Where’s the Meat? – by Zall, age 16

Where’s the Meat? –  by Zall, age 16

Zall on the job, photographing bombs, mortars, and fuel tanks from the “American War”.

Zall on the job, photographing bombs, mortars, and fuel tanks from the “American War”.

Bony gray fish paste – that’s how this story starts. Bony gray fish paste in the middle of Xam Tai, Laos: a small weaving town and our favorite location on our travels. Who needs a reason for a party when you can have one anyway? That seemed to be the motive behind our weeklong stay in Xam Tai. Our friends wait patiently all year for us to arrive as we bring in money for the village as well as Malaithong, our guide and friend, who has been best friends with the head-weavers since they were children (and who see each other only once or twice a year). This was, of course, cause enough for quite the town party.

Fish grilling in preparation for laap.

Fish grilling in preparation for laap.

Long tables were set out for a slew of guests, including, one evening, the ex-governor of the region, and games of petanque (bocce ball) created shouts with each successful (or failed) shot. Drinks were poured and drunk and offered and accepted and the atmosphere made any expression but a beaming grin impossible to make.

So here I was sitting at the table waiting for the next jubilant feast when the special dish came out from the back of the kitchen. Three people had worked for 2 hours on the traditional ceremonial Laos dish of fish laap. It had been a whole afternoon of light snacking, mostly on bits of dog and beer, so we were all famished. Plopped in front of me was the remnant of probably 50 small fish chopped up in their entirety so finely that it had become a gray fish paste. Throughout our journeys to foreign countries, I’ve learned to never judge a dish before it is tried. So I took the usual amount of glutinous rice in the palm of my hand, indented it with my thumb, as is the custom, and scooped the gray matter into the indent.

Souk’s husband starts the chopping process of the fish for laap - a very special ceremonial dish for friends.  The chopping continued for another hour and a half.

Souk’s husband starts the chopping process of the fish for laap – a very special ceremonial dish for friends. The chopping continued for another hour and a half.

The first things I noticed were the bones. These bones weren’t the easy-to-crunch-through kind of bones; they were spiky and sharp and no matter which way I turned them with my tongue, they seemed unchewable and stabbed me between the teeth. The taste wasn’t in any way particularly unpleasant – just musty, plain, and wet: yes, wet is a flavor, trust me.

At this point in time, it had been far too long since I had any sort of real protein. Both cheese and beans were unavailable, so the only source of real protein was meat, and my body was crying out for such sustenance.  There was a place not too far down the road that a couple days earlier had served grilled water-buffalo bits on skewers. Desperately, the next day, we asked our good friend, Souk, if we could have some of that meat as our contribution to dinner. She agreed and we all felt relieved to know a protein-rich meal was forthcoming. Souk returned several hours later to say that the meat lady wasn’t cooking that day because she was working in the rice fields – but Souk said she had found another place that served barbeque also.

A Lao man in the market grilling a pig face, intestines, liver, tail, and other offal.

A Lao man in the market grilling a pig face, intestines, liver, tail, and other offal.

Late afternoon was hot – an unforgivable heat that seems to add more gravity to every limb of your body – and in Laos in July, that meant thunderstorms – so I was out trying to photograph some of the distant lightning when my parents called me to dinner.  My stomach was gurgling – I was running on empty. I arrived at the table and sitting proudly in the middle of the tables were big bowls of… skin? fat? gristle? My smile dropped and I tried to look like I was excited. Mom gave me an apologetic look while I sat and grabbed the small piece close to me. I chewed. And chewed. And chewed. My mom looked at me again and whispered, “pig ears.” I wasn’t too unhappy really; they tasted pretty much like oil and pork fat. So then I began to think. But where was the meat?

Phut’s husband intently watches teammate Josh’s petanque throw.

Phut’s husband intently watches teammate Josh’s petanque throw.

