The Great Thai Flood of 2011: New Perspectives in Hard Times

There was a really profound editorial in the Bangkok post this weekend, about how hardships can make us stronger. I truly believe that. It’s not a new idea, and many world religions subscribe to this thought as well. But I have seen proof of it in the beautiful Thai people as they have faced enormous challenges over the last two months of the country’s worst floods in 50 years. Without fail, the flood victims I talk to respond with “There are many more people who are suffering greater losses and facing far more difficulties than myself.”

Wow.

And sniff.

And shame on me for ever complaining.

With strong affection and great respect I dedicate this blog post to my พี่น้องชาวไทย, my Thai family, and to กรุงเทพมหานคร, the city of Bangkok, that has welcomed our family for the last 20 years and helped us raise global-minded children.

This is a collection of photos that I received in an email. I have translated their captions. I pray I will do justice in representing.

“New Perspectives In Hard Times”

We see… housing projects that promote the cozy atmosphere of a lakeside villa

We see… the beauty of our ancient heritage sights from a brand new perspective

We see… people helping each other where ‘we deliver’ is quite a promise!

We see…how to wrap things: apply generous amounts of tape

We see…a new kind of flood spectator (who packs a gun too)

We see…love without favortism

We see…those who will not be deterred

We see…advertising that really means what they say (‘washing stock’ is a Thai expression for ‘all stock must go’)

We see…those who are ready to make necessary sacrifices and move under the raft so the dog will be safe

We see…that we don’t have to go to the beach to get a tan

We see…stubborn perseverance, and good karma (no one got electrocuted)

We see…new guests taking a peek “Honey, I’m home!”

We see…national animals that do the job better than machines

We see…fashionistas posing in sand “Someone has to keep an eye on things”

We see…sea monsters in the middle of the city. No need to make a trip to the Mekhong.

We see…control-freak home-owners “No water allowed on premises…without permission”

We see… only in Thailand

We see…everyone ready to lend a hand.

We see…how we are undaunted even in the scary conditions

We see…our duty as Buddhists

We see…business as usual

We see…brand new customs

We see…how these (not-so)little piggies get to market

We see…how ‘going to the gym’ takes on a whole different purpose

We see…how frugal we can be. Who needs to waste money driving down to the beach?

We see…what it means to ”be prepared” and how best to analyse the situation

We see…the irony of helmets in a boat even though we don’t wear one when we ride a motorcycle

We see…a sea-side mini mart

We see…that even the smallest space will do

We see…even the tourists can just go with the flow

We see…where we have to take the boat to get the bus, take the bus to get the boat

We see…how much love and concern we have for our King, as we work to keep water away from the Sirirat Hospital (where HM resides)

And finally we see…how much love and concern our King has for us that instead of getting someone else to purchase it and put his name on it, he purchased it on his own, and look at what generous amounts he gives too!

Related articles

• Media News: Matichon, Bangkok Post & TNN “Clash Heads” on Yingluck’s Thai flood management (thaiintelligentnews.wordpress.com)
• Bangkok flooding causes more evacuations (abclocal.go.com)
• More Bangkok residents advised to flee flood threat (ctv.ca)
• Thailand:Bangkok remains on alert for flooding (laaska.wordpress.com)
• Thailand Floods 2011: Ancient Capital Damaged (huffingtonpost.com)
• More Bangkok residents advised to flee floodwaters (seattletimes.nwsource.com)
• Prefab shells offer makeshift shelter for flooded Thais – CNN International (edition.cnn.com)
• Bangkok:Thai floods cause less damage despite high tides (laaska.wordpress.com)
• Thai PM: Flooding won’t devastate central Bangkok (seattletimes.nwsource.com)
• Thai PM: Flooding won’t devastate central Bangkok (seattletimes.nwsource.com)

Dam Sand

 

Peter and I had been walking through this area near the Prakanaong dam for the last few days. I had to see for myself that the walls were holding the water back. The government had been ‘munjai’ (confident) too many times about other water barriers throughout Bangkok that had since broken under the pressure of an unstoppable flood. This flood was outsmarting everyone and even the designated safety zone for evacuees was lost under almost two meters of water.

