These titles are dumb since the date's right there ^

A Typical Day on Hlao Island

I wake up, usually at around 6:15, always awakened by a rooster cock-a-doodle-doodling and the fierce bubbling of the frying battered bananas in oil across the room. The room is the house of Pa Iat, who is a 50-60ish year old widow who has graciously allowed me to sleep on her floor, with the other five people who sleep on her floor including See my consultant, her two adopted grandkids, and two other teenage guys. It's a split level, and me and the guys sleep above while See and Pa Iat and the kids sleep below. While it costs her nothing despite a dose of hospitality in the form of a mat on the floor and a mosquito smoke ring to do so, she is at least ensured a little business when I wake up, and purchase coffee, a little bowl of stir-fried vermicelli noodles, and sometimes the fried bananas, each for 5B a pop (15c). After I've eaten said items, or sometimes before, I take care of morning sundrie and observe various members of the village walk up to the store and purchase said items for their children or themselves and chat with them, making eloquent and insightful remarks in Moken. (/lakaaw bita/="Where are you going?" /nganyan eng ano-la/='What's your name?', /nyamaan kaa/="Is it delicous?", /nyam ka'/ 'No, thank you, I've already eaten.', /patang ka'/='Thank you again, but really, I'm already full.'). After a while, I'll go bathe.

If there's been a lot of rain, I can just walk across the street, to the hose of Nyora and Yara', where I've been eating, and, using the basins of water filled by the previous night's rain, dump water with a much smaller basin/bowl (English is such a lexically impoverished language!) over my head. You shower clothed in Thailand, which extends culturally to the Moken, I guess. Anyways, bathing clothed various from shirts and pants (See's preferred method) to just your underwear (Jiew's preferred method) to everything in between. I like a pair of shorts, or else my Pakama (sarong), which also facilitates the post-shower clothes change.

One of the beauties of of showering in your underwear is you get to wash your underwear AND your body at the same time, ensuring, effectively, that you'll never run out of underwear, though occasionally a good launder is warranted.

If there hasn't been much rain, as was the case for two or three days this week, the basins empty quickly, and you resort to Plan B. Plan B is a small spring-fed cinderblock-ringed basin down the beach, about a 5-10 minute walk away. The springwater can only be reached at mid-to-low tide, and there is often a line when you arrive. The water feeds into the spring slowly, about like a faucet half turned on, and you often have to stand around admiring the scenery before you get to bath and enjoy your walk back to the village, air drying all the way.

Admiring the scenery for the most part involves visually inspecting the diverse and colorful piles of trash that have been washed up by the previous high tide, as well as admiring the kaleidoscopic plastic bags on the lower branches of the mangroves. You can also admire the natural beauty of the beach, sea, forest, and crabs, once the trash has lost its fleeting appeal.

After bathing and walking back, sometimes inspecting peoples various net catches and chatting a bit, I'll either start doing fieldwork for a little bit, which I'll get to in a second, or eat morning rice (one of two ricings). They always wait for me to eat, probably just because I'm a guest to be polite. They've been making very good food for me since I've been there, and I've been helping them pay a bit too, after consulting See. I give about B100, which probably covers a significant portion of it which is good since somewhere around nine people almost always eat at Yara's house besides me, including Yara' and Nyowa, the married couple who built the house, their three kids Dinda ~11?, Enen ~8?, and Sude~5? (the youngest and oldest being girls), also Sali, who I don't think has a father and is about Enen's age, Tatam, who is Yara's cousin, Yara's parents, Ebap Ngore and Ebum Liye', and See, my consultant, who is married and has a kid with Yara's brother, Puket, who is currently in prison in the Nicobar Islands.

Anyways, I think I'm going to make a big grocery shopping trip tomorrow before heading back to the island instead of the cash gifts, at See's suggestion, who is excellent informing me of what is culturally expected of me at any given moment. Because I'm there, they make a lot of dishes, and I have to try all of them, and they're almost always good, and I haven't been sick once.

The food is eaten sitting on the ground on the porch of the house around a small table, probably 10 inches off the ground, which can be moved around. This is common throughout southeast Asia, or at least in Thailand, I believe. The Moken eat with their hands, like lots of people in the world, but when I ate my first meal on Hlao Island everyone at the table was eating with spoons, Ngore rather maladroit-and-sheepishly. Knowing that they prefer to eat with their hands, I decided the only way to help them get over their hand-eating anxiety was to eat with my hands, which I did (and which is fun buta little messy). After insisting that I actually eat with my spoon once or twice, and me ignoring their insistence, I was pleased to see that in the following meals those who wanted to resumed eating with their hands. So that was good. After I eat, there's a basin of water at the table which I drink a big drink from after washing my hands with, and that's it.

