Legacies of War

After a full week in Laos meeting up with various NGOs and organizations in Vientiane, the Legacies of War Learning Tour left for Xieng Khoang province on Friday August 22nd to the town of Phonesavan. We were heading towards Lathsene Village to visit our first Schools Not Bombs Campaign preschool.

The next morning, Saturday August 23rd, we stopped by the Xieng Khouang Provincial Education Department to witness the signing of the Memorandum of Understanding between the Education Department and Give Children a Choice. It was a standard signing ceremony that formalize the building of the preschool.

On our way to Lathsene Village, we traveled on pave road for 25 min. and the rest of the way on dirt road full of potholes. Nonetheless, the view was gorgeous. Rolling green hills swoop down forming valleys with idyllic scenes of village life; bamboo and straw homes on stilts, self made fishing ponds, and peaceful rice fields. Yet with all it’s beauty, we knew that the land around us was barely cleared from unexploded ordinances and extremely dangerous.

Lathsene village is approximately 17 kilometers from Phonsavanh. On the whole, it looks like any ordinary poor village, but what makes this area unique is that there are many bomb craters that litter the tops and sides of mountains and rice fields. Some people have ingeniously built their huts within the pits and others have turned it into a little pond for growing catfish. The village elder and historian is a man who is in his fifties, but looks much older from the ravages of war. His manner was open, friendly and very informative. He shared that he was proud and honored for us to visit his village, speak with him and to receive a brand new preschool.

Lathsene is a village of almost 100 families and 494 people that had survived the massive bombings. The village elder described how his village members had to dig deep fox holes or trenches to jump into and hide when they heard to the US planes approaching. The trenches were built near where they worked in the rice field. They learned that there wasn’t enough time to run home. Whole communities hid for days and weeks in the trenches without food or water. They were finally forced to leave their village as the mounting casualties were too great only to return when the war was over. There are bomb pits littered everywhere.

The very land we stood on was not fully cleaned. In 1986, the Soviet government sent a team of agriculture specialists to help these refugees reclaim the land and grow rice, other corps and raise cattle. They built some building and provided equipment. They remained for nine years. In their opinion, the land was so filled with UXOs and again limited resources, they just back filled it with tons of dirt to cover them.

During the early years after heavy rains, UXOs were found and eliminated by the village engineers and or they just worked around them. The village elder said that it is still very possible that these UXOs will surface and kill some unsuspecting human or animal, but they have no choice but to grow food to eat. After the Russians left, they continued to farm and raise cattle to this very day.

Another major concern was that during the two months during the dry season, they have no water available to wash and drink. They must drive over 5 kilometers to the next town to buy water or get water from the local well. The land is very challenging to work with. Since the village does not have enough water, water is a much needed commodity and it is rationed heavily.

There is a secondary school and a primary school, but the old preschool was dilapidated, ready to fall at any moment. A makeshift preschool program had grown out of the necessity to care for the preschoolers. It was not a school with teachers formally trained in early childhood education. It was more like a daycare center for farmers to leave their children while they work in the fields and while the older children go to school. The teaching was informal and not integrated with any formal government preschool education program. According to Mrs. Xysamone, the Vice Head of the Xieng Khouang Provincial Education Department, the Xieng Khouang education department is only now beginning to understand and recognize the importance and necessity of forming a formal preschool program and are sending existing and new teachers to Vientiane (the Capital of Laos) to learn how to teach children ages 3-5.

We arrived at the preschool construction site in the early afternoon. The foundation and pylons were in place and heaps of bricks laid nearby. About a dozen people were working on the school with the beautiful green hills visible over the horizon.

We were met by the village heads and they lead us towards the primary school. In one small room, about thirty preschoolers sat waiting with their two teachers for our arrival. Their parents were milling around outside. Someone bought in mats for us to sit with the children. Their teachers then lead them in a song and dance about cleaniness.

We stayed and interacted with the children for a while, offering our gifts of books, toys, and clothing. Later, we attended a baci ceremony the village had organize for us to show their appreciation. They gave us blessings and wished us good tidings during the ceremony.

Barbara Shimoda, Vice President of Give Children a Choice, contributed to this article.

The desire to learn about my history has not always been met with an equal desire by others to help me fill in the many blank pages about the events that  led my family to leave Laos.  When I was younger, I used to ask my parents about it (admittedly, because of one school project or another, which required me to dig into our family history  and the place of my birth). My parents would respond with the briefest of answers and barely any details.  But my desire to learn about where I came from grew deeper.  The fact that most Americans don’t know anything about Laos - its history, people or culture - fueled my desire even further.

I can’t identify the exact moment it happened, but my desire grew into a need. I could never fully answer the questions (usually put forth by my elders). “Why do you want to know about history? Why drag up the past? Live for the future,” they  pleaded with me.  But I knew I couldn’t freely move forward with my future or know my purpose, without knowing how I got from there to here. How I became Lao American.

Although I moved to the U.S. at the age of 7, it was not until college, that I learned the finer details of the why and how we left our homeland. I learned about the war in Laos and the role  the U.S. government played in it. Then I learned that Laos the home to my parents and their parents and grandparents and great grandparents was the most heavily bombed country in history. Little by little, I have discovered the broader social and political conditions, which left my parents and well over 700,000 Laotians, or one-third of the population, uprooted and seeking refuge in other countries.