We found that there was a community of people living in the low-lying area beside the canal. Shanties that looked like slave’s quarters had been home to these people for a generation, a place where children share play space with the chickens, where the old men drink beer in the morning and clothes-lines hang between rubbish heaps.

We kept meeting the same folk along our path, kept asking the same questions, “Are you worried about the flooding? Do you think the dam will hold?” Each day they answered “No problem, it won’t flood here. The dam will hold”. We drilled every official we saw at the dam, every worker, every sweeper, every fisherman “Are you afraid the walls will break?” Every time we got the same answer,

“No.”

And then Friday happened. It was a normal morning until Peter got a phone call from a friend telling us that the dam had broken. The flood was coming our way. Peter grabbed the car keys; I had to run back upstairs to get my red plaid rubber boots and socks. We took off in the car but stopped a short way from home. Our neighbour’s house was filling with water. “Can we help?”

“No, we’re okay, thanks. All our things are on the second floor. We’ll just pump the water out as it comes in.” These guys were prepared. They’d been watching the news.

I had to move fast and started running up the road, stopping from house to house, asking if they needed help. Once I was sure they were okay I knew I had to get to the homes beside the canal, beside the dam. The main street was filling rapidly with water. I kept running and splashing filthy water onto myself, hearing the Thai people calling out ‘farang glua’ meaning ‘the foreigner’s afraid.’ I wanted to shout ‘I’m not afraid for me, I’m afraid for the people living near the dam!’

Farang glua!

As I approached the homes near the dam I was shocked to find everyone going about business as usual, drying chilies in the sun, rolling cigarettes, and my new friend, Prem, was fishing behind his house. Fishing! Then I saw one lady whom I was sure was aware of what was happening right that minute out on the main street. She was hammering boards together. She’s building a boat, I thought, not unlike the make-shift boats we’d seen in the already flooded streets. Finally, I thought, someone was getting ready for the flood. She smiled at me as she looked up from her work, ’I’m building a table. I have too much stuff on the ground over there.’

Not wanting to start a panic as I passed through, I calmly explained that the dam had broken, that the streets nearby were flooding, all the while still walking toward the dam, looking for some sort of rushing water coming toward us, silently wondering ‘Am I in danger? Could I swim with these boots on much less rescue anyone?’

Then, sweat dripping, heart beating, boots sloshing, I saw it with my own eyes. The people were right to be ‘munjai’. It wasn’t the cement dam beside their community that had broken, as I had feared.

No broken walls here

It was a sand barrier that is situated a little further down the  road, a little farther down the canal from where they live.

Sand.

I should have known.

That same sand barrier was repaired that day, only to break again every day after. The water still rises, and then subsides. The lady on the corner still sells noodles while she is standing in eight inches of water. I still go out to the streets everyday, asking if everyone is okay, trying to encourage them to ‘suu suu’, hang in there. And then something beautiful and divine and supernatural happens. They encourage me, saying ‘Don’t be afraid. It’s actually kind of fun. Here, sit down with us and have a coffee while we see how deep the water rises today. By the way, where did you get those boots?’

Thai boys have fun even during the worst floods in 50 years

Guest Post: New Thoughts (And the Missionary Position? By Daniel Kim)

The New Position on Missionaries

Dear Reader,

it is my pleasure to introduce to you inspiring, young friend of mine. I met Daniel and Sadie about 6 years ago when they moved toBangkok. We became good friends over lots of shared food and shared conversations. The more I read of Daniel’s blog, the more I see how we also share many ideas. I just wish we’d had more time to work together. Who knows… maybe somewhere in the future we will be teammates again.

