Bangkok: The Return

Upon my arrival in Bangkok after a brutal 12 hour train ride which might have been pleasant were it not for my extreme stomach pains and constant trips to the bathroom, we settled in the Atlanta Hotel, located in the heart of Bangkok’s metropolis. Immediately upon entering the Atlanta, I knew I was in a place I would visit again. The hotel is a fierce sponsor of the arts, and proud to be so. In the hotel’s restaurant, there is a small library where guests can participate in a book exchange. People from all over the world, for the past sixty years, have passed trough the hotel and left a book behind, while appropriating one from someone else, perhaps from another country, perhaps from another time. I was vexed that I did not have a book to participate in the exchange, given that the only book I brought with me to Laos was borrowed. I went to see a jovial looking old Westerner sitting behind a desk surrounded by books, thinking he must be the hotel’s librarian. I asked him if I could perhaps rent a book, since I did not have one to give in exchange. He smiled at me and said in a nice British accent, “you don’t really have to leave one, just take one if you find one that pleases you.” I thanked him and was about to turn to the selection when he seemed to take a sudden interest in me and asked, “what language do you read in?” “English” I answered. He then asked me when I was set to leave the hotel, and when I told him my flight to Paris left the following evening he seemed a bit vexed before finally telling me, “you see, I have a personal collection of English books, and I could lend you a great book of non-fiction if you are interested, but you must promise to return it.” Knowing this would be no problem because for one I am a fast reader and for two I was sick and would be spending my entire two days in Bangkok in bed, I told him I promised to do so. Five minutes later he returned with Thomas Keneally’s memoir, Searching for Schindler. I was familiar with Schindler’s Arc, but I had never read the book, nor had I seen Schindler’s List, Steven Speilburg’s movie adaptation. Nonetheless, I was intrigued by the book and very appreciative of the loan.

I returned to my hotel room and began to read Keneally’s story of how he came to know the now legendary story of Oskar Schindler. From this book I got a glimpse of the character of Schindler and I knew at once that I simply had to read Schindler’s Arc. I sent an e-mail to my father asking him to pick up a copy, so that I could begin my reading upon my arrival in Canada.

Unlike Keneally, I wasn’t really fascinated by the seeming duplicity of Schindler’s character, both “sinner” and “saint”. The conundrum that captivated Keneally was to me mere humanity. Perhaps because he had a Catholic upbringing and I had very much the opposite, I was never one to think that a person’s indulgence in liquor, food, or sex was a factor in determining whether or not they were a genuinely good person. To me, compassion was the decisive factor, and compassion Schindler possessed. I was more fascinated by the courage and absolute conviction in his belief’s that it took for this man to risk his life for the benefit of others during so strict and terrifying a regime. Compassion aside, the Nazi regime was a powerful propaganda machine that succeeded in convincing the minds of countless educated and cultured people that “racial cleansing” was not immoral but for the better of mankind. Something inside of Schindler was able to push aside the overbearing message of the media and belief of his time, and see the people whom he saved for the individuals that they were. Not as one of the countless Jews that were doomed to death, not as a nameless face to be used and thrown away, not as a lesser being under his power, but as a human. As someone’s mother, father, son or daughter, standing in front of him starving and suffering, and whom it was within his power to help.

I remember visiting the Holocaust Museum in Montreal when I first moved there. The museum was memorable because it gave me a new perspective on the Holocaust. Aside from the accounts of the terrible deaths and atrocities that occurred during the Holocaust, which I was already familiar with, the museum also offered a glimpse into the propaganda and use of media that allowed Hitler to convince a nation, an entire nation, that Jews did not deserve to live. I remember seeing the posters and hearing translated versions of what had once been spoken on the radio or television. After my visit, I remember the strange and scary feeling that accompanied the thought, “he made it seem so justified.” As a child, I was haunted by the mystery as to how so many people could watch human suffering and not do anything to help. My young mind could not contemplate how so many people could partake in such atrocities. I have since learned that human nature is a mysterious thing. A story like Schindler’s would have most certainly been received by my young self as an account of the ordinary, a normal reaction any human would have in his situation. As an adult, I am fascinated that a man did not succumb to the immense temptation that power offers to anyone: abuse.

Getting Sick, A.K.A Sticky Rice Extravaganza

Halfway through the last week I started to experience extremely painful stomach cramps, at times I had pangs so sharp I couldn’t breathe. I had to spend a lot of time in bed, and was forced to eat nothing but sticky rice for four consecutive days. To make my food more appealing while the people around me dined on a great variety of sumptuous foods, I molded my sticky rice into different shapes and sizes before shoving it down my throat. Unfortunately, no matter how much you play with it, sticky rice always tastes like sticky rice. I eventually got so tired of it that I gave up eating altogether, which worked out nicely because then I could concentrate entirely on my pain.

This, my friends, is what will eventually happen if you ignore an upset stomach and “cure” it with immodium for three consecutive weeks. The doctor I saw had a very scary name for it: Intestine Infection. Yikes.

Because we were no longer in the city, but out on the countryside for the second week of day camp, I could not see a doctor until the Friday of that week. We had made our return to the city on Thursday night and were scheduled to leave for Bangkok on Friday evening. After diagnosing me my doctor gave me three different kinds of medication and told me that my pain and infection would last another five days, or in other words, for the entire duration of my travel home.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Of course this would happen to me! Still, my time in Laos taught me the very basic lesson that we should not complain about the cards we have been dealt, we should always appreciate both the good and the bad. All experiences are, after all, experiences. If anything we learn, n’est ce pas?

Because it was my last day in Laos, and because I had been blessed with this new mentality to embrace all in life, I decided that despite my diagnosis I would put on a brave face and visit the AFESIP girls one last time. A lot of the girls are studying to be hairdressers or manicurists/pedicurists, and the beauty shop where they work and learn was not too far from my hotel. I went straight from the hospital to the beauty shop, where underwent what felt like an eternity of pampering. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated it. But to say that I enjoyed it would be a blatant lie. Truth is, I was sufferin yo.

The girls were ecstatic to see me, and when I walked in they took me by the hand and led me to a chair, where they sat around touched me and said things to me that I’m sure were nice but I could not understand. I asked them to cut my hair, but they at first refused. Instead, they fetched their teacher and told me that they did not want to mess anything up, so they would prefer to let her do the job. I was adamant. I did not go out of my way in pain to have some stranger cut my luscious, (broken), locks off. In the end they caved. A few of them crowded around my head to cut and talk and fix each other’s mistakes. I asked them to cut off an inch, but the hair that went halfway down my back is now shoulder length. Whatever. I was hurting so bad I didn’t care anyways. Having to sit still and act happy when you are suffering is one of the hardest things to do. I think they noticed something was wrong when my eyes started rolling into my head, and I started taking deep breaths and sweating buckets. Three of them actually stood around me and fanned me with magazines for the duration of the cut. When they were done I had to unstick myself from the plastic chair I was in. They gasped when they saw that my entire back was drenched in sweat. Such joy. But they were so sweet and they took me by the hand and brought me to another chair where they continued to fan me. They kept taking my hand and repeating the word “nice”, then pointing to me. I would obviously do it all again.