Maybe the past hesitation of my elders to discuss our history was a fear that I would be stuck there – in the past, paralyzed by history.  While my Lao American identity might begin as a result of war, it didn’t and couldn’t, end there. It was not until visiting the beautiful people and places of Laos that I am able to see - with great humility - that my history is only a brief addition to the vast land that holds the rolling hills, winding rivers and resilient people, which has made up the tapestry of Laos for nearly 700 years.

A personal high point for me was the dinner in which we thanked Bouangeun Luangpraseuth, my old friend “Ngeun”, for having risked his freedom to bring out the drawings and essays of life under the bombing, which lie at the heart of Legacies of War. I had met Ngeun, a former Pathet Lao medic, cadre and soldier, when he became one of the refugees from the Plain of Jars in September 1969, and we became friends. One day I said to him, “You know, Ngeun, it’s a pity the refugees can’t read and write. They would have quite a story to tell.” “Hwai!,” he replied, offended by my ignorance, “they can read and write better than you can”. “Really?” I said. “Do you think you could ask them to write their stories and draw pictures of their lives during the bombing?” He agreed, hiding the material under his shirt as he went through police checkpoints to get them to me. Channapha had read something about the bombing. But it was not until she saw the drawings 35 years later through a chance meeting through a chance meeting that she was moved to begin Legacies of War.

We invited Ngeun to a dinner to thank him. It was touching to realize that he had probably never been thanked or applauded in his life, not only for collecting the essays and drawings, but for all the other sacrifices he had made on behalf of a cause in which he so deeply believed.

Channapha stood up, explained to Ngeun the importance of his work, and thanked him. Sakuna gave him some gifts, including a Legacies T-shirt. We all applauded him. Ngeun was clearly touched and happy. He began to smile.

I then stood up and told the following story, which Vivi translated into his ear. “I met Ngeun when he was 25, and we became roommates. One night in the early morning hours, as we talked, I asked him what he wanted out of all this. He answered, “You know, Phouvieng (”mountain of Vientiane”, my Lao name), I’ve almost been killed over a dozen times already, and I don’t expect to live until 30. But all I want is that some day, after I am gone, when villagers from the Plain of Jars are sitting around and talking about the old days, maybe someone will bring up my name. And maybe someone will say, “Oh, yes, Ngeun! He was a good man. He loved the people.’”

As I told this story I choked up and could not continue for a few moments. This was not propaganda or sloganeering, you see. This was two friends talking late at night, and there was no doubt in my mind that he meant every word, totally and sincerely. I continued, “I knew Ngeun meant it. I knew Ngeun loved the people. And I want you to know, Ngeun, that I love you.” At that point our friends began cheering and applauding again, some with tears in their eyes as well.

But what struck me most was Ngeun. He was looking at me, smiling deeply and genuinely and lovingly, in a way that I had not seen since we were young. For a moment the years, pain, disappointments and betrayals faded away, and it all felt like it had been worth it.

I will never forget the smile on his face that night. Whatever else happens on this trip, it will be engraved in my heart until the end of my days.

Yesterday morning we had the privilege of witnessing a UXO Lao demolition operation in action in Ponsavanh.  Manopeth, about whom Elaine has recently blogged, met us at our hotel and took us to the local UXO Lao headquarters a few minutes away.  There, we received a briefing from the head of the provincial demining program, a Lao man dressed in a smart UXO Lao polo shirt and slacks.  Among other startling statistics, he told us that, to date, only 0.17% of the land in Xieng Khouang has been cleared of unexploded ordnance.  Since the program started in 1999, they’ve cleared about 500 hectares a year; more than a million hectares are affected by UXO. 

We were soon to understand why it is taking so long. 

Following our briefing, we piled into the UXO Lao car, a white land rover tough enough for some serious off-roading (not the sort of smoothsuburban roadways that most SUVs are used for in the U.S. today) and were driven to a site where a team was in the middle of clearing a plot of land.  Eventually, this plot will be safe for farming, for the first time in more than three decades.  When the clearance teams begin working in an area, they divide it up into small slivers, each marked by borders of twine affixed to the ground.  They then painstakingly comb each subsection with a metal detector; a member of the team did this while we watched and, sure enough, when he reached the middle of the sliver, the detector began making a high-pitched squeaking noise, indicating that there was a large piece of metal underneath the ground.  Manopeth and the team member predicted that this was a piece of UXO that would have to be removed.  Imagine, this small sliver, replicated by the hundreds of thousands all across Xieng Khouang–and beyond, down to the Southern provinces as well.  Each one must be carefully combed to ensure that it is free of UXO.  If any UXO is found, it must be partiallly unearthed, a delicate task akin to uncovering a precious artifact on an archaeological dig, and then prepared for demolition.  When we arrived at this site, the team was preparing to demolish a number of UXO, each now surrounded by sandbags, and we were able to witness the explosion of one weapon.  A plastic explosive device was affixed to the UXO, connected to a long electrical wire that stretched across the field and down the nearby dirt road to a safe distance. 

While this explosive was being prepared, another member of the team walked around the perimeter of the field with a loudspeaker, warning nearby residents to stay clear of the field and to remain in a safe place.  The announcement must be made not only in Lao, but in Hmong and other local languages as well, to make sure that people will understand.  Traffic on the adjoining road was blocked, and we gathered at the end of the electrical wire, next to the team member who would trigger the explosion.  As a motorbike or two gathered behind us, waiting for the operation to be finished so that they could be on their way, a dog walked up the road.  As he neared the demolition site, he seemed to sense that something was amiss.  When the explosion happened, after a count of three and with a loud boom that, even though I was of course very well prepared for it, made my heart skip a beat, the dog scampered off in the opposite direction. 