I think he did a great job bringing the word ‘missionary’ into the new millennium, and I was tempted to re-title his post as ‘The New Missionary Position.’ But I resisted. Sort of. In this post Daniel faces the concept of missions head-on

“I don’t like calling myself a missionary because somehow that implies that what I am doing and what I want to do is more important and more “sacred” than what you are doing or pursuing.”

I’ll let you read for yourself. Here’s what he had to say…

New Thoughts: Whether You Like it or Not, You’re a Missionary (by Daniel Kim)

I don’t like calling myself a missionary because that makes it weird for everyone else. 

I may live in a country that’s foreign to me (Mexico), receive monthly financial support from a generous group of friends and donors, and send out a monthly newsletter update– but that doesn’t make me a missionary.

In fact, I rather hate calling myself a missionary. Some people like it and love including that title in their introductions to strangers.  In my humble opinion, you might as well say “Hi, I am going to convert you.  Want to be my friend?” or imagine an undercover cop who finally reaches the mafia kingpin only to ruin everything by saying “Hi, I’m an undercover cop.  Kill me now.”

I don’t like calling myself a missionary because that makes it weird for everyone else. 

What about the person who wants to make movies but can’t because of a major lack of resources?  What about the girl who has a dream to become a dancer and train under one of the best instructors in Europe, but needs a little communal boost to get there?  What about the dude with a great, game-changing business idea that could really benefit from seed money?  What about you?  Could you use some help right now?

I don’t like calling myself a missionary because somehow that implies that what I am doing and what I want to do is more important and more “sacred” than what you are doing or pursuing.

Well, the truth is that whether you like it or not, you’re a missionary. 

It’s because you have a purpose in life and you have dreams.  You’re supposed to do all that you can to fulfill that very thing on your heart and contribute your version of beauty to this broken world.

You have a mission.

You’re a missionary.

Entonces . . . You should be supported in the ways that I am right now.  You should be validated and affirmed in ways that only a dedicated community of believers (in you) can.  The church missionary budget should allocate some funds to you.  You should have access to a list of supporters who have committed themselves to journey with you on your mission and ensure that you reach your God-given pursuit.

“But aren’t missionaries supposed to evangelize and win souls for Jesus?”

I think Jesus was a better friend than he was an “evangelist”.  That was His mission. “Winning souls” has very little to do with talk and more to do with being the best, most honest version of you intersecting with that person who simply wants to be whole.

“Missionaries are also the ones who are supposed to be compassionate and help people and villages in need. . . “

. . . and so is every one else.  Don’t be dumping the burden (and privilege) of simple care on someone who moves to a different country.

At the end of the day, the term “missionary” is just a label.  Maybe it helps some to carry that label to feel distinguished or focused.  For others, it helps them to give generously since their money is going towards “holy” work.  Still others out there enjoy the fact that they don’t carry such a title since it lets them off the hook.

Well, everything we do is holy and sacred.  Every one of us has a responsibility to our fellow man.  We all have dreams in and for the world.  We’re all “missionaries” because we all have something that we’re supposed to carry out with all our mind, heart, and soul.

Whether you like it or not, you’re a missionary. . . and you need to be supported like one. 

Our Summer on the Streets

Have you ever wished you could fold the corner on a day, a day so richly illustrated in what you recognize as future memories, knowing that you’ll want to turn back to it easily? Or have you left markings along the way like Hansel and Gretel so that you could get back to that place with no trouble at all? Summer took us far away… From Bangkok to London and Roserrow and St. Ives in the UK, then off to Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal, Moncton and other magnificent places in between. Here are a very few of the pages whose corners I’ve turned…

After visiting England for a wonderful Cornish holiday (photos to come in a future blog) we landed in Toronto. Prior to the holiday there was a year-long search for a house-swap, ‘our Bangkok for your downtown Toronto’, and we were ecstatic when friends saw our search and let us have their College and Yonge condo for a month while they were out of the country.

Then to Ottawa for Canada Day

Where we managed this quick and hazy photo of the beautiful face of the Duchess of Cambridge, more commonly known as Kate

Along with a photo of Will’s hand waving out the partially opened window.