I was still, however, glad when it was over. I could finally go back to my hotel and lie down. Unfortunately, it was only for a few hours, after that I had to hop on the train to leave the country. Let my traveling adventure begin!

VYDA Day camp

After the emotionally draining weekend that followed our goodbye session with the girls from AFESIP, I was reunited with the MSR team before our departure to a small village where we would complete our second and last week of VYDA day camp.

The village we went to was fantastic. It was simple and quaint, and people were friendly and curious because they don’t see many tourists in the area. When we walked down the streets and went to local markets people smiled and waved to us, yelling out Sabaidi, (hello), whenever they caught our glance.

The ride was not so torturous as previous ones, and it was only one hour from the city. When we arrived, we dropped our bags off at the hotel and went straight to the community centre where we would meet the participants and begin our sessions.

We had quite the shock when we walked in. The kids from our first week of day camp ranged in age from eight to thirteen. They were young, energetic, and uninhibited. Contrastingly, we walked into the centre to find a group of adolescents in school uniforms. As you can imagine, this changed everything for us. All the games we planned to play, even the gifts we had purchased in advance for them, were no longer relevant. Try giving a sixteen year old a Barbie coloring book and some crayons while keeping a straight face. Although I personally would have been pleased with the gift, and quite possibly would have been occupied for a few blissful hours, I was nonetheless aware that they would laugh at our pathetic attempt at generosity.

After we had all exchanged worried glances and whispered nervously about what to do, we sat down and began the introductions. Since we were there and had no time to come up with a new program, we went right ahead with the games that we had originally planned. As you can imagine, sixteen year-old kids are not quite as enthusiastic to get down on the floor and imitate an animal as ten year-old kids are. Teenage years are haunted by the ever-present voice in the back of our heads that continuously asks, What if I look stupid? As if acne and weird patches of wannabe facial hair aren’t bad enough. In reflection, I do think it was good for us to stick with the light and silly games we had planned. They broke the ice and showed everyone that this was a place where it was okay to look foolish.

That night we sat down in semi-panic mode and came up with a program that would be slightly more focused and challenging to match with the age of the group. We decided that even though we only had four days, we would put on an entire play, which I wrote that same night.

It would not have been possible to complete the play if we did not have a professional actress in our midst. Luckily, we had the super hot ball-buster Anne-Solenne Hatte present to whip everyone into shape and get the production going. Anne-So, as we called her, is somewhat famous in Paris. She’s extremely talented and frustratingly beautiful. I consider myself to be a relatively attractive girl, key word being relative. When I stood next to Anne-Solenne I often felt like some sort of creature that had crawled out of a Lady Gaga video. I had contradicting feelings toward her because, although I really enjoyed her company, I preferred if she stood very far away from me. Needless to say, the kids were mesmerized by her. If it hadn’t been for her electric presence and over-the-top stage coaching we wouldn’t have gotten anything done. The downside to doing a theatre program in a Buddhist country is that Buddhists are taught their entire life that any excess of emotion is rude and inappropriate. So when a Buddhist is told to act really sad or really happy, what is conveyed by Western standards appears only to be different shades of neutral. So mad would look slightly annoyed and clinically depressed often appeared to be merely thoughtful.

However, the show must go on, and it did. And although it wasn’t quite the spectacular romantic comedy I envisioned when I wrote it, it was actually quite good. More importantly, the kids really enjoyed the performance, and when we left they all said they were happy to have been introduced to theatre, and that they would continue to learn and practice after we were gone. Even the coloring books ended up making people happy! We gave them to the mass of young children who showed up to watch the final performance, and their looks of awe and appreciation alone were worth the trip to the village. :)

... Or See You Later

As a literary student, I have learned to pay close attention to symbolic events. Meals, journeys, or changes of weather are some examples of things that any student of literature will slow down to closely analyze and search for levels of meaning. Weather is often used to represent a mood or indicate a shift in a story. Thunderstorms, for example, often suggest wrath from the Gods, or the occurrence of some unnatural event: black magic, for example. Rain, however, often has a very positive connotation when it is not accompanied by thunder or lightning. Showers represent change, a washing away of old residue, a renewal of life.

So it was not lost on me this morning that after spending a difficult night encumbered by thoughts about what I have learned and seen since my arrival in Laos, I stepped out of the hotel and right into a heavy downpour of warm, refreshing rain.

After our last session at AFESIP we held a short meeting before the rest of the MSR team took off for the weekend. (I decided to stay behind.) During the meeting Julie explained to us that the song the girls sang for us before leaving is a Buddhist song, often sung at funerals. The lyrics, “this is not goodbye, it is until our next encounter” are indicative of the Buddhist belief in reincarnation and the philosophy that nothing is ever lost, only changed.

Buddhism preaches that the cause of all suffering is attachment to worldly things. Being attached causes one to suffer because worldly things are persistently evolving and changing. Impermanence permeates everything we know, including ourselves. In order to relieve one’s self of suffering, one must come to the realization that all things are forever decomposing, dying, coming alive, and changing. Once we have accepted this, it is easier to let go of the things we have “lost”.

One of the more beautiful concepts of Buddhism relates to this idea of “loss”. Like physics, Buddhism preaches that there is never truly a loss, only a change. Basic high school Physics classes introduce us to the concept that matter never disappears, it simply changes forms or turns into energy. Buddhists believe that everything in this world is one and the same, continuously and eternally connected. This is because as one thing dies and decomposes, it changes forms, returns to the earth and becomes part of the life of something new. Every cell in our body is composed of particles that have existed since the beginning of time, that have been part of innumerable combinations of different entities, beings, and matter. Thus parts of us have all at one time been parts of the same entity. The idea that we are completely “individual”, or “separate”, is one of the illusions Buddhists seek to free themselves from.

Unlike other religions, Buddhism does not believe in a single God or creator. Instead, a “Buddha” is simply a human who has achieved a state of Enlightenment and thus has been released from the cycle of life and suffering. Enlightenment occurs when a soul has freed itself from all the attachments and illusions that keep us from being truly happy and free. Every living soul is on a quest for Enlightenment, and the work you put into achieving this goal in your current lifetime will determine the circumstances of your next lifetime. When you have achieved Enlightenment, you are free, released from the cycle of rebirth.

So when the girls sang us a Buddhist song about how “this is not goodbye,” they were not trying to be optimistic about the hopeful but highly unlikely event that one day we might cross each other walking down the street. No, they were saying this is not the end. We have countless more lifetimes, shapes and forms to assume, and chances to meet again.

A wise friend of mine once said to me, “You don’t meet your true friends, you recognize them.” How true it is that the people I am closest to I have always felt an immediate attraction towards. Perhaps sometime in the very, very distant future, I will meet these girls again and something inside me will know that we have a lifetime of friendship ahead of us.

