Sugar and Spice and IWD

International Women's Day in Laos is a big deal. It's a public holiday, restaurants offer special dinners and groups of female workers band together to celebrate. Sounds pretty good to a card-carrying feminist, right? It wasn't quite what I expected.

LOVE and other delusions

Last week was Macha Bucha Day. It was also Valentine's Day. Guess which one won Lao hearts?

Macha Bucha Day:

According to Buddhist tradition, about 2500 years ago Siddhartha Gautama had become the first Buddha after working out the meaning of life. He was wandering around northern India preaching and converting people to his new way of seeing the world when one full moon evening 1,250 men turned up spontaneously to listen in. These guys became his ordained monks. The Buddha taught them three basic principles: Cease from all evil; Do what is good; Cleanse one's mind.

The master and his apprentices

 So on the third full moon of the year Buddhists celebrate, go to the temple, walk around it carrying candles, pay respects to monks, the Buddha and the spirits of the area.

I saw none of this.

But I did see a lot of red hearts.

Known Unknowns

“	There are known knowns; there are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns; that is to say, there are things that we now know we don't know. But there are also unknown unknowns – there are things we do not know we don't know.	”
Donald Rumsfeld 2002

Sometimes I think that knowledge has a different value in Laos than I am used to.

I don't mean the knowledge that's coded into dusty libraries, or big picture knowledge about how the world works - or doesn't work, or who Ghandi or Che Guevara were. I mean knowing what's going on and where and when: information, data, details.
(Although knowing who Ghandi and Guevara were doesn't seem important either).

Two funerals, two days. Too much.

Sorry - this is a long one.  Mostly for my own benefit, so feel free to just look at the pictures and then move on if you prefer...

I have just been to two funerals in two days. One was for my boss I'd known for 4 weeks before she died unexpectedly of an aneurism. The other was for a work colleague's mother who we'd visited last week. Within three days of both deaths they have been sent off in a flurry of fire and ritual, witnessed by hundreds of chatting, relaxed, smiling family and guests.

Part 1

 

The ritual stuff started the morning after Somphanh died. I had to come home to put on a white shirt. Black would do but I had white. The visit to the house soon after the death is important. The actual funeral would be on Sunday.

As we arrived, Somphanh's 20 year old son met us at the gate and smiled and thanked us for coming. He was calm and graceful for a young bloke who'd suddenly lost his mother. I had no idea what to say, certainly not in Lao. I settled for 'hello'.

Family, wreaths, coffin.

We sat around for a while in the front yard. I smiled and nodded at people I'd met. Marquees and plastic chairs had been set up and large wreaths of flowers with signs on them were clustered around the door.  I still had no idea what to say to anyone. I think we were all a bit in shock.

Then I was asked to come up to the front door with my training department colleagues. I could see the coffin and it's gold and white structure, a large formal photo of Somphanh on an easel and her family sitting beside it. That was sad.

They all stood up as we entered. Presenting the wreaths in groups, each department took its turn to stand together while someone made a speech. We then filed past the family, bowing and holding our hands together in front of our chests. They thanked us individually.

My Friday office had to have their turn so I turned back and had another go. Again with the speechifying, the filing past and the thanking.

One more task left: the formal handing-over of the envelope of money. I'd been prepped: I had it ready. Down we went on our knees; envelope in a silver bowl; hold the bowl up to the forehead; present it with a bow (not easy whilst on your knees) to a woman who showed it to the coffin and explained something to the spirit. She thanked me and I sort of crouched-bowed-walked out.

Phew! Stage 1 went without a hitch. No tears. No tripping up over my sinh. No major bungles. No spilling of food on my white shirt.
......................................................

On Sunday was the funeral. It was hot (of course) and we were late. It didn't seem to matter except I missed the parade led by a swathe of orange monks and white attendants. No biggie.

There were hundreds there. Somphanh had worked with many people, she was well respected and liked and she and her family obviously knew a lot of people.

Martin came along too. We sat with people I know on plastic chairs under a tree. We were offered bottles of water; a collection plate came past. An icecream man on a bicycle set up and made a killing lot of money selling icy cold sweet things to a hot, sweating, captive crowd. "Entrepreneurial", I thought. Martin thought "Mmmm, Almond Magnum".

