May 2
When I was about to leave school today, the registrar asked me what I was doing for lunch. It was Saturday at 1:00. What can I tell you? This is Asia and everyone works crazy hours. Students start the day at 6am in their Chinese classes for two hours, then proceed to regular classes until 3:30, then back to Chinese for two hours. The teachers work every day at school till about 5:30 and Saturday morning until one. This is the norm for Asia. Anyway, what I had planned to do was walk up Mandalay Hill, through about three of the Pagodas that dot the way, come back down, go for a swim and then met some of the teachers for supper. However, given the choice of seeing a “site” or going to someone’s house, is there really a choice? This is why I am glad I am working by the way, as opposed to just being a tourist where I check off the requisite ‘sites’ and show the pictures to prove it!
Anyway, back to the story. The taxi, arranged by the registrar wound it’s way through the city and I saw terrific markets, women carrying goods on their heads, trucks crammed to the full with huge bags of merchandise and people spilling out the sides to huge traffic jams (cars waiting to buy petrol illegally ) since petrol is rationed on a monthly basis and people need more than the allotted number of gallons. Gas on the black market is something like $7.00 a gallon, in case you were thinking you had it bad. Earnings could be $2 a day you so you get the picture. When we had a meeting today about field trips we did not discuss any pedagogical issues surrounding the choice of sites, but how much gas it would cost to get there and could we afford it?
Anyway, back to the story. The taxi stopped outside what appeared to be a very nice home right in the market area. In fact, there was a pagoda across the road, a market just outside the gate in this bustling area. I was greeted by a very handsome man who welcomed me to his home with a two handed shake and told me his name. I will not share his name for two reasons. One, I cannot remember or pronounce it and if I could remember I would not tell because he would probably end up in jail.
After lunch and copious amounts of tea, I found out I was talking with the registrar’s uncle. Her mother is gynecologist as well as her sister. Her uncle, this gentle man I spent hours talking to is doctor who is a surgeon I can’t spell the kind of doctor he really is which is putting people to sleep in the operating room. Apparently I also have trouble with spelling as well as hearing.
Anyway, we spoke about the government, principles of medicine, Buddhism, resistance and so on. There is a government referendum on the constitution this May 10, but of course, the people have not seen the new constitution, nor can they get a current newspaper so I do not know on what basis they are going to vote. As we talked and he sensed he could trust me, he proceeded to tell me about the work he was doing. Eight years ago he could not stand the suffering he was seeing in hospitals by patients who could not pay for their own care, and seeing the dead stacked up in the hospital to be taken to the cemetery five at a time, as opposed to one at a time because of the cost of petrol.. They were then dumped in the cemetery for the dogs.
He now spends every day visiting the five hospitals in Mandalay, finding out what destitute patients need, buying the medicines and medical equipment for them and helping perform the operations. He also has 11 cars around Mandalay that visit the homes of the deceased and take their bodies to have them cremated, paying for the 3 gallons of gas which otherwise would be impossible for the poor to pay. He does this with just donations he gets and no longer has private patients. His whole life is dedicated to helping the poor, much like Mother Theresa I suppose. He was absolutely amazing to talk to and extremely inspiring.
He explained, with many examples from Buddhism, why he does this but if I told a number of his stories, I would have to write too many pages and Joshua already says I write too much. Eventually, he drove me back to my hotel in his Volkswagon Beattle, circa l960’s vintage ( I don’t think it went more than about 10 miles an hour); Bicycles were passing us on the road! I asked what I could do for his organization. For example, he has pictures of each patient his organization has helped and I asked him whether he wanted me to smuggle these pictures out to show them to the free world press. He told me his organization would just be shut down and he would end up in jail. When I asked him if he wanted me to get drugs donated from the west, he said the taxes would be so great it would not be worth it and he would not want me to jeopardize myself.
When I asked him what I could do, he simply said the next time I come back, bring him some books to read. When I asked him what authors or kind of books, he said to me…you now know me. Bring me books that will bring me more knowledge.