For the present, ever fleeting moment, the rain has subsided and I’ve decided to partake in another event of literary symbolism: the feast. In How to Read Literature Like a Professor, Thomas C. Foster writes, "whenever people eat or drink together, it’s a communion,” and specifies that the message behind the gathering of individuals for a meal is to indicate, “I’m with you, I like you, we form a community together.” Significantly, I dine alone. But as I contemplate the philosophy of the country I have had the chance to visit, it is quite impossible to feel lonely.

Goodbye...

Throughout our sessions at AFESIP we have performed various little skits for the girls focused on male and female friendship. The idea was that we wanted them to see how the two sexes can interact in non-sexual ways. We were attentive to details that would help to portray how the female in the friendship was as assertive, decisive, and independent as the male. For our last session we wanted to perform a skit about love, to show them that it is ok to have a sexual relationship with a man as long as it is mutually respectful. The female lead was none other than yours truly. We began the scene in an office, I am new at work and I ask a co-worker to borrow a pen. He lends me one and asks how long I’ve been with the company, then tells me he’s a veteran and that I can always come to him if I need anything. The next day I ask him for help with a certain client, and we review the portfolio together. I drop a pen and, as we both bend down to pick it up, our hands touch. He gives me his phone number in case I have any questions, then we both go home. That night as I’m making supper I debate as to whether or not I should call him. It was important to us not only to show the progression of time in the piece, but also to show that the woman takes an active role in initiating the relationship by calling the man. We wanted them to make the clear distinction between acting and being acted upon. By the end of the skit, after we have talked on the phone for hours and taken the time to get to know each other, we meet for a date and leave the stage holding hands.

Much like our skits have evolved and changed in nature, so have our sessions with the girls. I remember that during the first session the girls were extremely shy and giggly. They did not look us in the eyes, they did not want to go in the middle of the circle to dance, and they were separated amongst themselves into small exclusive cliques. Throughout the sessions I’ve noticed some significant changes.

White Girl Dance was a humorous blog entry, but for them it is not a joke. These are girls who have been taught that when you dance, you do so seductively. When I began the dance session on our first day together by bopping and pointing and making a complete fool of myself, they followed my lead. Dancing became a means of expression and joy, done for one’s self and not for the benefit of onlookers. Much of our sessions with AFESIP have focused on the idea of acting in ways that make you happy, on being who you want to be.

In the short time we’ve worked together, I’ve noticed that they now love spending time in the middle of the circle, waving their arms and shaking their heads like madwomen. Even more significant, they now interact altogether as a group, not as separate cliques. Also, when they do improvisation or perform a skit, they don’t giggle or turn away from the audience. They no longer feel embarrassed or stupid in front of other people.

So it wasn’t too much of a shock when, after each volunteer had said a small word to the girls, expressing our love and admiration for them, many girls took the opportunity to speak in front of the group. They spoke about their emotions, and about what we had brought to them. These were girls who had trouble telling us their name and age when Julie and I first met them, and now they were giving long, heartfelt speeches. They said that every moment they spent with us made them happier and stronger, that we helped them to express themselves and to gain confidence. They said, “We feel better.” What is more beautiful than that?

After we did all of the initial warm-up exercises we continued with some improvisation, then we filmed a play that we have been working on with them about the objectification of women. It is one of the initial plays they presented to us, where there is one girl who acts as a doll of sorts while the others poke and prod her, fix and place her, then pose for pictures with the final result. The filming was done with masks, so I will be able to post the final version of it shortly.

After that, it was time to say goodbye. At first I thought I could make it through without crying, because, you know, I’m strong and stuff. Who was I kidding? I cry when I watch romantic comedies. I cry when I watch figure skating, or even when I watch the season finale of So You Think You Can Dance. But I can honestly say that although I’m a pathetic crybaby, nine times out of ten, I cry happy tears. I cry because I love to see people fall in love, do something they’re really good at, or fulfill a dream. This time my tears were a physical reaction to acute emotional pain.

We sat them all in a circle and distributed juice, snacks and gifts. We gave them each a group photo of the entire MSR team and themselves. Then the waterworks began. A few of girls, (the Bieber fans), were sitting next to me and holding my hands. As they felt the final goodbye approaching, they began to cry. The translator sitting near us told me they were asking me not to leave, and if I would ever come to visit them again.

I couldn’t help it. I started sobbing like an eight year old who fell off her bike. They swarmed around me and hugged me, which only made me cry more. One of the girls gave a speech about how we were all friends forever, and that even though we will be far apart, we all live under the same sky. She said we could always look up to the sky and know that we have friends in this world.

I cried more.

Then they sang us a traditional Lao song. The translator told us the lyrics meant, “this is not goodbye, this is until our next encounter.” Guess what I did?

I cried more.

So it was difficult. I don’t know how to explain how it felt. It was very different from any other experience I’ve had in my life. When you leave a boyfriend, you do so because you know it is time to move on. With friendships, sometimes people just grow apart. But in this situation, I had befriended these girls despite the language barrier, the difference of age and situation, the limited amount of time. And much like our friendship was a result of a very particular set of circumstances, so was our goodbye. We did not grow apart, we did not have a fight, we could simply no longer be. In the book I am reading the author writes of a farewell supper with her Parisian friends, “the moment we clink glasses, I think of all the people with whom I’ve promised to keep friendships yet haven’t. I truly hope we will.”

When I read this passage today the words “keep friendships” struck me as odd. What does it mean to “keep” a friendship? If you stop talking, have you truly lost a friend? I think my mentality is changing as my sadness subsides. Instead of grieving the loss of my new friends, I am grateful for the knowledge that new friendships have been made. As time moves on and the world keeps turning, these friendships exist now and forever.

Injustice

Surely to inhabit a body that you do not own is the greatest torture a human can be subjected to. The history of slavery that is interlaced with the history of any civilization is at once appalling and, to me, incomprehensible. Imagine the feeling of possessing a mind and soul trapped inside a physical encasing that you at once despise, feel disgusted by, and view as the instrument of all of your suffering. Imagine the feeling of hating the color of the very skin that envelops you and holds together your vitals, giving you life. Imagine the torture of the mind that is trapped by a body that is used and sold as an inanimate object.

What bothers me about the history of the girls at AFESIP has nothing to do with the fact that they were once prostitutes. I’ve seen prostitutes many times before, and they have failed to evoke my sympathy and compassion in the way that these girls have. It is one thing to sell your body to pay for your next fix. It is another thing to sell your body because you are hungry. But it is something altogether different when someone else sells your body for you.

I once took a Graphic Novel class in which we read a book entitled Waltz With Bashir, about the atrocities of the 1982 war in Lebanon. One of the most memorable panels of the book was of dead or injured horses splattered lifeless or suffering across a field after a battle. The book was filled with pages and pages of human suffering; blood; war; panic. The last two panels were real pictures of people taken during the war, crying and pleading, desperation glimmering in their eyes. Yet the most heartbreaking panel of the entire book was still that of the horses. Why?

