Sent off in style

At Mum’s place this morning, it was as if nothing had changed.

Her mother died early last week, and she has spent most of her days since organising her funeral at a temple in Onnut.

I visited the temple on Saturday, and again yesterday for the cremation.

Today, however, life in the slum is back to normal.

I found a collection of cheap sandals and flip flops outside her open door.

Inside, Mum, clad in black in honour of her deceased mother, was gambling with a group of her of slum friends.

What’s new?

-
Saturday

At the temple, the family hired sala (which translates as 'pavilion', but really is like a function room).

Ball's grandmother lay in a coffin in the main room, a large open space decorated with flowers, joss sticks, and other paraphernalia of the dead. Attached to that room (which is also where the monks gather to chant every evening) is a kitchen, where most of the activity takes place.

Mum and her relatives prepared food for guests, and of course for the monks, who like to be fed after they have done their chanting.

Ball's grandmother had 12 children, 10 of whom are still living; Mum is the youngest.

I met a couple of her elder sisters, nieces and nephews. Plenty of children were there, playing and running about.

The service was in Onnut, one of the oldest and decrepit parts of Bangkok. I had visited the temple previously, almost two years before, to farewell a farang colleague from work.

Alcohol is not allowed on the temple grounds, but we weren’t having any of that. Ball and I went on half a dozen beer runs, with me perched on the back of his motorbike, to a shop nearby where the owner wraps each bottle in newspaper so we can smuggle the booze back into the temple without anyone taking offence.

Mum's relatives don't have much money...they didn't contribute much to the beer, but instead left me to buy most of it.

The service lasted for seven days. Relatives can turn up every day and get a free feed if they want.

After evening prayers, Ball’s two brothers entered the monkhood temporarily in honour of their grandmother.

They nipped down the side of the sala, took off their tops and had their heads shaven.

A few children joined them and the group spent the night at the temple.

Mum's daughter, partner and their toddler son spent the night at a relative’s place; Mum and the other toddler came home with us.

Sunday

I went back again for the cremation. I wasn't intending to go, but Ball and his mother's friends persuaded me to join them at the last minute.

Mum left for the temple early in the morning, to put on breakfast for the monks. She left Ball at home alone, though I joined him there, along with a few residents of the slum who wanted to attend the cremation.

It was not as welcoming as the day before...relatives had prepared no food, and as soon as the body was cremated, everyone took off.

Our group turned up late, about an hour before the cremation.

Ball's sister, who spent the night at a relative’s place nearby, gave him stick for his late arrival.

‘You are carrying on more like a guest than a relative,’ she sniffed.

Ball stayed back in the morning to await the return of his girlfriend Jay, who failed to come home the night before; she finally turned up about midday.

As we waited, three or four of Mum's friends turned up at Ball's place, intending to join us for the journey to the temple, which is about an hour away.

At one point, however, we were uncertain how we would get there. The person who had offered to take us in his pick-up had turned off his phone, and we couldn’t reach him.

Ball took the clever step of talking to the head of the community centre which oversees life in the slum, just a few doors down from where he lives.

The woman there put out a message on the slum PA inviting anyone who wanted to go to the cremation service to come forward.

The slum community owns a truck, which residents pay for and help maintain.

It arranged a trip out there for residents who wanted to farewell's Mum's mother.

Through the centre, residents also contribute to a fund to help defray funeral expenses when one of their number dies.

Mum was able to draw down some money from that fund to help her defray the impressive costs of the week-long service.

She had also filled the petrol tank of the community vehicle for anyone who wanted to join the cremation, though she had done nothing about alerting residents, who learned about the cremation only by word of mouth.

I was proud of Ball for arranging that truck.

He did not know the woman at the community centre, but summoned up the courage to talk to her nonetheless.

Half a dozen residents took the journey there in the truck, which would not have happened at all were it not for Ball's initiative.

We did not go in that vehicle, but went in a pick-up truck belonging to a fishmonger who lives nearby.

At the temple, we mounted the pavilion where the casket was about to make its entry into the funeral pyre. Mourners dropped paper flowers on the coffin ahead of its journey through the pyre.

I stood next to Toob, one of Ball's uncles on his father's side.

He asked me to stand to one side of the coffin.

‘We want to show the deceased’s spirit that the body is about to leave this world. Otherwise, he might be trapped forever,’ he said.

Moments later, we gathered on the rear side of the pyre, to watch the casket burn. We waited for signs of the smoke to emerge from the chimney atop the pyre.

‘There it is...it’s risen!’ said Mum, whose eyes were red. She looked tired and worn, after days of organising the funeral.

She and I walked alone back to the sala to farewell family members. I rubbed her shoulder to give her comfort, one of the first times I have touched Ball's mother, who does not give or receive affection easily.

On our way back, we stopped at a relative's home in a slum-like setting for a few beers.

During a break, I escorted Mum to a place down a darkened alleyway to another home about 100m away, where we reunited with other members of the family who had joined us at the service.

