A few pictures as I procrastinate from work, packing and insanity

A few pics from my big day in Mae La. I feel so unbelievably lucky to be here, doing this...

Mildly uninspired.

Hi all. I'm not dead, really. I have been insanely busy with work, though decorating my apartment (ok, fine - not decorating. Maybe I just bought cushions. And a giant gong. A gong can do a lot for a room) and discussing with friends the personal lives of all of the waiters and cooks we know in town (seriously - instant entertainment for hours, I tell you) has managed to occupy any free time. Don't get me started on the endless drama of families in refugee camps and figuring out who has lied about their child/parents/registration/marriage/death. Somedays I feel like the CIA. So many stories, and liars (though even they are kind of fun. We have even started a Liar's Club for them all) and sad cases.

And then there is Mae Sot's sorry excuse for a gym. I really hate it there. The horrid gym lady continues to gleefully smack my stomach/ass/thighs whenever I walk in right after she announces to the the entire gym what my current weight in kilos is. Bite me. Stupid gym. Stupid underfed Thai women.

My bike lock rusted shut after only two weeks of the rainy season... while it was ON my bike, so I had to walk/hitchhike to work for the entire 9 days it took me to find someone with chain cutters who could cut off the lock. I managed to forget about this about once a day and would tear down the stairs, late for work, and try to hop on my bike - only to fall over when the rusted lock wouldn't let the wheels turn. I would then have to run down the street to flag a motorcycle taxi... and go through the same routine the next day, much to the daily amusement of the fish soup lady across the street from my apartment.

Stay tuned for the next enthralling installment of Amy's Life on the Border (though, that really makes me want a burrito right now. Mmm... I wish I was on that border).

The price we pay

My afternoon with the disabled in Mae La. (since I have absolutely no confidence in my video-posting skills, here is the link):

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8383145620138000524&hl=en

So, it's nearly 7pm and I've been at work for a very, very long time. I should go home. I want to go home. But, instead, I am blogging. Not that I have anything super exciting to share tonight. I am in the middle of a nine DAY monitoring and observation from Bangkok child welfare/protection higher-ups of my program here in Mae Sot (Best Interest Determinations for separated children for those of you who only skim my highly-informative postings). I hate monitorings. Lucky for me, I work with a great team that makes me look good. Unfortunately, the US resettlement campaign continues to put cases on hold until our report is completed, and there are well over 200 cases in the queue. (Queue is, by the way, my new word of choice. Likely caused by spending far too much time with Brits. It's a quite useful word though, I might add). I am working frantically trying to assign cases, interview, guide recommendations, write up reports and edit the fairly botched English of about 20 cases a week. It's weird knowing that I help decide the fate of a child and an entire family. In some cases, everyone involved wants the child to go with an aunt or grandparent and resettle with the US - and I have to make the decision that it is better for the kid to stay with his parents in the mind-numbingly stagnant refugee camp... indefinitely. It's a really scary role to have. I am learning a lot though, about child welfare, child protection, advocacy...

Last week was difficult. A young girl that I have been seeing for nearly six months ran away from home last Thursday. Actually, not home even - she ran away from a safe house. Her story is rather tragic. Tossed around various family members in Mae La for her entire life, she was never really loved or accepted by anyone. At 14, she lost her virginity to a man in camp who hit her over the head with a flashlight before raping her, then her friend. He told the girls he would kill them if they didn't leave camp immediately. So, at 3am, less than an hour after being violently attacked, the girls fled the refugee camp. Their plans were to run to Burma, where they hoped to join the KNU resistance army. They made it about 20 kilometers down the road before meeting a woman who promised them a job, only to sell them to a brothel for one hundred dollars. When the girls refused to sleep with the men, their "owner" pointed out that they were no longer virgins anyway, so why were they so upset? A few months after being trafficked, the girls escaped, returned to camp... and were arrested on charges of prostitution. Other than the authorities, no one had even missed them in their absence. Jailed for six months in the camp prison, and called whores by their own family, the girls ran again - ironically (or, not so ironically if you think about it) back to the brothel where at least they felt safe. Two months later, my girl - who I'll call Grace - was purchased from the brothel by one of it's customers. He paid $50 and took Grace home with him. She was again arrested by the camp authorities for prostitution (absurdly instigated by the wife of her rapist), when they discovered that she was pregnant. Now, 16-year-old Grace has a three week old baby who she wants to give up for adoption on some days (the child has been "promised" to the old lady up the hill) and other days wants to keep. Children having children. Grace wants to resettle to the US as an unaccompanied minor. My heart cringes at the thought of her alone, in a strange country, after so many years of trauma. Her life is so volatile now though - it is almost hard to imagine how it could get any worse. She ran away last week, and I spent several sleepless night worried about her back in prostitution. She came back a few days ago, and I received word that she wants to talk to "that bossy white girl". We'll see what happens. Maybe she still wants to resettle. I had to break the news to the "old lady up the hill" that she cannot keep the baby, so now she is mad at me too.

