I pulled into the empty parking lot and looked up at the Phans’ apartment. In front of me is the dumpster and for once it wasn’t overflowing with trash. I was hoping to see some of the kids on the balcony, but the door was closed and the sheet over the window was drawn, as always. I would have it drawn most of the time too, since the window is as the top of the stairs, therefore offering no privacy. There is a set of six steps that go from the parking lot to the apartment complex. Kids are often playing on or around these steps. I passed a boy about eleven years old on the stairs, carrying his scooter. He was being followed by a toddler who looked no older than three who was crying trying to catch up to the older boy. The little boy has a small scooter that he managed to carry down the steps without falling. As I climbed the main set of stairs to the Phans’ apartment, I watched the little boy ride his scooter unattended into the parking lot, crying after the big boy. I was worried that he would ride into the street, but he stopped on the sidewalk, looking forlornly down the street at the big boy, who had ridden away.
Knocking on the door, I could hear the TV. Jon answered and invited me in. He was holding a small, unhappy looking toddler whom I have never seen before. The grandmother was on the couch. I said hello to her, but her expression didn’t change. I don’t know if she can hear. I am sure she doesn’t understand. She lived most of her life in Burma, then moved to the refugee camp in Thailand for 15 years, and now is in a place that is so foreign to her. I don’t blame her for checking out.
As the boys got out the mat and spread it on the carpet, I looked around the living room. It is a well-lived-in room, so things are always changing. Today there were seven boxes of Snuggies, those silly blankets with sleeves. I learned that they were a gift from Jewish Family Service. I just couldn’t picture the family cozying up in them, sitting on the couch, watching TV.
When we settled on the mat that seems to be the teaching mat because they always lay it on the living room carpet when I come, I asked who the little girl was. Jon said it was his sister. I looked puzzled, since I knew that he only had one sister, Kay Lee. Then he said it was his wife’s daughter. His wife is older than he is by a few years, but that still didn’t make sense because I knew they didn’t have any children. He then explained that it was “wife sister daughter.” Got it. She is the daughter of his sister-in-law, therefore his niece. Her name is Bee Na and she is two years old. Her hair had not fully grown in and she was very small and thin. She looked a little undernourished. As I have been learning, there is not much medical assistance at the camps. Sonny had fluid from his lung drained a few days ago. His friend, who is also fourteen years old, either told me that he has lost a kidney or he is going to lose a kidney. Sonny laughed and said that his dad calls him and his friend handicapped. I was impressed that any of them knew the word “handicapped.” Last week, we were playing a game on the mat when a Karen friend came over and delivered some bad news. She had just gotten word that one of Jon’s friends had died in the camp. The neighbor who had delivered the bad news could speak a little English. She said that the friend was only 17 years old and had a three month old baby, and that there is not good medicine in the camps. The young mother had a stomachache and felt dizzy and died. Everyone was talking in strong voices. I helped Jon use a $5.00 calling card to call the camp. He was upset but did not cry. He went into the bathroom to make the call and his mother followed him. I saw the look of concern for her son that I know I would have had if news like this had reached my son. Everyone was distressed, but no one cried. It felt awkward to be there, but they didn’t make me uncomfortable.
Bee Na’s mother was at English class. It did not seem like she was used to being at the Phans and cried a lot. The other children were not disturbed by her crying. Only Jon and his wife offered her comfort as she crawled into their laps. At one point, Kueh went into the kitchen and poured some juice into a water bottle and handed it to Bee Na. We were busy playing a game with flashcards when there was a sudden noise next to me. Somehow Bee Na had spilled the bottle all over herself. Her head was soaked in juice. She started to wail and everyone else thought it was hilarious. Kueh took her to the bedroom to change her clothes and Tomtom cleaned up the mess on the carpet. I felt bad for Bee Na. She was embarrassed and upset.
I noticed when Kueh took off Bee Na’s shirt and pants, her diaper was so full that it hung down to her knees. I don’t know if they didn’t have a clean diaper to change her into, or if they just let little ones wear one diaper all day. I really try not to interfere with their way of doing things. I do not want to be a teacher in that way, as much as it is different from the way I would do things. It is tempting to point out that her diaper needs changing or to tell the children not to laugh at others’ misfortunes. When I was in Thailand with Scott years ago, we noticed that the Thais, who are very warm and friendly people, laughed whenever someone tripped or fell or endured any kind of mishap. To them, it is not bad manners. Maybe it makes them less sensitive to hardship. I’m not an anthropologist, but it is sure interesting participating in another culture.
