Sabaydii, For the next couple of days, I will present you a story of my Khene which I bought from Laos. In fact, I already finished writing it on a paper but I need to type it in order for you to read it. For a start, here is the first installment. ***** This Khene has come a long way It is there leaning against the wall next to my computer desk. Before, I placed it on the entertainment set, but it fell off a couple of times. My wife suggested that I should lay it down somewhere safely otherwise it will break off due to the constant falling. If it is so, my brave adventure with it will amount to nothing. She soundly reminded me. That’s right. Telling the truth, I had so much hard time bringing it to the U.S. that I swore I would never carry one from Laos any more. You might ask what I am talking about. Why is it so hard bringing it to the U.S.? Yes, it is the Khene - pronouned like “Khaen”. As I pride myself on being a true Lao, I have to have to own one. Now, imagine a long instrument about the length of a guitar, but very delicate in its structure that if something hard pressed on it, it might easily be broken off. Once it is broken, it can not be fixed like a guitar while maintaining the same sound quality. Also, this khene is too long to fit my luggage so the only way to bring it to the U.S. is to carry it with me. That is precisely the thing I did. The story goes… I bought this Khene at the formerly known as the Morning Market on the last day I stayed in Laos. The reason it took me too long to get one was because I wondered how I could carry all of my stuffs to the U.S. I had two big luggage (one for my clothes along with my books and another containing things from folks at home for folks in the U.S.). Also, on the way to the U.S., I had to stop in Thailand and Japan, not as a transit point but for a stay quite some time. I thought carrying a Khene with me would certainly look countryside not to mention awkward with mountains of luggage all around me. Also, I vividly remembered one event about Khene when I visited a village in Mahaxay district, Khammouane province. To my surprise, the whole village has only one Khene and it was not working well. Worse, there was hardly anyone who could play it. Just imagine Mahaxay district where Khene played such a prominent feature in the district cultural life and where the making of a good Khene was well known, now it becomes more and more a thing of the past. Hurting by that incident, I decided to go on with one at the very last moment. The journey began at Wattay (Vientiane) airport. Carrying a Khene was not a big deal in one’s own country though some might look at me as a country boy. Then the real journey started at DonMuang (Bangkok) airport. There, Thai people watched me with strange looking eyes: some in scorn and some in pride. For those scornful eyes, they seemed to say “here is another Buk Suoy” refering mainly to the Isan country boys. For the those admiring eyes, they mainly came from those who were labeled as Isan people. That day, an influx of Isan people coming home from work in Taiwain due to the recent Asian economic crisis. Though being of a different country, we speak the same language, and not surprisingly, when they saw my Khene, their eyes completely accepted me as one of their own. Besides the incident of the eyes, everything seemed to go smoothly. At least, they had a car to pick me up at the airport. When I checked in the hotel, with a Khene in my hand, every hotel staff present at that time knew at once that I was not Chinese, Japanese or Korean which some people mistakenly thought of me because of my skin and my one layered lid eyes but Lao and purely Lao. Carrying a U.S. passport and a wallet packed with dollars certainly made the Thai people treat me differently. Talking about this, I remembered one incident very well. One of my friends from Laos went to buy the airplane tickets. When she presented the airline people her Lao passport, their eyes and demeanor changed for the worse. By intention or not, her passport dropped from the counter. When one of the airline people were about to pick it up for my friend, the other one yelled at him: “Don’t do that. She is not our people.” While in Thailand, I left my Khene at the hotel. Still, the spirit of the Khene went with me when I visited Wat PhaKeo and saw PhaKeo who was shamelessly stolen from us like many of our people and territory. Interestingly, most of the taxi drivers in Bangkok were from Isan. At least all of a dozen trips I made around the city were from Isan. When they knew that I was Lao, they distinguished themselves clearly as Lao when talking about Thai people. From their statement, they strongly claimed that Thailand was built on their sweat and blood. Only if they had a leader, Thai people wouldn’t be a match to them. Too bad, these strongly built people were virtually a second class citizen even in their own country. On the upbeat side, almost everywhere, Tam Mak Houng or in Thailand they called Som Tam, was a hit. I ate it every day while staying there. There were two kinds of Tam Mak Houng: Lao style and Thai style (to suit the taste of Thai people). I tried Thai style once but it was no match for Lao style in its spiciness