The explosion was successful, traffic was allowed to pass, and normal life began once again. 

This is what it takes to clear the land of UXO: inch by painstaking inch, carefully and patiently undoing what was done in an instant more than thirty years ago, often by pilots who were probably eager to get back to the base, thinking less of the lasting legacy of their work than on what they might have for dinner that night (pizza, perhaps, or a hamburger), or when they might next be able to go home to the U.S. on leave. 

The work that the UXO teams are doing in Laos today takes patience and courage–and an enormous amount of money.  It’s just one part of the process of coming to terms with the legaces of war.

The date was etched in blue ink in Bounmi’s notebook.  During our meeting at the Consortium in Ponsavanh, not far from the Plain of Jars, he stared down at the page and retraced the digits again and again, darkening them further with each stroke.  Bounmi was a volunteer at the Consortium, an organization dedicated to raising awareness among the local population in Xieng Khouang about the problem of UXO, and helping those who have been wounded as a result of their encounters with unexploded ordnance.  On that September day in 1996, Bounmi was digging a large hole near his family’s house in a village outside of Ponsavanh; he was working on a fish pond that the family could use as a source of food (ponds like these are common in Laos, and in fact some families have made creative use of craters from bombs dropped by the U.S. during the war for this very purpose).  As he was digging, his shovel suddenly hit a piece of ordnance, and it exploded.  Bounmi was rushed to the nearest medical facility, and his life was saved–but he lost his left arm.  As he listened to the discussion, he used his right hand to trace and retrace the date: September 10, 1996.  A date that changed his life forever, and one he certainly thinks about many times a day.  I think our group found Bounmi and his colleague, a fellow volunteer at the Consortium who also was wounded by UXO in a separate incident in 1996 and lost his left hand, a true inspiration.  Not only did they go back to school, study hard, and have high hopes for their futures; they are also giving back by volunteering at the Consortium to help others whose lives have been forever altered by an encounter with UXO in the countryside surrounding Ponsavanh.  As of September, Bounmi will be studying English at the teacher’s training college in Ponsavanh; he has already made quite good progress.  He and his colleague were able to join us for dinner later in the evening after our meeting at the Consortium, and, if quiet at times, they seemed genuinely happy to have the opportunity to meet the group–to practice some English, and to interact with such a diverse group from so far away.  I hope that they both will remember that day as well, and that it will alter their lives forever, at least in some small way, for the good.

Manophet is quiet, good-hearted Lao man in Xieng Khouang Province who works as a translator at the UXO Lao during the day and runs an English language school from his home in the evenings.  I met him three and a half years ago when I first visited Laos.  He was my tour guide in Xieng Khouang, and as we visited the Plain of Jars, he told me about the problem of UXO and the many people who have been killed and injured.  On that day we passed a clearance team truck, and later, as I walked among the stone jars at site two, we heard the distant boom of bombies being blown up.  It had a tremendous impact on me.  Because of Manophet I came home determined to do something to help.  Through an internet search, I contacted Channapha and learned of the newly organized Legacies of War project.  It has sent me on an entirely new journey in life, one I hope will end with a brighter future for the people of Laos. 

Despite his busy work schedule, Manophet was able to take the Legacies group to the foundry to see the UXO that has been collected by villagers.  He also arranged for two separate groups to visit UXO Lao and witness a bomb demolition in the field.   Both of these experiences have added greatly to our understanding on trip. He took time out to see us off at the airport.  I couldn’t help from being my American self and probably embarrassed him terribly by giving him a hug. 

It was a particular treat for me to see Manophet again this trip and have an opportunity to visit his school.  I was struck by the great enthusiasm of his students, their polite and sweet nature, and the excitement with which they conversed with us.  They all want to further their education and go to university.  This is the opportunity and motivation Manophet provides these young men and women, who mostly come from poor farming villages.  While he charges a small monthly fee for the classes, many pay with bags of rice or a chicken, and in some cases not at all.  

Manophet’s own story is not unlike many people who live in Xieng Khouang.  In 1968, his family’s village was bombed and destroyed.  His parents ran from their burning house with their children, but in the confusion, his father went one direction and his mother another.  His father ended up in the refugee camps in Vientiane with three of the children.  Manophet, his mother and several siblings remained in the war zone and lived in a cave for six years until the war ended.  The family was reunited eventually in Xieng Khouang, but one son was missing and assumed dead.  Fifteen years later, they received a letter from a Hmong family that had immigrated to the United States. They had found Manophet’s brother as they too fled the bombing.  They took him with them on the long trek out of Laos to the refugee camps in Thailand and adopted him when they were relocated to Minnesota.  The brother has been able to visit Manophet and his family in recent years.  In return, Manophet has adopted and raised two Hmong brothers orphaned by UXO.

Manophet is another person who embodies the Lao spirit, working to help his people as best he can.  And I am honored to know him.

On our way to Sam Neau we stopped at Tham Piu cave where at least 374 people were killed by US bombs. They had a little museum with old photos and a painting depicting the people massacred in the cave. The older gentlemen who was the keeper of the musuem and tour guide was one of the survivors from this village. He was actually studying elsewhere when the bombings occured. His family all died. He was still very bitter and was somewhat defensive about people not believing the story of Tham Piu massacre. “Go see for yourself,” he kept repeating. When we told him we were an organization that wanted to share the story of the bombings to the American people, he seemed more relaxed.

On our way up to the cave, we stopped by a shrine to give incense and candle offerings. It was a steep climb to the cave. We were told that the cave entrance had been smaller, but was blown open 4 meters wide with the bombing. From the opening of the cave, we can see a panoramic view of the valley below. It was easy to imagine jet bombers flying over the horizon.