Mum and other women at the gathering pulled out large bundles of money, which they intended to pay the monks for the hire of the temple. On one day alone, Mum spent B10,000 in funeral-related expenses. The cost of the oil for the funeral pyre alone was B2000.

That business finished, we returned briefly to the post-cremation gathering nearby.

Here, I watched Ball as he talked earnestly to two uncles on his father's side about his father, who died three years ago.

Ball wants to know what makes himself tick, as we all do at his age. He knows he is closer to his father’s side of the family, so tends to gravitate towards them on family gatherings.

I tell him the spirit of his father is above him, watching.

His uncles, thoughtful types clad in black, talked to him patiently. One gave him a hug before he left.

Ball was close to his grandmother, though I seldom saw them talk, still less exchange affection.

His granny was polite and friendly, though could be a fierce disciplinarian with her young nephews and nieces.

She now joins the spirits gathered above him.

Nursing an angry head

Boyfriend Maiyuu was waiting at the airport when I arrived home.

He looks thinner, but he always does after my annual trip away to see my family.

‘Eating alone is no fun. I still make food occasional meals for myself, but would rather buy it,’ he said.

We emailed every day over the two weeks I was absent.

He spent most of it alone, though a woman friend slept over a couple of nights to keep him company.

Another friend helped him make minor decorating changes to our place.

‘Next year, I’d like you to take me to Singapore so I can go shopping,’ Maiyuu suggested.

‘For that, you will need to organise a passport, and replace your ID card,’ I said.

It would be Maiyuu’s first trip overseas. I would like to be the first person to take him on a plane, but cooperation and tolerance will be needed on both sides.
-

I bought several cooking items for Maiyuu, a bottle of whisky for Ball, and chocolates for Ball’s Mum.

‘We missed you!’ said Mum.

The two toddlers of the household remembered me. Both have grown in my absence, and the older of the two is now forming short sentences.

I called Ball’s place once while I was overseas.

Mum, who sounded excited, hurriedly passed over the phone to her son, who peppered me with questions about the flight, and what I was doing.

‘I will bring home a bottle of whisky for us to celebrate,’ I said.

The night of my return, Ball came home from work an hour early. I spent several hours with his family as we drank, watched TV, caught up on news.

Ball, who looks a little harder in the face, has kept himself out of harm.

However, the angry teen in him still surfaces now and again.

One night, police stopped him close to work. His boss had taken Ball and his colleagues out for a boozy meal and Ball was weaving his way back home on a motorbike.

‘They were looking for people who take drugs. They took me back to the station, and I gave a urine sample.

‘The officer treated me suspiciously. When he asked for the sample, I took my trousers down to challenge him. He asked me what I was doing – no one had asked me to undress.

‘I told him I was demonstrating my innocence. I asked him to look into my face. With a face as broad as mine, how could I be taking drugs? I’d look thin and drawn if I was a user,’ Ball said.

‘The policeman was lost for words. ''Just ask my mother,'' I told him. No one in my family goes near that stuff.’

It was not Ball’s only brush with the authorities.

He ran into another police checkpoint yesterday. Officers were looking for motorcyclists driving without a licence.

‘I slowed down as if I was about to agree to an inspection, but sped off at the last minute,’ he said.

It was good to see my young friend again, hot head and all.

Ball is maturing. Two small tufts of hair have grown on his legs where before there was none.

'At work, they look at my face and ask if I am girl,' he said unhappily.

'You have your mother's pretty face, though it is growing harder. You are looking more like a man since I saw you last,' I said.

He smiled.

The day after our catch-up, Ball decided he was not up to working, and stayed at home instead.

‘I told my office work in advance that I would probably take the day off, as I knew you were coming home, and we would celebrate,’ he said.

Google hoiks on my ads: what a fag!

Hello, troops!

Back now, after a two-week hiatus. I notice today that Google appears to have yanked my advertising.

If any readers can still see ads in the sidebar, would you please leave a message letting me know?

If the advertising has indeed been withdrawn, Google has yet to inform me one way or the other.

Thinking of home

Ball’s place in the slum is a lively, affectionate home to nine permanent members, including two toddlers – but for how much longer?

Mum is my age, her partner Lort in his late 40s. The youngest members of the household are toddlers, both aged under two.

They look set to stay for a while. Some other members of the household, however, are restless.

The toddlers enjoy cuddles and kisses, and get them in spades, as Ball’s family are warm, loving types.

When the boy, Mew, sees me arrive, he heads straight to my arms. He also enjoys climbing on my back.

The girl, Fresh, is more reserved. She will hold up her hands and give me a wai before wanting cuddles.

Fresh, who is slightly older, is Ball’s favourite. He regards the girl, who was adopted, as his daughter.

When we are together, Ball plays mainly with Fresh, while I play with Mew.

Mew is the son of Ball’s elder sister Kae and her boyfriend.

