Yangon: The Capitol (Myanmar: Part 2)

Yangon is like most big cities: congested, bustling, hot, and uncomfortable. I felt somewhat unfortunate that I was unable to venture to Bagan, Mandalay, or the Kachin state due to time and budget constraints. But like I've stated before, the best opportunities arise when we are not seeking them. And so it was with Ko Maung Maung:


After checking into a guest house and visiting the Na-Gar glass factory, I took a taxi to the Sule Paya (a 2,ooo year old golden temple in the middle of a traffic circle). Weary from travelling, the 100 degree heat index, and dishonest taxi drivers, I wished to sit in solitude and silence for an hour or two. However, as I walked around the temple, an old man started to follow and talk to me. He was a lively man--full of questions and comments. He not only doused me with personal questions as if he desperately wanted to know my history, he talked about himself, the temple, Buddhism, and his distaste for dishonest mongers and the morally depraved. I became slightly irritated as he continued to talk and follow me around the temple. My mind was flooded with questions: what does he want? why does he want to talk to me? does he want to sell me something? doesn't he see that I am tired and aggravated? why is he spending his afternoon interrogating me?

Finally, I complied all of mind's complaints into one question: Why do you follow foreigners around?

As I now reflect on this, I think to myself: Oh, Leslie-Ann. Has China really instilled such antagonism in you toward inquisitive strangers?

He followed and befriended me for the most obvious reasons. He is a simple man who enjoys life's most simple pleasures. In a nation that deprives this man a decent salary, freedom of speech, interaction with his family, basic necessities, books, knowledge, and a looking glass to the rest of the world, I was one person who could offer something new. My words, cultural exchanges, and different point of view were the closet things to the outside world he could ever hope for.

My two days in Yangon were spent with Ko Maung Maung--a sixty four year old wood carver from Mandalay. We ate breakfast and lunch together. We walked around the city. We drank tea and smoked cheroots with his friends. We talked about the social problems in his country; we talked about the social problems in mine. We visited many Buddhist temples. He introduced me to his palm-reading friend. He taught me how to apply sweet-smelling thanakha paste to my sun-kissed cheeks. He made me laugh. He made me think. He taught me that poverty does not strip you of decency, governments cannot silence those who speak the truth, and the greatest knowledge is attained by those who seek and understand life's experiences.

Drinking Chinese tea with Ko Maung Maung's friends.

East and West meet.

I could reflect on the Na-Gar glass factory, Shwedagon Paya, Chauktatgyi Paya, Ngahtatgyi Paya, and the street life, but these are not the things I will remember years from now.

I will remember Ko Maung Maung and the moment he asked me:

Do you have any English books I could have? I love to read English books, but I cannot afford them.