You experience everything in Thailand (233)

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In the series of stories that we post about something special, funny, curious, moving, strange or ordinary that readers in Thailand have experienced, today: 'Culture shock Isaan' 

'Culture shock Isaan'

I had only seen Ing once before. During a visit to an aunt of my wife Oy who lives a little further away.
Ing, well into his nineties and thin as a concentration camp survivor, irritably knocked some pesky free-range chickens off his bamboo perch.

His later deathbed. Because what I didn't know then was that Ing was teetering on the edge of the grave. Or in his case on the threshold of the diesel-fired crematorium here on site.
He was Auntie's father and I didn't know what he had been up to in the ninety years before. Besides being a rice farmer, having little money, and raising quite a few Thai offspring.

I almost missed him. His ticket for the afterlife had already been stamped by the Great Conductor, and the only thing keeping him here was his tough bony body that refused to abide by his departure times.

SAD SCENES

Weeks later I saw him again, on a follow-up visit to said aunt. And was then kindly invited to take a seat next to him on the rickety bamboo brits.
Surrounded by a rattling Japanese fan who, like himself, had seen better days, and a supply of Pampers given by the local hospital. The hint to just die cheaply at home was just as strong in the air at that moment as his later celestial journey from the furnace.
I watched the sad scene with mounting dismay.

The plain, stained Mickey Mouse kid's blanket he lay under, the ancient, battered ice box from which his oldest daughter occasionally drew ice water and wet his lips, and the gray concrete block bunker covered with rusty corrugated iron a little further on. Which turned out to be his home.
Dutch garages would be rejected if found in this condition.
Deathbed Isan-style gave me a culture shock that I never expected to get again in this country.

Sputtering mopeds with youth who loudly announce their music preferences via their mobile phones, a rooster that crows its throat hoarsely for minutes, a neighbor who burns a pile of dry leaves a little further on, the smoky smoke that then shrouds everything in a mist, and curious chickens that their senseless letting eyes wander over the cot in search of food.

A girl arrives on her children's bicycle and parks the tricycle right next to us. To then also climb onto the seat, and slurp down a pack of soy milk through a straw next to dying grandpa.
The neighbour, a coarse fish woman with a blackberry on her voice, hangs out of the window and asks how the sick person is doing from afar. As if a miraculous healing would take place if she didn't look.

I, sweating profusely in the relentless heat, feel extremely uncomfortable. And curse my stupid idea to pass by here again.
This is not the exotic Thailand you read about in travel guides.
But this time they've got the Dutch weakling right with his cojones, and I'll know what real Thai life looks like sometimes. I can't even leave in good conscience.
Another grandchild receives the bottle from his mother, right next to the terminally ill Ing, who no longer knows anything about it and mumbles and raves to himself.

Eldest son comes to look, sees the farang, and gives a smoldering sermon. About the wealthy who can at least die decently in an air-conditioned room. Which adds to my discomfort. I also quietly wonder why I had to learn a little bit of Thai if necessary, because the sadness and denunciation in his voice are making furrows in my soul.
Thinking of my own place down the road, with air conditioning and many other conveniences.

My thoughts go to the Netherlands. Where the elderly bathe in luxury compared to Ing. Probably take it for granted. Air conditioning, coffee with a second biscuit, shower with thermostatic taps, automatic blinds, beds with all kinds of electronic tricks, your own iPad, and WiFi to keep in touch with the outside world.

Plus medical facilities that Ing could only dream of. And buttons. A LOT of buttons. For light, air, fire and the night nurse.
After ninety years, Ing has only a rickety wooden bed, an itchy children's blanket and his eldest daughter, who caresses his arm affectionately. Who holds his hand to the last before finally boarding for the Great Journey.
A poverty-stricken person, who dies in circumstances that are unimaginably harsh to me. That's how I see it.
First.

But later came the realization that he was not poor. On the contrary. He was richer than many Dutch elderly people. Because that one button for love and affection is the only one they often look for in vain in their last moments.

The cremation was at the temple days later, after many Buddha ceremonies, and mutterings from monks. More like a family reunion than a mourning ceremony in my eyes.
Compared to the black-rimmed coffee and cake condolence sessions led by anointing undertakers in the Netherlands, this is an absolute breath of fresh air.

Children playing, swarms of winged insects around the lamp, gamelan music, pop-on-flop off Christmas lights around a large poster of the deceased, uncles clandestinely drinking over their tea water and chattering aunts endlessly serving food.
Everything is there.

Including two hastily shaved and dressed in a monk's habit nephews, which should provide goodwill for the family and a nice devout picture. Were it not for their extremely brutal heads and the khrong thip cigarette dangling from them.

WAVE

I was later allowed to take a seat in the front with the immediate family, right behind the speaker-master of ceremonies, and to give the profusely sweating Thai dancers an envelope afterwards.
This almost attracts even more attention than the beautifully made-up ladies. Whose make-up, I discovered, was already starting to show nicely under the copper cad.

There was also a 'wave' done.
This surprised me, because I didn't know that screaming, laughing and jumping up row by row from folding chairs belonged to a Thai cremation.
However, the cause turned out to be an uninvited one and a half meter long green snake, which worked its way past the frightened guests and disappeared a little later, relieved and tail-wagging, in the long grass.

You would almost believe in reincarnation.

Submitted by Lieven Kattestaart