Despite See's insistence that I eat with her in-laws, and the completely overwhelming hospitality which they've offered and continue to extend to me, I know there must be countless times in a day when I destroy some cultural taboo or another despite my best efforts and sensitivity. Sometimes even the most backwards behavior which initially seems destructive can be later seen to play a socially important role. I'm specifically thinking of the whole matter of resource sharing and asking, or demand sharing. A couple days ago, when See was at a meeting with some Moken talking to the governor of Ranong, I cracked open Acarn N.'s dissertation on the Moken and read.

"It is widely accepted that the pattern of distribution among foragers is characterized by voluntary sharing. This form of sharing is sometimes called "unsolicited giving", in contrast to the other form of sharing which is achieved by asking or demanding."

Of this other form of sharing, Narumon writes: "Unlike voluntary sharing, "demand sharing" is generally instigated from the assertion of the potential recipients instead of being initiated by the donor-contrubutors...The concept of "demand sharing" and "begging" has not been led into broad anthropological discussion. According to Peterson (1993:869) 'it has been neglected because off the particular ethical construction that Westerners place on generosity -- that of outwardly unsolicited and altruistic giving.'"

Interesting!

She goes on: "Demand sharing is an essential part of the levelling mechanism which contributes to the maintenance of egalitarianism and conservatism among most foragers, because 'Demand sharing clearly makes accumulation difficult.' (Peterson again)...The philosophy of demand sharing is actually a reverse of 'keeping up with the Jonses.' In Western capitalistic societies, the accumulation of wealth and prestige is encouraged, and people compete to hve at least as much as their neighbors or peers. In foraging societies, the principle of the sharing rules, and wealth is brought down and shared among others as an effective form of redistribution."

And then finally:

"N. Peterson (1993:864) investigates demand sharing among the Australian Abirigines and puts forth an interesting finding -- demand sharing actually relieves the potential givers of the responsibility to decide with whom to share surplus...Peterson suggests further that '...demands can be refused. This can usually be done only by hiding, secretive behavior, and lying (1993: 864). These three strategies do not work well in foraging societies where everyone knows so much about everyone else...Demand sharing works as a repetitive reinforcement of the obligation to give."

Narumon goes on to discuss four "levels" of demand sharing, the most affable of which is "Indirect demand sharing: complaint and question."

There's no saying the extent to which an outsider can actually participate in this system. I might actually be wrong in projecting myself as being a part of their community and necessarily within their cultural rules. But it does seem, at least, that they have been considering me stingy for not giving them the small gifts when they ask for them, especially to older, or less fortunate members of the community.

My earlier approach had been to not spend any money myself, attempting to find solidarity by faking poverty, but "Service (1966:14) suggests that 'economizing' is not a common practice among foragers; 'they admire generosity, they expect hospitality, they punish thrift as selfishness." There was an incident on Monday where I went to this little event at the library that had been put on where there was a little Art Exhibit of pictures that had been taken on Koh Hlao and the kids danced a little bit to these funny little cute songs. A guy I was with, Phenat, asked me to buy him some chicken on a stick, because I didn't have any money. I refused, because I wasn't going to plan on any myself, planning on "dinner when I get home" and what not. But my behavior, in retrospect, was miserly in Moken eyes. I clearly had the money, and I should have bought him, and me, and whoever wanted it, chicken on a stick. I need to realize that I'm not fooling anybody, and 10B chicken purchases and B20 handouts won't make me go broke, and that God loves a cheerful giver.

While I had earlier been feeling like there were these few pesky individuals in the community who kept talking about how little they had, thinking that those individuals where just complainers and liked handouts. Instead, I realized (and talked to See about this too), that they actually do have it really hard right now (duh) and they are working well within their cultural framework of identifying a community member with the capacity and resources to help them, temporary as it may be (yours truly). They usually make modest requests (20-30 baht). Some of them, and I'm talking about older women here, clearly drink, but I am beginning to feel that this doesn't necessarily warrant my refusing them money. I talked to See about this, and she said while I didn't have to give them something, it certainly wouldn't be a problem if I did. So I gave someone who was going on about how she didn't have any fish or soup B20, and that was that.

