WARNING: This blog post contains (almost exclusively) information related to bowel movements and fecal matter, as well as no pictures. Read at your own risk.
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I just finished my second homestay and the first rural one of my study abroad experience. And what I went through the past week wasn’t culture shock so much as culture “wait what is going on???”. I stayed with another girl from my program in a house a mile or two outside a small village in Northeast Thailand. For a week we lived with our host Mom (Mea) and Dad (Pa) (both organic farmers), dozens of chickens, a cow, her calf, and a dog named Fie. And what a week it has been. I’ll bullet point some things I’ve done then dive into one ongoing interaction.
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In the past week, I have:
- Pooped twice in 7 days
- seen my first tarantula (in the bathroom)
- used a bucket shower for the first time (you scoop water out of a bin onto yourself to shower)
- Eaten star fruit for the first time
- Weeded. In five days I developed two large callouses on my fingers from helping my parents weed their giant green onion plot.
- Studied types of farming (chemical, GMOs, organic) and their impact on community dynamics
- Continually confused the Thai language. Instances where I thought Mea was asking me to chop chicken for dinner when she actually wanted my teachers phone number were commonplace.
- Freely talked about my bowel movements with Mea.
I’ll focus on the last bullet point.
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On Tuesday, I, again, weeded the green onion acre. However, being in the crouched, hunched position did little for my ongoing intestinal problem (see the first bullet). Our teacher came to check in on us, and I asked if he had emergency laxative pills. He didn’t, but translated my request for Mea. She went from her usual sassy self to super concerned, picked me papayas from her garden and cooking bunches of fresh leafy vegetables. She brought me warm milk right before bed, every thirty minutes asking if I had pooped yet. My failure only made her more determined for me to succeed.
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The next morning, I dejectedly emerged from the outdoor squat toilet bathroom area. Mea she asked the usual question, with the usual universal hand motions for flushing something out of your system. Again, I sadly shook my head. She gave me a can of cold milk, then a glass of water. I was then told to run. And that’s how, at seven in the morning, I found myself in school clothes and Choco sandals, running alone down a beautiful, dusty road in rural Thailand.
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Now, I find most motivation to run through friends or music. I had neither of these things, as she shooed me out the door crying “run run run” before I could get music or change. Alas, the road was deserted except for a few wandering cows. And then I found a chicken. It started clucking away from me and, spying a potential running buddy, I chased it. Chickens run surprisingly fast, and I happily drew next to it and we ran down the dusty road for a few glorious seconds.
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When I returned half an hour later, Mea gave me a cup of warm milk and another papaya, then walk for twenty minutes. Lo and behold, success came half an hour later. Huzzah.
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This did not prevent Mea from asking me at least twice every day if I had pooped and how I was feeling. When I relapsed the next day, she gave me more milk and never let me eat white sticky rice, only red rice because it was apparently better for me. Her parting words were: “study hard. I love you. Drink lots of milk in Khon Kaen (my home university).”
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But the powers of papaya, milk, and running aren’t my takeaways from the experience, nor are lessons of stubbornness, hard work and good humor. No, it was more amazing what great lengths Mea went to to help me out in my hour(s) of need, and how much concern she had for my wellbeing and happiness.
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And once again I am blown away by the lack of need for a common language to connect. She’s sassy and blatantly laughs at my attempts to do even the most menial chores like sweeping (it’s done differently in Thailand, apparently). But she still loves and cares about me, wanting me to come back next year and visit. And with all my heart, I would love that opportunity.