Icecreams at a funeral. Love it!

 

There was chanting and praying going on that I couldn't see. We stood up and all sat down again. I followed the crowd. Then we stood up and headed for the coffin. We shuffled through the crowds, collected a paper flower, a candle and an incense stick, placed them on the coffin and said goodbye or good luck or whatever we wanted to say to Somphanh. I thanked her even though I don't believe she heard me.

We did a bit more of the filing past, doing the "wai" thing with our hands together to the family and the women in white. I saw one in tears. Only the one. They all thanked us.

Funeral attendants - women in white: family or close friends.

 

Then we washed our hands in water with petals and leaves. Not sure why but I think it was symbolic of something.

 

Washing hands in flowery water

Next came the photo shoot. Family, friends, monks all holding the photo of Somphanh in front of the coffin in it's elegant and beautiful white and gold structure with a tall spire and hundreds of flowers and candles. Those photos will be majestic. Calm, beautiful, brown faces against  a blue sky and a gleaming gold and white coffin thing.

 The monks having their photo taken with the photo and the coffin

Somphanh's dad, son  and husband having their photo taken with the photo and the coffin

Not showing emotion indicates respect for the dead. Weeping or showing sadness at the loss leads you off the middle path and towards suffering. It's also not very polite to Somphanh or her family. Look at the calm faces on her menfolk. I find it curious, fascinating really. And kind of a relief. Men in tears set me off every time.

Meanwhile everyone else stood around and waited for the fireworks. Literally.

Somphanh's son had joined the temple that day, shaved his head, donned the orange and become a monk for a week or so. It's expected. The length of his stay may depend on his study schedule (he's at uni).

Someone, probably a funeral director or his staff, poured petrol on the coffin, the flowers and all the stuff we'd put there.

The son held up a bunch of flowers with a candle burning in the centre to what I suddenly realised were fireworks rockets on wire strings. The flame took and they flared and fizzed, firing straight into the coffin with a whistle and a squeal and a puff of smoke.

 

Somphanh's son lighting the rockets

 

The fire started to roar.

A roaring fire

 

Then, surprisingly (to me) someone threw lollies into a crowd of waiting kids. Handfuls of menthol flavoured boiled lolly things in wrappers were scattered and the kids swarmed all over the ground to collect them. It took our attention away from the fire but I'm not sure if that was the objective. "And don't the kids love it" (to quote three famous wise men).

Scrambling for lollies.

The wooden structure, the flowers, incense, wreaths, candles and Somphanh's body burned. We went home.

The burning.

 

The next morning I arrived at work and Somphanh's desk had been cleared. I couldn't help but do a tiny cringey double-take. It was a sad and lonely looking desk. When the guys arrived a mumbled speech was made to the wall - or perhaps to Somphanh's spirit - and they moved the desk out. It sat in the corridor all morning looking even more forlorn.

 

Somphanh's desk.

End of Part 1

...............................

Part 2



After the desk-moving ceremony, we headed off to the next funeral. My colleague's mother died on Friday. I kind of knew what to expect this time. So do you. So I'll be briefer this time...

Firstly we visited the house. Luckily, I have two white shirts (thanks, Mum!) so was kitted out appropriately. We were there for about 15 minutes. There were tables of around 100 people sitting around in the front yard. Some were playing bingo and others had a deck of cards in action.

 

Cards at a funeral. Brilliant idea.

 

We then headed for the temple, got a bit lost, visited a couple of empty temples until we found the right one. I was early enough to see the parade of orange and white and the truck with the coffin - looking for all the world like a float in the Bendigo Easter Procession.

A procession of funeral attendants

 

The float

 

The funeral director/event management guys had to disassemble and then reassemble the white and gold structure on site. In that heat and in those yellow jumpers they worked hard for the money.

 

Reassembling

 

Then there was praying and chanting by family and friends and monks. We sat up the back, chatting and drinking cordial and trying to stay out of the sun.

The chanting and praying session

 

 Then we all did the flowers and incense thing and filed past family and friends who thanked us.



Saying goodbye

 Then there was the photo session with monks and family.

