Burma - Seven

A boy with
a toy pistol...

In the ashes
of their homes...

NO ONE COULD SAY about the future, but I rephrased the questions anyway, groping for answers I knew weren't there.

I nagged Paw Ruth Say as she fixed a lunch of rice and fermented soy beans for orphan schoolboys. We sat on a bamboo bench, and I forced her to walk me through, one more time, everything she knew.

Thousands of Burmese soldiers had swarmed along the elephant paths and trampled the plumeria bushes while they were seizing the border. The army had set up a base camp in Chogali because the water system and latrines made jungle living easier. Most of the top brass had moved into the nursery school; a few lived in the clinic. The military had burned down a dozen houses and destroyed the beautiful bamboo hut where I had lived last year with the medics and the orphans.

Maybe the troops won't like rainy season in the village, Paw Ruth Say said. It's too muddy for trucks; elephants and feet are the only ways to get around. There are so many mosquitoes, nobody escapes malaria. Maybe the soldiers will leave the village, and if they do, Paw Ruth Say declared, she would go back, bring a microscope, staff the clinic, and would I come visit her in Chogali?

Yes, I promised.

Maybe the Burmese army won't be so bad, she said. They are usually polite and friendly at first. Then forced labor. Then sometimes they rape the women. But maybe they'd stay polite this time. Shu Wah and Oh Mu would be fine.

But she knew, and I knew, that this probably was not true. So we sat there for a while, surrounded by the incredible greenness of grass, listening to the wind rustle the long, flat blades. The afternoon heat rose, and the children's voices faded, and the flies buzzed around in crazy patterns. It was time to go, but we did not move. We sat there watching the high sun parch the fields. We sat there because there was nothing else we could do.




A boy with a toy pistol... In the ashes of their homes...		NO ONE COULD SAY about the future, but I rephrased the questions anyway, groping for answers I knew weren't there. I nagged Paw Ruth Say as she fixed a lunch of rice and fermented soy beans for orphan schoolboys. We sat on a bamboo bench, and I forced her to walk me through, one more time, everything she knew. Thousands of Burmese soldiers had swarmed along the elephant paths and trampled the plumeria bushes while they were seizing the border. The army had set up a base camp in Chogali because the water system and latrines made jungle living easier. Most of the top brass had moved into the nursery school; a few lived in the clinic. The military had burned down a dozen houses and destroyed the beautiful bamboo hut where I had lived last year with the medics and the orphans. Maybe the troops won't like rainy season in the village, Paw Ruth Say said. It's too muddy for trucks; elephants and feet are the only ways to get around. There are so many mosquitoes, nobody escapes malaria. Maybe the soldiers will leave the village, and if they do, Paw Ruth Say declared, she would go back, bring a microscope, staff the clinic, and would I come visit her in Chogali? Yes, I promised. Maybe the Burmese army won't be so bad, she said. They are usually polite and friendly at first. Then forced labor. Then sometimes they rape the women. But maybe they'd stay polite this time. Shu Wah and Oh Mu would be fine. But she knew, and I knew, that this probably was not true. So we sat there for a while, surrounded by the incredible greenness of grass, listening to the wind rustle the long, flat blades. The afternoon heat rose, and the children's voices faded, and the flies buzzed around in crazy patterns. It was time to go, but we did not move. We sat there watching the high sun parch the fields. We sat there because there was nothing else we could do.