We discussed the issue a little in class. Some suggested that we are desensitized because of the likes of Red Cross commercials on television. We are overexposed to human suffering. Others said it was because we don’t know these people personally, so they become statistics, numbers.

I think a big part of it is the underlying idea that when a human suffers, they are in some way responsible for it. The panel of horses was especially heartbreaking because horses don’t have religion, they don’t have war, there was no reason for them to die or to suffer. The most aggravating and distressing aspect of the panel was the acute knowledge that the horses did not do this to each other, it was done to them.

This is how I feel about the amazing girls I had the chance to meet this summer. I am not upset because they were prostitutes, but because someone gave themself the divine right to govern over a body that they do not possess, and to use it for their own profit or pleasure. I know that for a period of their lives, these girls, my girls, felt less than human. If I could meet the people who partake in this industry, I can’t imagine the creative ways I would come up with to inflict more and more physical pain upon them. But nothing physical could ever equate the pain of the guilt that I wish they could feel. Unfortunately, no one can impose this upon them.

What we can do is help victims re-appropriate the bodies they were dispossessed of. Thank goodness that organizations like AFESIP exist. I am so grateful that they have allowed us to help these girls in the long process of healing. The entire experience has allowed me to gain not only insight into the pain and strength of others, but also to gain a profound new respect for my own body and how I treat it. I came here to help others, but in the process they have also helped me.

The Chocolate Stash

After a ten-hour ride back to Vientiane and six hours of sleep, we were all up yesterday morning to start the VYDA day camp. This was going to be a long day, and I wasn’t fully mentally prepared for the challenge. The VYDA camp takes one hour to get to, which we do via tuk-tuk on a bumpy road each morning. The camp starts at 9 a.m. and ends at 4 p.m. As a special welcome back gift, we had an AFESIP session from 5 to 6:30 right after. Yay life.

So I was up and ready to leave at 8 in the morning. I had gulped down some Lao coffee, and was fighting drowsiness with pure determination. When we arrived on site we came face-to-face with fifteen highly energetic, very excited children.

The day is a bit of a blur for me. Aside from the loud noise and the physical activity, I know that we had a lot of fun, I'm just too exhausted to remember it all. When we finished day camp we went straight to AFESIP and held a session there. Those girls always give me a boost of energy, so although I entered AFESIP tired and drowsy, I left feeling re-energized for the evening. After coming home, showering, eating, and trying to catch up on my writing a bit, I passed out and slept like a baby. By then it was already close to midnight. I woke up at 6:30 a.m. ready to do it all again.

The kids are awesome, but draining. It doesn’t help that we work all day in the hot and humid weather either. The noise and the heat worked together to give me a wonderfully aching head all afternoon. When I got back to the hotel this evening, I was tired, lazy, and a bit homesick. I wanted to do something I haven’t done in a month: watch television. I needed mindless entertainment. I needed mid-twenty year old sex bombs playing teenagers with White Girl Problems.

No such luck. The internet here is not strong enough to stream anything. After desperately trying for an hour, I finally gave into my exhaustion and frustration. I assumed the fetal position, went spiraling down into a mini depression, and ran for the chocolate stash my mom had given me especially for these occasions.

The stash, composed of four Lindt chocolate bars, was given to me with orders to use in cases of homesickness, loneliness, or sadness. Up until now, I haven’t needed it at all.

I settled into my bed with my chocolate and a book that was lent to me about a thirty-some year old woman who put life on hold to move to Paris and get engaged. I read about her gushing love story and ate chocolate. It was a really, excessively pathetic moment.

Just so you know, reading love stories and eating chocolate does NOT work. What does work is a short Skype session with my sister and nephew. Oh Jordan, thank goodness for the one boy who can always make me smile :)

Luang Prabang: The Waterfalls

Luang Prabang is beautiful and it is surrounded by waterfalls, elephant camps, and other wonderful things one can visit. Unfortunately, we had a strict time limit so we had to choose amongst the numerous attractions available to us. We decided to go to the biggest waterfalls in the area for our last day.

When we got there, signs indicated that there were two ways to walk up to the waterfalls, left or right, but all signs recommended going to the right. Augustin wanted to go to the left. Why would we listen to a nineteen year old, right? I don’t know, but we did. The trail started off not so bad, but it was steep and it had just rained. The result? A mudslide. We got to the point where we had gone far enough that we didn’t want to turn around. By then I had already lost one of my shoes, fallen in the mud, and slid my way through the jungle-like forest. So when we came to a hill so steep I literally had to dig my way up with my hands and bare feet, it didn’t seem like that much of a big deal.

The problem is, if getting up was that difficult, coming back down would be worse. We eventually arrived to the top of the waterfalls, where we could see across to the other side. On the other side tourists were walking along a wooden pathway, clean from mud and sweat-free. I wanted to be where they were. Unfortunately, we saw that although there had once been a bridge connecting the two sides, the strong current had broken it. But the other side was so close. We had a choice: we could slide back down on our rear ends, dodging rocks and branches as we go, or we could try to cross despite the numerous “no swimming” signs. Quite the pickle. What to do? Well, Eve and I did what any logical, self-respecting woman would do: we sent the nineteen-year old boy in to test the waters.


Augustin, after a little feeling around, found an area where the rocks were high enough to allow him to cross without getting taken downstream by the current. This was excellent news, so we made him come back to carry all our stuff. Then, much to the surprise and awe of the tourists looking on from the other side, we stripped down to our bikinis and boxers and made our way across.

On the right side, the distance from top to bottom was a ten-minute walk. It had taken us 45 minutes on the other side. Damn that nineteen-year old.

We only found the real gem of the waterfalls about 45 minutes before we had to leave. This was a swimming hole that had a large tree and a rope so that you could jump right into the falls. If I could do it again, I would spend the entire day there. I would pack a lunch, bring some toilet paper, and make it my home. Unfortunately, we had very little time, but we made the most of it!

Luang Prabang: The Pak Sou Caves

Along the Mekong River there are various mountains, villages and caves. The river was systematically explored for the first time during The French Mekong Exploration from 1866-1868. This is when the Pak Sou caves were discovered, and the drawings that were made by the explorers upon the discovery are displayed at the entry to the caves if you visit them today.

I can’t imagine how exciting it must have been to discover these caves back then. Now the magic of it is somewhat ruined by the numerous tourists around, and by the locals who have set up little stands selling Pepsi and water at ridiculous prices.

I would say that the whole industry of it has made the caves significantly less exciting for me. In fact, I would even admit that for me, most of the adventure of the caves was in the journey to get to them. They are located far from the city, well hidden on the side of a mountain cliff near the edge of the river. To get there, we first had to take a long tuk-tuk ride through muddy roads, where we passed some elephants.



The tuk-tuk brought us to a small village where locals charge you a set fee to take you across the river and wait for you while you visit the caves.



And from the drop-off point you have to climb along a slippery mountain cliff to reach your destination.



