A Peace Law Academy birthday

Last week one of my students, who I’ll call Aung Hpound, invited me to her birthday party at the school (the students all live in two dormitories on site). I asked her what she wanted for her birthday, and she replied that she liked plush animals. What kind of plush animals? Big ones. The lady knows what she wants. So I spent the afternoon riding around town looking for a shop where I could buy a large plush Garfield for a young woman in her early 20s.

In an earlier writing exercise I’d learned that Aung Hpound doesn’t drink alcohol, as, like many Karen (Burmese ethnic group), she is a devout Baptist. Like all of her classmates, she doesn’t date (Burmese couples write each other sentimental emails, then get married). None of them smoke or take drugs. They’re so innocent that you can’t help infantilising them to some degree, even when you’re not buying them plush Garfields. But then you remember that they’ve all left their families behind and fled a vicious military dictatorship in order to get a decent education so that they can GO BACK, at the risk of imprisonment, torture, and retaliation against their families, and bring democracy to Burma. I can’t even put their names or photos on this blog for fear that the Burmese government will track them down retaliate against them or their families. It’s pretty humbling teaching a class of young people who are all heroes to varying degrees, especially when your own ideals are held with no consequences whatsoever.

Anyway: The party. I arrive to find all the chairs in the classroom set up in a circle, and the birthday girl sitting behind the teacher’s desk, with ‘Happy Birthday Aung Hpound’ written on the board with the date. Everyone takes their seats. One of the girls who I’ll call Ee Lguyen stands up and reads from a piece of paper.

“Good evening everybody, and thank you for coming to the birthday party of my friend Aung Hpound.
Agenda number 1 – Lee will sing a song.
Agenda number 2 – We will say a prayer.
Agenda number 3 – Aung will sing a song.
Agenda number 4 – We will eat cake and ice cream.
Agenda number 5 – We will play a game.
Thank you. Now for Agenda number 1, Lee will sing a song.”

Lee stands up and pulls a chair into the middle of the circle. He has good English, and is wearing a t-shirt that says, rather cryptically, ‘Kareni Zeroes for Christ’. Earlier he asked me when my birthday was. I told him and asked his. He didn’t know, because, he said, he was born in the jungle.

“I am sorry, but this song will be in Burmese” he says. This song is about our parents. They give birth to us in a time of war, and raise us, and now we are far away from them, and I know that Aung Hpound especially misses her parents very much.”

The song is very sad. Everyone applauds enthusiastically when he finishes.

“Thank you Lee,” says Ee Lguyen. “Now for agenda number 2, we will say a prayer”.

The prayer is in Burmese and goes for about 5 minutes, and I take the opportunity to look around the room and try to gauge who’s the most devout based on how tight they’re closing their eyes or how much fidgeting they’re doing. I put about a quarter down as being devout. For agenda number 3, Aung Hpound sings a happy song in Burmese while Lee plays the guitar. Everybody sings along. Agenda item 4 is cake and ice cream, and the students run around putting dabs of icing on each other’s faces. Gifts are presented – Aung Hpound loves her Garfield and I have to pose for a formal photograph with her, and then with half the other students.

Agenda number 5 is the highlight. The game is like musical chairs except we pass around a plastic cup full of water. When the Burmese pop stops, the person holding the glass has to take a rolled-up piece of paper from a box. On the paper is written an activity. I get to go first. The English on the paper is kind of unclear.

“So I have to declare my love for someone? Like, just acting it out?”
“No!” shouts Kyi Naing. “You have to choose a girl and declare your love for her!”
“OK, well I guess you’re it then.” She laughs and stands up, playing bashful. I feel deeply uncomfortable.
“Look, Kyi, there’s, uh, something I’ve been meaning to say for some time.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Well, this is very hard for me to say, but I guess, uh, I love you.”
“No!” shouts Kyi Naing. “You’ve waited too long!”
“But baby, that’s not my fault! I’m a man – these things are difficult for me to say!”
“I don’t care!” she says stamping her foot. “You shouldn’t have taken so long! I can’t wait for ever!”
“But baby I can change!”

The room is in hysterics, and I take the opportunity to run back to my seat. The game continues for a long time – do a funny dance, sing someone a romantic song, imitate someone, usually a teacher. The best part is seeing shy, demure Burmese girls reluctantly get up and suddenly break into startlingly accurate imitations of teachers and fellow students. One of them has to do me; she says “Everybody now; Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers”, while waving her arms like a conductor. Apparently this is hilariously accurate. When the first set of activities is exhausted and paper and scissors are brought out to make another set, I make my escape. They're having so much fun they don't even notice.

Conclusion: I know I said I wouldn’t infantilise the students, but that party was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. Next post – my Muay Thai gym.