We had natural light inside until the cave dropped off to the right. Apparently it went on for another mile from where the darkness started. This was where most people died. Some were scorched from the bombs, some were buried alive from the dirt and rock falling, and some died slowly from being trapped inside. We were told that corpses were found holding one another–children clinging onto older adults, parents hovering over their children.  People died embracing.

After a while, we came out of the darkness of the cave into the beautiful lush landscape. Butterfiles, grasshoppers, and dragonflies of variations only found in national geograpic clips fluttered around us as we descended. It was heartening to think that these beautiful creatures might be the reincarnated spirits of those who passed away in the cave.

We were told that there was a woman who lived in the village below who was the only survivor from the Tham Piu cave massacre. We went to visit her.

She was in her fifties and lived in a very modest, old fashioned Lao house on stilts. She was 12 when the bombings happened. On that fated day, she decided to leave the cave to visit her aunt who was outside in another village. As she descended from the cave, she saw jet bombers heading towards the cave. She knew that she only had time to run for a nearby trench. She was too far away to warn the others. She stayed in that trench until the bombings were over. She didn’t know how long that was. Her parents and siblings all died that day.

It’s been a while, but she still misses them. She is married now and has children of her own. Until this day, however, she has no idea who it was that bombed the cave and killed her family.

The drive from Sam Neau to Xieng Khouang winds along a mountainous path for some 6 hours or so. We left in the morning after a few days visiting Sam Neua and Viengxay. Before we left though we decided to do a closing circle to share any remaining thoughts or things we learned in our time there. It was an emotional time with tears and conflict in our hearts, for some. The war 30 years ago was about freedom fighters yet…who is fighting for whom and for what. It’s sad that sides have to be drawn and the simple people, the people of Laos, those who work and toil each and everyday of their lives to make a living farming rice are pulled into such conflict. We met a bomb survivor from Tham Piu, a veteran from the war, and a tour guide who shared with us the caves of Viengxay…the stronghold of the Pathet Lao for 9 years…and from all that is amazing to connect with history. The stories told from a different perspective, from a different view. Does it matter who is right or wrong now? Back then…it was a different story. Today, it is about living to survive.

Today I saw a Lao caterpillar while visiting the Viengxay caves in Sam Neau where the Pathet Lao had their underground headquarters.  I was reminded of the Khmer proverb that states parents don’t want their children to be butterflies because they forget their identity and past lives as a caterpillar.

I feel like a Lao American butterfly who has forgotten her past life as a Lao village caterpillar. This Legacies trip has enabled me to explore my past history in Laos; thus learning about my heritage and my country.  Without Legacies, I would never have known about the Tham Piu caves where over 300 villagers died due to a targeted bombing raid of the caves or the Viengxay caves, where over 20,000 Laotians were forced to live for nine years to hide from the U.S. bombing campaign. The guide asked us to imagine what it would be like to live in the caves where there was no electricity or running water, where food was not plentiful, where you lived in fear of planes dropping bombs everyday. And I couldn’t. I’ve lived a privileged life as a Lao American where I have plenty of food, running water, electricity, and freedom.

We heard stories of survivors of the bombing raids and how they struggle to make a life for themselves and their families. And they still live within a 10 miles of the original bombing raids where they lost family and friends. They do not want to move away from their beloved home.

Our cave guide had an opportunity to leave for the U.S. in 1981 and he chose not to.  He wanted to be near his family.  I think of my own parents and what they had to sacrifice to leave Laos.  I never got to meet my grandparents. I didn’t get to grow up with my cousins. In fact, I met them for the first time in 31 years in Vietianne last week.

While I love my new life as a butterfly with the freedom of spreading my wings in America, I am also remembering what I loved most about Laos, the people, the beautiful rolling mountains, and the lush, green landscape.  I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams the beautiful scenary that unfolded as we drove from Xieng Khouang to Sam Neau. It so reminded me of Vermont. Then I remembered why my parents moved us to Vermont in the first place; it reminded them of Laos.  For this butterfly, I am finally remembering my past life in Laos as a caterpillar.

After three days in Xieng Khouang Province, I am having trouble processing the degree to which unexploded bombs are part of the reality here.  It is one thing to see pictures and read reports, to sit in meetings with government agencies and private organizations hearing about their projects,  but to actually experience the ways in which bombs are part of the fabric of daily lives has been sobering and extremely emotional for me.  I have felt afraid, sad, angry, discouraged and overwhelmed.  And yet the people here go on day after day surrounded by the ever present risk.  They have no other choice.

This is what I have witnessed:

• When we visited the site of the Schools Not Bombs preschool in Lathsene village, we learned that only 70% of the land around it has been cleared.  Last week the UXO Lao demolition team destroyed over 30 bombies in the surrounding area.
• We met with two kind and thoughtful young men who have been left without limbs because of bombies, their lives forever changed.  They volunteer to help new victims cope with their injuries.
• We learned of an accident only a week ago that left two people dead and several others severly injured and in the hospital.  The emotional and financial costs to the families will go on forever.
• We visited the foundry where scrap metal is reprocessed into rebar to meet the ever expanding development of Vietnam and Laos.  There  were hundreds of live bombs, landmines and motars in the foundry yard that the Mines Advisory Group had sorted out for demolition later.  These were collected by local villagers, including young children, over the past few months.  We held differnt types of bombies that have been cleared of explosives — those with dozens of ball bearings embedded in the metal and others with hundreds of nails — all intended to kill and maim.
• Yesterday we saw a family drive by on their tractor, loaded with half of a large bomb casing, headed for a scrap dealer or the foundry.
• We have seen bomb casings used for fences and gardens and decorations in restaurants throughout the district.
• We passed miles of brilliant green rice fields, knowing that many of them have not been cleared of bombs and that every time the farmers go out to work they risk their lives.  They have to feed their families.
• We drove to the old capital of Xieng Khouang yesterday, which was completely destroyed by the bombing during the war, and saw the remaining brick walls of the French hospital and the singed, peaceful Buddha, remarkably in tact, sitting among the ruins of the temple, now reduced to a few pillars.
• On the return trip we spotted a couple on a hillside combing the land with metal detectors. Because people are desparately poor, they risk their lives to find fragments and live bombs to sell for cash.  There are cheap metal detectors available in the markets and even young children join in the search.  This is a major cause of bombie accidents.
• And this morning we visited the UXO Lao office in Phonsavan and then drove to a bomb clearance site.  In front of us was a field full of small holes where bomb fragments have been found along with four live bombies.  At a safe distance, we watched the removal team blow up one of the bombies.  The sound is deafening and terrifying, the plume of dark smoke reaching 30 feet into the air.  But the locals stood by patiently waiting for the all clear to continue up the road.  They are used to it.  It goes on every day here.

Yesterday we took a flight from Vientiane to Xieng Khouang. Xieng Khouang province is one of the most heavily bombed areas in Laos. We were told not to worry about UXOs in inhabited areas, and that we would be safe. As the plane descended, one can still see huge bomb craters in the land, although we were told there are not as many as before. The craters are often used as fish ponds.

As we came off the plane, it was immediately evident that Xieng Khouang is a beautiful place to visit. The mountains, temperature, and landscape made everyone take out their cameras at once.

We arrived at 3 p.m. and still had a few hours of light left. We quickly checked into our hotel and headed over to Site One of the Plain of Jars. We had the good fortune of knowing somebody in the area already that would lead us there. There are many explanations for the enormous stone jars, some up to 2,400 years old. My favorite is that they were used to preserve vegetables and padect (a fermanted fish product), although that explanation came from someone in our group and not our knowledgable tour guide, Long.  Yet I think everyone would agree that the Plain of Jars is certainly magical.

Afterwards, we headed to Manophet’s English Language School. Barbara and Dori, from Give Children a Choice, had met Manophet, who invited them to come and converse with his English language students. They in turn invited us. Coincidently, Elaine had met Manophet on a previous visit and over the years donated to his school.  The students had impressive English skills and were very appreciative of our time. After conversing for an hour, Fred tipped off the group that it was Elaine’s birthday and about 100 teenagers sang Happy Birthday to her in English. This will certainly be a brithday to remember!

I finally feel like I’ve found people my size–the little preschoolers of Lathsene Village are so adorable. It makes me want to have many children of my own (wink, wink to my husband Virak). Our second day in Xieng Khouang started off with a M.O.U. (memo of understanding) signing with the Ministry of Education and Give Children a Choice for the preschool funded by Legacies of War friends and family. Although today is a Saturday, eleven officials came to the ministry to meet with us. For those of you who don’t know, Xieng Khouang province is one of the most heavily bombed area in Laos. Three out of the 47 poorest villages in Laos are in this province.  The deputy minister and her staff graciously welcomed us and thanked us for our efforts to build a preschool in Xieng Khouang Province. After the signing we headed up to Lathsene Village where they have broken ground on the school site.

We were greeted by the village elders and watched workers setting up the foundation for the preschool.  Then we joined 30 preschoolers aged one to five years in a room at the elementary school.  They were just too cute for words. They sang Lao songs for us, and I tried a rendition of “If You’re Happy and You Know It” in Lao (for those of you who don’t know, my Lao is just right for the children).  After sharing songs, we gave them gifts: reading books from Big Brother Mouse, crayons (thanks Rani & Richard), coloring books, and of course bubbles. What child doesn’t like bubbles?  The children thanked us all with a bouquet of flowers. They were so giving and generous of their time and smiles.

The village elders also held a traditional baci (blessing ceremony) to welcome and thank us by tying white yarn bracelets to our wrists.  Lots of food and Lao Lao (Lao version of moonshine) was passed around. I must say that it is rather strong for a novice like me.

From Lathsene Village, we visited the local chapter of World Education in Xieng Khouang. Three of their staff members and two volunteers gave up their Saturday afternoon to share their stories with us. Bounmy and Toumy were both injuried by a UXO explosion in 1996. Bounmy was digging a fish pond when his shovel struck a bombie and he lost his left arm. Toumy was looking for bamboo shoots when his shovel struck a bombie and he lost his left hand. Both men volunteer their time, talking and working with other UXO victims.  Again, I am struck by how Lao people are willing to look past their own misery and try to help others in need. As Bounmy was telling his story, he kept telling us how grateful he was because others were in worse condition (i.e., losing the use of their legs) than he was. But instead of just thinking about himself, Bounmy is trying to help others.  He embodies the spirit of the Lao people.  His resilience and compassion for others makes me proud to be Lao.

This afternoon, we’re off to Xieng Khouang by airplane, and so it seems a good  time to reflect on our week in Vientiane. In a few years, Vientiane will be celebrating the four-hundredth anniversary of its founding—-a landmark that gives one pause, considering that the United States has been in existence for fewer than two hundred years. As great powers like the French, Americans and Russians have come and gone, this small city has sat proudly on the banks of the Mekong, constantly adapting to changes at home and abroad. Next year, Vientiane will be hosting the Southeast Asia Games, a regional sports competition in which Laos has participated for many years but will host for the first time in 2009. The impending arrival of these two events have served as an impetus for some major improvements in the city’s infrastructure, completed with international assistance.