Much like Mount Phu Si, the caves are in fact Buddhist shrines, filled with Buddha statues or statues of various Buddhist Gods. Far back before the caves were discovered in the 1800’s, Buddhist monks made the journey to them as a retreat where they could pray, fast, and meditate.



The history of the caves is fascinating, and I’m glad that I had the chance to see them. However, I still think it’s unfortunate how something that originated as a holy place, created for the purpose of clearing one’s mind and letting go of material desires, has turned into a money-making business. It’s ironic, really. What would Buddha say?

Luang Prabang: Mount Phu Si

On our first day in Luang Prabang everyone wanted to discover the city for themselves, so we all went exploring in our separate ways. I figured I was well equipped because I had purchased a map of Luang Prabang, and Victor lent me a book about all the city had to offer. The place is not very big, but I’m terrible with directions. I wanted to start discovering the city by climbing Mount Phu Si, (pronounced pussy), but as I walked around flipping my map upside down, right side up, left and right, I couldn’t seem to figure out where I was. I finally gave up and decided to just walk wherever the wind would take me.

I ended up walking along the Mekong River, which is the tenth longest river in the world. The Mekong connects Laos to Thailand, Burma, China, Vietnam, and Cambodia, and from Vientiane we can actually see Thailand across the River. Julie told me that during the wars, when Laos was one of the most bombed countries of the world, many fled by swimming across to Thailand.

I walked along speculating about all of this and observing the nice hut-like houses people built alongside the river to live in. It must be so peaceful to live here. The houses are so simple, and the entire city has a laid-back, worry-free vibe to it. How strange it is that the river can seem so serene from where I was standing, when in the past it had been a point of refuge amidst chaos.

I finally came to the foot of a huge mountain with steps leading to the top. The steps had a railing in the form of ornately decorated dragons, a decoration that I have only previously seen on gates or stairs that lead to a temple. Knowing that Mount Phu Si has a temple at its summit, I thought, “this must be it!” and started climbing.

The mountain in itself is beautiful and provides an amazing view, but it is rendered even more special by all the Buddha statues that are hidden in its crevices and caves or perched on its rocks.

Above picture taken in a cave on Mount Phu Si

At the summit rests a very small temple where people can go to pray or meditate. The long climb and the great view make it an especially nice place for reflection.

I descended the mountain on the other side and encountered Eve about halfway down. She told me a hilarious story about how she got hit on by a local on Mount Phu Si, which is much funnier in French because “Mont”, (Mount), sounds like “my”. When we met up with the others later that evening she told them all how we met on “Mont Phu Si” and oh, how we laughed.

From Vientiane to Luang Prabang

I have often heard that if you’re going through Hell the best thing to do is to just keep going. I can testify that this is true. People, I have been through Hell. Many of you will have to start paying old debts because, let me tell you, it has frozen over.

Hell is a ten-hour ride from Vientiane to Luang Prabang on the bumpiest, curviest, most nauseating road ever created, with a driver who is either immune to the cold, or thinks that in Canada we enjoy freezing weather.

This week we held our sessions with AFESIP three days in a row, instead of spread out during the week, so that we could enjoy a long weekend away before starting our grueling schedule with the VYDA day camp on Monday. When Victor and Julie told me they had rented a sixteen-seat van to take us to a beautiful city high in the mountains I thought, “Awesome! I’ll have plenty of room to sleep.”

Not so my friends, not so.

When I set foot into the van the first thing I saw was a Lao family who took up the first row of three seats, the second thing I saw was a stack of boxes that took up the last row of four seats. That leaves nine seats. One was for the driver, and one was the passenger seat, which Victor took. One was in between the driver and Victor, which no one wanted. That leaves six seats. There were four of us left to be seated, plus our bags. Julie took a row of three seats to lie down and sleep. That left three seats for three people.

It was Hell, and it was cold. If I didn’t have a sinus infection before the ride, (which I did), then I was sure to have one after. I had no room, I was freezing, and the road was so bumpy it literally sent me flying into the air on several occasions. On top of all that, the road was a succession of one sharp curve after another. I actually vomited in my mouth a few times, but I swallowed it back down so as not to make the entire ride worse for everyone. I have to admit, as I watched Julie sleeping peacefully, I liked her a little bit less than usual.

Half-way through the ride Julie woke up and graciously told one of the guys to take a seat in her row, which meant I had two seats to try and get some sleep on. I was very appreciative, but it really didn’t make the ride that much less disagreeable. Even though I had a bit more room, the constant swaying motion of the van still made me sick, and every time I closed my eyes to sleep a bump would send me flying into the air, eyes wide open in shock.

After a few more hours I fell asleep thanks to pure exhaustion. When I woke up, we were high up in the mountains. The view was beautiful, but scary. We were driving on a tiny unpaved road at the very edge of the mountain cliff. The turns were so sharp that every new corner left us open to the possibility that we would turn and come face to face with a vehicle rolling in the opposite direction. There was a constant image playing through my head in which the driver would turn a corner, see an oncoming vehicle, swerve to the right to avoid it, and send us all tumbling down to a terrifying and painful death.

I buckled my seatbelt and tightened it.

Julie and Victor assured me that the end was worth the means, but I couldn’t imagine any city so great that it would make me forget this horrible ride. I really have to start listening to them more often.

What they don’t tell you about Hell is that you have to go through it to get to Paradise. Or as the locals call it, Luang Prabang.

Crazy Old Cat Lady

Today we had our sixth session with the girls from AFESIP, and from a personal perspective, it was groundbreaking.

When we arrived we set up our iPod with speakers to begin the stretch and dance exercises as usual, but this time the girls came to see us with a stack of c.d.’s and asked us to play their music instead. At the top of the pile I saw Justin’s face smiling kindly at me. You can imagine my enthusiasm. I took the c.d. and held it against my heart to show the girls how I felt, which made them smile and giggle. One of them took the c.d. and kissed the picture of Justin on the cover. Just like that, a new bond was formed.

From that moment on the Bieber fans and I were inseparable. Despite the language barrier, we giggled together like a bunch of teenage girls at a slumber party. Who knew that The Biebs crosses cultural boundaries? After today, I am entirely convinced that love for him is universal, kind of like how we all smile in the same language.

Once we had danced our way through “Somebody to Love,” we sat down for a question and answer period. I began with the question, “what is your favorite animal?” As we went around the circle and each girl gave her answer, I discovered yet another point of interest I had in common with the Bieber fans: cats.

Those of you who know me can testify that I am somewhat of a young version of a crazy old cat lady. For example, I’ve been known to have movie nights with my cat. I’ve pretty much already mentally prepared myself to grow up husbandless and surrounded by furry feline friends. Sometimes you just have to accept who you really are.

Anyways, many of the Bieber fans told me that cats are their favorite animals as well. It makes me wonder if crazy-cat-lady syndrome and Bieber adoration are somehow correlated.

