She was already, in Thai terms, an old grandmother when I came the first time here to the village of Bu Hua Chang, fifty years ago this month. The Thai never seem to be very aware of just how old they are, but I make her age to be 91 years. She is a central part of our little neighborhood in the village, sitting in the public space on an ancient wood platform that seems to be reserved for women and children, busy with her little betel nut kit the way old village people have been forever, always a calm and quiet presence in the group of women and kids that sit under a big tamarind tree in our neighborhood. Nim and I enjoy visiting her and take encouragement from her bright conversation, she is twenty to forty years out ahead of us.
I ask her, “Grandmother do you think life was better in the old days or now?” Several of my neighbors are quietly observing this exchange.
“Old days,” she says. After thinking a bit and cutting some new pieces of betel nut.
Bun married a hill tribe man and she still knows the old mountain language, a wife was expected to learn the language of her mother-in-law. Her daughter Pow and great granddaughter Pat live next door to us, our neighbors and friends. The grandchildren pursue successful urban lives in the industrial towns north of Bangkok, accountants or something, leaving the kids back in the village with the old people. It's a good system, the kids learn the old courtesies and graces here, helping their grannies get onto the morning bus to the market in Takhop.
Are there any of the old hill people left?
Auntie Kian in nearby Bahn Takian, is one of them; her husband too, she says. Nim and I resolve to pay them a visit.
I tell her the story of how my old friend Longmah fifty years ago said that if I ever saw a bear in the forest walking on his hind legs and holding a tree branch like an umbrella, I should pass with a courteous greeting. Bears think they are the same as people, they have a lot of dignity, and can become quite angry at disrespect.
Yes, she says, they are fiercer than tigers when they are angry. She recalls the time when one of them was harassing the village nightly and everyone was afraid. Her neighbor, an old lady then like herself now, ran out of her house directly at the bear, lifting up her little shirt and flapping her dugs at the bear.
The bear fled in great fear. Our neighbors respectfully listened to all of this, nodding their heads.
“And Grandmother, I remember there were so many big trees in the forest above the village before we moved the village to build the dam, that was fifty years ago, and there was water in the Lam Pra Plerng River then even in the dry season. I know you remember too.”
She thinks a bit. “Yes, too many people came here, and we cut the trees as if it was the same as the old days, we didn’t know what we were doing.” The Thai have a remarkable capacity for accepting responsibility, blame is less rarely heard. Is blame a western disease? I read of a Thai man who was struck down by a drunk driver but refused to take even insurance money for his medical expenses. He figured it must have been just punishment for his carelessness or past wrongs.
Next time: Grandmother's opinions on global warming
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