Scholarship Entry

“We are warring”.

And so came the greeting, a welcome strikingly at odds with the tiny beaming orange-clad man before me. Proceeded only by a stunted “Hello. Bad news” the introduction wasn’t quite the opening to Baan Dada Children’s Home that I was expecting. But then again, any expectations upon your arrival at Baan Dada are sure to be quietly but swiftly admonished of.

Situated beside the Thai/Burmese border, and twenty minutes outside of the nearest town, Sangkhlaburi, Baan Dada lays nestled among some of the last remaining untouched Thai jungle. Wrestling what little cleared land they can from the wrath of thickly coiled vines and astonishingly thick greenery, Baan Dada stakes its claim upon the land as home to sixty Burmese children, two Dadas (brothers), four mothers and an unpredictable number of volunteers at any one time.

Having arrived amidst the highly publicized unrest in Burma following the election, Dada trailed my welcome with a random assortment of colourful facts strewn out amongst the thickening afternoon air as though they were a quite natural collection of artifacts. “10,000 people have crossed the border just up the road, they have no water and no food…the kids will walk home from school today…we may run out of food soon…” and then…“you have very long legs”! With his rapid speech interspersed only by his wonderfully infectious giggle, I stood somewhat dumbfounded beside the tin truck, in the middle of a dirt road to nowhere. What exactly was I doing?

Arriving thirty minutes later as dusk was beginning to lay claim beneath the trees, Baan Dada arose from amongst the prehistoric surrounds, the unmistakable sounds of the children’s dinnertime littering the air. Beneath a canopy of treetops, I was lead along the recently swept dirt path and greeted with a glorious cacophony of life. Fifty or so children sat at wooden tables under the open-sided dining room. Hundreds of tiny fingers squashed rice into a scarlet sauce, sending the steaming aroma of coriander and chilli amongst the mist. Removing my shoes I sat down with a mishmash collection of volunteers and was immediately swathed by a million questions, half a dozen mosquitoes and two shaved-headed little girls.

Over a vibrant vegan feast I was reassured the “war” Dada had referred to was no risk to Baan Dada. While a devastating reality for many Burmese, Baan Dada and the children were safe. I was quietly reassured, but after a day of delivering aid to the displaced and coming back to the incredible spirit of the children a new understanding emerged.

At dinner in Baan Dada the reality of the “outside” is seated one table over. Amidst the generous love and happiness the children bestow upon the volunteers is a collection of heart-breaking devastation. Death, abandonment, poverty and the situation in Burma have led these children, to be a sitting example of this long term, deeply rooted ethnic conflict.

Shoeless, forkless and mosquito ridden, we raised our filtered water, bowed our heads and gave thanks.