We spent some time in the country with campfires, bullfrogs, fireflies and friends

And we had lots of fun doing things that you can do only in The Great Big City, like getting on TV when the City TV news crew arrives and sets up right in front of you. That’s my daughter wearing the yellow t-shirt and very visible red shorts. She made it on the news! She also took the liberty to run through the water in the fountains.

My daughter was born in Bangkok, so she lives and breathes and thrives on The Great Big City life and is always game for any urban interaction. She especially enjoyed this urban art at the St. Lawrence Market…

There was a very interesting man who stood on the north-west corner of Yonge and Dundas, everyday, in an attention-grabbing t-shirt. If you are from Toronto you know exactly who I am talking about. We called him ‘the beLIEVE guy’. This photo was taken from inside the Forever XXl shop. He stood there with his Bible and handed out pamphlets, and intermittently he would shout ‘ beLIEVE!’ , not necessarily to anyone in particular as much as directed at everyone. Once we saw a tiny white particle that looked like a tooth fly out of his mouth as the ‘be’ syllable exploded and landed on the sidewalk.

We loved visiting Walking On A Cloud where our son worked. This was our last visit just a day before we left for London.

When we left Toronto on Augsut 7th we enjoyed a 10 hour stopover in London.

Again, our daughter isn’t afraid to engage with the city

And here we are home again, on the balcony in our room, back under this familiar sky that kidnaps our shadows for days and weeks at a time. The Big Mango, Bangkok. Sigh…

Pat Answers #1 The Bah Ram Ewe Effect!

“Bah ram ewe, bah ram ewe, to your breed your fleece your clan be true! Sheep be true! Bah ram ewe.”

Coming to Thailand 20 years ago, I was sort of like Babe the Pig. I was a farang (westerner) in the far east. I really thought I had to become Thai in order to be effective. Problem was… just like Babe would never be a sheep, I could never become Thai. I didn’t even have the slightest clue about how exactly to ‘be Thai’. I thought that if I learned the language I could at least get started. I went to language school 4 hours a day for a year and a half. I learned all the consonants….

And I learned all the vowels…

And I learned how to put them together with the 5 tones so that I could read and write…

Oink.

I still didn’t know how to be Thai.

I ate the food (reluctantly at first, and always with a glass of iced water). I would attempt nonchalance as I ate some really weird foods, hoping to blend in with the locals. Sometimes I knew what I was eating. Sometimes I didn’t. Once a guy gave me a bowl of soup at church, and as I started to swish my spoon around I found little tiny heads… of pig foetuses. I didn’t eat that soup.

I could be a Canadian trying to be Thai, but I couldn’t be Thai.

Oink.

Then I swung the other direction and that’s where Babe and I differed. He persevered patiently, just being his own pig self among the sheep. Me on the other hand, I felt that if these people were going to keep laughing at my best efforts to be Thai, and if this culture was so impenetrable, then I would stubbornly dig my pig-headed Canadian heels in and all you Thai people, well, you could just fuggeddaboudit.

What did digging Canadian heels look like? Well… I started to make comparisons.

Canadian police

Royal Canadian Mounted Police, thank-you very much!

And Thai police…

Whenever I could I made a point to tell everybody how it was done in Canada… in Canada we sit on toilets, not squat. In Canada you don’t drive your motorbike on the sidewalk. You don’t drive down the wrong side of the street. In Canada we this and we that and blah blah blah.

But again, this was a futile exercise. We weren’t in Canada. We were in Thailand.

Oink.

Then, a shamefully long time later, and with a little help from my friends, I learned the Bah Ram Ewe effect; it’s a very good idea to be true to myself. It’s not photoshop or cutting certain parts of Thai culture  pasting them onto me.

Photoshopped & cut-and-pasted

It’s being myself within Thai culture.

Who was I? I was a (slightly angry -okay, very angry, and cinical) Canadian-born, tri-lingual, kartwheeler, who happened to live in Thailand.