My visit to the Karen Home for the Disabled was a highlight of last week. The men - all living with various disabilities from battles or landmines - want to resettle to a third country. They laughed with me and told stories and sang. They have a tightly-knit community in camp, and part of me feels like it would be disastrous to separate them. What is one poor Karen villager, with no arms, going to do in Des Moines by himself? I tried to give him as much information as I had about life in the US, services available for refugees and for people with disabilities... but there are so many unknowns. As I was explaining to their group about the potential for many disabled adults to lead successful, relatively-independent lives complete with jobs and education, they stared at me with a mixture of hope and disbelief. "And our families?" they demanded. "Will the government help take care of them?" I assured them that their are many programs and services to dependents of people with disabilities. "What about me?", one asked. "What kind of job will they give me?" I turned, to see a man with no arms or legs; mangled skin covering the sockets where his eyes should have been. "I don't know," I said quietly.

War. What have we done to each other...

Stud Boyfriend

So... having nothing to do with Thailand, but everything to do with your occasional blogger (because not only am I living a life of excitement and adventure on the Thai-Burma border, I am also a proud girlfriend), I am posting a link of my bf from a report done on his Iraqi training base by CNN. There I was at work, like any other Tuesday morning, with a cup of coffee, attempting to be a responsible citizen and catch up on relevant world news. You can thus imagine my surprise at discovering who else but Drew Fuller, hollering at a bunch of Iraqis, in the middle of the desert... on the front page of CNN. Here is the link to the article and video (because I still have yet to figure out how to post videos on here):

http://edition.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/meast/04/30/riminton.iraqtroops/index.html

The article itself is about the camp at which he has been training his Iraqi counterparts. To see the boy in action, click on the second video clip on the left-hand side, entitled "Behind the scenes training of Iraqis". His is the non-Arabic voice you hear, and then it pans to him on the right-hand side.

The LA Times interviews him in this article:
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-iraqarmy3may03,1,7359944.story?track=rss&ctrack=4&cset=true

I'm sure that my own moment of fame is coming any day now. I too, eagerly await the book deals, the mini-series, a Lifetime movie, perhaps...

Around Town

Novice monks on an early-morning outing to collect tithes
Riding in trucks with girls - me, Christabel, Felicia, CathrineI have given up on ever having good hair in this place

Cellulite: it happens fast

The Day After

A dear friend died yesterday.

A friend whose life reflected the beauty and grace of Christ; a friend whose life caused many to trust in a Savior. A friend who has loved me and supported me; a consistent presence in my life for as long as I can remember. I will always remember ati days and a hundred Sunday potluck dinners and long green vans and mrs. pj and camping trips and her amazing laugh. I have been challenged to live a life of authentic worship; authentic faith because of her example.

A friend who hoped in the Story of Redemption; a hope that radiated from her, and affected every facet of her life.

Beautiful DW, you have loved well, and have made me long to know God as you do. I will miss you...

Hot Summer Days in Camp

Who needs a swimming pool when you have a water pump??

Hanging clothes out to dry