and delicious to the bones. The Isan lady who Tam Mak Houng the Lao style while I was visiting Khorat was very pleased to see me finish the full plate of it. (To be continued) Hakphaang, Kongkeo Saycocie As a cook for the school, whenever Tam Mak Houng was ordered, it was usually of Thai style. By the way, Khorat which was formerly at the frontiers of LanXang and Siam had a mixed population, roughly half Thai and half Lao. According to my “Thai” friend who happened to be of a Lao Khorat, they tended to live in different quarters of the city. This friend grew up in a family of Sieng Khene, sticky rice and PaDek. Because speaking Lao (a betrayal in accent could jeopardize one’s chance of getting a government job which most Thai people were coveting at) was considered countryside, she preferred to speak Thai to me. Interestingly, speaking of language, she said that it was Isan language, not Lao which her folks at home spoke; while the Isan taxi drivers whom I talked to clearly said that they spoke Lao. In fact, there was no language as Isan but the Thai wanted to swallow all that was Lao, they put it in the school curriculum that Isan people spoke Isan language. As my Isan friend was all the way up to the university, she was obviously of a Thai mentality while those Isan taxi drivers who were less schooled in the Thai educational system were still able to keep what they truly were deep down in their psyches. It was so rejuvenating to see not a few Isan people claiming to be Lao despite years of cultural assimilation by the Thai. In fact, they had nothing to gain , but instead many to lose, by resisting Thai domination. Yet, as they said adversity made men to be truly men. I would like to take this occasion to bow my head to them, namely Pirk, the driver of the Khorat school district, an art student wishing one day to be a school teacher and a good player of Khene. Like many other Isan people, he was Thai outside but strongly Lao in his psyches. Also, while visiting Khorat, I put my heavy feet on Thao Suranaree or Gna Mo monument, saw a place where Chao Anou set a camp at Donn Quyn (Fortress of Chariots), and engaged in a heated discussion with the Thai schoolteachers about Chao Anou’s war of independence. I was glad that I stood for Chao Anou in the very heart of Thailand where Chao Anou was badly vilified. Also, on the way back to Bangkok by bus, I passed through the range of mountains called Dong Phaya Phay which was naturally divided the territories of LanXang and Siam a couple of centuries ago. Further inside Thailand, I passed through Sarabury a place where most of the ethnic Lao during the earlier war between LanXang and Siam were forcibly relocated. It felt great indeed to breathe the air of those Lao patriots who wholehearted joined Chao Anou in the war of independence, and to relive the heroic act of Chao Ratsavong, our youthful hero. Not surprisingly, Sarabury people of Lao ancestry still talked of Chao Ratsavong, Chao Anou’s son, as their hero. Back in Bangkok, there was one interesting thing I would like to tell you. As I liked to frequent his shop for the Lao food, the owner of the store proudly played the Khene. Before I left, his wife said that the Lao language that I spoke was very sweet. I inferred from that statement that Isan people still thought of Muang Lao as the center of their Laoness. After a week in Thailand, I left it with a mixed emotion: sad to revisit the country that ate us alive and glad to witness some of us still clinging to their own self. I wish that within my lifetime I will have a chance to see a resurgence of Isan people claiming what is theirs back. I arrived in Narita (Tokyo) airport late in the afternoon. It was there that I had real trouble with my luggage especially my Khene. (to be continued) Hakphaang, Kongkeo Saycocie Because Japan is a country of railway network, the airport is conveniently reached by trains but not by cars. It is claimed that it will take you 1/3 of the time traveling by train than by car. Anyway, riding a bullet train still takes me over two hours to get to downtown Tokyo. For the sake of convenience and efficiency, the Japanese had me traveled by train, they just didn’t realize that I had too many luggage. Worse, they didn’t plan to have my luggage stayed at the airport. Maybe, they did so just to try out how tough I was. Who knows? So the journey began… To get to the train, I had to go downstairs. Luckily, there was an elevator. Pushing the cart into the elevator was all right. Then, at a checking point to the train station, no cart was allowed. I had to carry the luggage two at a time, and then went back to pick up the rest. If that was all, it would be fine with me. Instead, the train platform was another story below the checking point. The only way to get there was through stairs. Just look at how many steps the stairs were, I almost fainted because there was no less than 50. By the time I got to the platform, my arms and limbs couldn’t even budge. Still, I was not in the spot of where I was supposed to be. I wondered why I couldn’t board the train where people were waiting to go to the very place I would be going, why I had to drag myself another ¼ a mile. When the train arrived, about