Class Is In Session!

3 March 2019

[Above photo: ]

My class, the first Certificate class (7 months full-time) in Child and Adolescent Psychiatry in Myanmar, begins in earnest on Monday. I met 9 of the 10 students, Adult Psychiatrists and Faculty all, on Friday at the University of Medicine 1 where the non-clinical learning will take place. I hesitate to say lectures, as we all know how boring those are. I’m currently turning Child Development into a Quiz Show, complete with timer and music (a recording of a guitar track). Oh, we’ll have a good time and learn a lot, me included. The plan is to use those certificated students to develop a Diploma-level class in order to train more Child Psychiatrists. They will form the leadership core of Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services in Myanmar going forward, training Psychiatry Residents (MMeds), Psychiatric Nurses, Medical Students, Social workers, and Lay Counsellors. I’ll get someone to teach a research module for them, since I’m not fluent enough to do that myself. They all look highly motivated, smart, and seasoned. Many of them are sacrificing considerably to do the course, moving here from other parts of the country, leaving or bringing their families. Their ages are between 30 and 50yo. I think I’ve never felt so motivated, professionally, to do a very thorough, responsive, and creative job. What an amazing chance I have here!

I keep forgetting to write about random observations that, in sum, add up to a glimpse of Myanmar culture. Like the cords hanging to the sidewalk from apartments many floors above with clips, bags, or baskets on the end to retrieve food from the local market without descending 5 flights of stairs . You shout down to a street vendor, bargaining for what you want, send the kyat down in the bag, and bring the fruits or veges back up. Or the strawberries neatly packed and secured with plastic wrap for sale at curbside which always look wonderful but sometimes the underside of each berry is rotten and must be pared away. The last bunch I bought was nearly perfect. It is the luck of the draw as examining them doesn’t help me. I think buying them in the early morning is the trick, before they sit in the heat of day for hours. I wash all fruits and vegetables in a basin of water with a bit of chlorox, soaking them for 5’. Then a 10’ rinse. Then pop them into the fridge. Fresh foods taste wonderful and seem to last remarkably well.  My Myanmar language is improving and people begin to understand when I ask, “Please bring the bill.” or “Drop me off at the corner of Sint O Dan Lan and Anawaratha Streets, please.” Anawaratha is pronounced something like “Annoyata”, lest you think this is simple. And me often not being able to decipher song lyrics in English!

I see women everywhere with stainless steel steam trays on the sidewalks. Often there are 12 or 20 varieties of cooked foods, with little plastic tables and stools nearby for the customers. They are set up before I arise in the morning and are there after I retire at night. What a life!! How do they do it, day after day? I’d jump off a bridge! The mid-day temperatures are in the high 90’s and they are out there, serving and selling.  What a strong people. And there appears to be no theft. People are remarkably polite and kind. It is so different than the dominant culture in America, where no one feels they have enough, everyone feels they are working too hard, and tempers blossom into murderous rages frequently.  The Myanmar people have suffered repression and austerity under a military dictatorship for at least 56 years, which has undoubtedly caused many parents to teach their children and grandchildren how to stifle their needs and, perhaps, ideas. But it also must reflect their internalization of the principles of Buddhism.

In anticipation of the monsoon, there is a lot of work clearing and rebuilding the wide and deep drainage system alongside all the roads. It promises to be an experience, trudging to work through swirling brown water while its source gushes from the sky.  I must purchase a more substantial umbrella!

My new favorite vegetable is, I think, garlic scapes. They are wonderfully crisp and fresh, add well to any dish, have a mild flavor and all the nutrients you would want (I’m totally guessing by the dark green of their stalks!). I boiled some fresh wheat noodles yesterday, sautéed some garlic and chopped scapes, added sliced chicken breast, black bean sauce and some sesame oil—–it makes me hungry to write it! I’m no chef but I often cook better than I can buy out. I do like sushi and have that once a week. It is dull to eat out alone and I often bring my phone to read the NY Times or the New Yorker for the latest screed on Hizhonor. He has learned to garner attention, that boy. Lord, I hate to think of what his childhood was like and how his parents related (or didn’t) to him. We’re not supposed to diagnose, as psychiatrists, without directly examining a person but if he isn’t a malignant narcissist, I’ll eat my hat. Which is saying a lot, since I must have dropped my good one and had to scour Lion World Market for another, lesser, cap. Even with SP 56 titanium dioxide/zinc oxide sunscreen, it is foolish with my skin to saunter about at mid-day with no hat. My scalp got burned.

Back to eating alone, I entered my local (25 steps from my door) Chinese restaurant to find all the tables full. A young man was finished and stood up to give me his table. One thing led to another, so he stayed and we talked. He was reading Shakespeare in Chinese. He’s here with a big Chinese government conglomerate. Very pleasant and worldly for 31yo. He’s off to Japan in two weeks to visit Hiroshima and Tokyo. Then on to China to see his parents.  The Chinese government has a huge treasury and spends it in very strategic ways, like starting these multiple businesses in Myanmar under one roof. So much more planful than our DT, rushing around and grandstanding with dictators while alienating all our friends (See Foreign Affairs this week, if you need to.) and allies.

I supped with a friend, a pre-school teacher at the Yangon International School, last night and bought a ticket to their annual fund-raising gala at the fancy Sule Shangri-La Hotel. Black tie. I didn’t bring my tuxedo. I don’t own one.  Apparently the Burmese really get dressed to the nines (OED “to a great or elaborate extent”) for this event. One reason to come to the tropics, it seems to me, is so you don’t have to dress formally. Perhaps I have lived in Berkeley too long. I don’t even have black shoes here. I may dress in traditional Burmese formal style: a black taikpon eingyi (jacket), white shirt, dark longyhi (wrapped skirt, basically), and velvet slippers.  The longyi recalls my Scot origins. The outfit on me is probably no more eccentric or uncomfortable than a tuxedo with cummerbund! I’ll seek a cultural and sartorial consultation.

I have a certain level of anxiety about the teaching, feeling like I need to be an expert authority in every aspect of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry. I’m not. And it would be nice if I were but I can read and I do know enough from time and hard lessons (“One kind of wisdom”, sing Alison Kraus and Union Station on one track) to orient them to it all. Linda said, “I think you have a wounded child in you.”, referring to my passion for this. Yep, certainly true. Don’t we all?

I cannot say my guitar skills are advancing much but it is so nice to be able to sit and pick a tune when I want. I never want to perform for others. Even if it gives them pleasure, which it might, that sort of directly revealing my desire for applause is anathema. Of course I have the desire, as we all do, but I seem able to seek it through other avenues.  Playing a musical instrument in front of others is too bald an appeal for me. My dear sister thinks I reveal too much of myself in this blog. I don’t. None of what I say about myself is deeply shameful to me, just human. I think we’d all be better off, and feel closer to one another, if we didn’t try to hide ourselves.