News & Features
February 2006

Tales from Tall Paul: Teaching English in Laos
By Paul Martin McNeil

I first met Tall Paul, although I didn’t know him by that name then, back in the beginning of the century at a meeting of political activists in town. Claudia McNeil had worked at our Merrick Public Library and she and her husband were part of the crew at this meeting. Recently, Claudia had forwarded one of his e-mails to me, knowing that I would be interested because of the Citizen. Tall Paul, she informed me, was doing “his thing” in Laos by teaching English in a nation where everyone is starved for the knowledge and opportunity. I commend Paul for his adventuresome spirit, and for his notes home to his family and friends. And, I thank Claudia for sharing. These are a delightful snapshot of the country and its people, and a welcome addition to the Brookfield Citizen.

-Phil Peirce

Week 4: Lead this...

I have eaten cow lung.

I bathe by dumping buckets of refreshingly cold Lao well water over me again and again and again. I brush my teeth twice a day with spring water made by the Lao Brewery.

I have consumed well over 50 1.5 liter bottles of this "Tigerhead" drinking water.

I floss at night.

I ride a large black Chinese bike (named Yong Jiu) to school that is forever breaking and causing me to ask the question, "Was sixty bucks really worth it?"

I have bore witness to an elderly monk dressed in tangerine habit in my home, healing my little monk-in-training brother Kam, by putting his hands on the little monk's aching head and physically removing the pain, shaking it away, cleansing my brother of his ailment.

I have met a slew of English teachers from Australia, Canada, and Scotland. Concurrently, I held my first fluent English conversation in four weeks.

I have lived in Laos for exactly one month.

• • • • •

On the 55-minute toohk toohk drive into Vientiane from my small village of Khoksay, there are potholes. On one morning ride into the provincial capital, I counted them.

There are 42 potholes on the one road. "I've seen more potholes in a small New England town on an early spring day," you may say.

Ten of these potholes are so big that the toohk toohk must slow down, approaching a speed that would necessitate a downshift in the shoestring gearbox, but not actually forcing the changing of gears.

Thirty-two of these 42 potholes are so severe that the vehicle must change gears or else the toohk toohk may veer out of control or just simply explode upon heavy impact. Eight of these 32 "road blocks" are so horrible that the vehicle must drive in and out and up and down the dirt/gravel/sand/grass that surround the road, avoiding other cars, trucks, toohk toohks and of course the thousand or so hopelessly speeding motorbikes that whiz to and fro like bumble bees without helmets. Making it to Vientiane is not just a destination. It's survival.

Speaking of bumble bees...

Earlier this week, I awoke to the subtle rumble and buzz of the air conditioner in my wonderful room. There was, though, an extra buzz sound this particular morning. I craned my head backwards from my pillow to see what the commotion was. There, in the six-inch tall windows that trim the tallest part of the outside wall of my room, were a dozen or so bees. A few bees are no problem, I thought. I am not allergic, just merely cautious.

During that morning's yoga poses (I find that if I don't do nine or 10 yoga stretches every morning that I feel like the bones in my back will surely fall apart), I found myself standing with my head between my legs, trying to focus my attention to the wall behind my calves and, well, just breathing. I could not, however, escape that one thought. The thought of a sting...no, not one sting, but many stings, happening simultaneously trying to make sure I will never stretch another day in my life, was a bit unsettling. So, I did what any westerner would have done in my shoes: I found a toxic can of cockroach spray and searched for the source of the bees.

I found it, I thought. A little slit in the high corner of my room, just near where my mosquito bed net is tied to a nail. Just a little cockroach spritz will do the trick, I thought.

If by trick, you thought I meant that I would completely infuriate a million, maybe two by the sound of it, hungry-for-flesh bees, then I would have to say no, that is not, in fact, what I meant by trick.

The treat I ended up getting was exactly what I had not bargained for. I have never, ever, heard a more chaotic sound in my life than what those bees whipped up that morning. I'd tell you more about the exact diminuendo/crescendo of that sound, except I found that my long and weary legs had taken me out of my room much faster than I ever remember moving that early in the morning. In a snap, I found myself outside of my home, breathing heavy, and a can of anger-maker in my right hand.

I did, amazingly, make it out of this day not only alive but without a single sting and eventually conquered the bees with a combination of consistent cockroach spray downs and a blocking of the port of entry from the outside of the house with some scrap bamboo I found in the brush. The next morning, I swept up the remains of hundreds and hundreds of dead bees, frozen dead, and angry. I felt like a horrible murderer, but I feel confident that it was either them or me that day. And I'd be darned if it were bee stings that did me in here and not the inevitable fate...

Language barrier
It has been getting better and better — my comprehension of the Lao language and the patience of the people around me both increasing daily. With the highs making their way higher, though, I find the lows really sweep the carpet from underneath my feet, and my feat. These experiences of swift humbling, as you would have guessed, are perfect.

I can get so frustratingly upset in the blink of an eye, and only after many deep breaths and many eye blinks realize that these challenges and difficulties are, again, why I am HERE. So there is constant progress and just as constant humbling moments, sometimes days. And why not? For Lao seems to be the most humble of all of the world's peoples I have walked with. And now, I am Lao. I am a more humble Paul Martin McNeil.

I know, I know — hard to believe, but happening day in and day out.

Some memorable quotations from my two cooperating teachers of late:

Ped: "You can either lead or not lead," he says to the class, attempting to be condescending...I think. I'm confident he meant "read" and not "lead". The tougher challenge is deciding whether or not to find this statement humorously, but sadly, ironic.

Each one of Ped's fingernails is longer and much better kept than any fingernail on any female I know. There are many men here that keep their nails like this, but Ped's are far and away the prettiest.

I brought to Ped's attention this past week that one of our classes, class A, meets for more than 60 minutes longer than any of our other classes. He looks at me, startled, and retreats to find the principal, his consistent drinking buddy. They crunch numbers and scratch their heads for over 40 minutes. Then, Ped looks up from the scribbled numbers in front of him. Defeated.

"This is not right."

This school year is already a few months old, and Ped has been teaching English here for seven years.

I explain that we will balance it out by taking our time with class A and he is very agreeable. On this day, Ped was not drunk. I think.
Phong: "How often do you work out?" he asks in front of the 50 Laotian teenagers.

"Are you married?" was the first question that my students asked me after I introduced myself in five of my seven English classes. The other two asked me if I had a girlfriend as their first question. Then, they asked me if I was married.

And yes, I am married. I am married to this country. I have exchanged nuptials with its people, its habits, its good, its bad, and its everything-in-between. And every night, when I lay my head down on my new, extended-length, three-inch thick, futon mattress beneath its army green mosquito net, I am sleeping with my love.

Now if I could just figure out this constipation problem I've been having.

Bon yoo from beneath the coconuts and bananas-
Mr. Tall Paul