one tenth of the seats was occupied. I was kind of mad to be assigned a seat, why not let the commuters sit wherever they wanted? Until later did I find out. After a couple of stops, all seats were occupied. Wow! The Japanese were so efficient that everything was controlled by the computer, namely the seating. The Japanese seating close by were kind of curious to see my Khene laying next to me. Maybe, the were too polite or maybe they didn’t speak English, they just gazed at my Khene. I, myself, was so absorbed with the Japanese scenery: the villages, the fields, the mountains, the rivers and the city. Yes, they looked different with clean streets, people waiting in line to cross the street even there was not traffic in sight (they were waiting for the light to turn green). By the time, I got to the arrival station, I was stunned that time was flying so fast. Again at this station, there was no elevator to go upstairs, it was really a pain to carry stuffs up with so many people hurriedly walking up and down the stairs. As usual, I had to carry two luggage at a time but this time I was worried my other left luggage which were out of sight because of the crowd. What would happen if I came back and didn’t see my luggage? What could I do? To my relief, all were fine except one thing, my Khene. It wasn’t there and I wasn’t sure whether I left it in the train or at the platform. At times, I thought what the heck of it. Without the Khene, I could manage to go anywhere without going back and forth. I could carry both luggage in both hands with hanging my camera bag onto my shoulder. Still, the thought of going home without a Khene troubled me. I remembered reading about Japanese people that they were honest people and that nobody took what was not his or hers. With that in mind, I mentioned this to the person who came to pick me up at the train station that I might leave my Khene in the train. She said that she would contact the train company and see if they could find it. As advertised, my Khene was returned to me the following morning. What a luck! So my Khene became my shadow while dropping by a number of places in Tokyo: first, to the apartment, then to the hotel and to the Lao restaurant called “LanXang” where they served Lao beer, Tam Mak Houng, Larb and sticky rice, and finally to the coffee shop where I met Ai Outhin Bounyavong, a premiere writer of short stories. I learned from his wife, Euay DouangDeuane, while visiting Laos that he had taken a teaching job on the Lao language at Tokyo University. As I would drop by Tokyo for a couple of days, I thought I might be able to see him so I asked for his phone number. Luckily, he was free the very last day I was about to leave for the U.S. We met at the coffee shop. By that time, I had only a Khene and my camera bag with me for they already arranged to have my luggage sent to the airport. There was one interesting thing to mention about Ai Outhin. When I first called him, he was not at home. It was the answering machine that received my call. The greeting said;” Sabaydii, Ni Man Bane Khong Outhin Bounyavong….” Yes, it was in Lao followed by either Japanese or English greeting I didn’t remember. Wow! What a way to present your Laoness to the Japanese and the outside world. It was the first time I heard a greeting in Lao from any answering machine outside Laos. It was so sweet and so telling of Ai Outhin as a Lao patriot. Telling the truth, it was only the 2nd time I met him. The first was about 17 years ago. I still remembered his way of beginning a short story by making the first sentence concise and straight to the point. It went like: “She sat there motionless.” (to be continued) Hakphaang, Kongkeo Saycocie The story was about a woman whose portrait decorated the front window of the photography shop in Vientiane. Every passerby whose eyes happened to fall on the portrait just couldn’t help admiring her beautiful smile. Then the story was kind of tracing back to the owner of that smile, how she left the country and settled in New York with the first wave of refugees, and how the smile was more and more a thing of the past as she was stuck in a high rising building with no one to talk to and no one to understand. It will do a lot of justice if you can read it by yourself. Besides, I read the story over 17 years ago. Still, I remembered the picture he painted very well. That could tell you how powerful the story was. By the way, It was entitled “That Smile” and was translated into the Thai language. Thinking of the story again, I was kind of sad to leave the country where every single Lao was most needed. I would love to talk about some of the people who are more or less like Ai Outhin such Bounthanong, another fellow writer, Euay Dara and Euay DouangDeuane, the daughters of Maha Sila Viravong who are the well know writers themselves, Euay Mayouri, a Lao historian and researcher, and Loung Houmphanh, an ardent preserver of Lao culture and heritage. I think I will leave them for my next story devoted specially to Laos. Ai Outhin was very pleased that I had brought a Khene from Laos with me. Still, he asked where I got it. He told me that the best Khene should be from Nam Ngum. He knew the maker of Khene since