They have built their own little world upstairs, on the same level where Ball and his girlfriend Jay sleep. Two bedrooms are upstairs – one for each couple.

While Ball and Jay have little other than the clothes and a few other bits and pieces to their names, Kae and her partner Tum are more industrious.

They have created a small enclosed space around their room, comprising a wardrobe, desk, even their own fridge.

Recently they asked me if I would take on a loan to buy a car on their behalf. Mum has her own pick-up truck, but they wanted a vehicle to call their own, even though they share the same home as everyone else.

They look like they are preparing to leave the family home to set up sticks of their own.

Ball and his girlfriend Jay, meanwhile, have started talking about moving out to rent their own place.

Jay would like a room closer to where she works. She would also like to remove Ball from the malign influence of the slum, as he finds it too easy to drink there.

I buy alcohol for him, and when Mum’s friends turn up, often they bring more.

‘If he moves in with me, he won’t find it so easy...we won’t have the money,’ she told me.

Like Jay, I would like Ball to live in safer, more pleasant surroundings.

But I would be sad to see him and his family break up. It is also home to Ball's younger brother, and occasionally his elder brother, a soldier who lives on base. He is close to both.

They are decent people, and get along well enough.

Part of me hopes they can stay together, as I enjoy them the way they are.

Going into battle

‘So where did the car business end up?’ Ball’s mother asked.

'I decided against helping, as I don’t want to get into debt,’ I told her.

Mum wasn’t interested. As I spoke, she barked out orders to the kids, almost as if she wasn’t listening.

Mum was more concerned about saving face.

‘When you told Tum that you weren’t prepared to help, the man from the finance company was on his way here.

'In fact, he had reached the top of the soi (street) when Tum called to say he could go back, as the farang had changed his mind,’ she said.

So what?

‘I don’t care what some finance company guy thinks. I don’t want to get into debt on anyone’s behalf,' I replied.

‘Asking someone to take on debt on your behalf is not some trifling matter. I am debt-free, and I like it that way.’

Again, my remarks were drowned out as she barked out commands to young members of the household. The toddlers were being naughty, and she wanted youngest son Beer to give them a bath.

I tried another tack.

‘I had asked to talk to you first, and we agreed to meet here at 1pm, if you remember.

‘Earlier, Tum told me the finance company man wouldn’t come until at least the next day, as he wanted Tum to reserve the car he wanted.

‘But at 1pm, just as I was heading out to see you, Tum called to say the finance man was coming early, and wanted me to sign the loan document.’

I doubt Mum was listening, as something else had taken her attention. A security guard from the condo nearby had turned up at the door, prattling about nothing.

I was starting to lose my patience.

‘So, did you want them to buy the car?’ I asked, ignoring the disruption.

‘No...I didn’t want them to get into debt,’ she said.

I was surprised to hear that Mum, too, had doubts about the car purchase plan. I glanced at the door. The security guard had left, so we were now at peace.

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ I asked. ‘You reckon I should have communicated better...what about you?’

No answer.

-
Ball’s first pay packet comes out next week, on the same day as I go overseas.

Before I leave, I want to arrange two things: a new ATM card for him, and a wallet for him to carry it in.

Ball had an ATM card, but lost it. His mother keeps his bank passbook locked away.

I have asked her to dig out Ball's bank passbook, so we can make a new ATM card.

When Ball's pay comes out, he will need his card to withdraw it. I told her that if she finds the passbook and hands it over, I will transfer a small sum to his account, to help with expenses.

Earlier, I told Mum I would give her B200 a week to supplement the money she gives him for work. She gives him B60 a day for food and transport costs.

I decided against giving it Mum herself, as Ball would probably spend it on a can of beer during his lunch break.

Once he starts drinking, he gets on a roll, and finds it hard to stop.

He could do the same thing should I transfer money to his account, of course, but it's harder to get at there than cash in hand.

Ball says he has asked his mother to return his bank book, but she declines. She worries that when his pay comes out, he will spend recklessly.

Yet if Ball is prepared to take on the adult responsibility of work, he is entitled to other trappings of adulthood, such as the right to hold on to his own ATM card and passbook.

He is chafing for the right to grow up and be seen as an adult in the eyes of his family. I doubt his mother is aware of just how much he wants to elevate his standing in their eyes.

The first time his pay arrives, he might make a few mistakes. But if he wastes it, I am sure he will regret it later, and it won't happen again. His girlfriend will also act as a restraining influence.

Today I will buy him a wallet, if I can find one I like.

In the next few days, he has to report to the local body office, as a first step to submitting himself to the military conscription draw next April.

We can probably get that done during his lunchbreak. If we still have time, I want to take him and his mother to the bank to make a new ATM card.

If his mother fails to dig out the passbook in time, I plan to pick him up from work during one lunchbreak this week and take him to the bank myself.

We can make an ATM card together, even without her help.

Headstrong?

After the unpleasant exercise over the car, I don't care much how she feels.