Monks in front of the coffin

 

Family in front of mother's/grandmother's coffin.

 

(Note the strategically placed advertising banner for the funeral director's services - on the surrounds all around the coffin. Canny marketing!)

 

Then the extra bits were taken away for recycling.

 

Clearing up before the fire

 

 Petrol was poured (note yellow petrol can)

Great job for a pyromaniac

 

The rockets were lit...

 

Running from the rockets after lighting wicks

More fireworks went off once the rockets hit the structure. Some had whizzy things and whistles and one had streams of yellow smoke. It was quite spectacular.

Yellow smoke

 

 Lollies and rice and possibly even money was thrown and everyone scrambled and laughed (while grandma burned).

Rushing and...

...scrambling.

Then we went home.

 

... Epilogue ...

 



It's not over yet. This morning I gave alms to the monks at Somphanh's house and then ate a Laos banquet before 9am. This all involved a traditional sash, a silver bowl, boxes of Lactasoy, packets of biscuits and overly-handled sticky rice. And I'll be doing it again for the other woman later this week.

 

Sigh. I think it's time for a wedding now. Anyone?

 

 

What I reckon about this place

The following "opinion piece" (essay? ramble?) is just what I reckon and may not have any relationship with “the truth” (whatever that is)

Lao People’s Democratic Republic. Laos. One of the "last bastions of communist ideology".  It's tranquil. It’s hot. And often bit wet. Definitely confusing at times. Sometimes surprisingly organized. Usually it looks like chaos but everyone seems to be calm. I rarely hear a raised Lao voice or see anger or frustration. Except in crying babies. And even then not so much. Road rage doesn’t seem to exist – it’s certainly not common. It would be seriously frowned upon. The Lao way to deal with an idiot on a motorbike who cuts you off is to just make way for them. And smile. Plus the food is fabulous.

 

People generally seem sweet and caring. Twice I have lost my umbrella and twice people have made an effort to find me to give it back. One tuk tuk driver was doing laps looking for me to hand it back. People have asked me if I need help quite often (must be the confused look on my face). Haggling over prices is expected and done with a smile and a laugh.

Workplace health and safety stats how this place is a disaster zone. The APHEDA website  explains how this slow, beautiful, little country is one of the poorest in Asia and has one of the highest occupational death rates with 28.8 fatalities per 100,000 people, around nine times higher than Australia.

The importing and use of asbestos is scary. Canada, Russia and China are making a mint - not many other countries will buy their asbestos anymore. Laos will. The dangerous behaviours I see as I walk past any of the hundreds of construction sites is scary, too. I was sure the other day that I was about to witness a worker fall 20 metres to a nasty end. (He didn’t). The legal minimum wage is now $78 USD per month. Mid-level public servants earn around $300 per month (I think – hard to determine). (And my rent on a 2 bedroom flat is $400 per month)

 

Road accidents are common and fatalities and head trauma, especially in motorcycle accidents, are common and expensive. Helmet laws exist but are not well enforced.

After cremation, some people’s bones and ashes are placed in a jar (sometimes a recycled food jar with a plastic lid) and cemented into small spirit-house memorial things on pedestals with a picture and dates. No avoiding the reminder of your own mortality.

Religious things – temples, statues, spirit houses, monks, parades of people throwing rice, strings of flowers for hanging off religious things, offerings to the ancestors – are everywhere. Strangely, though, no one has asked me about my religious beliefs yet. (I copped this question often in Thailand where I think religion is generally a bigger deal than here).

As for many countries experiencing poverty, issues like saving the environment, raising the status of women, helping disadvantaged people achieve their potential, protecting owls and tigers and reducing the national intake of palm oil and MSG are pipe dreams. Or not even dreams – not even thoughts. Yet.

I’m told Vientiane is not like the rest of Laos. It’s not even like the Vientiane I remember from 15 years ago. It’s richer, there are fancy cars on paved roads, money has been poured into large, dramatic and impressive public buildings.  Many, many rice fields and traditional wooden homes have been bulldozed to make way for large concrete apartment blocks, hotels, office blocks and suburbs. There are fat locals around. Some people are doing well.