Bah.

Living in any foreign city will contribute to the fabric of who you are. I’ve often described a cross-cultural experience like a French kiss; you can’t wipe it off, you can’t spit it out and you can’t pretend it never happened.

I guess I’ve tried to apply the Bah Ram Ewe to everything I do here too. I can share core values and principles of an organization, and I can follow certain people I respect, learn from mentors and leadership, however, if I mimic their methods then maybe it’s just cut-and-pasting. As I write it all out it sounds so simple and I feel embarrassed that it took me so long to learn this. But this is what I learned. What I do needs to come from who I am, not trying to do it like someone else. Just like my trying to be Thai, I found that trying methods of other successful leaders takes so much energy; you have to think about it all the time, like, is this what a sheep would do? is this what a sheep would say? and you have to keep going back to the book. It doesn’t come from within.

For the couple of years I got to hang out with Dave and Rebecca Gibbons in NewSong Bangkok I learned a lot. I watched the movies they had watched. I read the books they had read. I didn’t want to miss a single gathering.

Hanging out with Dave and Beka Gibbons

When they left I knew I couldn’t do things like Dave did. But I did work at allowing the core values of NewSong to be expressed from my own Bah Ram Ewe, from my own DNA.

Bah!

My Bah Ram Ewe is maternal, it’s urban, it comes from the French kiss of cross-cultural experiences in Bangkok, Paris, London, Toronto and Montreal. And the anger, well it’s still a part of it too only now I am consciously trying to direct it at injustice (and sometimes, in weak moments, my patient husband).

I’m still learning, humbly, and I don’t have all the answers down pat… tee hee… and that’s the part where I wrap this up with a clever conclusion that brings us back around to the top.

Bah Ram Ewe! To your DNA be true!

Pat Answers… Good Ideas and Bad Ideas and Things I’ve Learned Along the Way

“Can I help you?” the unsolicited question came from a security guard.

There were twelve of us DeWits, standing in a loose cluster, different shapes and sizes. We must have looked lost, or maybe speech  thought bubbles appeared over our heads, full of question marks in creative fonts, our personalized metaphysical constructs articulating our common connundrum.

We were staring up at the many signs in the underground path below Union Station,Toronto. Being a self-pronounced city girl and all, I, of course, wanted to be the one who knew exactly where to go but… at the same time I didn’t want to rush in the wrong direction, pridefully causing us all to stray far from our destination.

“We’re looking for the exit that takes us to Front Street on the south side.” I answered.

The guard gave the answer of a smart-Alec needing a bit of attention. He asked, “Do you want the hard way or the easy way?”

Sheesh.

Every city has its struggling tourist pouring over a creased map, too afraid to ask directions. I’ve been around for a while and I like to think that I’m here for a purpose; to intentionally find those who, like tourists in a city, are searching for a destiny, and to somehow help to point them in the right direction. The challenge is this: how do we know if we are sending them off in ‘the hard way’ or ‘the easy way’? How do we fight the desire to be that person who wants to look like they know the way even when they don’t, that person who seems to know all the answers?

I’m going to be posting a few blogs about What I’ve Learned when it comes to pointing people towards Destiny. Feel free to join the conversation at any time.

Love Thy Stranger

Alycia

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Having lived in Bangkok all their lives, my girls are very much aware of the real world. They see it up-close every time we go out. The prostitutes. The red-light districts. The hustlers. The bag-snatchers. The bribery and corruption. There are no illusions for them. They get the good, the bad and the ugly. Some people worry that our girls see too much. Can they really process it well? Or are they being over-exposed at a young age? Won’t it scar them?

Well, read this and you tell me…

Not that long ago, Peter and I had to attend an event that was not interesting at all to Amanda or Alycia. Amanda stayed home, but Alycia wanted to come along because we would be going to Newsong after the event and she didn’t want to miss it. We dropped her off at the Emporium mall with plans to meet up in 2 hours or so. She had a cell phone and some money to get a meal and do something fun. She wasn’t as excited to be going on her own to the mall as I would have been at her age. I, on the other hand, was feeling a bit nervous about it.