Scaling this up, there have still been a couple of really informal requests for nets that I've thought maybe I should make at least partial contributions towards, maybe in the $30-50 range, or something like that. I've learned since my original request that the nets can be bought piecemeal, one 'head' at a time, and as few as three to five heads can serve as effective for fishing. So I've been contemplating making more minor net "donations", more in the B1000 range, to people to come ask for them, but not planning any large scale distribution, as these top-down approaches tend to lead to disaster. The Moken's nets are frequently stolen by the Thais (like, one was just stolen yesterday), and I feel really bad because I clearly have the ability to help a bit. While I've since come to realize that many of the Moken aren't as impoverished as I initially thought, I've also come to realize that because of that there won't be a desperate rush for equal compensation when I grant someone's request for a small gift, and that an answer as simple as "he asked first and I don't have enough anymore" is enough to ward of ensuing requests, again as a result of observing their behavior. Anyways...

After morning rice, I usually begin my fieldwork, which lasts on the good days for a full four hours. The fieldwork is a chore but occasionally enourmously rewarding, and See is a great informant, as she likes just sitting around naturally, is very smart, and has a good sense of humor. The ideal place we've found to do work is actually on the front porch of a house built by Action Aid, a British relief organization. The house is one of the furthest out in the water, and affords both an excellent view of the days activities taking place around us, as well as a constant, cool breeze.

One of See's (therefore my) favorite recent activities has been the 'fake conversation', where in I have a conversation with someone taking out their boat or living in one of the next houses over. Yelled conversations are very frequent among the Moken. The game involves me yelling something in Moken after See tells me what to say and laughs hysterically after I say it. The game has the advantage of first giving the Moken an impression that I speak excellent Moken while simultaneously relieving me of the stress of saying something culturally appropriate. The more mild conversations simply involve someone going out in their boat to drop their nets, and me asking about what they're looking for, etc. I never want to say what See wants me to say, but she always insists I say it while laughing. Remember that this is See speaking through me. Some examples:

Me: "Hey! What are you doing!"
Neighbor: "I'm making a treat for the kids!"
Me: "How many kids do you have!" (Knowing she has a lot)
Neighbor: "Six!"
Me: "Why do you have so many kids!"
Neighbor: "The Lord gave them to me!"
Me: "Lies!"
*Uproarious laughter ensues*

(Note: this is not intended as a religious slam, I don't think, but rather the Moken version of a somewhat dirty joke.)

Another:

Me: "Hey! What are you doing!"
Guy sitting in boat: "Drinking!"
Me: "Why?!"
Guy in boat: "Because I don't have any money!"
Me: "Lies!! How do you buy your liquor!?"
Guy in boat: ...somethng I don't understand, but I'm supposed to say...
Me: "You're are bad!" (uproarious laughter)
Guy in boat: ...something else I don't understand...
Me: "You are a bad person!!" (more uproarious laughter)

Or simply:
Me: "Where are you going!"
Guy leaving in boat: "To drop my nets!"
Me: "What have you been catching?"
Guy: "Nothing. And I have no money."
Me: "Lies!!" (uproarious laughter)

You probably see the pattern. Remember that See is dictating my words. At least they all seem to be pretty light hearted, and these conversations have actually been enormously constructive culturally. The Moken are far less reserved than almost any other aisian culture I know. This isn't really that surprising, but it makes me feel much less social anxiety. If I do somthing wrong, they'll tell me, and if they want something, they'll let me know.

After fieldwork, I'll walk around a little, chat with different people, and eat evening rice, usually at around five, sometimes after a second bath. Around nightfall, the generator goes on, and the TV's all do do. I usually sit in Nara's house, my computer plugged in, and do work while watching the TV. At around nine I put the computer away, and go over to Pa Iat's house, where I go to bed.

***

I realize now that before this week I saw the Moken as characters in some sort of cultural play. Instead, obviously, they're people with names and children who eat food, cuddle with their kids, brush their teeth, and watch T.V. I had thought that in order to enter into commmunity with the Moken I had to somehow earn their trust, prove to them how culturally sensitive or fair I was, or learn to speak Moken really well. I have found this week that community is much simpler than that. You just tell them about yourself and listen to their stories, and share your time. It now seems so simple that I feel dumb saying it, but while it can be hard to get there, once you meet someone in simple relation, the artifices of culture and fear disappear, and that's it.

Today, I went to Acarn Sien's church and Pa Iat with her adopted grandson and Ebum Liye' came in, the only two, and came up and sat in my aisle, near the front. Ebum leaned over and asked if I was coming back to Koh Hlao that day, and I said no, and she asked why, and I told her I had to do a visa run to Burma (which has now been done successfully). After church I sat with them and ate the meal, and chatted in Moken, me speaking poorly, of course. (Still, they always seem to prefer even a bad Moken conversation to a good Thai one and continue to think I understand everything their saying.) I don't think I had any better friends there today than them. I took the little truckbus back towards the pier with them, and paid their fare and gave them some money for gas on the way back, and said "I'm going now" in Moken, and that was it.