a primer

THE PLACE

I work at a women's shelter on the outskirts of a city in northern Thailand. The shelter aims to support women who are either pregnant or have very young children. Some of our residents are still children themselves; many have been disowned or expelled from their villages. Some have been trafficked into the country, while others are from hill tribes and don't have Thai citizenship. Many have been raped or abused or both. Most have nowhere else to go.

The shelter is located on a farm, where we grow everything from lemongrass to papayas to pumpkins. And by we I mean people who are not completely lazy, which obviously excludes me. As a rule, you won't find me doing anything more strenuous than kicking chickens or throwing children into the fish pond.

The farm is home to the residents and their children, several staff members and their children, and a handful of long-term volunteers. Then there's the "9-to-5" volunteers who live in the city, the staff members who live in the nearby village, and the Vietnamese refugees who live together about 1 km away. Altogether, we routinely have 30-40 people milling around during the day.

THE JOB

I'm the shelter's volunteer coordinator. We have all kinds of volunteers: young and old (mostly young), Thai and foreign (mostly foreign), living on the farm and commuting from the city (mostly commuters), working here for as many as six months or as few as one (mostly one), superstars and space cases (I am not at liberty to clarify this point).

THE STAFF

Harriet is the director of the shelter and therefore my boss. She is married to Albert, who handles most of the construction projects and financial stuff. Their delightfully weird kids are Dexter (14), Elsa (12) and Dotty (8).

Robin (33) is the assistant director and a former resident. She lives on-site with her daughter Priscilla (6) - who is currently learning to play the air guitar courtesy of one very mature volunteer coordinator - and son Otis (11), a sweet terror of a boy who will bring you a flower one minute and punch you the next.

Gertie (27) is our seamstress, a Burmese former resident. She is a tremendously sweet and funny woman, but her sense of complementing colors is absolutely demented. She lives off-site and comes to the shelter every day with her daughter Opal (2). She is currently visiting her family in Burma for the first time in years. I worry about her every day.

Nell (25) is the teacher at our daycare. She puts away an astonishing amount of pizza, especially considering that she is as tiny as a three-month-old kitten.

Nancy (33) is in charge of the shelter's kitchen. She is married to Maurice (34), the caretaker, and they have three daughters who are forever climbing up my back: Polly (3), Prudence (5), and Sheila (9).

THE VIETNAMESE

Rosalind (25) is quiet but secretly ridiculous, whether she's talking about her zits, stealing one of the shelter's kittens, or smearing cake frosting on everyone's faces. Until recently, she was the shelter's administrative assistant, but she quit because of her migraines and other health problems.

Winifred (34) spends about half her time working in the garden and the other half causing trouble. We spend a lot of time sneaking up on each other and grabbing each others' waists. Her daughter, Alma (11), speaks and reads flawless English, Thai, Vietnamese, and their tribal language. She also does a mean fishbone braid. Someday she will make the world her bitch.

Then there are the Vietnamese men who make up the shelter's construction team. I don't know some of them very well, but Saul likes to talk politics with me, Julius always keeps my glass full of Singha, and Herbert has very patiently taught me a handful of Vietnamese phrases (notably "I'm full" and "cheers!").

THE VOLUNTEERS

Pippi (23) is my roommate, a long-term volunteer from Australia. We spend a lot of time arguing about food. ("You put butter on sandwiches? What the hell is wrong with your country?" "You eat chocolate with peanut butter? What terrible thing happened in your childhood to lead you to this?") She keeps a jar of Vegemite in our fridge and eats pizza with a knife and fork, but I'm very fond of her anyway.

Teddy (24) was a long-term volunteer from Australia. We spent a lot of time arguing about whether women are obligated to shave their legs. I'm fond of him, too, but I'll deny it in a court of law. He left in mid-March.

George and Ruthie are an older married couple from the U.S. I like them, too. Maybe I'm getting soft and sentimental in my old age.

Khruu Aajaan is our sole long-term Thai volunteer, the teacher so nice they named him twice. (Possibly that joke is only funny to people who speak Thai.) He teaches Thai to (a) refugee or hill tribe women who don't speak it at all, (b) uneducated women who don't know how to read and write, and (c) dumb farang who are determined to learn despite the fact that they can't tell the difference between the five distinct K sounds.

THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN

Fran (26) is an undocumented Burmese woman. She is far and away the best cook at the shelter, and she totally knows it. She gave birth to her enormously shaggy baby boy, Blue, in late December 2009.

Sally (14) is a hill tribe girl whose village banished her. She gave birth to a teeny-tiny baby girl in late December 2009, and named her Pippi Two. She left the shelter at the end of January and was allowed to return home.

Minerva (22) is a shy but very bright Hmong woman. She has been doing the administrative work since Rosalind quit. Her son is Isaiah (3).

Daisy (29) is a Lahu woman and Fran's roommate. She came to the shelter with her baby girl, Bertha, and son Tobias (3).

Blanche (23) is a Thai Chinese woman. Her son is Abraham (1).

Pearl (15) is Hmong, and currently our youngest mother. Everyone is madly in love with her son Winston (1).

Etta (27) is from northern Thailand. Her son is Oliver (6 months).

Olive (20) is a Hmong woman currently finishing her last year of high school. Her daughter is Flo (3).



Betty (39) has an astoundingly huge, warm smile that splits her face and will knock you on your ass. She was recently named head gardener, so I suppose she's actually staff now. Her son is Harvey (5).

Duckie (3) was abandoned by her very young mother. She is attached to Pippi like a barnacle to the hull of a ship - that is, if barnacles were known to strip off their pants in public, hold up their arms to be carried to the bathroom, and demand, "Chee!" She left with her mother at the end of February.