This Day I Will Never Forget

Last Friday afternoon before class, Bethany and I were told that the father of one of my students, Chansomai, had died in a motorbike accident the night before. Bethany and I were both saddened. Chansomai is one of the students that has taken us in since we first arrived. He carted me around wherever I wanted to go whether it was class or the market. He had also just begun being my Lao language tutor. Chansomai is just easy to like, and we like him very much.

So when I heard the news, I new that I wanted to return the same generosity he has shown us. I asked one of his friends if they were going to visit Chansomai in his village. There were five other students going to see him this past weekend, and I wanted to go.

At 5:20 a.m. on Sunday morning, the sun was not yet out but I was up and ready to go. Chansomai’s village is 100 kilometers from where I live, and we wanted to get there before the heat set in for the day. (It’s mostly been over 100 degrees every day.) The trip there was enjoyable. It wasn’t too hot, and we were going fairly fast. So it only took about an hour and a half.

Chansomai was so glad to see us and honored that I, his teacher, would come all that way to be with him at a time like this. His mother was crying as she kept bowing her head and kissing my hand. After the greetings, we sat a while to talk before being served breakfast. I was a little nervous. Eating “real” Lao food can be quite hazardous for people from the West. I quite often encounter blood and fermented fish oil in the food here in Laos. Obviously, I cannot eat that, and I always amaze myself with the creative ways I get out of eating such cuisine. I just stuck to grilled meat and rice that day.

After breakfast, Chansomai wanted to take us to a farm of one of the other students in his class at the university. It was a watermelon farm off the side of the main dirt road. It was such a good time. The guys and I sat back, ate watermelon, spit the seeds, and joked around for a while. It was good for all of us. And it was nice to feel like I was spending the day with friends. I don’t get that much.

The guys were eager to show off their foreign teacher, so I got carted around a lot. The next place we went was a close friend of another one of my students. Of course this family lived in traditional Lao house built on stilts. After a little chit-chat, the guys decided we needed a nap, and we did. So we laid back on the raised wooden platforms and slept for a couple of hours, three of us on one and three on the other. It would have been quite the sight for some of you. There were ducks under one of the platforms, chickens roaming everywhere, and the sounds of a good size pig a few feet away. I’m still amazed at some of the things I do.

That afternoon, we went back to see Chansomai and attend his father’s funeral. There was some what of a processional. People were packed in the back of trucks, in vans, and on motorbikes. The service would take place at the site of the cremation in the “forest” as Chansomai called it. And it was nothing less. The whole processional began off-roading into the woods. Not in a straight line or anything, mind you.

We arrived at the site where wood was gathered for the fire. We waited about 20 minutes for the monks to come from the temple. Then the casket was taken off the truck and the ceremony began. It wasn’t anything unusual. Words about his father were shared. Some people were very sad. Some people were indifferent.

And this I will never forget. It is customary for everyone attending to move the wood around the casket for burning. As I gathered some wood and put it on the fire, Chansomai watched very closely. He knew that I would not have come all this way and honor him by participating in his father’s funeral unless I cared very deeply for him. And that’s exactly what I wanted to communicate because I care about him very much.

As they lit the fire, Chansomai could no longer hold back the tears. I put my hand on his shoulder and stood by him as we watched the cremation. There weren’t any words exchanged, but he knew my heart was hurting for him. And I knew he was grateful for my presence.

May the Father use this for His glory.