Going off the slum

''Are you really that busy?'’ asked Ball, who has noticed I am growing meaner with money but is anxious that I return to my old giving self.

‘'I am working too hard to come and see you,'’ I said, hoping it sounded convincing. While I am tightening the purse strings, I still feel guilty when I refuse to give.

I dropped in to see my needy friend from the slum the other night, after he sent a message saying he would fancy a drink.

I seldom make contact these days, as I am sick of having to part with money whenever I visit.

Ball has quit his stable job as a messenger for a city bank, which paid just B7,000 a month, in favour of a delivery job which pays a much more attractive B13,000. 

He found a flier advertising the job in a public transport van.

He now buzzes around town on a motorbike delivering perishable goods while his boss, a farang, keeps an eye on staff movements via a GPS tracker device which sends messages to his cellphone, or somesuch.

I must admit I wasn’t paying much attention. Ball and I appear to have lost our spark. I was more interested in playing with the kids and the dog, who are always happy to see me, regardless of how much I spend.

Ball and his girlfriend Jay have gone halves in a motorbike, their first joint purchase of a substantial asset. They are paying it off at a rate of B3,000 a month.

‘'It’s more convenient when we have to get to work or go shopping,'’ he said. Previously they relied on public transport or had to wait until his brothers’ motorcycles were free.

Jay told me enthusiastically about the motorcycle purchase plan a month or so ago, no doubt hoping I would help pay for it.

I haven’t, and in fact have avoided shelling out for their everyday expenses now for weeks.

I have known the couple for three years.  I have given them financial help regularly, which keeps them happy for a few days until they ask for more. Nothing appears to get any better, so one day recently I decided to stop.

What’s wrong with breaking old patterns of behaviour occasionally? 

In the time we have known each other, Ball and Jay have had their first child, Nong Min, now two-and-a-half.

When I met him, Ball was an angry drunken teen. He is now a mellow, responsible dad to a beautiful, happy little girl.

I am proud of how much he has grown up, but now think it’s time he takes the next step, and learns to look after himself.

A month or so ago, Ball graduated as a military conscript, which means he finally has his Sor Dor 8 military certificate telling would-be employers he has served his obligations to the state.

Without one, he’d find it tough getting a job, as employers tend to ask for it.

That’s fine as far as the paperwork goes. In fact, Ball spent most of his service at home, thanks to the sergeants at his base who took pity on his plight as a young slum dad whose mother has been carted off to jail (Ball's Mum was caught with a bag full of drugs stashed at her place which she intended to sell)​.

Ball fled the military base twice, so unhappy was he about being stuck there with a bunch of conscripts he barely knows. Two years ago when he started his service, Ball was that much angrier, and in need of a drink.

On one of his escapes from camp, he jumped over the wall and into a muddy canal, losing his cellphone in the filthy water. ''I could hear the sergeant sounding his whistle to let everyone know I had escaped,'' he said.

When he emerged a tuk tuk driver, who looked as if he had seen it all before, gave him a free lift. He also made it into the subway, and found a taxi willing to take him the rest of the way.

Ball's superiors weren’t happy he fled, but knew that as a young dad – one of the few conscripts in his intake with a child at home – he would be missing his daughter. 

They let him stay at home, but for one or two occasions when they asked him to report in person, or send pictures of himself with a military-style haircut, presumably to show as proof of service should anyone ask.

 ''They told me to keep out of trouble, and avoid attracting attention to myself,'' he said.

The sergeants told him to avoid looking for work, as ''authorities'' might discover that with the military’s blessing, he was dodging conscription. 

The head of his unit kept the salary he earned as a conscript, which was only fair, but meant money at home was short.

The military offered conscripts who had left school early the chance to better themselves. Military instructors taught basic subjects including English which the young men could put belatedly towards a school leaving certificate.

Because Ball spent his service at home, he did not get the chance to finish his studies while serving in the military. He could have earned the 6^th form  leaving certificate equivalent which eluded him at school, but no.

Ball left school with a 3^rd form certificate, the lowest you can get. As far as the marketplace is concerned, he is unskilled.

On the plus side, I liked having Ball so close to home. I accompanied him to his base in Bang Khen a couple of times so he could report to his superiors. 

A friend of his brother's took us on the back of his truck, loaded with fishing gear. Ball was dressed in his soldier's uniform, and looked miserable.

We rattled about, battling exhaust fumes and traffic jams on the way.

Our last visit was months ago, back when I enjoyed his company and didn’t mind parting with money for his upkeep. 

Now, I am happier to spend time with Maiyuu. Call me selfish, I don’t care. As I get older, I am learning to self-indulge. 

The other day Ball sent me a message saying he was desperate for cash. I ignored it.

He called half a dozen times. I ignored them too.

The other night when I saw him I was forced to explain my absence, as I usually am whenever I fail to come through as his friendly farang provider.

‘'Bloody Suthep’s protests kept me away,'’ I said, which was partly true. My work is much busier because of them.

‘'Can I make contact with you tomorrow? I will need money,’' he said timorously. ‘'I leave in the morning.'’

Ball spoke in an embarrassed whisper, even though there were no other adults around.

His girlfriend, brothers and sister, who are rarely home these days, were still at work. 

They leave him alone to look after the three kids of the household. Ball himself works 10 hours a day, he tells me, and seldom has the energy, still less the money, to devote to the little ones when he makes his last delivery of the day.

‘'I get up early and start work on the computer straight away,'’ I snapped.

Ball evidently expects me to drop everything and venture into the slum whenever he needs help.

No, thanks. Perhaps I was too nice in the past. Or maybe I am just too nasty now.

I didn’t hear from him the next day, and he hasn’t called since.

I am not sure how much we can last if I am no longer paying out. But to be frank, given the truckload of problems over there, I am not sure I care.