When I lived in Laos, from 1998 to 2000, there were no more than four traffic lights in the entire country—-now, nearly every intersection in the center of Vientiane is marked by a shiny new stop light, crosswalk and, in some cases, even audio aid for the blind. Vientiane residents spent the late nineties shielding themselves from a maelstrom of dust and mud as road construction projects dragged on, seemingly without end. Now, the dust has cleared, and the roads in central Vientiane are smooth and clean. Wide, attractive sidewalks have replaced the narrow paths with gaping holes that I navigated during my time here. I’ve been much more attune to issues of accessibility for people with disabilities given our meetings with groups like COPE and the Lao Disabled People’s Association, and the fact is that much of downtown Vientiane is (at least in theory) navigable by a person in a wheelchair. That’s an extraordinary change for this city.they were eight years ago. One of the first things I did upon our arrival (after visiting my favorite iced coffee shop, tucked away on a side street just of Samsenthai Road) was to rent a motorbike of my own. Driving in Vientiane today is a different experience due to the presence of large vehicles on the road; it’s not a large city, so they make quite an impact. While the traffic has increased, however, Vientiane residents’ relaxed approach to driving has not changed much. There might be straight, bright white lines on the roads, but people don’t really pay attention to them. And, unlike other cities in the region (particularly Hanoi), the horn does not get much use. We’ve been here a week, and I’ve heard one blown three times. That’s one of the many reasons why I love this city.

The motorbike is still the preferred mode of transportation in Vientiane—-bicycles went out of fashion years ago, as the per capita income of the average city resident began to rise, and, with very few exceptions, people here simply do not walk—-but cars and pickup trucks are much more common than

The improvement of the city’s road system has also spurred new construction throughout the central city. As I’ve driven around town, visiting my old haunts, more than once I have arrived at an intersection, stopped, looked to my left and right, and had no idea where I was!

Not only old buildings, but entire neighborhoods have disappeared to make way for large new office buildings, shopping malls, hotels—-even, strangely, a water park complete with American-style coffee shop. Over drinks with a Lao friend at a new, stylish bar on Setthatirath Road the other night, I learned of the planned demolition of yet another crumbling pre-war, colonial-era building—-this time, to make way for a new embassy. When the bar’s owner joined our conversation, he mentioned a new housing complex that is planned for the area around That Luang. The changes in Vientiane are just beginning.

On the surface, then, after eight years of improvement, downtown Vientiane is nearly unrecognizable. But, as we’ve been reminded time and again by our NGO hosts in the capital city, Vientiane is not Laos. As in any country—-especially in the developing world—-the capital receives the lion’s share of the country’s resources. Aside from the national government itself, Vientiane is home to the headquarters of countless NGOs, international organizations, and foreign investors; these groups, and the international staff that come with them, have created a demand for private enterprise, and pressure for infrastructure improvements, in Vientiane that does not exist elsewhere in the country.

In fact, one need only drive a few minutes out of the city center—-past the presidential palace, up Lane Xang Road, around Patuxai, not far past That Luang—-to find dirt roads that are nearly impassable after a heavy rain. Most people in Vientiane live in small, simple homes off narrow, unpaved paths. I took a ride out to the neighborhood where I lived during my first year in Laos, and nothing had changed. Of course, from my perspective, that’s a good thing. At least I could find my way around.

From the moment we set our minds on Xieng Khouang to the moment we set eyes on the landscape that is Xieng Khouang, the team felt a huge shift in the pace of this journey. We were shifting from high gear to low gear. “Good-bye”,Vientiane for now and “Hello” Xieng Khouang. After a night of final dinners in Vientiane on our own…our group set ready to leave with a lot of anticipation for the next phase of our trip. Xieng Khouang is place to be to come face to face with realities of war and remnants over 35 years ago. We loaded into two vehicles to the Wattay International Airport to board a 2:30pm flight which we had to wait for 3 hours (just to be safe as Lao Airlines flight schedules may change) that only took less than an hour. Nonetheless, waited with cheerful smiles, games and additional members, Vinya, to the group on this leg of the trip.

Once in Xieng Khouang it was like magic. We were in the Lao countryside…vast greenery everywhere. The air lighter and the weather cooler. We made our way to the Plain of Jars right away and took a hike in mud and wet walkways taking in the mysteries of these ancient fragments. Sheets of rain shrouds reaching from heaven to earth and storm clouds in the distance did not keep us from visiting these wonders of Laos. The sunset lead us out of the Plain of Jars and into a school full of Lao children who wanted to practice their English. We connected with Dori, Barbara and Manophet and had an amazing time in dialog with some 50 or so teenagers at this school and amongst our group we had over 14 conversations with curious minds all wanting to ask questions and share their lives communicating in English. We ended the night with a nice dinner at Sanga Restaurant celebrating Elaine’s big six-O birthday. One magical day from the town of Phonsavan, Xieng Khouang. Tomorrow we enter a village.

This is my first trip back to Laos and yesterday as I was walking along the streets near the Mekong River and the piles of sandbags lining the shore, I couldn’t help thinking of that line from Notting Hill, surreal but nice. I am a Lao American, born in Houei sai and raised in the United States. Yet the people around me, look like me and talk a language that seems comfortably familiar. The food stalls sell food that entice me and remind me of home and my mother’s cooking. So why does it feel like I have been living a parallel life?