To end the session we asked the girls to separate into two groups and perform improvisation pieces for us. The group to which my devoted Justin fans belonged decided to do a play about a family of cats. I will admit that my ego has flattered itself into believing that this was done entirely for my personal entertainment.

The play was metaphorical. It began with a scene in which the family was eating together. One cat was taking most of the food and not letting the others eat, forcing the mother cat to send the troublemaker away. If she could not share with the family, she could not stay with the family either. The cat wandered off and encountered danger, she then became weak and eventually fainted. Her family found her and revived her. In the final scene the family sits down to eat again, and this time everyone shared equally.

The play was about living in a community where commodities are scarce but an “each man for himself” attitude does not equate survival. It was about sticking together, helping each other, and surviving as a community rather than as an individual. Strength is found in numbers, and I believe that this is a lesson that these girls have experienced personally through the individual trials they have faced in this world, and through the revitalization they have found in each other’s companionship.

Today I bonded with them as women, as girls, as Bieber fans and cat lovers, but above all, as genuine friends.

When I first arrived in Laos, I expected the hardest part of my work to be the sessions with victims of human trafficking. I expected to see young girls full of anger and hate, destroyed by all they had been through. Instead, I met an amazing group of strong and resilient young women who have made the conscious decision to be happy. Far from being difficult, my sessions with them are often the highlight of my day. It is reinvigorating, inspiring, and powerful to spend time with these girls. When today’s session ended, for the first time ever, the girls surrounded me, hugged me, hung on to me, and begged me not to leave. I realized in that moment that the difficult part is yet to come; it will be when I have to say goodbye.

The most heartbreaking aspect of our work is that it is only temporary. Next Friday will be our last session with the girls from AFESIP, and it is difficult to accept that there are no means to keep in contact with them afterwards. I am lucky enough to be so well surrounded by amazing friends and family in Canada that I sometimes forget how scary it can be to face the world alone, but I know that this is what many of the girls will have to do when their stay at the centre has run its course. My only hope is that they will not lose contact with each other, that they will retain the valuable lessons they have learned with AFESIP, and that they will continue to be as strong in the future as they have proven to be thus far.

My dream is that in the future they will all be surrounded by as much love and joy as I will be by cats :)


!

If I Had Eight-Hundred Dollars...

Inspired by:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHacDYj8KZM

Did you ever lie in bed at night thinking about all the wonderful and amazing things you could do with the life-changing sum of…

Eight hundred dollars?

Didn’t think so. Eight-hundred dollars doesn’t get you much. If you’re a hipster, you can buy thirteen pairs of Converse Classic low-top sneakers. If you’re a beer drinker, you can get approximately twenty-four cases of 24s. If you’re a fashionista, you can get a Gucci bag. If you’re stuck in the past and are still Emo, you might be able to get a month’s worth of black make-up and hair dye.

Doesn’t seem like much, does it?

But eight hundred dollars is the entire budget that MSR has to work with VYDA this year. Each volunteer, in addition to paying for his or her own plane tickets, food, and hotel, donated toward this sum.

With eight hundred dollars, MSR plans to remove two groups of fifteen children from the work they perform in rice fields for one week each and send them to day camp instead. During the time they spend with us, compensation will be given to their families for the loss of wages. In addition, this money allows us to provide two meals per day for every child, rent a location to hold the day camp, pay for a translator and an educator, and provide supplies for workshops in art, theater, dance, photography, and more. We were originally hoping to give the groups two weeks of day camp each, but, come on, it’s only eight hundred dollars.

I know that one week doesn’t seem like much. In the grand scheme of their lives, we are but a bleep on the radar. However, I would like to think that within this limited time we will inspire them to think of futures for themselves that they otherwise would never have imagined. Many of these children will come from families who have done the same kind of work generation after generation, earning barely enough to survive. Such an environment doesn’t tend to encourage the fruition of dreams, hobbies, or interests outside of what is part of their daily routine for survival. But surviving is not living. True, when we leave our resources will leave with us, but MSR is working on helping VYDA establish a website that will allow them to receive direct funding from all over the world. The project may take more time than the month we have in Laos, but in the long-term it will mean that VYDA will be less dependent upon outside organizations for funding, an asset that will ameliorate the services they provide immensely.

In the end, anyone who has watched a child play knows that they don’t need much more than their imagination to have a good time. We just want to give their imagination a chance to roam free, what they do with it afterward is up to them! :)

Lyrics

If I had eight hundred dollars (If I had eight hundred dollars!)
I would buy myself a boat. (More like a canoe)
If I had eight hundred dollars… (If I had eight hundred dollars!)
I could keep my bills afloat. (But only for a month or two)
If I had eight hundred dollars… (If I had eight hundred dollars!)
I could build myself a moat (Nope, I don’t think that that’s true)
If I had eight hundred dollars… (If I had eight hundred dollars)
I could change children’s lives
If I had eight hundred dollars!
I could send kids to day camp
If I had eight hundred dollars!
Instead of working in the fields
If I had eight hundred dollars!
And we could even give them meals.

* A special thank-you to Eve, professional photographer and film-maker and fellow volunteer, for helping me to sing this song, and for giving us the chipmunk voices :)

http://www.evedufaud.com/

Awesome!

I would like to thank everyone who has been reading and following my blog. I started this mainly for the entertainment of my close friends and family, but I see now that it has been expanding to reach people that I might not have the chance to know personally. Statistics for my blog site list over 1000 views for the month of July, and we are only the 10th! Also, according to blogger.com, I have readers from Canada, the United States, France, the Netherlands, Cambodia, Thailand, Australia, Jordan, and Germany. Incredible! For those of you who have been e-mailing the blog to your friends or sharing the link on your facebook, thank you so much. This type of networking makes me hopeful that I can help to inspire people, or in the very least raise awareness about issues such as human trafficking and poverty, as well as provide information about the incredible people and organizations that exist to fight them.
Thank-you!!!!

MSR International: A Brief History

When I asked Victor what inspired him to create MSR International, he took some time to reflect before he told me, “The idea came to me in several stages.” The first time Victor remembers feeling like he needed to help was when he was about thirteen years of age, during his first visit to Thailand with his mother. “There I saw prostitutes for the first time,” he recalls. Victor remembers the feelings of repulsion and anger that he felt upon seeing young girls, approximately of his age at the time, dancing on tables and in the streets and being taken aside by older foreigners. These feelings stayed with him in his future travels.

In 2003, when he was only sixteen, Victor had the chance to visit Cambodia. It is during this trip that Victor fell in love with South East Asia, though he still remembers that he was, once again, disgusted and upset by the poverty and prostitution that he saw.

Meanwhile, in Paris, Victor came into contact with more and more people who had Lao origins, and who taught him about the culture and history of Laos. Victor’s interest in Laos grew as he became more immersed in this fascinating culture, culminating in his decision to visit the country by himself for the first time in 2007. During this trip Victor fell in love with this country, but he also saw an immense need for help and funding within it. Victor decided that he wanted to return to Laos, but next time it would be to help.