The next day, while we were playing another game of petanque, my dad and I saw smoke from a grill rising above the trees just down the road. We walked down to the fire and saw more of the Laos specialty: twisting organs, severed tubes, pig ears, and more barbequed I-have-no-idea. My dad picked up a few more chopped ears and another chewy thing and we had our march of defeat back to where we were staying and a crowd of local petanque players eager for our offering. I sighed and sat down in the chair with a cup of sweet Lao-Lao and nibbled on a piece of ear.

Where was the meat? I wondered once more and bit down on another sliver of pig ear while the sounds of petanque rang in my ears.

Sho, Our Black Hmong Guide and Friend, Gets Married!

Sho, Our Black Hmong Guide and Friend, Gets Married!

A beaming Antoine and glowing Sho enter their “white dress wedding.”

A beaming Antoine and glowing Sho enter their “white dress wedding.”

Those of you who have been following our newsletters for a few years know of our friend Sho, a beautiful, intelligent, vivacious Black Hmong woman with an acute business sense who was our first guide in the Sapa, Vietnam region, and who has continued being a special friend (see Newsletter #6 for an introduction).  This summer, the timing worked out just right for Ari, Zall and Maren to attend her two weddings in Vietnam to her French husband, Antoine, who works as a hotel manager in Sapa; the first wedding was a Black Hmong event held at her parent’s house, and the second, a “white-dress” wedding at a nearby eco-lodge.

Antoine (in his  Black Hmong clothing) and his dad admire beautiful baby Alice.

Antoine (in his Black Hmong clothing) and his dad admire beautiful baby Alice.

I need to preface with the comment that all of us have been “in love” with Sho since we first met her – she holds a special place in all of our “boy’s” hearts.  I have called her “my daughter”, and have jokingly bemoaned the fact that Ari is 5 years younger and not old enough to marry her.  As such, when the three of use first saw Sho and her daughter (born 2 months before the wedding!), huge hugs went all around.  Just then, a man came out from a nearby coffee shop, and Sho introduced us – he was Antoine’s father.  I put my arm around Sho and told him she is my daughter.  He put his arm around her and said, beaming with pride, “No, Sho is MY daughter!”  A better introduction could not be had.  Having a father-in-law so pleased and happy with her relieved any of our anxieties about her acceptance into her new family.

Sho in a rare contemplative moment during her Hmong wedding.

Sho in a rare contemplative moment during her Hmong wedding.

In reality, Sho and Antoine were already married.  They had had the formal paperwork wedding in early April, before their daughter Alice was born.  We were invited to attend the fun Vietnam weddings; a fourth wedding was later held in France with all of Antoine’s extended family and European friends.

Food and drink abound at a Hmong wedding party!

Food and drink abound at a Hmong wedding party!

The Hmong wedding held at Sho’s parent’s house with a group of about 100, included Sho’s closest friends and family, Antoine’s closest local friends, and Antoine’s dad and brother who had flown in for the event.  Many of the Hmong, as well as Antoine, were dressed in traditional Black Hmong clothing including a handspun, indigo-dyed cotton jacket – the women’s jackets had silk-embroidered sleeves – and a handwoven, indigo-dyed hemp vest with a silk-embroidered collar.  The traditional Hmong wedding includes eating vast quantities of delicious local food, drinking non-stop, and hoisting uncounted toasts to the family of the bride and to the bride and groom.  Had Antoine been a traditional local Hmong man, he would have knelt in front of the bride’s father; this step did not happen as Antoine had been accepted as family for some time.

Sho and Ti - our guiding sisters and friends!

Sho and Ti – our guiding sisters and friends!

It was hot, hot, hot.  Even high-elevation Sapa is hot in June.  Everyone who could shed their hot local clothing, but Sho said she couldn’t, as it was required of the bride.  Throughout the meal and party, Sho nursed Alice, and handed her off to friends and family to hold.  Even I got to hold her for a few minutes!  As we would expect, Sho conducted the whole event – center of it all, in charge, and having a ball!  Everyone toddled off in a happy state, including the three of us, who had to hire motorcycles to get us back to our hotel – the boys loved it!

Sho’s parent’s house, site of the Hmong wedding, surrounded to the porch edge with rice fields.

