|
Mission to the Misty
North-East - IV
By Lipika Bansal
Now it was time for some chit-chat and he asked
us some questions, as expected. I told him what
we had planned. He asked me to write my name on
a piece of paper. I thought he might check with
the University of Delhi, whether there is really
a Lipika Bansal studying sociology…anyway it
turned out to be credible. Finishing the talk we
continued on with our more important discussions
on drugs. Apparently it was difficult for them
to seize huge amounts of drug. The maximum they
have caught was 2.5 kilograms. This is because
they pack everything in small gram packages,
that way the packages are only intercepted some
grams at a time. During our interview we
got interrupted by someone else, so we felt we
had enough information and we left with a
satisfied smile on our face. Slipping back into
our slippers and after taking our bags we went
to the women's market, where we had a good laugh
with the vegetable and fruit vendors. As we were
not able to communicate with them we just copied
what they were saying.
Later we found out that IGP stands for Inspector
General of Police, the highest in the whole
Police Department.
One of our contact who is a social worker in
Churachandpur works on women's issues. She
teaches about hygienic ways of living in the
hilly areas, where people live in utmost poverty
(I didn’t see myself). Her brother works with
Star News, and told us about a story he covered.
In Imphal you can see many rickshaw drivers
(3-wheel-cycle -puller) completely covering
their faces, because it seems that they are all
highly educated people, with good university
degrees, master degrees etc. but have no other
ways of making a living, so they are forced to
pull rickshaws. Because they are ashamed to do
this work, they cover their faces. The
social worker took us to Churandchanpur, the
second city of Manipur. Here we went again to
de-addiction centers, but we went to one very
peculiar one. I was shocked and terrified at the
sight of this center. There were about 150 drug
addicts living in this center and all of them
were shackled (chained with their feet), mostly
boys and 4 girls between the age of 15 and 55
years old or so. I thought that the man who was
managing the center was a real madman…he said
that police brings in these drug addicts,
because they are violent towards their parents.
Besides, the parents buy locks for them, to keep
them like that.
They are taught arts and crafts with wood and
the furniture thus made is sold. They also make
noodles which are also sold. I asked if their
parents come to visit their children sometimes
and the man replied in the positive but opined
that he did not usually want them to come. Many
people and organizations object to his way of
treating drug addicts and thereby, he has
isolated himself from the outside world. He
hardly lets anybody go inside. He has made is
own cemetery, because he wants to die there.
Many people have contacted him, and offered him
money in exchange of getting rid of the
shackles. But he refuses to take off those
shackles. Rehabilitation means, making
people ready to go back to society. Here he is
doing absolutely the opposite. He is isolating
them from the outside world. Some of them stay
there for at least 5 years. And when they go
back to their communities, they can’t cope
with their environment, and they return to the
dangerous sect-leader and his wife. I don’t
know what he tells them, but maybe he is
brainwashing all the people there. He has his
little kingdom there, where he can do whatever
he wants.
We met with another ethnic group from Burma, the
Zomi; they came as refugees to Manipur. The Zomi
man we talked to told about another recent
occurrence, one sister went to visit her ill
sister in another village. On her way she had to
pass the Burmese army post. She was captured for
one week and raped. It is difficult for the Zomi
people to concentrate on their work as they face
problems with the Manipuri (they call themselves
Meiteis). The Meiteis are fighting the Zomi, as
they feel that they have occupied their land. So
the Zomis are twice refugees. First from Burma,
and secondly as internally displaced people. The
Thai-Burma border is the opposite from the
Indo-Burma border. India is much poorer in
comparison to Thailand, so when refugees arrive
in India it is difficult for them to organize
themselves, as communication connections are
very bad. There are no telephone lines;
distances are too long, which makes
transportation very expensive. Computers-forget
it. You must be happy if you have light
sometimes.
Dr. Thura had advised us to travel by air to
Aizawl, the capital of Mizoram as the roads are
a complete disaster in the rainy seasons. He
said that we might be stranded in the middle of
nowhere and it might take us 3 days to reach
Aizawl, and we didn’t have the time to have a
3 day road experience, but maybe next time. Our
flight would be on Friday at 12 noon. Our next
place to visit and the most exiting place yet
are the Moreh-Tamu border towns in India and
Burma respectively. Foreigners are absolutely
prohibited to go to those areas. There are many
checkpoints as this is a major drug trafficking
route. But I must say if you want to smuggle
something, it is quite easy, because they
don’t check very thoroughly. We left early in
the morning, as we only had an hour and half to
spend in Moreh, because they close the gate at
1.00 p.m. You have to leave Moreh before that,
or you have to stay there. But we couldn’t
stay because we had to catch our flight the next
morning.
Anyway when we arrived in Moreh, we saw this
most pathetic town-it seemed like the end of the
world. Especially now in the rainy seasons, the
roads- well you can hardly say, they are roads,
they are holes with bits of road, and well the
same story when I first stepped out in Guwahati
–‘kicher’ everywhere. We had our breakfast
at a small vendor, when it started pouring like
crazy. Many women cross the border secretly to
sell vegetables, and return at the end of the
day as the Indian rupee is worth more than the
Burmese kyat. We had only 30 minutes more to
spend in Moreh, and then we would have to go
back; we hadn’t done anything yet. We
were supposed to meet with the Kuki people. So
there we went in the rain, while bathing my feet
and giving my slippers an extra cleaning
treatment in those delicious lukewarm brownish
deep puddles of rain and drainage water. We
stayed with the ABSDF with Dr. Thura, which
means the All Burma Students’ Democratic
Front. We had 15 min. left, but I was
considering staying the night, because we could
try to cross the border, although we were
advised not to go. But first we had to see
whether we would be able to make it in time for
our flight the next day. We asked our
van-driver, whether it was ok, if we didn’t go
today, but tomorrow instead. He was extremely
kind and said yes, he was most happy to stay in
Moreh, because that is his hometown. And we
would have to be ready the next day at 6.30 am
or so. OK, we can do that, no problem…I was
extremely happy that I was able to convince Jang
to stay!!
to
be continued......
(The author attends the University of Amsterdam in Holland majoring in International Communications)
|
Welcome! 
International
Features
Part
