A few words on Isan

I don't say much around here about my school, my students, or the town I live in, aside from saying just how rural it is.  But recently I've been becoming more and more aware of the implications of  how remote and poor the place is.  Isan, the northeastern region of Thailand, is somewhat like the US deep south, and the town I live in is particularly remote and rural.  The people here speak with a heavy accent, a unique dialect that becomes more and more Laos as you near the border.   Much of the food (see: nearly all) is fried, and because of the heat and the dry, they eat a lot of corn, pumpkin, and okra.  It is the primary rice-growing region of Thailand and many of the residents here are farmers-- farmers who plant and harvest their crops by hand.  Farmers and everyone else work hard, long hours that start at a young age.  The peoples' faces are sun-dark and heavily lined early in life.

My ideals about education would have every student show up fresh, ready and willing to learn.  In my classes, however, students fall asleep.  Not because they're bored, but because after school they go to work in their family fields, or in their parents' stalls at the market, or their food cart.  They plant, maintain, cook, serve, and clean late into the night.  One of my most energetic students leaves school every day, goes to the market, and serves at the family food stand til 9ish.  Another does her homework on a bench in between making orders of som tam and savory ginger noodle soup til nearly 11...when I'm already firmly ensconced in bed.

I noticed some time ago that the backs of many of the boys uniform regular brown tennis shoes are folded down.  I thought it was for ease of removal and wear in a culture that removes their shoes at the entrance to every building.  Today, I realized it's because many of the boys wear shoes that are too small to fit them-- folded down with an open back is the only way they CAN wear them.  While students wear uniforms, some are crisp and new, while others are clearly hand-me-downs, the regulation customized embroidered names picked out and reworked for a new student.  The skirt hemlines have been let out and taken up repeatedly, the seams and stitching worn till the fabric fades and shines.  It is the socks that are most telling.  In a place where 3 pairs of socks cost about $1, many students wear socks that are more holes than fabric-- some have no toes in them at all.  Today I saw a boy whose holey socks were bloody because his shoes were so small they rubbed his feet raw.

Most of these students will never leave Isan.  They were born here and they will spend their lives here.  They will take over their parents' work when they leave school.  With poverty, isolation and hard work comes even more unpleasantness.  Students come to class with bruises and black eyes, or severe burns from long, tired hours working, frying food.

With all of this, I am surprised at how well the students like school.  American students in comfortable areas are often morose, angry, and resentful.  These Thai students, with burned fingers and no socks, are happy to come to school.  Is it any wonder that when a student falls asleep in my class, I put a hand on their shoulder to wake them, and can only smile gently at them?

I have many gripes about Thailand and Thai culture, but the students aren't one of them.  Despite their reputation as obnoxious little hell-raisers, I find quite the opposite.  I find that, despite their lives, their futures, and the many difficulties they face, they are generally pleasant, happy, and friendly...even when they're acting out.  There are many things I will not miss when I leave here, but I will miss my students.  I will miss their humor.  I will miss their optimism.  I will just plain miss them.