As we have been in meetings with NGO and discussing the effects of UXO and the lives that have been affected by the bombies, I can’t help but wonder what my life would be like if I had not had the opportunity to leave. Would I be working in a NGO? Would I know about the UXOs? Would I be teaching or still studying in university?

One thing I  know for sure is that the work of the organizations like COPE and World Education are so amazing and comprehensive. Having worked in non-profits, I remember the daily struggles of making ends meet and trying to find funding to support our programs and the people that our organizations serve. Its those people who inspire us to work overtime, on weekends, and in our sleep. It’s for the Lao people, victims and non-victims of UXO. I learned that everyone is affected here in one way or the other. If not directly, than indirectly, because bombies limit if not destroy economic opportunities for farmers when they can’t work their land. It destroys children’s opportunites to learn if they are out scavenging for scrap metal. It destroys women’s dreams of family and children if they are disabled by a bomb due to social stigmatization.

What role can I play as a practical stranger in a land that my parents once called home?

I didn’t tell my cousin that I would be in town because I knew we would be extremely busy touring the NGOs and other offices. I didn’t think I would have enough time to be with her. But tonight I found my way to her storefront.

We’ve walked pass a couple of times, as we went to dine at the newer dig owned by Australians, and stopped by ‘Big Brother Mouse’ bookstore for gifts to bring to the preschool. Things had changed so much since my last visit in 2005 that when we walked by, I wasn’t sure if it was indeed her storefront. There were so many new, neat, and nice things around.

Well tonight we had a break and after sipping drinks by the Mekong, we headed to a French Restaurant via her ’storefront’. Tonight I felt compelled to swing in.

A woman was sitting in front of her TV, surrounded by merchandise. She turned around when we walked in and I asked if she knew my cousin Da. After a while, her face turned into someone familiar. She was my cousin Da. She said my name first and we laughed. I told my friends I would meet up with them later.

Cousin Da and I sat in her store, surrounded by merchandise with  a Thai TV show running. We chatted, the ease of our conversation broken up only when customers came in. Her customers were foreigners as well as locals. Everyone seemed at ease with her.

As she was attending to customers, I would look outside at the neighborhood. So much has changed in three years around her; the upscale restaurants, storefronts, guest houses. Her storefront though, did not change much. It was still bare and humble.

I found myself appreciating her simple store, especially after running around having meetings all week, and being overly stimulated in the ‘new’ Vientiane. My cousin Da’s and her store reminded me of the Laos I first visited in 1999. It was unassuming, and I felt at ease.

The next leg of our trip to the Xieng Khouang Province starts tomorrow, Friday, August 22nd. We will mostly focus on visiting the preschool that we have successfully raised funds to build in Lathsene Village.

Yesterday we started to prepare for that trip by going to a local children’s bookstore that publishes locally. The bookstore is called ‘Big Brother Mouse’. They specialize on children’s books written in Lao, including many Lao fables. It was a little store with just two bookshelves pushed up against the side walls. Nonetheless, the atmosphere was enriching. This was confirmed when four young boys about 5 years old walked into the bookstore.

They were regulars. Yet when they saw us, they hesitated to stay, and soon moved towards the door. The shopkeeper, who apparantly also illustrates some of the books, had put aside a small section for reading only and told us that the boys come daily to read.

I gestured for the boys to come back in and do what they normally do, and not mind us. They ran in, handled the books, and talked excitedly with one another. It was such a sweet moment to witness, especially knowing that kids in Laos lack resources and support to read stories and novels. Most of their reading is limited to schoolbooks.

So I offered to buy them each a book. I think they responded to me because I spoke Lao, like any other big sister would to them. I asked them in Lao if they would like a book each to take home. With big eyes open wide, they all nodded yes.

They took their time in choosing the book, although it seemed they knew the content of each already. After the purchase, we took a picture in front of the store by the poster of the big mouse, the store mastcot. They each said thank you in Lao, gestured with both hands in prayer position, and ran off excitedly, one after the other.

The meetings we have had with all the organizations in the heat and air of Vientiane, capitol city of Laos, have been most informative and full of critical and real issues around UXO and Laos. The history of war in this country continues to affect the livelihood of people throughout the country.  It is staggering the amount of work it takes to bring education, awareness, prevention, assistance, removal and many other actions to light. The NGO’s and Lao government are all working hard with every effort of funds and people and resources that they have in hand to keep people living and safe from harm. The biggest thing I’ve gotten out of these meetings have been that the problems of UXO in Laos do not have easy solutions. It’s very complicated in many ways due to time, culture, history and present day needs. The people of Laos who are affected by the UXO’s are dependent on the land. Land is important. Without land we cannot survive. Simply put. How does one survive when one lives off the land? Polluted land? Land littered with UXO…many questions among many questions yet to be answered.

As we met with different NGOs in Vientiane our first week in Laos, we started to see how each organization’s work complemented and supported one another like treads in a loom, creating a certain tapestry of Laos for us to contemplate. Similar patterns emerged; all were focused on sustainable, integrative models that train local capacity, and a comprehensive approach that seemed sure to do well. Some of these programs are: micro-financing, veterinary training for farm animals, children education, land clearance, enabling the disabled, data collection, and a new focus on psycho-social needs.

The NGOs presented similar information and yet all had a unique approach and we all left each visit with new pearls of wisdom. As we pack up tonight on our last night in Vientiane, I have to say that we have been privileged and very fortunate to have had our tour with the various NGOs here. They have provided a tapestry of Laos in which we will mull over and see how we can add our unique tread to this great design.

