"Command performance" by Roger Fong

Sing For Your Supper

Khon Kaen, Thailand, 1967. Gale was flying to Hong Kong for some R&R and offered to bring me back something I wouldn't be able to find in Thailand. I knew exactly what I wanted. A copy of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. What I got was a pirated version on reel-to-reel tape. I wasted no time putting it on my one-hour-a-week English language radio program. I'm sure I was the first person to broadcast Sgt. Pepper on Thai airwaves.

Sudang and I listened to Sgt. Pepper several times a day and soon had the whole album memorized. But the songs from Sgt. Pepper didn't lend themselves to live performances, not like Scott McKenzie's flower-power anthem, San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Some Flowers In Your Hair). The Thais really liked this song, maybe because the melody is vaguely oriental-sounding.

Thais love open mikes. An open mike with a group of farangs standing behind it is a match made in Thai heaven. Farangs are forever being coerced into performing at parties. We sang for every occasion: the King's birthday, the Queen's birthday, Buddha's birthday, Songkran, Constitution Day.

Roger and the Khon Kaen University Dance Band on Thai TV

For our own amusement, and to be sung only in the privacy of our home, Sudang and I made up new lyrics for McKenzie's song:

If you go to Ban Nong Gung
Be sure to wear a mask around your face.
If you go to Ban Nong Gung
You'll find a lot of germs around that place. [1]

Sudang was one of two high school students living with me. Ban Nong Gung was Sudang's home village. Khon Kaen province had only one high school. Village kids going to the high school stayed with relatives or teachers during the week and went back to their villages on weekends. Peace Corps teacher Richard Tiberii would always have 12-20 students living with him at any particular time. Richard and his entourage was a common sight on the streets and at the night market. He was the Pied Piper of Khon Kaen.

When the malaria volunteer returned to the states, I took over his large 4 bedroom house. The rent was an extravagant 500 baht a month. There was plenty of space to accommodate a couple of students so Richard offered me Sudang and Nared. Nared was a sweet kid - smart, studious and a little shy. I never got to see how Nared turned out. He was killed in a motorcycle accident shortly after I left Thailand.

Sudang, Roger, Nared on a camping trip in Loei

Sudang was outgoing, spoke perfect idiomatic American English, and was like a sponge for American culture. After completing high school in Khon Kaen, he came to the U.S. as an American Field Service exchange student and spent a year as a senior in an American high school. He then earned an undergraduate degree in agriculture at Khon Kaen University and followed that with a masters in agriculture at the University of Kentucky.

Shortly after completing his masters, he landed a job with the UN High Commissioner for Refugees and has been running refugee camps throughout the world ever since. He's had stints in the Sudan, Sierra Leone, Kazakhstan and Afghanistan.

A Big Fish Story

In 1983, Erik and I caught up with Sudang when he was actually stationed in Thailand running camps for Camdodian and Laotian refugees. We spent a week following him on his rounds. One day he took us to a village called Ban Khi Lek, near Khemarat in Ubon. Sudang had phoned ahead to let the villagers know that he and two friends would be passing through. When we arrived, our hosts were roasting a large fish and insisted that we join them for lunch.

We were led blindfolded through the village to a flat but slightly elevated area on the banks of the Mekong River. From this vantage point we could easily see a large section of the river and Laos on the other side. There were fishermen (perhaps soldiers in disguise) in the river. The scene was simultaneously idyllic and tense. Some large grass mats were laid out for us to sit on. Besides the three of us, there were a couple of local Thai officials, two village elders, and the Man-in-Black. He was in his late 40s, medium height, stocky, and dressed all in black: black trousers with black long-sleeve tunic hanging over on the outside - military cut. He had a pair of Bushnell binoculars which he and his assistants made frequent use of, but after each usage they meticulously replaced the lens caps and stowed the instrument back into its leather case. We were told that the Man-in-Black was the leader of the Laotian resistance in this area. Several cadres with AK-47s stood guarding the area throughout our stay.

After removing our shoes we sat on the mat, cross-legged and in a circle. Erik, Sudang and I sat facing the river with the village elders on our right and the Man-in-Black on our left. Directly in front of us, with their backs to the river, were an ever-changing group composed of Thai officials and others who were not identified to us. Plates of shelled tamarind and roasted fish jerky were brought out by assistants. Hong Thong Thai Whiskey was poured into glasses and coconut water was used as the mixer.

It was 12:30 pm when we sat down by the river. They started cooking the fish in a charcoal pit more than 3 hours before our arrival but it was not yet ready. So we drank our whiskey and ate tamarind and jerky. The conversation was mostly in Lao with some occasional Thai thrown in. The two village elders on our right and Sudang did most of the talking. The Man-in-Black said hardly a word and gave only the briefest responses when asked a direct question. Most of the time he was lost in his own thoughts but his presence was always felt. The talk amongst the others in the group ranged from the present political situation and border activities to the price of commodities and the economic conditions of the area. The villagers requested surplus UN powdered milk to supplement the diet of the village children. Sudang said that he meets with these people several times a month to maintain contact and to keep on top of recent border activities. This was the most elaborate reception they had ever given him and he was a little embarassed by it all. Besides, he knows full well that nothing comes without strings attached and he's a little nervous about being placed in the position of owing these people favors. He doesn't want his formerly informal meetings to escalate into elaborate affairs that imply reciprocity.

