuse. Thus, I accepted his offer. The shop owner brought the reheated grilled fish to our table. As we settle down for lunch, two dogs approached our table.
I set an eye on a month-old male puppy in the distance. He melted my heart at first sight. He gave me the impression that he was the outcast, the unwanted, and got bullied more often. He was not in good shape, running around the huts, scavenging the leftovers, and trying his best to survive in the cruel neighbourhood. He hid his tail between his legs, never wagged it, nor showed friendliness. As a dog lover, I knew these were obvious tell-tale signs that he needed love, care, and trust from human beings.
The boatman kindly deboned the grilled fish and gave me the best share, but I shared most of them with the dogs. Three young men came in to have lunch. The shopkeeper's daughter tried to sell them the grilled fish. One of the men tried to strike a bargain, but it was an unsuccessful business deal, so she took the grilled fish back to the kitchen. I ran after her and asked for their prices. She fetched two fish priced at 3000 MMK and 2000 MMK. I chose the cheapest one. Soon she realised my true intention and snapped in disbelief –
"No, you are not doing this; what an utter waste to feed good fish to dogs.
I pleaded with her that I wanted to and asked if it was okay. She gave me a disapproving look and turned her back to me. Three young men gave me a look of horror.
The biggest mistake I made was feeding the feral dogs by hand. The puppy bit my fingers accidentally when trying to snatch the fish out of my hand. The bleeding started from the bite. I began to worry about rabies. I felt uneasy after that but finished the feeding anyway. Perhaps, it was condemnation from the lady that I wasted the good fish on dogs.
Who could dispute the fact!!
The boatman silently observed the entire scene. Once I had cleaned up, he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. I nodded my head in agreement, and we set out. As we left the group of huts behind, I noticed they were at the mouth of the creek that flows into the river.
We followed the creek.
The water was shallow, and the current was frail. The boatman did not tell me where we were heading, and I did not ask him either. We walked under the scorching sun for minutes. We exchanged no words. A funny thought came into my head what if he killed me in the bushes? No one would be in sight to witness the murder. I wanted to ask him if there were elephants in the neighbourhood, but I did not.
We reached an intersection later, and I wondered which way to follow.
"Stay on the left," he said, sensing my confusion.
A minute later, he disappeared into bushes to do number 1 business. I waited for him in the distance. An isolated bamboo hut in the middle of the creek came into sight when we took our third turn. He asked me if I wanted to go further. I shrugged my shoulders and persuaded him to take a few more steps.
We passed the bamboo hut and stopped at a corner where the water formed into a small deep paddle. The colour of the water was blueish, and beneath it were the dried leaves and branches. No living creatures were in sight. He asked me if the water would be safe for drinking. I told him big fat no.
He suggested that we rest in the bamboo hut we had just passed, so we walked back and entered from the back entrance. A young man in his late twenties who was repairing the roof with dried leaves greeted us. Inside the hut were a young woman and a three-year-old child. The woman, who appeared to be the wife, was making strips out of bamboo.
The child was playing nearby. He was making a three-stone stove with what seemed to be carefully selected equal-sized stones. And once he had arranged the stones perfectly, he placed a long-neck whiskey bottle cap filled with plant stems on his stove. He was pretending to be a cook and enjoying himself to bits. The father joined us in the hut moment later.
He showed curiosity about me and asked the boatman.
"The educational trip," the boatman replied to him.
"Educational trips are for people with money," the young man responded.
I was not sure if there was bitterness in his remark. Usually, I would argue with him that one does not need much money to travel, and money is never a concern for itchy feet. We get driven by our craziness. The itchy feet spend all his earnings on travelling; likewise, the businessman-like would put down all his resources on investments, and so on. But I kept all these arguments in my head.
They all started with the pleasantries and afterwards about the hardships, the poverties, and the problems they faced daily in local dialect, which I understood so little. I picked up a few words and phrases, but the rest went over my head. The boatman advised the young man to start a teak plantation, but he seemed not very keen on the idea. The men got carried away with further discussion about many things in general. I quietly watched the child and his mother effortlessly making the bamboo strips.
Ultimately, the heated discussion concluded without compromises. The boatman and I said goodbye to the family, and we hitched hike a farm truck that went past the hut. When we were back in the village by the river, I shared a few oranges and bananas with the child of the lady who disapproved of my action of wasting fish on dogs so that I could ease my self-righteous. The day trip ended okay that day, but the young man's remark that "educational trips are for people with money" still repeatedly echoes in my head.
I seem to understand why now.