Who’s coming to dinner?

Visiting a local Burmese family 

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Written by Yu-Jong Peng/Photoed by Yu-Jong Peng

The Burmese restaurants I mentioned in “The Taste of Myanmar” were the places where I first tasted Burmese style of food. However, the price of the meal there was far too high for the majority of local Burmese in Yangon to afford.

So, what kind of food is served in an ordinary Burmese home? By a lucky coincidence, we were invited to have dinner at the home of a friend named Soe, who lived in Dalah, a town on the opposite side of the Irrawaddy River from Yangon. Soe was once a cycle rickshaw driver and went to work in Singapore after studying English. Last year, he came back to Yangon because his wife was pregnant. He worked as a waiter in a western-style café now. Though working as hard as he could, Soe was stll a poor laborer in the colorful city of Yangon. He had a stilt house built by hand using bamboos. There was no water, electricity, or telephone in his home. Soe and his wife prepared a real Burmese meal for us (and, of course, we could only imagine that it was still more elaborate than what they would eat normally).

There was still no bridge or road at this moment to Dalah, which was located at the southern bank of the Irrawaddy River. One had to wait in line to buy the ferry ticket at the public ferry terminal at the southern tip of the Yangon city. Foreigners had to show their passports before purchasing the tickets; the ticket price was significantly more expensive than that for the locals in Yangon. After having finally squeezed into the waiting area, we discovered that the inside was just as chaotic and crowded as the street markets on the outside. All the commuters were crowded together.

The old and worn ferry had finally docked at the terminal. As soon as the gate opened, everyone and everything, including commuters, motorcycles, bicycles, and dogs, jam-packed the deck. The ferry was flooded with people and there was no sign of passenger number limit. My mind was rushed with thoughts on the capsized ferry on the news not too long ago. After the ferry departed with a whistle, I discovered another interesting thing about Yangon. The open cabin was like a night market: each vendor began setting up in its own spot. The porters selling curry rice and soup noodles took the corners and began to sell food; people around them sat down and started eating. On the other end of the cabin was a woman carrying a small frying pan selling freshly fried cake and snacks. A six-year-old kid had a plate on his head and was selling candy, while a sun-tanned young man was selling quail eggs from a metal dish. Of course, betel nut and newspaper peddlers that could be seen everywhere in Yangon were also here. I also saw a young monk begging for alms.

Life is always on the go.

Not surprisingly, it was just as chaotic after we arrived at the ferry terminal on the other side of the river. The drivers of three-wheeler taxis and cycle rickshaws shouted enthusiastically to recruit customers. It was very confusing because the pricing varied drastically for the same destination from different drivers! The cycle rickshaws in Myanmar is also something worth mentioning; they are different from those in other Southeast countries in that the driver sits on one side, and two seats with their backs against each other are on the other side.

Soe did not have a cell phone or a landline at home (the telephone to reach him with belonged to his mother-in-law, who lived in the neighboring village). I was worried for a moment that we could not find him in a sea of people. Luckily, we soon found him among the drivers, wearing a shy smile typical of many Burmese.

In the midst of a heavy rainstorm, the cycle rickshaw traveled from the main streets onto concrete roads and then turned onto a muddy road. Soe pointed to a stilt house made of bamboo on the other end of the muddy yard. We saw a 10-month-old cute boy and Soe’s wife stuck out their heads from the small window. Under the dimming sunlight against the dark eaves, the Thanaka skin protection powder (see the article “Stroll around the market in Myanmar-Part 1” for detail) on their faces was strikingly visible.

There was no electricity or water drainage ditch. Their water source was the big water jar that they set up in the muddy yard to collect rainfalls when it was the rainy season. During the dry season, the water source was the big water pond in the village. It had not rained for a whole month before we arrived. They had to rely on the water carts sent from Yangon city government to deliver water that was rationed to each village. Not only it was a hazard to hygiene, it was also very inconvenient. If a typhoon or a strong storm hit the area, more likely they would lose everything (Around a hundred thousand perished and several hundred thousands were displaced in the Irrawaddy Delta when typhoon Nargis hit the region in 2008).

As I looked at Soe and his family, suddenly, I was pulled back in time in my head and remembered a black and white photo in my house.

