The Elementary School on the Feathers of a Peacock

Translated…

The day I left the Thai-Burmese border, on the twists and turns of the path, riding on the bumpy roads, a young, but also, weathered shadow flashed, for one miniscule of a second, across my window.  And, in that moment I’d become trapped in, an extremely famished boy, pushed along over a dozen large pieces of wood, seemed that he could fall over at any second.

from the papers…

But very shortly, he’d become, frozen, into a small dot, vanished, at the end of the path.

The School on the Border that Went Along with the Rays of the Sun

That year, I’d worked along with the group of friends who were a part of a not-for-profit organization, visited a couple of the migrated workers’ children’s schools, there are, a lot of children in the lower grade levels, but, the number of students diminished, with the higher up grades—a lot of the kids, for the sake of helping out with their families’ economics were forced, to drop out.

In the town of Mae Sot, bordering between Thailand and Burma, there were, members of the Burmese people who’d gone to work here, their kids did not have citizenship from Thailand, plus, most of the families had difficulties, paying for the tuitions, and the kids couldn’t get into the public school systems; gladly, there were those who were passionate, and ran all over, for fund a school.  Once in the area of Mae Sot, there were over seventy schools for children of migrated workers, and now, the number had declined to the fifties, there were, so many of them that couldn’t get enough funding and forced to shut down.

The Green Water Elementary School is currently facing the difficulties of operating, a few years ago, there were still, school busses, and now, the officials are finding it hard, to pay the rents, and those kids who lived a little bit farther away, just couldn’t make it to school.  In order to get more funding, the principal who graduated from the Rangoon University had even picked up the slacks, worked the odds and ends available, so he could maintain, the little over thirty square meter’s space, the school building that was, held together, by a few clad slates, so the kids could sit on the floors, leaned against the short tables, and used the sunlight that fell into the room from time to time, to learn the words and to draw.

A long-haired boy was very focused, drawing the large and new school building, there was a rocket ship in the skies from his pen.  “You’d seen that here?”, I’d asked him, surprised.  He’d nodded, with that seriousness.  And what sort of feelings, were, represented by, that huge rocket ship, I’d wondered.

I’d recalled how my father talked about, how as he was a young child, he’d ran along with his kite, imagined one day, flying off, into that widened skies.  That sort of a childhood, one night as the rain became a downpour, the river rose, and the ducks his family kept over the years went away with the raging rivers, and overnight, his family fell apart.  That sort of a childhood, with the scolding, the screams, the shattering of the wine bottles, some cried, as they went, to pick up the textbooks throw away by the parents.

The boy said, when there was no food in his house, he’d gone to the forests, to dig up some bamboo shoots from time to time.  But, there were, monsters there that’ll, decapitate you.  That sort of a story got passed, from one child to the next.  And surely enough, at the borders, the human traffickers would, take the opportunities, to abduct the children, and, there would be news of children who’d gone missing without any reason.  He’d said, most of the time, he’d only had the stinky fish sauces, he’d hated it so, but, what else can he do, it’s either that, or starvation.

The boy also said, that in the future, he’d wanted to become a paramedic, because there was NO one who knew anything about medicines from his village, and, when someone is ill, nobody knows what to do.

Perhaps, he will one day become a formal employee of the well-known Mae-Tao Clinic, the station works with a lot of the humanist rescue groups, and treated the refugees, the migrant workers for free, and there would even be international organizations there, providing the citizens with better opportunities, so they can, move to other countries; or maybe, he’d ended up, choosing, to return back to the borders, from the other end of the world, after all, most of the governments would refuse to accept a degree outside the systems, getting a degree, with a stable job, that, was so far in one’s fantasies.  And, there would be those who’d come back here, to teach, hoped, that there would be, another child, with another dream like his own.

As the classes let out, the kids would, hop out of the classrooms.  Some of them lived in the desolate places, how desolate, let’s just say, that the kids, couldn’t communicate, even at the ages of four and five, because the parents had to work, and they’d lacked the stimulations from the socializations.

School, it’s not only a place where knowledge is received, but also, a place where the peers can share their worries, their joys, with others they can play and be happy with.

Those Eyes that Shone and Twinkled, Because of Learning

One day, an artist from the borderlines asked me along to teach an art class at the migrated workers’ children’s school, wanted me to teach them origami.  I’d become hesitant, thinking of how someone who spoke a foreign language, and an activity so boring, will they feel, uninterested?

Little did I know, that what’d welcomed me were, arms, raised up so very high, holding out their half-finished papers, calling out to me, “Teacher!  Teacher!”, in this classroom session, where almost NO conversations were exchanged, there were, eyes that were, excited, anxious, shows of excitement, with the focused mind, everybody was, so into it, so focused, and it didn’t matter to them, that we’d not gotten the colored varieties of folding paper, just the scrap pieces we’d managed to find.

As the end of the activities neared, a little dark boy ran toward me, asked in a very small voice, “Can I have more paper to take home?”, I’d finally understood, why there were, so many youths who were, willing to give up their bright futures, to stay in this place to teach.  There may be, very limited resources here, but, the twinkle in their eyes are so, priceless.

Thinking about myself, I can’t recall when the last time I felt engaged and happy in learning.  Growing up in an environment, where education became a matter-of-fact, we’d no longer, expected each and every opportunity we have, to learn; we’d all forgotten about once, forgot about how we’d also had, cherished that one reading book very much.

Later on, when I’d arrived in Yangon, on the streets, at the time of the monsoon seasons, I saw people, lifting up the plastic bag covered bookstands everywhere, flipping through the used books that had the smell of mold on them, no realizing, that they’re getting, drenched by the rain.  I also saw the book fixer, squinted his eyes, tilted his head, with a needle and thread in hand, put back together, those broken pages of books.  The setting sun of the afternoon, dragged out the shadows of those books so.

All these book loving Burmese people, in the era of movement, in the time where the government suppressed them, in the time when the economics stressed them so, so many people were forced, to come to the border.  Some, worked alongside the international organizations.  Of them, Chimmuwa, Borderline Shop, and Glocal Action, etc., etc., etc.

After the presidential elections, this once radiant peacock known as Burma, will she, regain her beauty from before, letting the world know her existence.  And still, the folks on the Thai-Burmese border became like the fallen feathers of the peacock, forgotten, ignored eventually, and couldn’t, beat the destiny of refuging.

But, what stayed with me were, those twinkling young pairs of eyes, in the elementary school, on the feathers of the peacock.

And so, you can see, how education is so important, to this group of underprivileged children, can’t you?  They’d had very little in their lives, and yet, these teachers are giving everything they got, to help these children get better educated, because education would be the key, that these kids can have, to pull themselves of their own poverty stricken lives.