 

The rate that this place is growing is astounding. I can’t imagine how confusing it must be for older locals. Then again, most older locals are probably living in much improved conditions with running water and electricity (most of the time) and access to good quality tobacco. ‘I no complain’.

But there are still beggars, poverty, disease, infection, cross-infection, poor grubby hospitals, doctor shortages, long waiting lists for blood from the Red Cross, poorly constructed drains, broken footpaths and food handling standards and OHS regulations either don’t exist, are not enforced or not known. And it’s mostly really hot.

I haven’t seen the rest of Laos for ages but I’m reliably informed that’s where the abject poverty, lack of education and infrastructure, desperation and the farming of fields rife with unexploded bombs still are. I have heard several times about areas of the country that can’t access enough food for a couple of months each year so they all go hungry. No wonder people eat moles and bats and grasshoppers.

Rivers that I once was lucky enough to slowly traverse in a small local boat, are being dammed and villages and mountainsides are being flooded. Chinese money (mostly) and lots of foreign workers are changing the landscape. Powers-that-be want to change the economy of the nation by becoming the “Battery of Asia” – creating electricity to sell to Burma, Thailand, Vietnam, China and Cambodia. The Mekong is being depleted, the dolphins are nearly all gone (I heard there are 6 left) and elephants, tigers, rhinos and the Asian Unicorn (seriously! its called that) are endangered.

Unexploded bombs litter great tracts of land making it useless or dangerous. Limbs and lives are lost because of these little balls of horror.

Laos girls are sold into the sex industry and trafficked across the border. Access to young girls is promoted online by westerners seeking a Thai-beach-style experience for a few days. Women are generally seen as equal – equal pay, not-yet-equal-but-not-too-bad representation in government positions, power within the household – but held on tight leashes that control their behaviour, dress, looks and living arrangements. Mistresses are common, but a cheating wife is totally ostracized. Female sexuality is micro-managed so that they do not entice, infect or reduce protective charms or seduce boys, men and monks – unless they are supposed to (and then the skirts are very short and the bare shoulders shimmy).

I’ve heard people say they think the work ethic here is one of laziness. Sure, things work at a different pace, but I keep meeting really hard working people.  Many people have second jobs. Even third ones. My colleague Noy works all week and studies all weekend. She is doing a masters degree as well as raising two young kids, running the household and taking care of her husband and her widowed mother. She never has time off. She rushes home some lunch times to cook. Other lunch times, like right now as I write this, she is studying and finishing assignments at her desk. Her mother does a fair bit of the child minding. Noy says she is lucky because that means she can study.

Education is revered and getting a university degree is on the agenda for many, many kids – especially here in Vientiane, anyway. And overseas degree is even more desired. In the past , USSR and East Germany had scholarship arrangements and there are many Laos who speak German and some speak Russian. It’s that commie connection.

 

It’s SO BEAUTIFUL too.  After the heavy rains last night this morning was fresh and bright and clean. Flowering trees have enormous blossoms. Gold-painted eaves and gold leaf rubbings glint off temples, statues and pretty hanging things. Everyone smiles a lot. Barbecued banana for breakfast is the best. Pawpaw salad is tasty and fresh and delicious for lunch. Family is more important than work or career, work ethic is relaxed and if things can’t be done or take too much effort then maybe they aren’t that important after all. Individualism as we know it is unfamiliar  - why would anyone want to be alone when you can have love and support and friendship around you? People work to ensure strong emotions are not generated (not just quelled but not actually generated). Meditation and just sitting around are common pastimes. So is lying around in front of the TV. Internet access is everywhere in the city and cheap (albeit not always reliable). Many people have cable TV and watch a mix of Laos, Thai, Chinese and American TV shows. Usually bad ones in my opinion (Thai soaps have not improved in the years since I tried to follow one).

I’m rich here. Even just having a passport makes me rich (I can leave). I can afford to live alone. I work in an air conditioned office. I eat out as much as I want to. I can even afford to buy a 3 litre cask of gin (if I wanted to).

Life for me is good. I really hope in a year’s time I consider myself a small part of a solution rather than just a part of a problem. (And that I have lost a few kilos and have achieved an even tan on my feet.)