A village school, somewhere en route to Mt. Popa from Old Bagan on the Byat Ta Pan Sat Road.
A few of the memories I will cherish most from this adventure to Myanmar are the times that I got to spend at a couple of different schools. They were a glimpse into how people truly live in Myanmar, and the farthest thing from a stop on the tourist circuit. We were welcomed with open arms, huge smiles, and always a song or two... the visits were treasured opportunities, especially considering we were able to do some good along the way.
To explain: The educational resources in Myanmar are next to nil. Books, paper and pencils are rare, and computers in classrooms simply don't exist. Teachers earn a wage equivalent to $40 a month. Elementary schooling is free and "mandatory," but in the villages especially, it was obvious that attending is completely arbitrary. If a child's presence is required elsewhere (to care for siblings or parents, to go to work in the shops or the fields), school was certainly not the priority. Despite the dismal resources and the loose attendance requirements, Myanmar enjoys one of the highest literacy rates in the world (estimates are between 93 and 98 percent, according to Lonely Planet). So, despite the hurdles, something is being done right.
The first school pictured here was a one-room building with dozens of primary grade children, one teacher and one assistant. Some of the desks spilled outside, where class was held beneath the building's eaves. It was at this school that our group came armed with gifts: pencils, pens, crayons - even toothbrushes. Watching the teacher distribute the gifts and the sheer delight (or even mania!) on the part of the kids was a sight to behold. The gratitude, glee and thrill that the children displayed for the gift of a pencil was a reality check - a moment that really drove home how much abundance I have in my life, and just how much that I take for granted. To the teacher's credit, she took our visit (invasion?) in stride and let us interact with the kids for quite a while (see Tom below, helping with lessons).
Mobile school on the jungle road to Ngwe Saung Beach.
The second school I was able to visit in Myanmar came during my foray to the beach. Deep in the heart of the jungle, next to the elephant camp, sat an open-air, one-room "mobile" school. Mobile meaning that it can - and will - easily go away. The teacher there - who drives probably 20+ miles each way on a rugged road from the nearest city with her classroom assistant on the back of her motor bike - wants to retire. There is no one to take her place. Hence, the school will likely close within the year, leaving the children of this remote outpost nowhere to go. This school was even more basic than the village school mentioned above. The children had desks, but no chairs. Blackboards, but not really any paper. The students there are all children of very poor, largely illiterate loggers who plie the teak and rubber industries. They are also, interestingly, Christians. In this far-off place, the American Baptists have found a toehold, and the kids all know and love Jesus. They sang us Christian songs.
I visited this school not with my band of traveling photographers (the group had already departed for home), but rather, with my two beach-going friends, one of whom is a nursery school director. The decision to climb the hill for a visit was not an option - we knew we would venture in, and sure enough, our unannounced call was warmly welcomed. Our gift to that school was in the form of cold hard cash - kyat - proffered to the teacher for her to use for classroom supplies. Instead, she respectfully asked if she could use the money to purchase healthy food for the students - their remote location left them little access to fresh, nutritious food. The answer, of course, was yes, and we walked away knowing that a few families would have a warm, healthful meal or two in the coming days. It fed me as well.
Visiting both schools ranks right up there as some of my favorite, most poignant memories from this journey, and yet... there is never enough. It is heartbreaking to know that our visits, our small gifts, are just a drop in the bucket in terms of being able to make a difference. But the visits are still something I'll always remember and try my hardest to recall when I think I've got it tough.
