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Typical Lao Feast
in a village. The red jello is congealed raw blood accented by peanuts. I actually prefer not to eat that, though its not as bad as the raw soupy blood. In Laos, everyone lies. It’s considered polite. It’s an integral part of the national policy of “saving face”, meaning, speaking so that you don’t make anybody look bad, wrong or stupid. As a foreigner, it can be really frustrating being lied to all the time. Instead of feeling appreciative that others care about “saving you face”, one at first tends to feel disrespected and tricked. Eventually, you learn that lying is just Lao-style, and you can't take it personally. If you need to know some information for sure, you just have to ask a few people. Repeatedly. It turns out most information you get from friends doesn't need to be true anyway. If it's a story, so what? Maybe it's a better story than the truth.
I believe this notion of lying to save face is integral in Vietnam and China as well. In America, people do lie. But we also have a great appreciation for the truth and for speaking bluntly that I don't think they have in these three countries.
People lie about everything, big and small. You might ask a friend if they've gotten a job yet. They'll say yes. A week later, they'll say no,
Me with a Very Large Flower Stupa
Created for a special baci ceremony no job yet. You might ask a friend if they can come to the club with you. They'll say no, they have to work. Later, they'll call to ask you if you want to go to the club. What work? No, I don't have work, they'll say. This is my brother, someone will say. The following week you'll meet the brother again, and they'll say, no that's not my brother, that's my uncle. People lie so much they forget what they lied about.
For example, when looking for houses to rent, one should not directly tell the people showing the house that they aren’t interested, if they aren‘t interested. In America, the potential renter would just say, “Thank you. This isn’t what I’m looking for.” But in Laos, saying this could make the sellers lose face and feel bad. So one should just act interested, leave on pleasant terms and then never call.
Students are taught never to question their instructors. This is tricky for many teenagers studying English in Lao schools and interacting with many foreigners, perhaps at their night job. The teenager might be doing their homework at work or chatting with foreigners and discover that
something there teacher has taught them is incorrect. But they can’t go back to school the next day and tell the teacher they know the information was wrong.
A friend was working on a project planting trees, working with the local university. The trees had to be planted 2.2 meters apart, but the university instructor planted the second at 2.2 meters, the next at 4.2 meters, the next at 6.2, and so on. My friend knew that he couldn’t correct the instructor in front of his students. But a co-worker of the instructor told the man that he was doing it incorrectly. The instructor refused to see his error, insisting he was doing it correctly, and that she was wrong and didn’t know how to do it. He also trashed the co-worker and the foreigners to his students, telling them that these people had no idea what they were doing. His error was simple but he refused to consider it. Generally, co-workers are reluctant to correct their co-workers errors. As you can imagine, this mentality leads to a lot of sloppy and shoddy work.
The Lao are very protective of their skin, shielding it from the sun with
sweaters, long pants and umbrellas. Dark skin is believed to be ugly and indicative of a low status. This belief perhaps derived from the dark skin of those having to do manual labor, like construction or field work. Someone that can sit inside in leisure has white skin, indicative of status and wealth. People go to great lengths to shield their skin. Those riding on motorbikes or bicycles hold their umbrellas in one hand, their handlebars in the other. People wear socks with their sandals, wide, floppy-brimmed hats and cotton gloves. The odd thing to me is that there seems to be no understanding that wearing such protective clothing could lead the wearer to feel hotter. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a Lao person tell me they are too hot while clothed in a sweatshirt, long-sleeve shirt, hat, gloves, jeans and socks on a 110 degree day. I look to my own clothing, a t-shirt and knee-length shorts, and then look back to them. There is no understanding that one could wear light yet protective clothing, which is readily available here. On 110 degree days, I see men and women wearing thick sweatshirts with soft, furry
hoods, up over their heads. Granted, Lao people do not seem to sweat as much as most foreigners, but they do still feel as hot, as evidenced by their constant professions about the heat.
Many Lao people move from their villages to the city of Luang Prabang to work or go to school. Most of these people find accommodation in very basic cement rows of rooms. These rooms rent for 1 or 2 million kip per year, about $115 or $215, a reasonable but not cheap price to most of the migrants. You couldn’t imagine a more basic room.
My idea of a shitty apartment in the US doesn’t even compare to these places. Generally someone owning a bit of extra land has constructed a few cement blocks in their backyard and partitioned these blocks in to 6 or 8 rooms. Each cement room is about 12 ft by 12 ft. The rooms have a door and a window or two. The floor is also cement. There is no kitchen, bathroom, or any built in amenities. The shared squat toilet is at the end of the block. A shared water tap is just behind the block, and people
use this tap to shower, to take water for cooking and as a place to wash clothes. People generally use a plug-in wok or a plug in burner to cook in their rooms. They cover one section of the rooms with sleeping mats and blankets, which they can fold up during the day to make more space. In another section, they might have a table to keep supplies upon. Another section of the room is like a mudroom, and must be kept as an open space so their motorbike or bicycle can be pulled inside at night. Maybe another area holds study books. It’s a tiny space to hold an entire life. It definitely encourages a great community life, with everybody living in the blocks constantly outside spending time together, talking, singing, cooking, playing together, eating, sharing what they have.
Yesterday I asked a kid I know living in one of these cement blocks how he gets to work. He told me he takes his Toyotas, pointing to his shoes, cheap plastic flip-flops. Always dependable he said, with a big smile. His work is about an hour walk from his house. He wasn’t at all upset that he had
no bicycle, no motorbike, no car. On the contrary, he seemed happy that he had shoes.
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Fred Appel
non-member comment
Small Things
I guess a man who has nothing is grateful for a pair of flip flops. We have so much here,way more than I could need.I've met people who lie compulsivly,it was always puzzling to me,lying without any apparent motive. Good to hear from you Britt. Uncle Freddy.