he had build another house of a Lao style over there by the river. In his vision, he planned to use it as a library to store all Lao books, and also a place for the gathering of Lao writers. He confided with me that the quality of writing in Laos was very bad compared to the time before 1975. Up to recently, in order to have more leeway, he focused his writing mainly on young kids. No matter what he wrote, they were in good quality and, as a result, some of his works were translated in many languages namely French and English. With me, I have a collection of his recent works kindly provided to me by my wife, Euay DouangDeuane. While in Tokyo, I met a Japanese guy with a boyish looking face. His name is Othsuka. I knew him through email. Through this guy, I had a chance to see another side of Japan. It was kind of a red light district, and it was well know throughout Japan. This quarter of Tokyo was very alive during the night. Its many streets were crowded with business dressed male who were hanging around after work and pretty women who were looking for cheap money. Adding neon lights from the adult bookstores, nude dancing places, high skyrocketing buildings, and blaring noises from the passing cars and shouting sex salesman, this place seemed to be never at sleep. At the corner of one street, my eyes happened to fall on one couple, a business dressed male and a tight skirt female busily kissing one another. I thought of recording the scene but just stopped my video camera for some untold reasons. I jokingly said to Othsuka that this video intrusion might upset them. Othsuka answered with a weird smile that :”No, it won’t but, instead, they will kill you.” We smell this quarter of Tokyo until most of the business dressed male were about to leave this place in herds. Yes, it was almost midnight and the last train around would arrive very soon. When we got to the station, the place was swelled with all sorts of people, and they strode faster than usual. Once the train arrived, everybody was for oneself dashing in as fast as one could. Here, there was no courtesy, no giving in seat to older people or female. You were considered lucky to get in. Most of the time riding a train meant standing on the train with people’s breath on your neck, and their bodies rubbing on you each time the train made a stop. I remembered my Russian friend who jokingly said to his Japanese wife when we were riding on the train the other day: “The Japanese are considered to be very polite people except in the train. Here, there is no excuse me, no anything.” Looking at her, I couldn’t help thinking of Othsuka’s words: “The Japanese women are nothing more than a sexual object. They are treated badly by their male counterparts. Worse, they accept that role. I hate Japanese women. On the other hand, I like Lao women wearing Sinh. The sight of Lao schoolgirls wearing Sinh to school really fascinates me. That’s why I like to visit Laos whenever I can.” In fact, this Othsuka went to Laos a dozen times already and had a Lao girlfriend. What amazed me about him was that he could speak, read and write Lao better than most of our young Lao kids in the U.S. That was not all. He could play Khene too. I wondered how he could do all that while working over half a day and had only 4 or 5 hours of sleep every night (it took him over two hours to get to work and another two hours to get back home). I would like to take this occasion to thank him for his kindness taking care of everything for me starting from the train tickets to paying for the hefty Lao meal. Without him, I would see Japan only on one side. At Narita airport on the last day in Japan, an American guy saw my Khene while I was waiting to board the plane to the U.S. He said “Thailand?” “No” I proudly answered “Lao”. Yes, Khene could never be anything else but Lao. ….. Glancing at my Khene again, I couldn’t help smiling at it. No one knows how much I grow attached to it, and no one knows what it means to me. This Khene as well as any Khene is not only a musical instrument but it is us, our root, our hope, and our life. Like the saying that goes: “Wherever the Khene is played, the Lao is there.” If only I hold everything I do to my heart the way I carry the Khene, I will sure make Muang Lao and Quon Lao proud. Maybe, one day, or maybe until the day I can manage to play the Khene the way our ancestors play it. Until that day…. Let me end the story with this free verse: I will some day Lan Tae, Tae Lae Lae Lan Tae …. Beautiful is the Khene Riveting is its sound Meaningful is its tone When you hear it It transports you back To where once the two banks of the Mekong river was Lao to when our hearts were pounding at the same beat and to why sacrificing one’s life for one’s country was more precious than serving under other others. I will one day play it With all of my heart and soul For all Lao to listen To remember And to not forget What we once were And where we always wanted to be Remember What Chao Anou said In San Lub Bo Soun (the indestructible message) “Born to the lion life, won’t it be a shame to hide under the shallow grass?” If you are a true Lao, You will know what I mean Lan Tae, Tae Lae Lae Lan Tae …. Hakphaang, Kongkeo Saycocie