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Day 20. Laos Village People
I used to think I knew some shit about being broke. I mean. I’ve survived through Mei Goren famines. I was a member of Club Casual. Mad Jacks was for special occasions. I used to think I knew something about being broke.
Then today our friend Baulum from the local bar took us to his village. This was no motat exhibition. No red velvet to disconnect us from reality. Him and his friend Boy drove us an hour out of town on the back of their motorbikes to get there while death tailgated. Half way there we got to a bridge across the river that had been flooded. Our chauffeurs pushed their bikes across and me and Steph waded through it. It didn’t seem to be no biggie for the solo mother carrying her baby in her arms like The Coup logo so we really couldn’t complain.
Our bikes landed outside the village the way a UFO would. The villagers starred at me like I was radiating. The last white face they had seen had probably been putting a gun in theirs. We had centuries worth of western fuck ups to make up for with a couple packs of colouring pencils and a monkey puppet. But there was no hostility what so ever. I’ve had eviler looks from accidentally stepping on somebody’s kicks. They welcomed us like family and what little they had to give they gave us.
Balum’s old lady cooked us up a Tom Yum Soup in the shed she called her kitchen. We’d picked the fish from the market that morning. This was the freshest fish $2NZD could possibly buy. The lady grabbed it straight out of a foot bath bucket that it was swimming round in with 20 other death rowers, smacked it into the afterlife with a piece of 4x4 and handed it to us in a plastic bag. Can’t get much fresher. The shit was so good I even ate the eye ball. I thought I was paying respect. I think I might’ve freaked his Mum out though.
After lunch we taught a Loas version of Duck Duck Goose to the village kids (chicken, chicken, pig) Watching them play that game I was like bugs bunny with Botox. The kids were laughing and screaming and so were the elders. It felt like those were the moments they spent the weekend sitting around waiting for. I mean. Those, and when the poppyman come. It was some beautiful shit. Straight up if you were there you def would’ve wanted to buy a refugee.
I thought I knew something about being broke. I don’t know if I do anymore. I’m pretty sure it ain’t weet bix for dinner. Those people were surviving off the rice they’d harvested 6 months ago. And I don’t know if broke is not having money, or property or technology. Cause Baulum’s family had none of that, but they were happy. Shit if they were earning what I was when I was working at Allied Work Force they’d be the Laos Kardashians.
I feel like an ass.
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