Sho’s parent’s house, site of the Hmong wedding, surrounded to the porch edge with rice fields.

The next day was the “white-dress wedding” – more of a reception – at an upscale eco-lodge an hour drive from Sapa that offered a stunning hilltop setting overlooking a lush, terraced valley full of sun and flowers.  Sho was resplendent in her western wedding dress, with constant photos opportunities.  She would yell “Zall – hey Zall – take a picture!” and he would go running to take more photos – over 1,000 that day alone!  There were many more people at this event, about 300 total, including Hmong and Westerners, and a fabulous barbeque meal was shared.

The eco-lodge - setting for the “white dress wedding”.

The eco-lodge – setting for the “white dress wedding”.

Even though the Hmong and westerners knew each other, it was clear, watching their faces, that the Hmong were not used to the western ways of marriage, watching the celebrations from a slight distance and with questioning looks, not knowing quite what to expect next.  Most of the Hmong wore their traditional clothes, except for the young lady friends of Sho’s who wore shimmery outfits in silk, cut to western styles.  Sho danced with Antoine, her father-in-law, and Ari – the only ones so privileged!  We knew many of the local people, having met them in the market or because of our “Above the Fray” interests; of course, we know many of Sho’s friends and family from our years of visiting.

Posing under the flower-studded entry arch with silk-clad friends surrounding and “village Hmong” hanging back on the hill.

Posing under the flower-studded entry arch with silk-clad friends surrounding and “village Hmong” hanging back on the hill.

One of the young Hmong men, dressed in western garb, talked with me a bit, calling me “ma”.  I asked him why everyone had been calling me “ma” (yes, it means mom, just like it looks), and he said that it was what Sho always calls me – her second mom.  Boy did that make me feel special!   It is true, I was the only western woman present at either wedding (her mother- and sister-in-law were at home preparing the wedding in France).  All of the western men living in Sapa had Hmong girlfriends or wives, and there are no western women, it appears, who have made Sapa their homes.

Ari, Sho, Maren, and Zall.

Ari, Sho, Maren, and Zall.

Ari had to leave this wedding early to travel, for the first time alone, on to Vientiane, Laos, to start his internship with MAG (see his article in this newsletter).  Zall and I stayed on and Ti, Sho’s sister, became our guide for a 5-day exploration of some new parts of NW Vietnam, including Son La Province.  Ti’s husband Trang, the maker of the beautiful traditional Hmong jewelry we sell, came with us – his first time ever riding in a car!  What a treat to be able to take him with us and share our trip!  Sho, despite being on a honeymoon of sorts, called Ti daily to make sure everything was well – she obviously didn’t like the idea of relinquishing her shopping and guiding relationship with us!  Needless to say, Ti was fabulous, and we discovered an array of new treasures we will share at our fall events (along with some new earring styles from Trang).

Sho and Antoine with an array of Hmong friends and family.

Sho and Antoine with an array of Hmong friends and family.

Ari Interns for MAG in Laos

Ari Interns for MAG in Laos

Our 19-year-old son, Ari, traveled regularly with us until this last year.  Here he submits his own summer ventures:

For the last two months I have been an intern in Vientiane, Laos for the Mines Advisory Group (MAG), a non-profit, nongovernmental organization whose mission is to help civilians recover from the atrocities of war – in Laos, MAG’s work strives to minimize the threat of unexploded ordnance (UXO) left from the Vietnam (“American”) War.

Ari plays with a child in Vietnam.

Ari plays with a child in Vietnam.

My primary mission was to complete the initial paperwork for establishing a visitors’ information centre (VIC) (yes, the English spelling since MAG is UK-based) in Vientiane.  I first had to do quite a bit of research to back up the fact that a VIC in Vientiane was a good investment.  This was the best part of my work there.  In order to establish that there was a demand, I stood in the tourist section of town and chatted with anyone who didn’t look local while explaining MAG’s mission, the problem of UXO in Laos, and getting people to fill out surveys.  It was fantastic to go out and talk with people about an issue that is pertinent to the everyday lives of locals.  I was amazed how many people were completely unaware of not only MAG’s work, but also the fact that there are UXOs littering Laos.