After the event, we met where we had planned. She gave me the change that was left over. With a few quick calculations I realized that there was not as much change as I had expected. I needed to find out, trying not to sound like I doubted her yet trying to see where the rest of the money went. I don’t know why I was so worried about it, it wasn’t a huge amount.

“Hey you got here right on time! Did any strangers bother you?” I asked.

With a very patient sigh she answered, “No mom. No one bothered me.”

“What did you eat?” She loves Burger King, so I thought she’d have gone there.

“I didn’t go to Burger King,” she answered, reading my mind like she often does. ” Instead I got corn in a cup. I’ve always wanted to try that. And then I got a cream puff at Beard Papa’s.”

I am mentally adding it all up.

“Nice. I love that corn. Is that all you ate? Were you still hungry?”

“Ya, that was all. It was fine.”

“What did you do for all that time?”

“I went to play a couple of games, in that arcade over by the golf store,” she answered as the irony was not wasted on me; the irony of her being old enough to go to the mall alone yet young enough to still enjoy the kid’s arcade.

“Did you run into anyone you know?”

“No.”

“So…” and I dropped the bomb, ” Is that all the money you spent? There’s not much change here.”

“No.”

Aha! I knew it. I looked at her, grinning, waiting for the rest of it.

“I stopped at the 7-11 across the street.”

We usually get a purple Fruitare Popsicle when we stop in there.

“Did you get a purple Popsicle?”

“No. I got 2 bottles of milk.”

“Well that’s a healthy thing to have,” I reasoned, and who could fault a child for wanting to buy milk, of all things?

“Did you finish it all?”

“I didn’t drink it.”

“You’re saving it?” I was getting curious about this milk purchase.

“No. It wasn’t for me. I bought it for the man with no arms on the sidewalk.”

I think my face softened visibly, maybe something like the Grinch when his heart grew and his smile changed and his eyes became warm. I think my face did that exact same thing at that moment.

I tried to picture it. Alycia will almost always want to buy something for the street beggars, and she takes time to kneel down, to talk to them, and leave some food or drink beside them. But the man with no arms? That had me baffled. I was having a hard time picturing it.

“So how could he drink the milk with no arms.”

“I put a straw in it.” she told me, as if that answered everything.

I was quiet for a while. Then I had to ask. “But I don’t understand. Did he lean over and drink from the milk bottle on the ground?”

” I sat beside him. I held it for him while he drank from the straw. Till he had enough. Then I put it down and I left.”

I had no more questions. But she had one.

“Why?”

Why indeed! I guess I’m the one who still needs help processing the real life on the streets of Bangkok. And what better person to help me do that than Alycia, as she shows me over and over what it means to love thy neighbour as well as thy stranger.

We Closed Our Church for Christmas

NewSong Bangkok

We don’t hold services at our church on Christmas. People were not all comfortable with that. What kind of church doesn’t have services for Christmas, especially when the holiday falls perfectly on a weekend? Visitors wrote and asked us when we would have services. We said, ” We close the doors over the holidays.”

My Father Sent A ‘Friend Request’ for Christmas

We don’t hear that “Oh snap! My mom/dad’s on facebook!” complaint so much these days. To tell the truth, I was surprised (and, if I can be honest – which I can because it is my blog – slightly insulted) that such an amazing generation of young people, known for their open-minded tolerance and world-wide-webbishness, so readily embraced the old stodgy tradition of discrimination. Discrimination… it’s so last millennium. 

A Bangkok Walk

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At Newsong Bangkok we have some pretty amazing friends. Two of them, Lexie Keller and Michelle Kao, of Servant Partners, took us for a walk in their neighborhood. Here are a few things that caught my eye. You’ll see Peter, Amanda and Alycia, as well as a few of Lexie and Michelle’s neighbors.