Myanmar - Till We Meet Again

Some changes look negative on the surface but you will soon realise that space is being created in your life for something new to emerge.

                                                                                                                                      - Eckhart Tolle 

Plans were made to make the most of every weekend. To spend quality time with precious friends. To travel. To absorb more of the incredible culture in which I had comfortably embedded myself. Too often these good intentions are postponed due to the demands of a heavy work schedule. I was determined not to let this happen. My time in Myanmar would come to an end in the next year or two. I was aware of that. As much as I questioned the point with Self, I knew she was right. My priority was my family. I would need to return to South Africa at some point. However, I still had so much to experience. So many dreams to realise. My Spirit was strong. Humour was in full supply. Courage was very much around. All the tools were in place. I needed to live my best life in Myanmar.

Overnight, the Myanmar Ministry of Foreign Affairs announced that it would stop issuing all visas to foreign nationals. Yet another drastic measure taken to slow the spread of the virus by halting tourism. Rumours of all the ports closing needed to be verified. However, this information managed to instil a sense of fear and uncertainty amongst all. People were consumed with anxiety. There existed a real threat that Life, as we knew it, would be ripped open and destroyed. Each day became the most treasured as we clung to our daily routines.

What happened next pulled the rug from under my feet. As it did for millions of people around the world. Suddenly my world in Yangon was snatched away from me. A brutal ending to a blissful existence. 

The big V wafted through our lives without being seen. It moved in absolute silence. Progressing with lightning speed. The unseen monster tore through lives. Leaving behind a trail of destruction. Cities, countries and people were consumed in a vacuum of fear. And ignorance. We faced an enemy of which we knew nothing. We had not the knowledge nor the resources with which to confront this beast. Certainly not in Myanmar. We were made to feel so small. So utterly useless in the fight against Covid. Overnight, thinking processes shifted. From valuing the more materialistic way of life, people began to acknowledge that which is truly meaningful. The value of love and being with loved ones.

Within hours I was on a plane bound for Cambodia. Retreating to safer grounds. The school was closed. Seemingly only for a period of about three weeks and then we could return to life in Myanmar. So we thought. I grabbed a suitcase, bid my apartment farewell and hugged friends. On arrival at the Siem Reap International Airport, my luggage cut an image of abandonment. I was one of three passengers in the arrivals hall. The terminal had already been evacuated. That night at midnight the world went into lockdown. I sat with Debbie and Jono, sipping cold beers under the stars. My thoughts were of gratitude. Cambodia had embraced me. Offering togetherness and safety with family.

The weeks turned into months. I placed my hat upon the ruins of Angkor. Creating the sense of belonging I so needed. The road ahead seemed so foreign. So daunting. I was without direction. As were most fellow humans during that period. That was nearly four years ago. I have not returned to my home in Yangon. Together with the Covid pandemic, Myanmar then suffered more pain and horror than ever imagined. A brutal military coup took place on the 1st February 2021. 

I spent six months with Debbie in Siem Reap. Always hoping to return to Yangon in an attempt to salvage the pieces of life there. This was not to be. I was literally grieving for my beautiful home. My classroom. My Myanmar life. Letting go was so undeniably hard. The ripping up of my anchors and my community had left a nasty scar. One which would heal in time. I battled to believe that at the time. The situation was made so much more painful knowing my Myanmar friends, who had come to mean so much to me, were now in various battle zones on all levels. Covid had claimed tens of thousands of lives.

Throughout the darkness of Covid, Debbie and I found refuge amongst the temples of Angkor Wat. A place usually heaving with thousands of tourists, was lifeless. Abandoned. Not a soul was around. We spent hours upon hours sitting quietly amidst ancient temples. Just the two of us. The remnants of the past somehow revitalized our souls. Filled us with renewed optimism. A sense of security engulfed us on those visits. Brought about by knowing that the past is set in stone. It is dependable. Unyielding.

Although I could not have been happier in Siem Reap, my anxiety grew by the day. Life was throwing one too many curveballs. I no longer possessed the courage I needed to face my now very uncertain future. I wanted to get back to South Africa. To my mom. In times of crisis, one needs to be home. That old best friend of mine – Self - kept hinting that the time had come to move on. To put my family’s needs first. As much as I loved my life in Cambodia. The uncertainties facing any chance of flying out on a repatriation flight were escalating. New regulations were literally being enforced at a second’s notice. I dreaded the quarantine in a government-selected hotel on arrival in Cape Town. 

If I made it back into Myanmar, things could and did worsen politically. With borders closed and all flights cancelled, I would then be locked out of South Africa. And Cambodia too.

And so it was that after six months of biding my time in Cambodia, I made it onto a repatriation flight back to South Africa. The cost of the one-way ticket was extortionate. With the small change I bought a bottle of well-deserved bubbly to celebrate my going home. However, saying goodbye to Debbie under those circumstances was brutal.

 Just before midnight I headed to the international airport in Phnom Penh. I was consumed with sadness. Anxiety clutched my heart. I had no idea of what to expect along the journey home. The tuk-tuk ploughed through the traffic for more than an hour. Phnom Penh’s streets vibrant with life. The airport resembled a scene from a science fiction movie. Deserted it was. Devoid of life. The security personnel wore hazmat suits. Any semblance of human forms were dotted across huge expanses of cold concrete. A bitter loneliness gripped my heart. Not communicating with people on any level increased my fears somehow. That night reality brought home exactly how severe the situation was. There and everywhere else in the world.

Flying through Cambodia, South Korea and Turkey to reach my destination, Cape Town, remains a surreal experience. I was exhausted on every level. Four days of travelling. Four countries of waiting. Four days of walking through deserted terminal buildings. Four days of being hidden behind a mask. Of being completely alone with my thoughts. In my own space of isolation. The experience taught me much of how to literally breathe through anxiety. Of how to trust that there is a plan. And to develop complete faith in my own belief systems.

The ten long days in quarantine served as a bridge between my recent lives. Myanmar, Cambodia and back on home ground. The solitude was a gift to reflect. I thoroughly enjoyed my own company. With the kindness and generosity of Chantal and Abby, who delivered food parcels to the hotel reception for me, I enjoyed my time with Self. I enjoyed attending Debbie’s online Nia dance classes. My precious daughters and little granddaughter carried me through that period. To add more tears to already wet cheeks, a message from Debbie appeared on Facebook.

This woman. 

After six months in Cambodia with me, my mom left on a jet plane last night and began her crazy journey back to South Africa. Mom, I'm beyond grateful that this pandemic allowed me to share my daily life with you here. And although I'm feeling freaking heartbroken now that you're not here, I know you will be back and we will make more beautiful memories together, because that's what we've done my whole life. And that's what we always will do.

I love you.

Each week I lovingly watch you Myanmar. From a  distance. Your load is unbearable. Painful and wrong. Cruel and inhumane. I feel so helpless. For now, all I can do is capture my memories and emotions on paper. Those that Myanmar gave me. I hope I do justice to a beautiful country and her people.

With my rich experiences gained in Myanmar, I move forward to those that now await me. Until one day I return to my Myanmar. And I will. My heart remains there. I walk away knowing I gave my best. Knowing that I’m a better person for the experience. Knowing I have prepared my students for Life. In the best possible way I could. Even if it was only teaching them to say please and thank you and to show affection, kindness and respect to others. Vital lessons if we are to become our better selves.

As the day ended, I placed my hat gently upon your heart. Only to be taken up once more when the time is right.