Pyin Oo Lwin

Sun sets on the old colonial hill station. Embedded in the rush hour traffic carts drawn by slightly emaciated horses search the streets for a fare. With the sun having set the night draws in and with it a slight chill falls, warranting a thick jumper. We venture out in search of the night market, famous for delicious food. At 6pm it is just getting started. We appear to have become this evening’s entertainment. The women howl with laughter as we point at various foods with a look of confusion and curiosity like a gorilla with a new toy. The market is abuzz with life as family and friends happily gather around tables.

With our bellies full and feeling drunk with joy we leave behind the laughter and smiles of friends and families. Suddenly, my feet catch something on the floor. I look down to find a grubby little boy sweetly smiling up at us. He holds out his cupped hands and desperately pleads ‘money… money’. We searched for a parent only to see his elder brother who was playing on the floor. Looking at the little boy again I motioned to food, he Hopfully replied ‘money’. I then clutched my fingers and put them to my mouth and repeated ‘food’. His face instantaneously lit up with excitement repeatedly mimicking the motion. I held out my hand and he shot up putting his in mine. We beckoned for his brother to join and in our new gang, holding hands we trotted across the road to the fruit stand.

Brimming with excitement the little boy gleamed blissfully, insistently pointing at a tray of strawberries on the floor. We enquired about the prices and discussed what we thought was best for them. The longer the conversation continued, the longer the little boy became increasingly concerned about missing out on the opportunity for strawberries. Sweetly smiling, he continued to point becoming increasingly insistent and began integrating a full body action to make himself fully understood. At this point, his brother decided to intervene sharply pulling him back and sternly instructing him to be grateful for whatever was given to them. His efforts calmed, but not extinguished the little boy shifted to a more “subtle” tack. To their delight we soon handed them two bags full of bananas and different kinds of fruit. So consumed with joy the little boy could not have cared less if he had strawberries or oranges. The pair grinned from ear to ear saying thank you in English before scampering off with their goodies.

 

“Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow.” – Swedish Proverb

 

Having taken the opportunity to help these small boys who had no one to help them, our hearts felt full. So much of me wanted to take them home and give them a better life but that was not possible. A few minutes after the boys left, we saw them again. Only this time they were in a group of six. A little boy and girl had joined them along with a young woman clutching a two year old in her arms. Busily, they shared the food we had given them; they were laughing, chattering and smiling so wide that you would have thought it was Christmas. The two year old in her mother’s arms was grasping a banana but her in excitement, half dropped on the floor. Her look of pure delight transformed into pure horror as she stared, longingly at the banana lying on the floor. To her relief we quickly got her another, reigniting her glee. Interestingly the group soon parted ways; they were friends rather than family, united by misfortune. The boys had shared all they had and resultantly had left a powerfully imprinted lesson on our minds. One wonders why so often those with so much are more reluctant to share.