Myitkyina, Kachin State, Burma: November 14, 2001: As previously mentioned, Myitkyina is the capital city of Kachin State. Many of the state officials gather at the state capital even as the country’s leaders gather in Rangoon. News spread rapidly about the government shake-up and the sacking of two of the main cabinet ministers over the past couple of days.
The top military leader of Putao happened to be in Myitkyina with his family today. Our guide, Ma Lay, hurried around and talked the commander into meeting with Daniel and me at 7:00 a.m., a highly unusual time for a government meeting. But it was mandatory for us to meet with him and get his blessing and approval, since a large part of Project C.U.R.E.’s future work will be centered in Putao.
The commander had us come to the home where he was staying. He invited us in and introduced us to his wife. He was very warm and open with us, and when we explained what we wanted to do in Putao and the surrounding area, he smiled and assured us that he will be there to fully support us in every way possible. He was critically aware of how much the people of his area need medical help and was additionally complimentary of all the past work of the barefoot doctors.
On the way back to check out of the small Pant Sun Hotel, I had Ma Lay stop and walk with me through the market of Myitkyina. She was born and raised in the city, and some of her childhood friends now operate a jewelry kiosk at the market. I asked her to help pick out a nice jade-and-gold ring for Anna Marie’s Christmas present. I knew I would later kick myself if I didn’t capture the memory of Myitkyina in a Christmas ring for my best girlfriend. I was in the world’s finest gemstone reserve, I had seen where the local people go to the river to extract the gold nuggets, and I knew that the local goldsmith employed the secrets of his trade, handed down from generations, to hand pound and craft the rings.
I’m not a shopper. I’m a buyer. And so it took almost no time at all for me to decide on a treasure. I was almost embarrassed at the price asked for the pure-gold, hand-crafted ring, but I certainly didn’t let that stand in the way of being pleased with my purchase.
Our flight on the local Myanmar National Airlines was scheduled to depart Myitkyina at 10:30 a.m. A group of our new friends followed Daniel and me to the airport. Unlike places in South America, Central America, or even Europe, the Asian culture doesn’t allow for any physical touching, hugging, or expressions of emotion. They just don’t do it. So there was a lot of bowing and smiling as Daniel, Ma Lay, and I boarded our plane to Putao.
In Putao, a town of more than two hundred thousand people, more members of Daniel’s family warmly greeted us. As soon as we stepped off the plane, I felt the difference of the atmosphere and climate. We were still in the tropical jungle, but we had flown straight toward the Himalayan Mountains that separate Myanmar from Tibet and China. No longer were we along the low river bottoms of Yangon (Rangoon) or Myitkyina.
We landed shortly after noon, and the sun had already burned off the mist of the clouds that settle over Putao each morning, collecting around the base of the high mountain range.
The British had laid out the airport, but it was the energetic people of Putao who built the runways in subsequent years by hand, literally, to entice and encourage the commercial flights of Myanmar National Airlines to land there two or three times a week.
In addition to family and friends waiting for us at the airport, there was a driver and an old l945 Jeep left over from the days of the British occupation. We piled all of our luggage on a rack atop the Jeep, and as many people as possible packed themselves into the vehicle for the ride home.
About a mile and a half from the airport, we pulled off the road and through the gates at the home of Daniel’s brother-in-law, who insisted that we stop and have tea and chicken soup. This brother-in-law is about sixty-five years old, has only one leg, and is a man of many talents. He built his own home inside the gate and is just completing a brand-new, large home constructed of hardwood beams, plank floors and walls, and a roof made of beautifully cut wood taken from the forests. The house is being built on stilts in typical Burmese fashion to last for eternity. The old gentleman also weaves wonderful woolen fabric, is a superb basket weaver, draws and paints pictures, and designs and constructs buildings.
