From Thailand

It took me two days to travel from home to school by bus, taxi, and motorbike. Although the total distance was 259 miles, a stretch of 143 miles took nearly five hours to traverse due to the winding roads. With 1,219 curves and no straight paths, drivers had to proceed cautiously and adhere to speed limits. The journey left me feeling dizzy and nauseous.

When I first arrived at the school, I saw four small buildings and a soccer field in front of them. The soccer field had no grass — just soil. The school was surrounded by a bamboo fence and trees. With no teacher's house available, I had to sleep in the main school building alongside the only teacher, using a tent as my bedroom.

The village had no electricity or phone service. Everyone, including the school, relied on solar panels. When I wanted to contact my family, I had to go to a small shop in the village to buy Wi-Fi access. The internet connection was weak, but I managed to send messages letting my family know I was safe. Beyond that, no one could contact me.

The school was quiet when I arrived, as it was closed at the end of the month and reopened at the beginning of the next. There was one main teacher and an assistant teacher who looked after the kindergarten students. About 80 students attended the school. I was thrilled at the prospect of meeting them once the school reopened.

On the first morning of school, I saw some students wearing traditional Karen tribal costumes and carrying handmade bags woven by their mothers. The patterns and colors were beautiful. Some students were chewing betel nuts — a common practice among Karen people, including children. They shyly greeted me with smiles as they walked up.

During the rainy season, one night, it poured heavily for about an hour. I noticed the floor near my tent was getting wet and quickly moved my tent to another side of the building. On days when it rained continuously, we often didn't have enough electricity since the solar panels couldn't charge.

One evening, I heard a student calling me.

"Teacher, my mom invites you to have dinner at my house," said Jirus, one of my students.

"Okay, I'll come tonight," I replied.

When I arrived at Jirus's house, the aroma of herbs greeted me. Inside, a large bowl of yellow soup with vegetables and tiny fish sat on the floor. There was no table or chairs, so we sat on the floor to eat. As I tasted the soup, Jirus said,

"That's not baby fish; it's tadpole! My mom caught them from the river."

Surprised, I exclaimed, "Oh! Tadpole?" I had heard of people eating tadpoles but never thought I'd try them. I didn't want to be impolite, so I ate it. Surprisingly, it tasted like baby fish. Most villagers ate wild animals, insects, and vegetables from the forest.

Three months later, I found myself wondering whether I should stay or return home. I loved teaching the students — they were kind and friendly. I admired the simple lifestyle of the villagers: farming, growing vegetables, and raising animals using traditional methods. However, there were challenges. Sleeping in a small tent was uncomfortable despite layering blankets. The villagers told me stories about people who had died while building the school, and at night, I sometimes heard mysterious knocking sounds on the walls. The nightly chorus of frogs, crickets, chickens, and dogs made it hard to sleep. Communication was another issue — if there was an emergency, no one could contact me until I called them back. Despite these challenges, I decided to stay. Over time, I grew attached to the village, the students, and the lifestyle.

After one year and four months, my time at the school came to an end. On my last day, the teacher held a farewell ceremony for me. I wore a traditional Karen tribal dress that the villagers had woven by hand. It took them a month to create the intricate patterns. The matching sarong was vibrant and stunning.

I shared my feelings with the students, and many of them, including me, cried. Each class lined up to say goodbye, and the students hugged me tightly.

"I'm sorry for not studying hard. From now on, I promise to do better. Thank you for teaching me, and I hope to see you again. I love you," one student said tearfully.

At that moment, I didn't want to leave. The students and villagers had become like family to me.

As my time in the village came to an end, I realized how much I had grown to love the simple yet rich life I had shared with the students and the community. Their heartfelt goodbyes and the connections we built will forever remain with me. While I faced challenges along the way, the experience taught me resilience, adaptability, and the profound impact of education and cultural exchange. Leaving was bittersweet, but I left with cherished memories and a deep appreciation for the life and spirit of the village.

In the end, I hope my students carry the lessons I taught them, cherish their culture, and pursue their dreams with determination. Though I am leaving, a part of me will always remain with them, and I will always carry their smiles, laughter, and stories in my heart.