It was a walking visit to an isolated village along the Mekong River in Laos, from a boat that could not have provided any greater contrast. We—visitors from various places of privilege in the world —were welcomed by the Khmu people of Ban Bor, especially by the children. The climb from our boat's gangplank to the modestly elevated village location was eased by makeshift steps of sandbags and by the supportive arms of crew members. This adventure was largely just one of observing, but our Laotian guide, Bee, interviewed villagers and translated on our behalf to create engagement. He drew attention to things like orientation of buildings with respect to doors and windows and the appropriate numbers of stairs (five or seven) and chatted with a woman laboriously washing sticky rice for the local fermented beverage, LaoLao. The Khmu are communally agrarian with animist beliefs and practices.
As I drank in the serenity of this remote location and said sabaidee (hello) as often as possible, my eye could not help but notice a young person with a distinctive face. As a human geneticist, I am somewhat drawn to difference, and recognized her particular constellation of facial features. I was taking many photos, including of people, always asking first via gestures. I usually then shared the camera screen, and children, especially, seemed thrilled to see themselves portrayed. This time, I questioned myself whether it was a good idea to single out this young woman who had caught my eye. A compromise was available since she was closely flanked by a friend; both seemed pleased to pose for me and with the resulting images. My decision to ask, however, was induced by my recent professional interaction with an organization called Positive Exposure: a global movement to celebrate the beauty and richness of human diversity. They use exquisite photography (and largely education and other forms of advocacy) to support respect and inclusion of individuals with visible differences. I had worked with them to upgrade a medical genetics textbook by including some of their professional photos to illustrate various genetic traits in a respectful light. The experience was transformative. Now in Lao, I quickly answered myself that this young woman deserved to have her smiling face photographed and admired as much as anyone there, and so I asked. Her name was Foon (my phonetic spelling).
It's hard to know what is "in it" for these various villages when they open themselves to strangers from afar. Maybe we are as much a novelty to them as they are to us. For the children, that is probably the main thing. Without screens as entertainment, they seemed to just enjoy visitors and were very good at playing in traditional ways rarely seen today. Donations go in support of needs (such as school supplies) as sanctioned by the elders. In this village, where hand weaving is a prominent activity passed through generations of women, visitors provide a brief market for their wares. Turning a corner in the path, we came upon a long lineup of weavers and their families, each neatly displaying dozens of scarves woven from hand-dyed silk or cotton or combinations, in designs from simple to profoundly intricate. With genuine smiles, they each encouraged us to admire—and of course buy— their own beautiful craft. How on earth to choose one over another? In wanting to support their initiative, it felt terribly arbitrary. Then, I again saw Foon, who had run ahead to be ready at her family's place, presenting a very detailed scarf with her eyes imploring mine. She had graced me with a photo and I would support her with a purchase. We undertook the transaction with Bee's translation assistance and posed together for another photo. I soon chose one other scarf from a woman at her own loom who had some English words and a cheerful demeanor. Foon stayed by my side as we continued our walk through the village and back to the riverbank, returning to our boat. As we approached the makeshift sandbag steps, a crew member was at the ready to assist, but Foon took my hand instead. We made it safely down, and I crossed the gangplank back onto the boat. I turned to see her among dozens of other children who had followed our small group returning from the morning's adventure. Suddenly, I had the thought that perhaps I could give the scarf back to Foon, and she might be able to sell it again. My transaction had mostly been one of support, and I really don't need more "stuff", so why not gift it back to her? Bee quickly understood my idea and called Foon to join us on deck. As I looped the silk scarf around her neck, he explained that it was a gift back to her. She seemed slightly confused, but I truly hope my intent will be understood. She went back to the beach and kept waving and waving as we pulled away from their shore.
Theirs is a world so different from that of our visiting group. We can hardly imagine life without infrastructure that we take for granted, and to be far removed from needs like health services. Influences on their human survival are not so tempered by the privilege of our modern interventions; rather, are more akin to those on our long-ago ancestors. That said, we were struck that most people we saw during these visits, especially the children, seemed well adapted to their village life, with apparent joy and well-being. I wonder whether Foon has experienced medical or societal issues—genetic discrimination—to cause her any special challenges. I can only hope that what I saw that day, with her seeming to be a bright and fully integrated member of her community, was a reflection of her true experience. I value our wordless encounter. I hope that it was right to gift the scarf back.
December 21, 2024
Janet Buchanan
with Pandaw Laos