GRAPE VINE
SAN SAN NWEH(Tharawaddy): THE CHILDREN WHO PLAY IN THE BACK ALLEYWAYS
Source : Courtesy by Burma Homepage
On evenings when the electricity goes off in our neighborhood,
the streets are usually full of people. Our homes are cramped and the lack of light inside encourages us to seek out the early evening breeze on the street where there is more space and light.
When power cuts occur on moonlit nights, nervous types like myself breathe a little easier--the sound of children's laughter seems louder and more vivacious, and the teenagers strum softly at their guitars, playing not only the latest hits but also the old familiar tunes that tend to linger sweetly in the air, lifting the heart, yet bringing sad thoughts.
The noise of young children running here and there, chanting in shrill voices, often disturbs me, though, and I have to shout angrily at them to drive them away. But they just move on somewhere else and carry on their laughing and playing, noisily arguing, never tiring of devising endless games. I guess I'm glad the scamps can play so happily, yet at the same time I get a little anxious--the scrub and long grass where they run around playing hide and seek is full of vipers and scorpions, and the spot just behind our row of little houses is a favorite with the mongooses.
The children of our neighborhood are quite familiar with mongooses but all the same it could be nasty if they stepped on one in the dark. Even though mongooses don't usually attack people they will react violently to being touched, biting back if they are hurt. They say mongoose bites are hard to heal. Only last year a child who had been bitten by one died before reaching the hospital. And children have such short memories, don't they? They are heedless and quickly forget things that have happened to them. They haven't learned to feel fear.
Almost all the kids from our neighborhood, including my two, are little devils. They decide for themselves that their homework needn't be done properly and they just fool around, getting up to whatever mischief beckons. We parents, at our wits' end, have given up trying to do anything about it.
Tonight, I see the kids play recklessly. They could easily come to harm--the dim, yellow streetlights and the faint twilight make the main road treacherous, with it s passing cyclists and sidecars plying for hire; and in the back alleys and on the patches of waste ground there could be scorpions and snakes. But wait a minute! Suddenly I remember--isn't there somewhere just up the road where they could play to their heart's content? Isn't' there a seesaw, some swings, green grass, and beds of colorful flowers, just about to bloom, and benches, with fresh paint just about dry by now?
They could play on the swings, singing the old nursery rhyme:
Seesaw, sit on the plank,
one foot up, one foot down
Show me the way to Rangoon town.
Here they could shout, let off steam, and make as much noise as they liked.
Leaving the shade of an almost tree, I emerge into the dappled moonlight into the tarmac road and look around in search of the children.
"Hi, Ko Zay!, Hi, Johnny!" I call out. The people nearby look up to see why I'm raising my voice, but I take no notice. "Boys,come back, bring your friends, all of you come over here."
With a patter of feet the children come running at top speed and gather around me, panting for breath. My youngest son, Moonface, throws his arms around my waist.
"What have you got for us to eat, Mommy?" he asks.
"Always looking for food!" I reply. "No, I called you because I won't have you playing in the back streets in the dark. Come on, all of you, we'll go to the park at the end of the road. There's much more space up there. Come on, I'll take you."
"Oh, but mommy!" he protests. His little arms around my waist loosen.
"I'm afraid to go." The tremulous words come from a little one in the group.
"I'm not , but I did see something," says one of the older boys, Ko Zay.
"What are you saying--afraid of what?"
"Oh, Mommy, you know. It's...it's..Ko Chan Aye! He was a very good friend of ours."
"Yes, Aunt!" says another. "He always helped us when we were flying our kites. When the big boy was with us no one dared to try to beat us. Our group was the champion at kite flying in our neighborhood."
"Chan Aye used to fly kites and do his schoolwork too, and if he ever went into a tea shop it was only just for a moment!"
"And Aunty, he died in a moment too. I can see him now."
As their voices clamor, one after another, I, too, imagine that I can see the boy: his friends are carrying the lifeless body out from the tea shop. But Chan Aye is no more. And the tea shop has gone too. And along with the tea shop, the nearby Arakan noodle stall and the betel and cigarette sellers have vanished. They said the itinerant sellers, with their stalls scattered in a makeshift manner here and there, were spoiling the neighborhood's tidy aspect, and so they made them clear out. And all that remains is this area of leveled ground, which they've turned into a children's playground, an expanse of green grass with seesaws and swings, and neat beds of colorful flowers.
"It's the best place for you to play. What's wrong with it? Come on, let's go."
"I'm afraid to go," It's the same little boy as before.
"What are you afraid of, silly? I scold.
"I'm not afraid--but I can see him there." It's the older boy again.
"What do you mean, "see him"? You mean you're imagining his ghost?"
The children are quiet. Taking advantage of their silence, I begin to lecture them in true adult fashion: Have they ever seen a ghost? I, for one, never have. There aren't any ghosts. Ghosts simply don't exist.
"Oh, but Aunty, that's only because when people die, the family makes lots of offerings to the monks so that the dead person doesn't end up as a ghost. Ko Chan Aye's family was too poor..."
"Stop that! Don't talk nonsense. There absolutely are no ghosts. If you don't believe me, just go and play there every evening. Come on now, I'll take you there."
"No way!"
"That's enough now. You're just being stubborn. In this age of modern science there's no need to be afraid of ghosts."
"But Aunty, scientific ghosts are more frightening, we've seen them in video movies."
"All you kids do is watch those videos!"
"I don't feel like playing any more,"
one of the children says. "I can see Ko Chan Aye right now, with is bright red shirt."
"But he was wearing a white shirt."
"No, it was red!"
"Stop arguing--its already half past nine."
The children scamper off to their homes and I walk home too,my heart heavy. I can't help wondering what more can be done to persuade those children to use that playground. I wish I wasn't born such a worrier.
Somehow I must get them to put all these notions out of their heads.
And somehow I know it will fall to me alone to do it--for, as a writer and mother, I guess I'm the only one around here that can exorcise these particular ghosts.