"You can beat my kid if he gives you any more trouble."
Yeah.
This was the translation from Akha to English.
We all stared at each other blankly--each one of us secretly wondering--hoping that there was some kind of translation error.
The words came from the student's mother. He had apparently been asked to leave the school temporarily a few days prior for continually interrupting class. She was appealing to the head of our school and to us, his teachers, on her son's behalf in the only way that she knew . . .
I arrived here a little over a month ago in the Ban Huai Nam Khun Village, a small Akha Hill Tribe village that rests at the foothills of the mountains of Northern Thailand. I have been doing volunteer work as an English teacher for a foundation called Pennies for Papas. The foundation is dedicated to offering free English lessons to the children of this small, impoverished village. This village sits halfway between the towns of Chiang Rai and Mai Sai. Both the Laos and Myanmar (Burma) borders are about a half an hour away. This area - known as the "Golden Triangle" was, until the turn of the century, the world’s largest supplier of heroin. It is now the world’s second largest supplier behind Afghanistan. Drug trafficking is big business in this area as traffickers slip easily from country to country by way of small roads and mountain passes. It is said that it is here, and other areas along the Thailand–Burma border, that opium and poppy arrive from northeastern Myanmar via horse and donkey caravans to refineries for conversion to heroin and heroin base. From here, opium and heroin easily find their way to other towns in Northern Thailand and down to Bangkok for further distribution to international markets.
"You can beat my kid if he gives you any more trouble." It was repeated once again.
Yup ...
There could be no misinterpretation this time.
We were being given permission to physically harm this woman's child if he was not willing to cooperate; toe the line, so to speak.
Now, I'm sure that there are plenty of long term teachers out there that would pay - and pay handsomely, to be granted such permission from the parents of some of their long-term 'trouble students' (I'm sure that most would not go through with an actual 'student beat-down' - I would imagine that for many, just holding this power would suffice) but, from what I could understand, this student's only "crime" was to interrupt class a couple of times.
(Trust me, to most teachers in the Western world, these kids would be viewed as angelic beings descended from heaven for the sole purpose of filling their lives with eternal joy and bliss)
You can beat my kid if he gives you any trouble.
Here, in this small village of 1,800 people I have come to realize that this is how things are often dealt with.
Beatings ...
I mean, not always, but frequently ...
(I will spare you the horrific stories that I have heard about the treatment of dogs here in the village, one of which I witnessed first-hand. I would be remiss to mention at this point that some Akha’s are prone to eating dog from time to time)
As our student's mother's words sank in--any possibility of mistranslation now fully abandoned--we gazed ahead silently, each of us trying to reconcile her words in our own way.
I have been forced to do that a lot since I began traveling:
Reconcile.
Now ...
I am certainly not insinuating that Akha parents love their children any less than parents anywhere else in the world.
Not by any means.
The people of this village are kind, loving people, quick to smile and laugh. The parents are concerned parents like parents the world over that want only the absolute best for their children. The children are sweet and happy; fun and well-adjusted; a true joy to be around.
They just deal with things, well . . . differently.
They deal with things the same way that their parents dealt with them.
And their parents before them . . .
Right? Wrong?
Ummm . . .
I guess it is up to each of us to decide for ourselves.
The one thing that I'm sure of, is the more that I travel the less prone I am to judgment.
This is what traveling does to us from time to time:
It forces us to confront the world in ways that we might not be ready to, or even want to sometimes. It tears us open, rips flesh from bone and exposes raw, hypersensitive, nerves to here-to-fore unknown stimuli. It marches us to the very edge of our comfort level and then hurls us over the side violently; plummeting face first at terminal velocity into an unknown abyss we thrash about desperately trying to grab onto anything even remotely familiar to slow our fall and lessen the shock of impact. It short-circuits our internal wiring and forces us to crawl over virgin terrain like newborns struggling to comprehend the world for the first time.
Sometimes this inner-struggle can bring us to new understanding.
Sometimes it crushes our soul viciously and savagely.
Sometimes it does both at the same time; blindsided from every conceivable angle we stumble wearily back to our feet confused, weak, dizzy and struggling for breath; sure that we can't possibly summon the will to go another round we huddle in our lonely corner waiting out the next clang of the bell.
Most times we emerge unscathed and renewed, grateful for the experience. Sometimes we unwittingly trade away a small portion of our soul in the process. Other times we willingly ante-up infinitesimal fragments of heart and soul as price of admission.
You can beat my kid if he gives you any more trouble.
Innocence isn't always lost all at once; sometimes it is chiseled away piece by delicate piece over the span of a lifetime.
Everyday it seems I learn a little more about the world and about myself.
It ain't always pretty.
Still . . .
Standing firmly on my feet with an open heart I move forward delicately, step by step, choosing to learn; to grow; to accept; to continually expand myself to encompass the size and the complexity of the world instead of foolishly attempting to crumble the world to a manageable size that fits my limited understanding.
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