Friday, Aug 15 - Riding along Fa Ngum Road, next to the Mekong River, the streets are filled with people coming to watch the sunset on the Mekong. Except tonight, the streets are particularly crowded. Laotians - young and old are bent over, filling up used plastic rice bags with sand.  The Mekong River has swelled to its highest in 40-years. News reports show that over 500 families have been displaced and the Mekong Promenade, near the Vientiane city centre, might be next. Many shops and restaurants are closed throughout the city, as the owners flood-proofing their homes and neighborhoods.

As we drove along the river, no less than 48-hours in Laos, I witnessed what has been described as the essence of Lao people. As Vivi and I turned a corner on the river road, we felt some kind of vibration. The noise became increasingly louder as we drove, and the crowd became larger and flowed into the streets. The vibration noise came from 3 huge speakers stacked on top of each other, towering over the store next to it. The people of Lao had turned the worst flooding in 40-years into one big street party!

There’s a Lao term, “saabai,” which translates to “at peace.” Often we will greet each other with the question, “are you saabai?”. It’s as common a greeting as, “How are you?” Saabai is also the way of being, of living, of reacting to life’s many situations. 

And tonight, driving along the Mekong River in Laos, during the worst flooding in 40-years, the people of Lao were saabai, saabai.

Thanks to all who sent notes - worried about our safety during the flood. We are all safe and doing well.

I wondered what it would be like to meet him. Boungeun was the Lao man who had courageously helped Fred Branfman to collect the illustrations from villagers who had fled the bombing in Xieng Khoang. He had risked his life to sneak the drawings from the refugee camp under watchful eyes of the camp guards. In 1970, the world was unaware of the covert, massive bombing campaign that was undertaken by the U.S. in Laos. Without Boungeun, Fred and the illustrations, the bombing in Laos could have remained unexposed for years.

Yet, Boungeun’s name is not in any history books. The world has never heard of him. He remains an unsung hero.

The illustrations that were collected over 30 years ago by Bounguen and Fred would eventually make their way to the Lao American community and become the catalyst for Legacies of War. And tonight at dinner, we met the stranger whose life was so interwoven with ours.

He is a slim man, in his 60s, with a slight slur in his speech from a stroke suffered several years ago. He is a humble man with a gracious smile; he has lived a hard life since the end of the war. He remains a rice farmer, and just today, came back from the rice field, where he and his wife were working. Tonight, we honored him as our hero.

Fred teared up as he thanked Boungeun for helping to collect the drawings and above all, for loving the people of Laos. There had never been any recognition for Bounguen’s contribution, and tonight we gave him a standing ovation. We were so fortunate to be in the precense of Boungeun and Fred, unsung heros in their time, but great heros in ours.

As I reflected on how long it took to recognize what Bounguen did over 35-years ago, I couldn’t help but wonder how many other courageous, unsung heros there were among us in Laos. Individuals who loved the people and took great measures to save and protect innocent lives. And as we travel throughout Lao, how many are among us – living the humble life of a farmer, market merchant or perhaps a tuk tuk driver.

Today the group met with Messrs. Somnuk Vorasarn and Mike Boddington of the National Regulatory Authority (NRA). In short, the NRA is a UN-Lao operation established in 2004, and beginning operation in 2006, that collects and provides data about those affected by UXO via nation-wide surveys executed at the village level.

In the meeting, Messrs. Vorasarn and Boddington reconfirmed the enormity of the UXO problem in both human and dollar terms; unfortunately, both admit that ridding Laos of every UXO is ” too ambitious.” Despite this, UXO-related fatalities and injuries have decreased decade-to-decade. According to Mr. Boddington, the reason for this is not only because of improved removal techniques and training, but also because of increased education and emergency response. Thus, both men would like to see less international and domestic focus on UXO clearance, and more on education, primary healthcare and victims’ assistance, including trama counseling and psychological support.

Comment:

Not only was this meeting informative, but also it demonstrated that the NRA has taken a pragmatic approach toward the UXO problem. Mr. Vorasarn was quick to point out that finger pointing will not help solve the problem; rather, he offered his recommendations for improving the lives of his countrymen–improved healthcare and education. I am both thankful and relieved that we can set aside political agendas to accomplish the task at hand.

Wednesday morning and we head out once more in the van to the office of World Education in a house on a small street downtown across from a beautiful temple.  World Education has been working for many years in Xieng Khouang and southern Laos to provide education on UXO accident prevention through school curriculum and outreach to villagers.  They have developed a curriculums with books, puppet shows and art exercises that teach children about the dangers of UXO.  They also help pay for medical costs and quality of life rehabilitation, for example working with children who have been injured by using drawing activities to encourage them to talk about their feelings.  They provide economic grants for affected families, such as purchasing livestock or providing job training.  Some of this funding comes from the Leahy War Victims Medical Fund passed by the U.S. Senate.

They described the long reaching affects on families when one member is injured by UXO.  Because the Lao government does not provide health care, families often have to sell all their livestock to cover medical costs.  Disabled adults may not be able to work any longer.  When children are hurt and require lengthy medical care in Vietiane or even Thailand, one of the parents or an older sibling must go with them, resulting in a loss of income or an older child dropping out of school.  I think it is hard for Americans to fathom the far reaching impacts that the UXO casualties create, but which the Lao people must live with every day.  All of the organizations we have been meeting with are making inroads but the needs are tremendous.