Trauma & the Tuk Tuk

We spent the last day of our visit to Pakse debriefing, treating our host families to a beautiful buffet lunch at the Grand Champasack Hotel, sightseeing and souveniring in the afternoon, and planned to meet at an expensive French restaurant to conclude our time together. In spite of the whimsical way the plans look and sound on paper, the day was NOT a good one. It began with a reprimand from my team leader about the night before (see the journal entry above), continued with a u turn to ARDA to retrieve the phone card I'd forgotten there, progressed with a long, indecisive, and ultimately unsuccessful bargaining for an authentic looking purse, and concluded in spending the rest of my money on said purse, leaving just enough to secure a tuk tuk home. Feeling drained, exhausted, ineffective, and disappointing, I wandered along the main road route 13, shoulders slumped, haggard and defeated, to hail a ride home. To my relief I discovered a kind older driver already parked along the roadside. "Too good to be true!" I thought...and, of course, the sentiment proved prophetic. After showing the driver my address typed in Lao and confirming the cost of the ride, I climbed onto the two seater and off we went.

We had just turned the corner of the first intersection (there are three main ones), when he called out to another driver passing in the opposite direction. He slowed and turned around. I pointed ahead, and he nodded and motioned for me to get out and onto his friend's larger truck bed tuk tuk, in which were seated two women and a little girl. Assuming the former driver was headed home for the night and his friend was headed in my direction with the passengers he was carrying already, I showed the new driver my direction card, he nodded, and off we went, round two. Secretly, I rejoiced because I thought perhaps I could get a lower rate as he was already transporting these women and I would just be one more stop along the way.

I began to feel a bit uncertain when we continued traveling not only the opposite direction on the road, but away from the city on the highway. Assuming yet again that since his other passengers were there first, he would drop us off at our destinations in the order in which we had been picked up. My second moment of slightly greater concern occurred when he pulled over at the side of the road at a large, unfamiliar building further outside the city limits and motioned me to get out, expressing that this was what he thought was my destination. I quickly pulled out the direction card again and explained (in English) that this was indeed NOT my destination but the address on the card was where I was going. Oh, yes, no problem, he nodded. We continued further and further down the highway, further and further outside Pakse, further and further into foreign, unfamiliar territory. By this time with furrowed brow, I sat stiffly, clutching my bags and attempting not to clench my jaw. I faced forward and focused on resting in the moment and having faith in the adventure. Until we arrived at our final destination, an open market, at which the mother and daughter paid their fee and departed. By this time I had gathered that the other passenger in the back of the truck was not a passenger after all but the driver's wife or mother. The driver commanded me to pay as well and get out.

This was the point when I realized the significance of the situation and panic set in. I explained that this was indeed NOT my destination, that I had showed him my destination clearly printed in Lao on my direction card, that he had agreed to take me there, and that I was not going anywhere until he did! Or at least he could take me back to the city, I so eloquently and adamantly explained...in English. This is when he began laughing at me. He sauntered out of the tuk tuk for a smoke, which he proceeded to blow in my face. Deriding me and calling me "falang, falang," he attempted to barter me off to his friends who were driving a produce truck back to the city. They peered through the slats of the tuk tuk and echoed his laughter. Scornfully, they refused unless I could pay them 50,000 or 40,000 kip. The price I had agreed upon was 20,000, and that was literally all I had left! By now I was shaking and nearing tears as I held out my wallet and demonstrated that this was all I had and stubbornly, I refused to budge. I thought if this driver wants to get rid of me, he will either accept our original agreement and return me at least back to Pakse or he will have to physically remove me from this vehicle.

Thankfully, the Lord provided a guarding angel in the form of the other woman. She looked on my desperation with compassion and negotiated with the driver to at least drop me off downtown. After the daylight began turning to dusk and the driver had had his fun and had lost interest in asserting his power over me, he finally consented provided that I pay upfront. Teeth chattering I quickly passed the money to the woman, and we were on our way, round three. Due to the unusual amounts of rain over the past several days, the road was potholed and some areas were completely obliterated. Each time the driver slowed down or swerved, I feared that he was going to drop me off in the middle of the highway, destitute and penniless.

Stomach knotted in anxiety, we finally arrived somewhat near our area of origin, and he motioned me to get out. I thanked the woman profusely for to me, she had been the embodiment of mercy. Mercy to a poor, lost, penniless, naive falang, who was attempting to arrive as a benevolent English teacher to the poor people of Pakse, subconsciously imposing my North American culture and assumptions onto these citizens in their context, and falling miserably short. This woman looked with grace on my humbled state and inspired me with a primal sense of gratitude and relief. I pray that if/when I am ever confronted with a similar situation whether it be a foreigner in my country, classroom, workplace, church, or social circle, I would remember "the other woman/money collector" and respond the same.