Burma/Myanmar Stories

Officer Ma Thida stares at me with a weird scrutinizing facial expression from behind his battered desk. I have the dim feeling he is annoyed by me, the bothersome foreigner, who has intruded his police station with a tedious request.

Incredulously I look at the two saffron-clad monks sitting side by side on a stone bench a few feet away from me. They appear to be beside themselves with glee, watching me balance on the narrow staircase, trying to clean my bare feet with wet wipes.

“Did you notice the old man at the entrance? That’s my father! He is 81 years old! He’s keeping watch! When the secret police shows up, he whistles! Then we escape through the back door, and only you will get arrested!”

Daw, my designated driver for the day, takes me to Paleik, a small town some miles south of Mandalay, to visit the famed Hmwe Paya, better known as the Snake Pagoda. It’s named after three giant pythons that call this place their home.

Than has been my designated chauffeur for the day. He’s a friendly chap, dressed in a traditional, almost ankle-length, skirt-like longyi that leaves me wondering how he manages pedaling on his squeaky trishaw unimpaired. He tells me he has navigated along the wide, flat grid of streets of laid-back Mandalay, Myanmar’s second largest city, for 25 years already.

In the final part of our three-part feature series detailing life in Burma one year on from the pro-democracy protests, Robert Carry gives a personal account of how he entered and fled the stricken country.

Running along the walls are graphic diagrams depicting how to set trip wires, direct blasts and maximise shrapnel spread in order to kill as many people as possible.

The first in a three-part feature series I wrote from Burma just after cyclone Nargis hit.