We were well into the bottle of whiskey when the fish finally made its appearance. It was a choice 5 kilo specimen brought from the cooking area still wrapped in banana leaves. The fish was transferred whole onto a bamboo platter and placed in the middle of the circle. Soon other dishes appeared: som dam, a selection of raw vegetables, sticky rice. We were told that we would not adjourn until the entire fish had been eaten up. The food was all delicious but we soon realized that we would never come close finishing it.

As we slowed down the pace of our eating, the fish, to my great relief, was suddenly taken away. I presumed that the people working behind the scenes would now have a go at the leftovers, which were substantial. But I was wrong. They were merely taking it away to cook a little longer because it was not done all the way through.

In place of the fish, our hosts produced another bottle of whiskey. We were now informed that adjournment was predicated on the group consuming the entire contents of this second bottle. We all groaned, especially Sudang who rarely indulges in alcoholic beverages. Nevertheless Sudang immediately went right to work refilling everyone's glasses making sure that the others in the group drank their fair share. Erik accepted the challenge enthusiastically rationalizing that someone would have to make a sacrifice so that this assembly would come to an end and we could be on our way. He made some grandstand plays like gulping down several glasses in quick succession. Our hosts found this all very entertaining and thereafter he was their good buddy. At long last the bottle was empty and the fish had not made a reappearance.

So we got up to leave and we were not prevented from doing so. It was 4 pm. This time we walked through the village without blindfolds. I guess the shared whiskey established our credentials. Photographs were taken to commemorate the event. They even had their own photographer. The entire group walked with us to the pick-up truck. There were more photos and sawatdee khraps and then they sent us on our way with a large bag of tamarind.

Border Incident

15 years earlier, Gale and I had a different kind of adventure at the Mekong River. We were stationed in Khon Kaen province. Vientiane, the administrative capital of Laos, is on the banks of the Mekong and is about 150 kilometers to the north of Khon Kaen. Americans who visit Laos are required to have visas which can only be gotten at the Laotian consulate in Bangkok, which is 450 kilometers to the south. It didn't make a lot of sense to us that in order to go 150 km north we would have to go 450 km in the opposite direction (900 km round trip) just to obtain a visa. So we decided we'd just show up at the border and talk our way into Laos.

Wrong. The Laotians wouldn't let us in. There was a restaurant at the border so we decided to have lunch and figure out what to do next. After a plate a khaw phat and a coke, I got up to look for the hong nam. That's when I discovered that the restaurant had two exits: one on the Thai side of the border, and one on the Laotian side. I waved Gale over and we peeked out the Laotian door. Pretty sleepy. A line of taxis. No Laotian border guards in sight. We got into the front taxi. The driver asked us if everything was riep roi.

"Riep roi liew!" we responded. And we were on our way. Halfway down the road to Vientiane there was a checkpoint.

Oops.

They asked to see our passports. We didn't have visas. We were thrown into the slammer.

I don't know about Gale, but I've never been in jail before, so this was pretty scary. Somehow we decided that it would be to our advantage to pretend not to speak any Thai. Well, that wasn't very hard to do. While they scrambled to find an English speaking official, Gale was plotting strategy.

After about half an hour, the English speaker arrived at our cell. We told him we weren't bad people, we were just tourists and we only wanted to go to Vientiane to eat a good meal and buy some souvenirs. Then like magic, tears welled up in Gale's eyes. Now, I gotta ask you. What man can resist a crying women? Certainly not this Laotian official. Stamp! Stamp! We had 24 hour visas and we were sent on our way. For Gale, it was an Oscar-worthy performance.

In those B.S. (before Starbucks) days, if you wanted a good cup of java and a pastry in Southeast Asia, you had to find yourself a former French colony. Not only did we tank up on cafe au lait and croissants, we found a restaurant that served Veal Cordon Bleu.

But the biggest find was at the open air market. There was a lady there with a large display of teas. One of the teas had a suspiciously acrid odor.

"What's that?" we inquire.

"Kancha." she responded.

"What's it used for?"

"It makes you happy." Sanuk was the word she used. Sanuk mak.

Well, that was good enough for us. We bought a kilo for 3 baht or 15 cents. We even took it back across the border to Thailand. What did the Thais care. It's just a weed. It would be another 10 years before Midnight Express hit American movie screens.

We were so much older then, we're younger than that now. [2]

The Kancha Lady of Vientiane

Notes:

1. Back in 1968, we gave Sudang's village, Ban Nong Gung, a hard time. But don't cry any crocodile tears for the place. There is now a six lane highway running along side the village and Sudang is building his retirement home there. We have a date for January of 2008 to spend some quality time in the village. Sudang assures me that it's going to be sabai sabai.

2. Final sentence is a quote from Bob Dylan's My Back Pages.