The Middle

Looking back on the weekend in retrospect, I can piece together why certain things happened the way they did and perhaps why I felt the way I felt. However, I still cannot fully understand how I survived and with so much success.

Turns out the fever and rash I was experiencing were Dengue Fever. I did not want to admit it at the time, even though the thought had crossed my mind. But I had something to accomplish an

d I was not going to let Dengue Fever or anything else get in my way.

I had arranged with my student's cousin the night before, to meet with her friend and go out to the camp together. Right before we were scheduled to meet, I got a text, “My friend is sick today, so he cannot go with you. Sorry, you will have to find the camp alone”

I believed that he was sick because I could feel his sickness. I could feel every sickness existing along the border, raging in my body. I was slightly discouraged, but confidant I could find the camp. After all. I had directions, “Go out to the Asia highway. Drive your motorcylcle toward... toward.... drive your motorcycle.....” I could not remember. Where was I driving? “I just need to go out to the highway and I will see a sign that will jarr my memory. First, I need to eat. I have to have food” I got the motorcycle, and was driving into town to get food when the whole bike started shaking violently. “No!!!! not a flat tire. I am too tired to do this” I could not be too tired. I had to change the tire. Eating would wait. I wandered around the town looking for a place to change the tire. I could not understand anyone. No one was speaking English. No one was speaking Thai. I got directions and forgot them right away. 1 hour later, I finally located the Yamaha store. It had been right down the street the whole time.

While they changed the tire, I sat in a chair sweating. Head spinning and throbbing, eyes hurting, muscles aching, and I fell asleep. It must not have been too long, because they were still fixing the tire when I woke up. Were they still fixing the tire? I could not remember where I was. I stumbled out to the curb. “Where am I? What country am I in

?” “I am near the border, but what border?” I am in India. No, this is Bangladesh. Nicaragua. I am here, near to Bhutan. No. Burma! Thailand. I am in Thailand and I need to make it to the camp.

I was panicking. I honestly thought I would not remember where I was and I would not make it home... ever.

I paid for the tire and rode off. 20 minutes later, I passed the Yamaha store again. 20 more minutes, I was still in the town. Where is the highway? I could not find anything. Food! I still needed to get food. I had not eaten and I was so thirsty. I did not want to eat, but I knew I had to eat. So I forced down some bread and yogurt and I took off.... the wrong direction. Luckily I have a mind for mountains, and even in my state of delirium, I recognized the mountains from my motorcycle ride the day before. I was going the exact opposite direction, which was convenient, cause I could just turn around. Before I did, I stopped my bike. I looked around. I asked for clarity. I explained out loud what I was trying to do and that even though its not important to everyone, its important to some people. I just needed a little more strength and a little more focus.

3 hours after I left, I finally found the highway. I still did not know what city I was going toward, but once I found the highway, I felt a click inside my brain. Like a switch full of warm energy. I smiled and thats all it really took. I needed to have a smile on my face if I was going to make it to the camp.

I rode my motorcycle for about an hour along a winding highway. I passed 3 police chec

kpoints. I had been instructed to lie to them, but there was no need. They saw my western face and flagged me right through. After all, why would a western kid like me be looking for a refugee camp?

The road drops from agricultural plains into a valley with sharp limestone ridges, clouds and mist obscuring the tops of the cliffs so as to make them appear unending, heaven meeting the earth.

After about an hour, bamboo houses began to appear, and before I knew it, I was in the middle of the camp. Barbed wire fences lining the highway, making it clear that I was in no ordinary village. Just then, the rain came. Heaven literally met earth and I was getting soaked. The camp is over 7 kilometers long, housing between 40 and 70 thousand refugees. There are many different gates, opening to many different zones, none of them labeled.

I had to find zone B5. The grandma lived in zone B5. My back was hurting. My head was aching. I was soaking wet. I pulled over and hid under a bamboo shelter. From there, I sat watching people pass. I had to find someone to help me. My phone had no service and I would never find one person in 40,000 unless someone helped me. I had to pick a nice person, someone who speaks a little English and who has a good heart. I could not pick a cop or a guard or I could be arrested or made to leave. No one had uniforms, so I had to choose extra wisely.

I picked a young man with his girlfriend standing under an awning. Her smile was disarming and he treated her so gently. I knew they were my best bet. I showed them the pictures I brought from America. Pictures of the Karen new year celebration in Utah. Pictures of my students playing in a band with other Karen people. They sat talking to each other for long enough that I thought they had forgotten me. I was about to walk away, when the young man said, “OK, we go. You follow me” He escorted his girlfriend to a group of her friends getting in a truck and then he jumped on the back of my motorcycle. His name was Bway.

We made our way to a gate where Bway knew the guards. He showed them my pictures and talked them into letting us in. We walked into the camp. Everything was bamboo and rivers. The paths were muddy flows and we walked right through the middle of them. We stopped at a house to ask for directions and were immediately invited in. The whole family looked through my pictures. They gave me water and they played guitar and sang. One of them joined us on the search, running ahead to find the right way. We crossed wood plank bridges and wandered through a maze of bamboo houses before they stopped and said, “This is the one you are looking for”

I approached slowly and saw Moo Doh and Elve's grandma rocking side to side on the ground under the stilt house. I got her attention and she looked at me so confused. I pulled out the pictures and handed them to her. She did not seem to recognize anyone. My new friend interjected and explained who I was and what the photos were. The grandmas aged face lit up when she realized who she was looking at. She touched their faces as if they were really there. She quickly got to her feet, climbed the ladder into her house and returned in finely woven traditional Karen clothing. She invited me to join her family in the house. We all sat on the bamboo floor while they passed the pictures and talked about each one. My new friend translating their questions as best as he could.

“Do they go to school in America?” “Do they do well?” “Will Elve go to post-high school?” “How many Karen live in Utah?” All the answers made her happy.

I took pictures of the grandparents and the others living there, who I assume are relatives. The grandpa put on his best clothes. They posed, looking straight forward, not smiling. Bway was trying to make them laugh. He asked them to move closer to each other. The grandpa reached down and grabbed his wife's hand. When they held hands, I thought about all that they must have been through together. I imagine they had been married about 50 years. 50 years of war. 50 years of constant fear and attack by the Burmese army. I thought about what they must have survived together, the jungles they had walked through and the rivers they had crossed. The bombs they had avoided. The homes that they had lost. But here they were, living their final years in a refugee camp, still holding hands. My smile returned and I forgot I was sick.

After the pictures, the grandma got nervous. She was worried the police would catch me at their house. It was illegal for me to be there and I did not want to get them in trouble. The visit lasted only 30 minutes or so, but it was worth all the pain and effort. I am so happy I made it.

Bway walked me out of the camp and told me his story. He is only 20, all his family is dead. He is being resettled in 2 months to Australia... all alone. I gave him my e-mail and told him to write me with any questions when he gets to Australia. I wish I could do more. All I can do is hope that someone will show him around Australia and be kind to him like he was to me.

The rain stung my face the whole way back to Mae Sot. My body ached, but nothing could make me sad. I had done what I came to do and I could finally go back and rest.

I slept and woke and walked 2 miles to the bus station. The 6 hour bus ride took 8 and I did not have a seat the whole time. I had a plastic stool that collapsed every time he went around a sharp curve. There was no A/C and I could not tell if I had a fever or if the whole bus did.

Back in Chiang Mai, I got diagnosed with Dengue Fever. My whole body is covered in rash and itching. I have been sleeping about 18 hours a day the last 3 days. I wake up, scratch myself until I am too tired and I fall back asleep. I have been to the hospital twice, and I should be recovering soon.

I appreciate everyones support.