If I learn one thing from these trips to Chiangmai, it's this - the mountains are big (massive, sprawling), and its populations are many. Animals, plants, and people. And as much as we may label them "hill tribes" or "rural people" collectively, and though many of their experiences parallel each other, the intricacies of their lives, the fibres they are weaved from, are different.
Mae To, the village where we will spend the next two days, is largely inhabited by the Karen people (a rather long-winded source, but one that gets more comprehensively to the essence of their culture). A decent splice of the land is taken up by the Hmong (whose culture is very different; they don't always see eye to eye). In our few hours there, the space would shift constantly between the dusty heat of dry season, and mottled wind; tree-given shade from the surrounding forests.
During a walk in the surrounding forests. Before I realised it, we had walked beyond the road and into the shade.
Some houses in the village.
“Much of the culture here has been lost" was how the conversation started. They don't teach it in school and many people are more concerned (understandably so) with their own livelihoods and means of subsistence than learning about their traditional ways of life, which revolve around forest protection and subsistence. There is a noticeable tug between past and present (if we can even call it that). The community still gathers to make the yearly fire break (which we'll join in on tomorrow), and practices rotational farming; controlled burning that follows a natural calendar which doesn't harm the ecosystem. Traditional wisdom is inherent in how people make and wear their clothes, how their houses are built from wood and bamboo, and the prevalence of forests still, folding in on us. At the same time, there is a sense of something lost hanging over the valley. Many young people have left for the city, those who know the depths of Karen culture are few, and the last children who had their umbilical cords tied to trees, as is customary, was some 30-odd years ago. It's not fair to term it a struggle in time. After all, we are always in the present. But modern life and its comforts and conveniences (also something our local companion groused about, as a major distraction from natural ways of life), is an accelerator. Weaving clothes, waiting for trees to grow, opting for nature's timing - these are orbitally, obligatorily slow. Speed isn't the future; slowing down isn't the past. But it does very much seem like it nowadays.
Weaving a traditional blouse. The word ‘traditional’ here is a bit of a misnomer - many people wear these shirts every day. I was recently given some for my birthday, and I can see why.
Our friend’s parents’ house, similar to how most houses look in the village. Despite their protestations that it’s very simple, the design keeps the heat out and allows them to cook indoors with ease.
My own father claims this often; I have heard it not just once in the past few days: Education has taught us nothing truly of value. We absorb knowledge, but nothing of how to live. Is this true? As someone with more years of education (18 ?!?!) than the rest of life itself (27 as of last week :D), I could have done with less school and more of what the world could teach me. But I digress.
Water is a chief problem here. Drinking water is scarce because of the dearth of water storage infrastructure. Not to mention water for irrigating crops, and other household uses. We followed our friend's father to a neighbor's house after dinner. He rides there, a hefty basket on his back, to get drinking water from their filter. It is one of the few in the village. A question with an almost identical answer everywhere we go: how has the water situation changed over the years? It is a lot worse; a lot drier. Our companion points to the forests around us and recalls his youth, when they would play in natural ponds all year round. Now, thanks to natural watersheds, it's not completely dry. But definitely not enough for what they need: growing rice, and daily use.
Our friend’s father, with a 5-gallon tank in his basket.
A small stream of water for a great many people.
Today's encounter was brief but helpful. As always, we walk the ground and talk; much of the conversation springs from what we observe. The environment also speaks for itself, a drying forest and humble cement well. We will learn more tomorrow when we spend time at the fire breaks.
Rice paddies during dry season (This is not out of the ordinary since it’s dry season when they have not started planting rice. But nowadays, it is often dry when it is supposed to be wet, too).
A small local watershed, where some ponds are planned. Spot the puppy :D
A small concrete pond, where villagers get their water for showering, washing clothes, and many household uses apart from drinking.
About
Hui Ran is part of a team that does, in her words, “a bunch of projects to do with social and environmental causes”. The current project is looking into water and forest fire issues in Chiang Mai, Thailand. The former is caused by climate change; the latter by humans and our burning tendencies. They may be the same in the end, but they affect people’s lives in their own unique, cruel ways. As of March 2021, we are in the process of learning more about the situation before we can hopefully, work together on some ways to improve it.
The activities described in this essay are part of the SPHERE (Sustainable Project for Health, Ecosystem Restoration, and Education) 7 Project to advance social and environmental objectives in Northern Thailand. The project is generously supported by Goh Foundation Singapore.