A variety of war paraphernalia on display in a guide service office in Phonsavan, Laos.

A variety of war paraphernalia on display in a guide service office in Phonsavan, Laos.

I also got to work with the established VIC in Phonsavanh, a town in the heart of the UXO crisis, whose small MAG-info center has been greeting visitors for years.  I spent several of my first days in Phonsavanh, familiarizing myself with the progress that had been made in the VIC since I had last been there as a tourist.  MAG really had spiffed it up!  The cinema for showing recently-made documentaries had been moved downstairs, the displays had been changed to be more visible, the merchandise had been rearranged and hung up, and a new sound system and projector screen had been installed in the cinema.  On my visits to Phonsavan I was able to offer that VIC some advice on attracting more western tourists, but getting a VIC established in Vientiane, where there is a larger tourist crowd, will offer MAG a lot more exposure.

The last several weeks of my time in Vientiane were spent assisting other NGOs.  I spent a week with the International Nongovernmental Organization (INGO) Network to update their directory of NGOs in Laos.  Another week was spent with an organization called Learning House (LH).  I went through their library and labeled the books so that they could be catalogued into a database.  This work was surprisingly enjoyable.  Since all of the books had been donated, some of them were a tad bizarre, like a book on why not to trust doctors and another on how coffee can kill you.  My co-workers everywhere made everything more fun.

Zall and Maren enjoy visiting with Ari (center) over dinner during his internship in Vientiane.

Zall and Maren enjoy visiting with Ari (center) over dinner during his internship in Vientiane.

My internship was productive and enjoyable; my supervisor and the MAG team in Laos were patient and supportive.  I owe special thank yous to Jennifer Lachman, director of MAG-USA, whose advocacy and support created the opportunity (I was MAG’s youngest intern ever, and the first from the U.S.), and Simon, my Vientiane supervisor, for putting me in a position to feel capable and valued.  I am going to miss Vientiane and the people whom I met there (and a big “Hurrah” to all Hash-House Harriers, from Vientiane to Earlham!), but, by the time that I finished my work, I was ready to come home.  I did miss my friends, family, and even Earlham College itself.

Swords into Plowshares, Bombs into Spoons: A Visit to the Recyclers of Napia, Laos

Swords into Plowshares, Bombs into Spoons: A Visit to the Recyclers of Napia, Laos

A Lao bull wears a bell made from a piece of a bomb.

A Lao bull wears a bell made from a piece of a bomb.

Weʼre sharing dinner with our hosts in Napia, a small village on the savannah-like “Plain of Jars” in NE Laos, and turn our heads at the sudden rumble of thunder. A monsoon storm – common in the late afternoon – would mean a hasty retreat on these rutted dirt roads. Our host laughs. “No rain today,” he says through our translator. “Those are the bombies.” Each day, as the sun sets, the daily “take” – that is, the unexploded ordnance (UXO) found by detonation-teams (with metal detectors) and local farmers – are safely detonated. “The fields are on the hill over there,” says our host, waving his hand toward the setting sun. “The clearance team comes in every year. Youʼd think you get them all, and then every year more just come out of the soil, right in the field.” He shrugs. “Itʼs a way of life here.”

 A MAG team member searching for  unexploded ordnance near Napia, Laos.


A MAG team member searching for
unexploded ordnance near Napia, Laos.

Napia and its 50 families, by virtue of living in an intensely bombed area from 1964-73, have created a unique relationship with shrapnel, bombies and the tons of wartime scrap and ordnance that litter the region: they survive on it.

Thanks to the increasing value of metals, locals in Napia have developed a recycling industry to give the villagers a source of support above the baseline of subsistence farming, all the while ridding their soils of dangerous UXOʼs. Napia invested in several small foundries, each operated by a local family, which can melt scrap aluminum. The molten metal is poured into molds to create raw cast spoons, bangles, bottle openers, and other small implements. The molds are made by compacting wet fireplace ash into wooden frames and imbedding a spoon, or other item, into the mold to create a template. A few other Napia families formed a weaving cooperative and together, the metal and local weaving businesses have built a community center, with a welcome sign in English, to attract visitors and a rare but needed commodity: cash.

