Breakfast at the Yaw Lee Chain was interesting: Shan noodles or eggs. Sue and I had the noodles, which were fine if a little bland, and Andrew got eggs, which were over too easy and had to be sent back for more cooking to meet his exacting hygienic standards. That set the standard for subsequnet breakfasts: cooked to death eggs. The coffee wasn’t too bad, especially considering it was instant!
We had hardly finished when the motorbikes descended on us at 9:30 sharp, and we were off to the festival again. Cynthia very sweetly bought Lahu festival shirts for each of us: no easy feat for me, but we finally found a super-sized one at the third vendor.
Andrew got the value added package, though: a woman later came up to him and gifted him with a Shan bag with “Lahu New Year’s Festival” inscribed in bright letters. I felt very neglected!
When we arrived, the dancing was in full swing. Long lines of dancers shuffling to the rhythms of the music. We popped under a long tent and sat in the sun on the other side to take pictures.
Not too long later we were suddenly summoned by a woman we didn’t know to join a party at a large round table under the tent: we had been designated “special guests” of the festival and offered a copious lunch (Chinese: pork, tofu, chicken, etc.). Our hosts were two retired and well educated men who were eager to talk with us. It was hard to judge their ages, but the quality of their English indicated that they had been educated before the generals destroyed the educational system, which means before 1960.
It was a charming and unexpected bonus! After lunch we sat in the broiling sun and watched the dancing. Men and women formed different lines and moved in slow clockwise circles, with handheld drums and bells accompanying the music. I shot lots of pictures, but many into the sun: we’ll see what comes out. After an hour or so, Cynthia convinced Sue to dance, and she shook a tail feather all around the lot…with what looked like considerable authenticity!
On the way to the bikes, we popped into Teddy’s parents’ house for dessert: a sweetened bean paste packed into sugar canes and sticky rice in bamboo shafts: both really good!
We knew we had a long day of teaching ahead of us, so we headed back for a siesta at 1. Teddy fetched us at 2:45 and we walked to the Kyaing Teng Learning Center, the House that Teddy Built. A beautiful three story grey building, he had done the whole thing by himself, learning electricity, plumbing, etc. as he went.
Cynthia teaches the adult learners five days a week for four hours a day: one hour for each Level 1-4. Andrew and I, with intermittent assistance from Sue, took over for the day.
Level 1 was charming: they had only had about 3 weeks of English, but were eager to try! Level 2 was a real struggle. I didn’t see much progress vis-a-vis Level 1, and the students were somehow recalcitrant. We discussed lots of things, but the interesting bits were the real integration of ethnicities and religions in Burma: we of course had lots of students whose first language was Shan, but we also had lots whose first language was tribal, Lahu or Akah, e.g. And lots of students whose parents were from different tribes / ethnic groups…and many more ethnic Chinese than I had imagined.
Also interesting in these groups was the very modest level of expectation: most students simply hoped to be a shopkeeper or a tour guide or work in a restaurant, pinning their hopes on foreigners rather than on their government. The regime had not merely taken away their education and decent jobs: it had taken away its hope and imagination.
Groups 3 and 4 were a big leap up. Not just in their English, but in the perspectives on life that the language had opened to them. Here we had people who wanted to be doctors, engineers, and teachers, and people who could imagine traveling and living elsewhere. All in all, the four hours we spent with these young people were challenging but above all enriching—for us!
After class we hopped on the bikes once again, and the students dropped us with Cynthia and Teddy at a Chinese restaurant—My Cup (?)—run by one of Cynthia’s former students. The food was pretty good, especially if you didn’t look too closely at the kitchen—or mind the Turkish toilets. Cynthia ordered, and we had a couple of wok dishes, a fried rice, and some crispy chicken to go along with our Myanmar beer. A very nice evening with these two remarkable people. Teddy walked us back to the hotel and we collapsed: Cynthia teaches seven hours a day, six days a week, and we’re slugs by comparison.