In July 2008 Victor went to Cambodia as a volunteer. It was during this trip that Victor understood for the first time that working as a volunteer was simply not enough, he wanted to create his own NGO that would operate under different standards than what he had witnessed up to date.

When reflecting upon this experience Victor tells me, "I met volunteers who were students in Law, Medicine, Marketing, Business, et cetera. Everyone seemed as though they had so much to offer, but they were given menial tasks that any monkey could perform. I saw potential to do so much more with the skills that people had.” Victor was put aback by the managerial decision not to give people work according to skill or specific field of study. This decision resulted not only in less efficiency, but also in boredom among the young volunteers, who spent their time partying instead.

This frustrated Victor even more. “Volunteers came to Cambodia and were not given any information about the history or culture of the land they were visiting.” As a result, some acted like they were still in their own countries, disrespecting the culture without necessarily understanding that they were doing so. “That is what really made me want to start MSR International,” Victor tells me.

Only one month later, in August 2008, Victor found himself in Laos again, this time talking to anyone who would listen about the dream he had for MSR. “It was very difficult,” says Victor, “every door was shut down. I was too young and I had no funds, people didn’t take me seriously.” His first break came when he met Julie’s uncle, who was working as a reporter in Vientiane at the time. Julie’s uncle put Victor into contact with a Lao-American doctor who made annual visits to Laos to train people in medicine. Victor, who was a pre-med student himself at the time, formed a partnership with this doctor so that students from France and Canada could accompany him as medical observers. Victor tells me, “I thought this would be a good idea because it would not only give privileged students a medical training in circumstances that are different from what they are used to, but it would also potentially give them a moral obligation to return to Laos when they are real doctors and help the locals here. It is because of this long term vision that the doctor agreed to help us.”

In July 2009, MSR International set foot in Laos for the first time as an official organization. The 2009 Mission was mainly a medical observation program. However, Victor also took advantage of the time and people he had in Laos to help local organizations, such as VYDA, by creating websites for them so that they could gain recognition and funding.

In 2010 MSR had expanded enough to send teams to Laos, Ghana, and Haiti. By this time Victor had enriched his idea of a medical observation program by adding emphasis on social development, work with youth, and forming partnerships with organizations that are native to the countries he visited. Victor stresses this as a key focus in MSR. “Other NGO’s,” he told me back in 2010, “go into foreign countries and impose their own beliefs upon them. We want to help local people in ways that they already know. We are no one to tell them what is good for them, they know best. We are only here to lend our support.” Victor also stresses that a key part in defining MSR and what differentiates it from other NGO’s is "the work we put into enriching the individual experience of each of our volunteers. We want everyone to leave with a feeling that they have not only helped, but also that they have learned immensely. We focus on giving everyone a good background about the culture and history of the countries they visit.”

For more information, you can visit MSR’s website at http://msr-intl.com/

A Lesson in Human Trafficking

Today we had our third session with the girls from AFESIP. At the end of our last session, they asked us if they could prepare their own theatre pieces to present to us today. Julie and I were looking forward to seeing what they had in store for us.

We began the session by warming them up with the usual stretching and dancing, followed by a series of games designed to make the group feel more comfortable with each other and us. After everyone was loosened up and smiling, we sat down to watch their pieces. The girls had separated themselves into two groups with an original piece each.

The first group did a piece about human trafficking.

I could not understand the words, but I understood every action. In the first scene, two girls go into a meeting, it seems formal, perhaps a job interview? The people who received them were very welcoming, they smiled and greeted them and offered them seats. In the next scene, these same people had locked the two girls into separate rooms, and were beating them and yelling at them. The play progressed with a lot of dialogue that I did not understand until two new actors entered the scene, talked to the captors, and proceeded to the rooms where the girls were kept. Here they made gestures telling them to “hush”, and proceeded to sneak the girls out of their hell.

This was the re-enactment of their lives, of their luck.

These girls are some of the very few who have been saved, but not many share in their fortune. Watching them smile and laugh and play brings as much joy to my heart as it does pain, because it reminds me of the many who are still out there and suffering. I would like to give a big kudos to the men who make it their business to go out and save these girls, often posing as clients to do so. This is a dangerous job, since some girls are scared to leave and may require one or two additional visits to be convinced, leaving these men vulnerable to exposure.

At the end of the play, all the girls were laughing and smiling as the captors were arrested and brought to jail.

The psychologist who follows us through all of our sessions told us that it is a very good sign that the girls were able to re-enact scenes from their lives and laugh. It is a testament to their strength and resilience as well as to the excellent job done by AFESIP in helping these girls feel safe and put the past behind them. Julie had the excellent idea that we should take this piece and work on it in all of our future sessions. During our last session with the girls, they will present the play to the entire staff of MSR and AFESIP.

The second group did a mime, (for my benefit, I’m sure). It began with one girl placed centre stage, straight and silent, with her hair loose and messy. Others slowly started entering the scene and moved about her. They fixed her hair, placed her body, made her smile, fixed her clothes, and applied whitening powder to her face.* In the end, all the girls smiled and clapped at the result of their “perfect woman”, who smiled vacantly and did not move as they stood around and posed for pictures with her.

Both plays were meaningful. I encourage you to reflect upon them, and on who and where they come from.

*Laotian people are very dark-skinned, and white skin is seen as a symbol of wealth. As a result, whitening creams and powders are sold everywhere with advertisements starring photo-shopped Asian women whose skin is whiter than a piece of bleached paper.

How to Eat a Traditional Lao Meal

Take a lettuce leaf and fill it with mixture of rice, noodles, onions and spices.

Add cabbage, herbs and green beans.


Roll, and enjoy! (Or stuff your face)

The Lao Massage

If you ever have the chance to come to Laos, you will discover that for 7-9$ US you can receive a 60 minute, full body massage. But do not expect to relax and fall asleep as you might in Canada. Instead, after you’ve changed into comfortable Lao pajamas and laid down on a low bed surrounded by curtains, prepare yourself to be crawled upon, stretched, cracked, and otherwise abused. Seriously. They bent my body into positions that I didn’t know were possible. They cracked joints that I was positive were solid bones.

Don’t get me wrong, you leave the spa feeling amazing, you wobble back to your hotel like a big ball of walking jelly, but the process in itself is not entirely pleasant.

And they trick you too. There is usually soft music playing, the lights are turned down low, and they always start by softly massaging your feet, legs, and back. Then BAM, someone is sitting on you, pulling your arms and legs in different directions, and massaging your muscles from angles that no Canadian masseuse has the skill to reach.

Within four days of our arrival, Julie and I had gone twice. I feel like a yoga master. I feel like a ninja. I feel like I could attempt a split... but that would be dumb.

White Girl Problems

I have bad news. I regret to inform you all that I inherited a condition at birth that has now reached its advanced stages and has become, unfortunately, irreversible. The condition is commonly known as WGD, (White-Girl Dance).

