Burma - Six

Chogali...

Paw Ruth Say, a medic...

THE WAR HAD COME TO CHOGALI on Feb. 11. Paw Ruth Say told me how the orchid girls' village had fallen to the military, known to the people as SLORC, for the State Law and Order Restoration Council. Around 2 in the afternoon, a muddy truck had roared into Chogali from the next village. "SLORC is very close!" a Karen army captain had shouted. "You must go away!" When the attack came, the village was in confusion -- mothers calling for children, babies crying, pigs squealing, chickens squawking, cows and an elephant milling around. It was the season for farmers to slash and burn the jungle. The sky was white, ash floating in the air, bamboo exploding like artillery, and now real gunshots, too.

At the thatched-hut nursery school, the little orchid girls sat next to each other, singing along to a cassette of the Alphabet Song, singing so loud their teacher at first didn't hear the section leader shouting.

"SLORC alarm!" he warned, thumping up the bamboo ladder, shaking the school on stilts. "Burmese soldiers are coming now!"

"The enemy is coming!" the nursery-school teacher told her 14 students. "Run home to your parents! Take your bags!"

The orchid girls grabbed each other's hands. The shy one, Oh Mu, was crying, too scared to move. Her bold friend, Shu Wah, dragged her down the school's bamboo ladder.

This is how it always was with those two, their teacher explained to me after she had fled to Mae Sot. "They always stuck together," she said. "They know each other's heart."

Shu Wah's parents were well-to-do farmers and part-owners of an elephant. Though Shu Wah was only 6, a year younger than Oh Mu, she was the leader, almost always happy, smoothing the dirt to draw pictures with sticks, dancing flower dances while the boys clapped and drummed on rocks.

Oh Mu was poor and often sad. Her mother had bled to death during childbirth. Oh Mu's father abandoned his baby daughter to marry another woman, so the girl was raised by her grandmother. Village children often taunted Oh Mu because she had no parents and started school a year late.

Oh Mu would run to Shu Wah for comfort. They would blow up balloons and act out little plays. They would pluck orchids dangling from trees and stick them in glass bottles. They loved singing, "One, two, buckle my shoe," even though they had never seen shoes with buckles.

They fled Chogali on foot, the orchid girls, the nursery-school teacher and their families, stumbling along a farming path that wound deep into the jungle. After three hours, it was dark. They stopped near a stream, shared some rice, hid in a thicket, covering themselves with bamboo leaves.

Shu Wah and Oh Mu slept on the same mat, next to their teacher and her baby. It was the first time either girl had left the village.

"I want to go back to Chogali," the teacher heard Oh Mu whisper to Shu Wah. "I want to go home."

"We can't," Shu Wah told her. "The Burmese soldiers will stay now in our village."

"We have no rice! How can we eat in the jungle?"

"Do you want to die?" Shu Wah asked. Then the teacher could hear no more because her baby was crying.

The next morning, when the teacher awoke, she saw the girls together, sitting on their mat, stuffing their clothes into woven bags. It was a bright day, monkeys shouting, stream gurgling, birds chirping. The teacher realized her family must flee to Thailand. If Burmese soldiers caught them, they'd be treated more harshly than simple farmers because she worked for Dr. Cynthia. The families of the orchid girls decided to stay in the Burmese jungle because that was the only life they had ever known.

As the teacher stepped onto the path that led away from Chogali, she saw the girls one last time, by the stream, brushing their teeth with salt on their fingers.

She later heard that their families had returned to Chogali; Burmese army commanders threatened to burn villagers' homes and land and livestock if they didn't. Shu Wah and Oh Mu are probably playing together in the village, their teacher told me.

She added: "But really I do not know. I could not say about the future."




Chogali... Paw Ruth Say, a medic...		THE WAR HAD COME TO CHOGALI on Feb. 11. Paw Ruth Say told me how the orchid girls' village had fallen to the military, known to the people as SLORC, for the State Law and Order Restoration Council. Around 2 in the afternoon, a muddy truck had roared into Chogali from the next village. "SLORC is very close!" a Karen army captain had shouted. "You must go away!" When the attack came, the village was in confusion -- mothers calling for children, babies crying, pigs squealing, chickens squawking, cows and an elephant milling around. It was the season for farmers to slash and burn the jungle. The sky was white, ash floating in the air, bamboo exploding like artillery, and now real gunshots, too. At the thatched-hut nursery school, the little orchid girls sat next to each other, singing along to a cassette of the Alphabet Song, singing so loud their teacher at first didn't hear the section leader shouting. "SLORC alarm!" he warned, thumping up the bamboo ladder, shaking the school on stilts. "Burmese soldiers are coming now!" "The enemy is coming!" the nursery-school teacher told her 14 students. "Run home to your parents! Take your bags!" The orchid girls grabbed each other's hands. The shy one, Oh Mu, was crying, too scared to move. Her bold friend, Shu Wah, dragged her down the school's bamboo ladder. This is how it always was with those two, their teacher explained to me after she had fled to Mae Sot. "They always stuck together," she said. "They know each other's heart." Shu Wah's parents were well-to-do farmers and part-owners of an elephant. Though Shu Wah was only 6, a year younger than Oh Mu, she was the leader, almost always happy, smoothing the dirt to draw pictures with sticks, dancing flower dances while the boys clapped and drummed on rocks. Oh Mu was poor and often sad. Her mother had bled to death during childbirth. Oh Mu's father abandoned his baby daughter to marry another woman, so the girl was raised by her grandmother. Village children often taunted Oh Mu because she had no parents and started school a year late. Oh Mu would run to Shu Wah for comfort. They would blow up balloons and act out little plays. They would pluck orchids dangling from trees and stick them in glass bottles. They loved singing, "One, two, buckle my shoe," even though they had never seen shoes with buckles. They fled Chogali on foot, the orchid girls, the nursery-school teacher and their families, stumbling along a farming path that wound deep into the jungle. After three hours, it was dark. They stopped near a stream, shared some rice, hid in a thicket, covering themselves with bamboo leaves. Shu Wah and Oh Mu slept on the same mat, next to their teacher and her baby. It was the first time either girl had left the village. "I want to go back to Chogali," the teacher heard Oh Mu whisper to Shu Wah. "I want to go home." "We can't," Shu Wah told her. "The Burmese soldiers will stay now in our village." "We have no rice! How can we eat in the jungle?" "Do you want to die?" Shu Wah asked. Then the teacher could hear no more because her baby was crying. The next morning, when the teacher awoke, she saw the girls together, sitting on their mat, stuffing their clothes into woven bags. It was a bright day, monkeys shouting, stream gurgling, birds chirping. The teacher realized her family must flee to Thailand. If Burmese soldiers caught them, they'd be treated more harshly than simple farmers because she worked for Dr. Cynthia. The families of the orchid girls decided to stay in the Burmese jungle because that was the only life they had ever known. As the teacher stepped onto the path that led away from Chogali, she saw the girls one last time, by the stream, brushing their teeth with salt on their fingers. She later heard that their families had returned to Chogali; Burmese army commanders threatened to burn villagers' homes and land and livestock if they didn't. Shu Wah and Oh Mu are probably playing together in the village, their teacher told me. She added: "But really I do not know. I could not say about the future."