Mae La Refugee Camp

I smell like pigs. Covered in dust; sweating through every pore. It’s the end of day two. And I will be so happy when we are done with form filling and I can do my job of casework. However, the casework will consist of verifying all the form filled information and then writing the persecution story. It’s hard for me to ask about the deceased relatives – how did they die? When did they die? Where did they die? I’m not sure how it’s going to be to ask about the persecution story and to write it objectively. It’s not objective. It’s someone’s life. But I do understand the importance of keeping it diplomatic and truthful so that there are no discrepancies that would keep them from being resettled. Resettlement is not the greatest life. But it would be much better than this camp life. And the future of Mae La refugee camp is unknown – the Thai government could shut it down and force them to return to Burma at any time. We are in a village – the refugees look like what most of us would think of as people who live in a very poor and secluded mountain village. They live very simple lives, have very little education and speak a minority language. It will be very difficult for them when they reach America . When I asked a woman if she had lived at the same address for the past five years in the camp, her response was, “well we’ve lived at the same address but have needed to change the bamboo several times!” :-) Houses are made of bamboo. Our “offices” are made of bamboo…its’ like walking on a balancing pole each time you walk around. Very very dodgy. :-) I had an unusual case today. There was one case left to interview and it was a case of two – I was very excited it was a small case! Until I looked at the bio forms…an elderly man who was lame and blind and his son who was “mad”. Now I was a bit confused as to why this case existed as it was not linked with any family members. It did not seem in the family’s best interest to resettle due to the delicate age of this man and that once he passed away, his son would inevitably be placed in a mental institution. But that’s not up to me to decide and my job was to interview the case. Except…the son was too “mad” to come to the interview – according to the father. I ask what is to be done and they send me in a vehicle with the man to his house inside the camp! It turned out that his son was mentally handicapped but was in no way “mad” (a term I later found out they use in this culture for all mentally challenged). I had been a bit nervous about going to a mad man’s house all alone – but it provided a very unique opportunity that I was able to experience. :-) I did conduct the interview in his home and it was even more simple than our hoisted bamboo huts we call offices. :-) Inside the camp it is very much built up along the mountainside. The terrain is rough with dry dirt and uneven rocks. The houses are all bamboo huts hoisted at least four to five feet off the ground. (I’m assuming that’s for the rainy season) There are little food stands lining the crippled streets. (A vehicle cannot drive through the majority of the camp as it has overgrown its space over the years). I followed my interpreter and this adorable 80+yr old man with his cane up this tiny windy trail through bamboo huts with beautiful flowers and vines draping from the trees and the sun shining through. I was thinking that yes, the lives of the refugees are hard; but there is a beauty in such a place as harsh and difficult to live as a refugee camp. I obviously am not living in the camp and may be completely arrogant to make such a statement – but speaking with the refugees today and visiting with them in their home, I get this feeling of genuine peace. The reality of the worst is behind them. After fleeing for one’s life and trekking through jungles and over mountains, the feeling of safety has to surpass all worries and provide a sense of comfort. That comfort is shown through their smiles and wai’s of hellos. They are welcoming of visitors. They are nervous for their interviews as the understand this to be their ticket to the outside world. The camp has a feeling of home to it. People go through their days just like we would. You enter our work site and you can see people walking over foot bridges and washing clothes in the river. Babies are cooing and crying. Children are content to play in the dirt with a stick – drawing pictures for their friends to see. And refugee families are sitting quietly and patiently on the bamboo benches waiting for us to arrive and start our day. This is what they call field work. :-) And aside from smelling like a dirty pig and enduring the heat of the sun; I think I’m going to enjoy it!