Teen slum party, uncle grows detached

It was Ball’s first night back home after three days away at his grandmother’s place.

Ball and his family fled to her place in Onnut to escape power cuts in Klong Toey last Wednesday.

Mum invited half a dozen family members back with them. Ball’s elder brother, Boy was there, as were two youngsters aged about the same as Ball; two or three kids under 10, and their mother, a woman in her 30s.

They joined Ball's family for the night in their cramped slum home.

While the women folk squeezed in to Mum’s bedroom for a sleep, the guys – with Mr Ball acting as host – decided to drink up large in the living room. Mum herself went out for the night, to play HiLo.

Earlier, she called to invite me. Flouting curfew (just a short walk across the vacant lot, dear reader), I turned up to help the young ones celebrate.

It didn’t take Ball long to get into the swing of things.

A couple of times, he ducked out into the slum, returning with friends in tow, so at its busiest point we had 13 teens in the room, including Ball and his girlfriend, Jay, who had decided to let her hair down for once and join us.

Most of the visitors had seen me before.

Still, some behaved painfully in that show-offy way which teens have when in the company of adults.

One lad, who had spiked his hair and fancied himself as a hi-so, liked to talk into his cellphone in a showy manner and look important.

Another, who looked like half Caucasian, half Thai, dragged along his girlfriend. He was the only guy in the room who brought his partner.

He liked to dance and do fancy Indian-style hand movements, especially when he thought I was looking.

Ball was noisy, like the rest, but did not show off. He was our flush-faced barman, busy recharging empty glasses including mine. A couple of times, youngsters in the room dipped in to their own pocket to replenish supplies, but mainly it was me.

Someone set up a CD machine, which played karaoke videos. I was sitting closest to the TV, and the microphone could only stretch so far, so if they wanted to sing, guests had to sit near me.

Ball took a few turns with the microphone. He has a remarkable singing voice – high, nasal, and pretty...almost ghostly in the way it flutters around the notes.

As soon as he finished his first song, he looked at me for a response. ‘Did that sound good?’ he asked.

When he finished, he went back to the centre of the room to resume his duties as host.

At midnight, I cleaned up around the guests. The young ones were feeling the effects of their drink, and were starting to argue. As the rain pelted down, they ducked in and out of Ball's place to smoke.

One bare-chested, sodden youngster - his trousers sagging, and boxers up to his armpits - started to cry.

At 1am, I handed over the reins to the next oldest person in the room – Tum, the boyfriend of Boy’s elder sister – and left for home.

-
Ball and his girlfriend Jay haven’t worked since late last month.

They have found new jobs, staffing sales booths at city department stores. But thanks to the red-shirt troubles on Bangkok’s streets, they have yet to start.

A set of white work shirts hangs in the living room, where they have sat for a week.

I do not ask any longer about their work plans. Once, I would have pumped Ball or his mother with questions like: ‘When is your first day? Do you have all the work clothes you need?'

Now, I wait to be told. And even when told, sometimes I make no response.

What these people make of their lives is up to them, not me. I can’t help, other than by dipping into my pocket occasionally.

I have noticed that whenever I offer to help Ball, he does his best to avoid accepting it.

I bought him a small item of clothing on our last family visit to a department store a couple of weeks ago.

At home, I tossed it to him. He caught it - and threw it into his younger brother’s bedroom, where as far as I know, it remains untouched.

I no longer feel the need to help as much as I did before.

If I spend when he is at home, it’s usually on the brown stuff.

Several weeks ago, I gave Mum some money to help her buy work gear for Ball in the job which he has yet to start.

She bought some of his uniform, but not all. No doubt I will hear about whatever else she needs to buy, the next time she wants to tell me. I may, nor may not, feel like helping.

When we visit the department store or spermarket, I wheel around the cart, or the pram.

I enjoy looking after the toddlers, and watching their interaction with other family members.

Ball and Jay play together, as teens do.

Mum and I can talk, but for the most part – other than when we are drinking – Ball and I have little to say to each other.

In the West, I am an uncle many times over to the children of my brother and sisters. I love them, but seldom get to see them, as I live over here.

I would never ask myself, as I do when in the company of Ball’s family: What am I doing with these people?

Today, Mum and her family are likely to visit the department store again. She is likely to invite me along. It will be another opportunity, in dull moments, for me to ask myself the same thing.

‘Just why are you here?'