WGD

Symptoms of WGD include a pouty mouth, bobbing head, pointed fingers, wobbling knees, and any arm movement that resembles a wave. Observe:



* If you suffer from WGD, I would recommend never trying to turn anyone on by say, a striptease.

As I stepped into the middle of the circle to begin the dance exercises with the girls from AFESIP today, I was well aware that one of the side effects of my condition is to cause laughter at my expense. However, knowing that it is useless to fight my condition, I made the conscious decision to wobble and bob and point as gloriously and gracefully as I could.

When I was done I returned to my place in the circumference of the circle to observe and mimic as each girl took her turn in the middle to lead the dance. As the exercise progressed, I became aware of a fascinating new aspect of my condition: It is, apparently, contagious.

What followed my brief performance was a succession of sporadic, ill-timed, rhythm-less movements. It was a good fifteen minutes of body parts flying into different directions and moving to a beat that was curiously unlike the Grease soundtrack playing in the background. Picture a room full of people having semi-synchronized epileptic episodes. They would have more groove than we did.

The entire experience was very fulfilling.

This was one of the warm-up exercises we did to help the girls loosen up and prepare for the theatrical exercises that were to follow. The entire session was a success. Much like the time before, when it was time to say goodbye we left a house full of smiling, happy, and extremely sweaty girls.

Later today a conversation with Julie reminded me of another condition that my good friend Joelle once brought to my attention. Luckily for her, her Pittsburgh upbringing safeguarded her from developing any symptoms of WGD, but it was not enough to save her from WGP, (White-Girl Problems).*

WGP

WGP is often a temporary condition that consists of feeling overwhelmed, distressed, or depressed over problems that are not, in fact, real problems. Examples include, “I can’t find any earrings to match my dress”, “My hair curls in the rain”, or, “I can’t go anywhere for spring break because I spent all my money during my Christmas vacation.” **

If you suffer from WGP, the best remedy is usually to shut the fu** up and move on with your life.

My point is, some people have real problems. The girls I worked with today don't worry about finding earrings that match their dress, they don't have earrings. What they do have are a lot of bad memories, traumatic experiences to work through, and each other. They don't complain that there are eight to ten of them sleeping in one small room, that their clothes are hand-me-downs, or that their toilets are of the squatting kind. Despite all they've been through and all they have yet to face, they still find it in themselves to make new friends, smile, dance, laugh, and be happy. So if you were thinking of staying home today because it's raining outside, or if you're depressed because the person you're crushing on hasn't called, why don't you go bang your head against the wall, knock some sense into yourself, and be happy. Just because you can.



* You do not have to be white to suffer from WGP, the name is simply meant to refer to any privileged individual who is unappreciative of all they have.
** The same condition can occur in a boy (WBP). Examples include “I have no money for beer tonight”, “My dad won’t lend me the car”, or, “my girlfriend’s boobs are small.”

The Mission

For the Laos Mission 2011 MSR International is working with two organizations that already exist and are functioning within Laos; AFESIP (Agir pour les Femmes en Situation Precaire), and VYDA (Vulnerable Youth Development Association). Because Julie and I were the only two volunteers on site for the first week, we held the initial meetings with these organizations together. Since we only began actual fieldwork with AFESIP this week, I would like to focus on this organization for now. This is what the MSR mission in conjunction with AFESIP looks like for 2011:

AFESIP

AFESIP is a French organization that began combating human trafficking in Cambodia in 1996, and opened a branch in Laos in 2006. The organization was started by and continues to be run by women from all over the world. It’s kind of like the FUBU of NGO’s. (For Us By Us) Its endurance and success demonstrates the extent to which great things can be accomplished when women get together and work for a cause that not only affects victims of human trafficking, but also effectively degrades women the world over.

In Laos, AFESIP has established a sort of halfway house for young girls who have been sold and used as prostitutes. In the halfway house, (a well-guarded, private institution), these young girls receive psychological care, art therapy, essential female-bonding, general education, as well as optional training in any of the following fields; Sewing; Hairdressing; Esthetics; and Cooking. Everything that they are subject to during their stay is geared toward their rehabilitation and eventual reintegration into society. Girls have to stay in the house and receive treatment for a minimum of six months. However, depending on their age, their stay can be much longer. Out of the 22 girls we met, only 3 were 18 or over.

Because the MSR team for Laos 2011 is made up of four men and four women, only half the team will be participating in this part of the mission. The mission will consist of meeting with these girls three times a week, for three weeks, for 90-minute sessions that will involve exercises focused on theatre and dance. Improvisation and team leadership will be key parts of the exercises, and we hope that the sessions will encourage confidence, creative expression, and female-to-female bonding. Unfortunately, since some of these girls were saved from dangerous situations or people, anonymity is essential to their safety. Therefore no pictures or video will be available with regard to these sessions.

The first meeting was an incredible experience. We began by introducing ourselves and proceeding around the room as each girl shyly gave us her name, age, and chosen field of study. We then began stretching and dancing exercises in which one person goes in the middle of the circle, (starting with me and Julie), and everyone imitates what they do. The experience made me tear up. The girls were shy and giggly, as young girls should be, but even within the short hour that we got to work with them Julie and I saw an increase in confidence and trust. When we left everyone was smiling, laughing, and sweating excessively. (We danced in 40 degree weather without A.C.) Everyone was looking forward to our next encounter, which is scheduled to take place this afternoon.

I will keep you all updated with the progress of the mission, and information regarding our work with VYDA is still to come.

For now, I would like to take a moment to be thankful that the women who surround me in my life are all kind, intelligent, funny, sarcastic, (sometimes bitchy), wonderful women. You know who you are. You wouldn’t be my friends if you weren’t all of the above, and I couldn’t be who I am without you :)

* Also, a special thank-you to my good friend Victor, creator of MSR, who made this mission possible.

From Bangkok to Laos

Julie and I had the option of taking a train to Laos for 13$ US, or a plane for 200$.We took the train. I was expecting cushioned seats, air-conditioning, a plug for my laptop... When we arrived, this is what we saw:


Lol.

The A.C. was a rotating fan. The seats were worse than in a Metro in Montreal. The doors of the wagon did not entirely close. We were looking at a ten hour ride.

Wow.

We sat down and started laughing hysterically. What had we done?! Luckily, when our tickets were checked the guy informed us that we were in the wrong wagon. We had to cart all our luggage through six wagons full of people on a moving train to reach the cushioned seats and A.C. that were waiting for us.

I should mention that we passed many wagons that had conditions much worse than our original one. Some wagons had people sitting on the floor, or on their belongings. Still worse were the wagons that were so packed people had to stand, most of them shoeless. Did I mention it was a ten hour ride? I figure that if all of those people can stand, in the heat, without shoes, with barely enough room to move, for ten hours, Julie and I would have been able to make it through the ride under the conditions we originally thought we were being subjected to. Still, I’m very glad we didn’t have to.

It was still a long ride, but we FINALLY arrived!

And now the adventure really begins…