It was a picture that showed my grandfather (a-gong, “gong” in fourth tone, in Hailu Hakka dialect), who had climbed over mountains from Xinzhu Beipu to Hualian to reclaim land and till the land for Japanese during Japanese occupation. He stood tall in front of the house built with straws. Next to him stood my grandmother (a-po, pronounced “PO” in Hailu Hakka dialect), whose expression portrayed the hardship they had to face. Holding hands with my grandmother was my oldest uncle, who had his eyes opened wide and showed a bloated belly typical of malnutrition. This seems to be the path we all have to go through during development: one struggles to survive in poverty and grow up; if, and only if, god allows you to live.

I bent down to get inside the house and sat down on the straw mats. On the little round table were some typical family dishes: fried snap pea pancakes, fried eggs, stir fried beans and cabbage, vegetable and vermicelli soup, a small plate of salted meat, and the dry-season Indica white rice (the grains were different in dry season and in rainy season in lower Myanmar where Yangon was). This meal was completely different from the elaborate dishes I had in the restaurants in Yangon just across from the river. It was devoid of the exotic features that were meant to satisfy tourists. It was real and delightful. Our conversations were also very casual and ordinary. Though poor, Soe was very pious. In his house, there were two small shrines. Ordinary Burmese believe in Theravada Buddhism (in contrast to Mahayana Buddhism that is more familiar to people in China and Taiwan). However, folk religion and astrology are also very popular in Myanmar given that it is located in between India and China.

There were fresh flowers and clean water in front of both small shrines. One shrine was dedicated to a Buddhist figure. The other was to a god figure made with coconut and other decorations. This shine also had a red cloth above it. Soe explained that this was the god that protected the family in Burmese folk religion (similar to the Kitchen God or God of House in Taiwanese folk religion). But this god was scared of fire; so a red cloth would be pulled over to cover it when candles were burned at night.

Soe introduced his son, Thi Ho Tun, to us and explained that he was so named because he was born on a Friday. According to Burmese astrology (Mahabote), the day of the week on which one is born determines one’s name and character, as well as one’s protective god, star, and energy field. (But there are eight days in Burmese calendar. Number eight is the most prestigious one in Myanmar.) Monday is Tiger (East), Tuesday is Lion (Southeast), Wednesday morning is Elephant with tusks (South), Thursday is Mouse (West), Wednesday afternoon is Elephant without tusks (Northwest), Friday is Guinea Pig (North), Saturday is Dragon (Southwest), Sunday is Garuda with golden wings that exists in both Hinduism and Buddhism.

http://www.whats-your-sign.com/burmese-zodiac-animal-signs.html

http://www.whats-your-sign.com/burmese-zodiac-animal-signs.html

Soe also talked about how he learned English by himself with some help from his relatives. After working in Singapore and having saved some money, he returned to Yangon and became a cycle rickshaw drive before finding a job in the cafe where he now worked. After working hard for a few years, he finally had saved enough money to buy the small piece of land on which we were standing. He heard that the Yangon government had decided to build a bridge to connect Dalah to the southern end of the center of Yangon city. As a result, Seo said, the value of his land had risen dramatically. He could hardly withhold his excitement as he told this to us. It was just like how the landowners of Banqiao area felt excited when they heard the Taipei township had decided to build Huajiang Bridge to connect Wanhua and Banqiao in the past.

Looking through the holes on the straw mats I saw the mud and rain water beneath the bamboo house. I felt hopeful for Soe and his family thinking that perhaps the poor sitting on the gold mine would finally have a chance to turn things around. At the same time, I also couldn’t help but worry that this bridge in the future might simply bring over all the evils of construction companies, developers, land reformers, special manufacturing and business zones and such. It would be possible that when the officials put ink on the paper, these land and illegal constructions on top would simply be confisticated. Ordinary people like Soe would all just end up on the streets or taking refuge with relatives in the countryside. We’ve seen this kind of story happen to many times in both China and Taiwan.

Before we left, we decided to give him some money for the meal and to express our thanks. Soe refused profusely to take the money. It was not until I insisted that this money was for supplementing nutrition for his son that he finally took the bills (note: Myanmar used to have coins but they were no longer in use).

I stood on the muddy deck and turned back to look at Soe, who was standing at the bank of the Irrawaddy River. The surging waves on the river and the bouncing light and shadow in the darkness seemed to symbolize the unknown fate of Yangon that had been experiencing tremendous change while undergoing reform and opening.

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