When I was about to leave school today, the registrar asked me what I was doing for lunch. It was Saturday at 1:00. What can I tell you? This is Asia and everyone works crazy hours. Students start the day at 6am in their Chinese classes for two hours, then proceed to regular classes until 3:30, then back to Chinese for two hours. The teachers work every day at school till about 5:30 and Saturday morning until one. This is the norm for Asia. Anyway, what I had planned to do was walk up Mandalay Hill, through about three of the Pagodas that dot the way, come back down, go for a swim and then met some of the teachers for supper. However, given the choice of seeing a “site” or going to someone’s house, is there really a choice? This is why I am glad I am working by the way, as opposed to just being a tourist where I check off the requisite ‘sites’ and show the pictures to prove it!
Anyway, back to the story. The taxi, arranged by the registrar wound it’s way through the city and I saw terrific markets, women carrying goods on their heads, trucks crammed to the full with huge bags of merchandise and people spilling out the sides to huge traffic jams (cars waiting to buy petrol illegally ) since petrol is rationed on a monthly basis and people need more than the allotted number of gallons. Gas on the black market is something like $7.00 a gallon, in case you were thinking you had it bad. Earnings could be $2 a day you so you get the picture. When we had a meeting today about field trips we did not discuss any pedagogical issues surrounding the choice of sites, but how much gas it would cost to get there and could we afford it?
Anyway, back to the story. The taxi stopped outside what appeared to be a very nice home right in the market area. In fact, there was a pagoda across the road, a market just outside the gate in this bustling area. I was greeted by a very handsome man who welcomed me to his home with a two handed shake and told me his name. I will not share his name for two reasons. One, I cannot remember or pronounce it and if I could remember I would not tell because he would probably end up in jail.
After lunch and copious amounts of tea, I found out I was talking with the registrar’s uncle. Her mother is gynecologist as well as her sister. Her uncle, this gentle man I spent hours talking to is doctor who is a surgeon I can’t spell the kind of doctor he really is which is putting people to sleep in the operating room. Apparently I also have trouble with spelling as well as hearing.
Anyway, we spoke about the government, principles of medicine, Buddhism, resistance and so on. There is a government referendum on the constitution this May 10, but of course, the people have not seen the new constitution, nor can they get a current newspaper so I do not know on what basis they are going to vote. As we talked and he sensed he could trust me, he proceeded to tell me about the work he was doing. Eight years ago he could not stand the suffering he was seeing in hospitals by patients who could not pay for their own care, and seeing the dead stacked up in the hospital to be taken to the cemetery five at a time, as opposed to one at a time because of the cost of petrol.. They were then dumped in the cemetery for the dogs.
He now spends every day visiting the five hospitals in Mandalay, finding out what destitute patients need, buying the medicines and medical equipment for them and helping perform the operations. He also has 11 cars around Mandalay that visit the homes of the deceased and take their bodies to have them cremated, paying for the 3 gallons of gas which otherwise would be impossible for the poor to pay. He does this with just donations he gets and no longer has private patients. His whole life is dedicated to helping the poor, much like Mother Theresa I suppose. He was absolutely amazing to talk to and extremely inspiring.
He explained, with many examples from Buddhism, why he does this but if I told a number of his stories, I would have to write too many pages and Joshua already says I write too much. Eventually, he drove me back to my hotel in his Volkswagon Beattle, circa l960’s vintage ( I don’t think it went more than about 10 miles an hour); Bicycles were passing us on the road! I asked what I could do for his organization. For example, he has pictures of each patient his organization has helped and I asked him whether he wanted me to smuggle these pictures out to show them to the free world press. He told me his organization would just be shut down and he would end up in jail. When I asked him if he wanted me to get drugs donated from the west, he said the taxes would be so great it would not be worth it and he would not want me to jeopardize myself.
When I asked him what I could do, he simply said the next time I come back, bring him some books to read. When I asked him what authors or kind of books, he said to me…you now know me. Bring me books that will bring me more knowledge.
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