I have obseved that everyone hits each other. It’s usually a slap on the arm, head or back, not hard enough to cause any kind of real pain. May, the mother, hit Tomtom who was sitting right next to me when she thought he farted loudly. It turned out to be the little girl, which made everyone laugh. They are all gentle, friendly, warm and affectionate. Yet, they hit, they laugh at others and make jokes out of illness, like calling Sonny and his friend handicapped.
Tomtom pointed out a dark bruise on Kay Lee’s cheek. The boys explained that it happened when they were playing. No one knows who she knocked into to get the bruise. They must have all been rough-housing. I noticed what looked like a cut near Tomtom’s right eye and asked him about it. From what I could understand, it was a scar from 2008 when he was chopping down a tree in the refugee camp and a branch broke and flew at his face. Noah, the artist, drew a picture of what happened. He is much more content drawing what he wants to say then trying to speak English. Tomtom is so lucky that it didn’t blind him. I looked at the scar more carefully and saw that if he had had a couple of stitches, it would have been a lot less noticeable. It was a wide, yet short, scar. He showed me another scar on his chin. We started to talk about scars. Jon had none. Kueh had scarred her knee from falling. Sonny had some thick dark scars on both thighs. They could not explain to me what happened or how he got them. I think at this point Bee Na spilled her juice on her head, so we got distracted talking about scars.
I had flash cards with sight words on them and asked everyone to choose a word and say a sentence with it. Jon picked up the word “said” and said, “I said my friend die.” The words “said” and “sad” are so close in spelling and pronunciation but are so far apart in definition. Sonny enthusiastically participated, picking up words such as “me” and saying sentences like, “My friend ask me to play computers” or the word “like” and saying, “I like to play basketball.” He tries very hard and is starting to actually speak English. It makes me very happy. Sonny is the most outgoing and social of the kids and has many friends.
When May, the mother, came home from shopping, we had put the cards away. She asked if we could play again. She is a quiet participator. She wants to learn English, but is not boisterous like her kids. One time, as I was leaving, she told her friend Nawmu, who speaks English the best of all the Karens that I have met, that she is sad that I am not her friend, that I am only a friend to her children. I felt bad, because I want to be her friend, but we are both a little shy and that has come in the way. It is so much easier to respond to the kids who, like yesterday, kept vying for my attention by yelling, “Teecha! Teecha!” so that I would listen to them put a sentence together with the flashcard they held up. (I love their enthusiasm.) I have been trying to reach out more to May, yet she has a lot of responsibility looking after the apartment, her husband, four kids and trying to learn English.
We got out the cards and played the sentence game again. Kueh asked me what certain words were, so I would wiote one down on the whiteboard and make sentences with it. Someone picked up the word “of” and asked me what it meant. My mind went brain dead because I could not think of a sentence to use it in. It’s so much easier with nouns and verbs.
One of the words was “banana”. All of them know that word, but all of them have been pronouncing it wrong for the last several weeks. They all say “beenana”. I have not wanted to correct them because I like the way they say it, but I spelled it out on the white board the proper way and the way that they say it so that they can see how it is supposed to be pronounced. There were certain words my own children said that I did not correct because it was too cute how they said it. My daughter used to call cucumbers kukumamas. Why correct her? She grew out of saying it wrong soon enough. But these kids were not going to grow out of saying banana wrong.
As I was leaving, Kueh said, “I miss you, Teecha.” I haven’t seen her since she came to the beach with us a few weeks ago. I hope she comes back on Saturday. She, too, has a busy schedule looking after Grandmother who lives with her and her husband, taking English classes and trying to assimilate into our culture. It is overwhelming what they have to learn. But their upbeat attitude is refreshing. The two hours went by fast, as usual, yet we are all done when the two hours are over. We all want to get back to what is familiar and stop working at English. It was another successful visit in my mind. I felt satisfied on so many levels.
