I can’t
say that my mid-school Geography class spent a lot of time studying Laos, or
Asia for that matter. I had heard of it, was sorry for what I thought was its
unfortunate name, and that’s about it. Another one of those “over there,
somewhere...” kinda countries. Now Laos has a face for me.
I had
the opportunity to look into some of the 7,034,769 faces
that call this country home. A quick fact check led me to the discovery that it
is a youthful country, with a median age of early 20’s. That’s because the
average age of death isn’t average. It’s a very poor country with a need for
clean water. No clean water means diseases and lack of education for its
children because days are spent finding water. The Mekong River flows through
the region, but not everyone has access. The indigenous tribes reminded me of
our Native Americans, as the tribes were scattered through the mountains,
hills, valleys, deltas. They were similar yet very different, and each group
existing in historical ways, yet signs of modern flashed in the forms of cell
phones and satellite dishes.
The
farmers of the country still burn off old crops before planting again. Crop
rotation is still a fairly new concept and not always affordable. Fertilizer
would be an added expense, so the burned waste is plowed under to suffice. Plowed
under, by hand, with a water buffalo or ox. That’s hard labor.
Our
guide went by the name Mr. Joy. Asians students are required to take a foreign
language and most choose English. As tourism becomes part of the economy, this
skill is an asset. Half the people are Buddhists, and we were never far from a
temple or an area for burning incense. We were traveling during a new moon, and
Mr. Joy had arranged for us to be met by a group of local elders. They warmly welcomed and prayed over us for
safe travels. These brown and wrinkled faces smiled and held our hands while
tying white cotton strings around our wrists for blessings.
Another
Buddhist practice is the feeding of the monks. Early every morning, the monks
dressed in their bright orange robes, walk through the streets of the village
carrying large metal bowls. They move silently without word or expression. We
are sitting on tiny stools, shoes off with baskets of the mainstay food, sticky
rice. As they walk by, we drop in their bowl a wad of rice. I peek in the bowls
and see bags of chips, pieces of fish and even paper money. The monks will
return to the temple to share the food, buy supplies with the cash and give all
extras to the poor.
They will go about their simple life, but mine will forever
be enriched for having had the chance travel there. Laos has a face for me.