When we finished with our chicken soup and tea, we loaded back into the Jeep and headed for the home of Daniel’s brother. It had taken special written permission for me to stay at an individual’s home in the restricted area. All visitors are typically assigned to stay in the old British army barracks, but Daniel’s brother, Phe Ram, and his wife, Chin Lay Doo, have special clout and influence in Kachin State. Phe Ram used to be a very popular governor of the Putao region, and though he is now retired, he is still highly respected.
Phe Ram and Chin Lay Doo’s house is situated on a large town parcel, fenced and gated, and the property is covered with banana trees; kumquat fruit trees; grapefruit, orange, coconut, mango trees; green garden and herb plants; and apple and tangerine trees. They ride bicycles or walk because hardly any motorized vehicles exist in the town of nearly a quarter of a million people. Ox carts with two large wheels transport most loads, and the government owns a few old buses and large, rickety, old open-bed trucks that serve as taxis for the people.
Phe Ram’s house, kitchen buildings, outbuildings, and entire compound grounds were flawlessly clean and well maintained. Eventually I was taken to the room where I would sleep. There was a sufficient supply of candles, a porcelain pot at the foot of the bed, and a promise that a mosquito net would be placed over my bed before nightfall. The house was well constructed with jungle hardwood and had a metal roof instead of banana leaves or thatch.
It was pointed out to me that I would be supplied with plenty of bottled water. Northern Myanmar has no water system or sewer system, and electricity is available only if you own your own generator. Therefore, I was welcome to use the small toilet house on the northwest corner of the property. (There was no bench or “one-holer” but rather a set of porcelain footpads where you can place your feet and squat over a hole in the outhouse floor. Plenty of water was supplied in a bucket in the outhouse for washing your hands and washing off the floor. It takes special talent to use such a facility and keep your clothes clean!)
I was given a towel and shown to the outside bathhouse measuring about seven feet by seven feet. I could bathe either at night or in the morning. The family’s hired help would supply hot water to fill the cauldrons inside the bathhouse so that the bath would be warm and pleasant. Should I need to go to the toilet during the night, I was instructed to simply light a candle and then use the porcelain pot at the foot of the bed. The doors would be locked, so it wouldn’t be necessary—or possible—to go to the outside toilet house. A chambermaid would attend to everything in the morning.
After a wonderful meal of rice, chicken meat, fried fish, green chard, bamboo shoots, and rattan shoots, we were served our two kinds of tea. First was the Assam tea with milk and honey and then the strong green tea served in bamboo cups.
It was very dark by 5:30 p.m., and following dinner we all went outside and sat around the fire and talked. No television is available, so people just gather in the evenings to visit. Lots of people came by to say “Par ma rar” to Daniel and hear news from Chiang Mai and America.
Even though it is considered tropical, being at the base of the Himalayan Mountain range and the nineteen-thousand-foot-high Mount Hkakabo Razi made it cool enough at night that I wanted to wear a sweater or jacket. While we sat and talked, the ladies served us more green tea with sliced and baked casaba roots, slices of glutinous rice cakes (chewy like the inside of a large unsweetened gum drop), and flat tortillas made from special tree bark pounded thin, soaked in water, rolled out, and made into flour. Everything was sweetened by or dipped into honey to go along with the strong green tea. We stayed and visited around the fire until about 9:00 p.m.
As I was dropping off to sleep under my mosquito-net tent, I reflected on what I saw today. Northern Burma is perhaps the last great pristine time warp in the twenty-first century. It isn’t dirty and desperate like the places I visited in Africa or India. It’s safe, unlike Mizoram, Manipur, or Nagaland in India. It isn’t a land of poverty, even though the people have no electricity, sewer systems, or running water. The country is undeveloped almost in a classic sense, but it isn’t poor. The people are extremely clean, well fed, and very happy, though they possess very little of the things we use to judge wealth or affluence. Their government isn’t progressive at all, but neither is it repressive like the governments of so many other countries where I’ve traveled, such as Iraq, Cuba, North Korea, Congo, or Sudan. Being here is like going back in time one hundred years or more and being able to just drop in on their preserved culture.
Next Week: I Will Share a Few Acquired Tidbits of Personal Experience