Burma: A Monk and a Nurse

Burma is behind me now as I move forward in my travels, back to the dazzling future as I mosey about the sparkling modern streets of Kuala Lumpur. But the people and sights of that motley land will vividly reside within me forever.  Especially, the people. 

A crash course in current events, first, for those who aren’t savvy regarding the unjust climate that permeates the air in Burma, much like the damp mold that saturates the buildings of Yangon. Burma is run by a military government which holds an iron tight fist around the freedoms of its people. Any books deemed threatening are banned, news that doesn’t favor the govt’s ideals isn’t reported, citizens are hardly allowed to leave the country, internet usage is restricted and monitored, and hundreds of political prisoners sit in jails for the crime of speaking their minds. Government informants are everywhere, leading to a population that lives in constant fear and censorship. ‘Democratic elections’ are occasionally staged, but are merely a farce put on as an attempt to appease international pressures; they always end the same way, with the same people sitting upon seats of crushing power.

Yet, the people smile. And laugh. And love. And live. And hope…

On the outskirts of a modest village named Hsipaw, my partner and I dismount from our rented bicycles and stroll up the steps to an unassuming temple. It is the day of a new moon, and thus a minor celebration day, as the ancient traditions of their ancestors dictate. Several women dot the stone floor that circles around the bell shaped structure, eyes closed they sit in various positions of prayer and meditation. When their stillness is broken, we exchange warm smiles and eventually follow their footsteps down a winding staircase that leads to another temple enclosure below. Many had gathered in this simple room, and as we timidly entered, the sounds of devotion we could hear found the bodies that were producing them. A lean monk dwarfed by his billowing robes led a small crowd in hypnotic chanting. Once the spell was concluded, the awareness of our presence spread fast. Faces beamed at us, thrilled to have outside guests join their tight knit community. Little English was spoken in this room, but that didn’t stop anybody’s effort to connect. We ate with them. We drank tea with them. We played with their bashful children. We were honored to receive gifts from the monk… for each of us a string of prayer beads, and for each of us a copy of the Dhammapada, written in Burmese and English. We learned from this smiling congregation how to use our prayer beads, holding them in both hands and gently thumbing along each bead while chanting ‘Buddha, Dhamma, Sangha’. We sat with the Monk as he enthusiastically opened up page after page in the Dhammapada and animatedly tried to communicate his interpretations. It was hours before we managed to tear ourselves away from their enveloping warmth, and when we did, it was with a certain lightness in my step as if an unperceived weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Photo by David Simon

On another day, in a suburb of Mandalay that sees hoards of day trippers eager to catch a glimpse of a massive and unfinished pagoda, we managed to find some space away from the tourist stalls and souvenir hawkers. A brief mention in the Lonely Planet of an infirmary for the elderly, and the nurse who runs it, piqued our curiosity and so we ambled up to the crumbling, inconspicuous buildings. It wasn’t long before our unsure wanderings were met with the heartfelt welcome of a smiling middle aged woman. We introduced ourselves, and she began to tell us about her work. This was a home for elderly people who needed care, and who had no family or home for themselves. Twenty five years ago she had begun her work there, and to this day she still runs it completely on her own. No other nurses… no doctors… only her, and the 82 +/- patients that live there.  Seven days a week she relentlessly works, struggling to care for the plethora of crucial needs that she is responsible for, because if she doesn’t nobody else will. Sleep is rare. Funds are few, and none are from her country’s government. More shocking than all of that, is the expansiveness of the smile that radiates across her face as she relays all of this information. Really… radiates. I mean, in the best of circumstances, her line of work is extremely difficult and trying both physically and emotionally. Yet, there she stood, up against a veritable mountain of adversities, with her impenetrable positivity.

Startled into awe by her spirit, I managed to ask her, “How do you keep your smile?” To this, she emitted a resounding laugh from her rounded belly, and could barely get the words out between her chuckles and chortles. In essence, she replied that whenever the tribulations loom over her in daunting towers, when she feels she might cry from the ordeals and and hardships that she faces… instead she laughs. She thinks of each trouble and laughs. She laughs and laughs and laughs until her heart is light again. Then, she gets back to work.

In the midst of circumstances truly unfathomable to anyone growing up in a land of freedom, the people of Burma find strength not just to carry on, but to truly live with spirit and happiness. This indelible will calls to mind the people of another nearby country, who lived through a horrific genocide, and came out the other end still retaining softness in their smiles, and generosity in their hearts. The courage and resilience of these people is humbling beyond words. It certainly puts into perspective the comparatively minor difficulties that mange to distress me.