Sabaydii,

 

Here is the continuation of a series ‘Coming Home’ entitled ‘On the way back from Xekong’.

 

Hakphaang,

Kongkeo Saycocie

 

 

We left Xekong

Right before dark

The road we traveled

An extension of route 13[1]

Just paved

Already showed signs of cracks

 

Was told

The one who did the road

Didn’t use the right material

To cut in his profit margin

 

Looks like

Everywhere you look

Bribery has its way

In the new Laos

 

Even a guy coming from abroad

Doing the construction for the school

Supposedly for the benefit of the people

Caused more damage

Than people in the right mind could imagine

 

His school in Xekong

Not finished

Not of a lack of funding

Or whatsoever

But poor quality of his materials

 

Once walls built

Once they were dismantled

 

Was told

The Japanese were so disgruntled

At what they inspected

Threatened to nullify the contract

And bring in their own crew

 

Wonder

If this trend doesn’t slow down

How long it will take Muang Lao

To build a decent road

That doesn’t fall into disrepair

Once put into use

 

Or to erect one decent school

That won’t crumble

Right in front of your eyes

 

Hope I live to see that day

 

Half the distance covered

Slowly Xekong became a thing of a distant past

Dark like the village by the roadside

What a strange feeling indeed

Coming from a place

Where electricity abounds

Taken for granted

 

Still

With my head turned back

For the very last time

I let the good images of Xekong

Simmer in my mind

 

 

A little girl reading a Lao poem ‘Satjadham’[2]

Written by my dear friend

Thip Chantharasy

Goes a long way

 

What a beautiful voice

What an added meaning

Heard in Muang Lao

herself

 

A night at the temple

Where Buddisht festival was celebrated

In the land once a Phi spirit was practiced

Now shone with the candle lights

Carried by villagers for the VienTian

 

And two little kids

Leisurely rode their bikes to school

As if time itself

didn’t matter

 

 

As our vehicle crept along to Pakse

I treasured those images

As if life itself hangs on the line

 

8.7.03