A Napia spoon-maker shows offf her latest creation, still in the mold.

A Napia spoon-maker shows offf her latest creation, still in the mold.

The regional capital, Phonsavan, which has an airport and is the take-off point for tourists wanting to visit the pre-historic jar sites that haunt the plains, is only an hour from Napia, assuming the road is passable. Khen, our local guide and translator, knew of our long-standing relationship with MAG, and had recommended that we visit this village to get another vantage point on the warʼs impact and the resiliency of a proud people. The fact that his buddy operates one of the backyard smelters just happened to be a coincidence, weʼre sure!

Defused old mortar shells rest next to items  made from their aluminum parts

Defused old mortar shells rest next to items
made from their aluminum parts

Thus we not only got a guide and translator, but we were then encouraged to spend the long afternoon in the shade of our hostsʼ, and Khenʼs friendʼs, home learning about the local collecting, recycling and distribution processes. Soon, stories about our lives are being shared, and then weʼre all chipping in for a few bottles of Beer Lao (an excellent lager available everywhere in Laos). A bottle of homemade lao-lao (rice- whiskey) appears, and the cordial traditions are carried out. [At this point, one woman took charge of the smelting process and continued, most business-like, to make new spoons for the next two hours.]

Sitting in front of the kiln with the molds, pouring more spoons.

Sitting in front of the kiln with the molds, pouring more spoons.

A few other locals join the gathering and the chatter goes up a touch in volume. Zall is madly snapping photos of faces, and everyone laughs and wants to see their image on the cameraʼs back panel. The molten aluminum is smoking, the pillowy clouds ease across the sky, the verdant extended rice fields shimmer in the humidity, and we are lulled into the world of Lao hospitality with the warm rich smells of earth and water-buffalo and woodsmoke.

Bomb casings repurposed as house supports - the wood supports need to be first placed on stone so the termites donʼt eat into them.

Bomb casings repurposed as house supports – the wood supports need to be first placed on stone so the termites donʼt eat into them.

“You stay for a meal?” our host inquires. Our relaxed translator is all smiles. “Weʼd be honored.” Soon a live duck is brought to us, and our approval apparently indicates that this is indeed dinner. No one rejects our offer to pay the market rate for the duck, or for a second case of Beer Lao. For hors dʼoeuvres, the host pours the raw, drained duck blood onto a plate, sprinkles on rice flour for thickening, and adds what smells like basil. A hush falls across the dozen or more locals and our host speaks a few words to honor his guests, and then, aluminum spoon in hand, he gives to us the first big taste. Politeness is a powerful motivator, and we nod graciously to our host with our bright-red glossy- lipped smiles. The crowd laughs, snacks are shared, someone offers another toast, and the sun edges toward the hazy hills.

Our hostess files the rough edges of the spoons before sale.

Our hostess files the rough edges of the spoons before sale.

Dinner is delicious – duck (machetted into little pieces, as seems to be the practice) with ginger and chilis, duck soup, plates of aubergines, fresh bananas and other fruit, and, of course, mountains of sticky rice. What a celebration; what a pleasure. Every day we learn from others.

The thunder – the “bombies” – wakes us up from the fuzz of a spirited late afternoon; the reality of where and who we are is suddenly redrawn in the slant of the old sunlight. We offer thank yous and bows and smiles and hand-shakes, and pay for a bucket-load of spoons and bangles (which we will have available as a fundraiser for UXO eradication).

The first spoon dips into the bowl of fresh duck blood and herbs.

The first spoon dips into the bowl of fresh duck blood and herbs.

We offer our deepest “Thank You” to essential programs such as Mines Advisory Group (an NGO) and UXO- Laos (Lao govʼt), which provide the skilled expertise of UXO location and clearance so that generations of civilians may live more safely on their own land.

Josh holds a defuused bomb that was  found near Napia.

Josh holds a defuused bomb that was found near Napia.