It’s another rainy season. We’ve got work to do. I’m glad to be back in Laos!

Over 50% of all UXO accidents in Laos involve people intentionally handling ordnance. Sometimes victims are attempting to move items to a safer location. Sometimes they are tampering with ordnance hoping to get explosives or scrap to sell.

Odoumsouk Village – Nakai District –  Khammouan Province – Lao Peoples Democratic Republic

I arrived back on the Nakai Plateau two nights ago. It was raining then and it hasn’t stopped since. This is the rainy season so it’s nothing out of the ordinary, but coming here directly from droughty conditions in Wisconsin the volume of rain caught me by surprise. It’s raining what my grandmother would call “a gully washer.” We left the tailgate of our truck up over night and the bed liner proved to be so watertight that this morning the back of the pickup held more than a foot of rainwater. We joked about raising tilapia in the bed and selling them live at the market. We might take our mobile pond from village to village. I left it to Buntavee, our driver, to think of a way to open the gate and release the hundreds of gallons of rainwater without being swept off his feet.

I’ve lost count of how many years I’ve been in Asia for the summer monsoon rains. Except for the ruinous conditions of the roads and the travel complications that follow, I actually find this weather pleasant. The cloudy days give some temporary relief from the intense summer sun, and the periodic rains cut the choking dust of the late dry season. Best of all, the countryside explodes in color as plants are washed free of dust and send forth lush new growth. Ireland boasts of being the “land of 1000 shades of green”. Any Irishman with a sense of fairness who has seen the rice fields and tropical forests of Asia during the monsoon will acknowledge Laos as a just rival.

I spent a good part of last year in a tent, without toilet, electricity, or running water. Then, as our work brought us closer to the town of Odoumsouk, I was able to move into a three-dollar-a-night guesthouse that I valued most for the tin roof overhead. Our Response Team continues to rent a room at that guesthouse that serves as a combination storeroom, bedroom, and office. So… that’s where I am currently parked, with all my gear damp and muddy but safely out of the rain. I’ll headquarter here until I head farther into the field in a couple of weeks.

Some things just don’t change. Case in point. The very first village I visited yesterday, someone wanted me to see a bomb that they had found. The villager reassured me that he hadn’t moved the item, but had left it undisturbed. However, when I inspected the bomb it was resting on bright green grass next to a spot of dying grass that was exactly the size and shape of the bomb, a clear indication that someone had recently rolled the bomb from its previous resting place. Any time ordnance is disturbed it becomes more hazardous for us to work with.

Then, we stopped at a carpenter shop to check on some work I had commissioned. After settling accounts, almost as an afterthought, the carpenter told us that while building an addition onto his home he had unearthed some ordnance. It was yellow. “Did we want to see it?”

The carpenter’s description of color narrowed the number of usual suspects and members of our team made bets as to which sub munition or “bombie” we would be dealing with. It turned out to be a BLU (for “Bomb Live Unit”) 3-b. I’m glad the carpenter left the device undisturbed. Too often, villagers attempt to disassemble 3-b’s. They harvest the TNT and then fashion the empty casing into an oil lamp.

Over half of all UXO accidents in Laos occur when people are intentionally handling ordnance. This is a poor country and people have a hard time resisting the temptation to convert ordnance into cash or useful items that they otherwise would have to buy at the market. It’s also a country with very low education levels and limited public media. It’s a constant challenge to educate people about the dangers they face when handling UXO.

Villagers who have lived with UXO for decades know that many items don’t explode when touched, moved, or even disassembled. So… villagers eager to turn UXO into cash play the odds and handle the stuff. Accidents inevitably happen and the dangerous trade falls off for a while until memories fade and people convince themselves that the odds are in their favor.

I just met another victim of the scrap trade yesterday. He lost both hands and an eye when a rocket he was carrying exploded. I wish I could bring him with me as we move from village to village delivering our UXO safety sermons. The sight of his bandaged arms would be more convincing to villagers than the images on our safety posters.

Yai, my interpreter, is the same old Yai and, on the whole, I’m thankful for that. He has a delightful personality and positive attitude that brighten even the most discouraging day. On the other hand, his English could use some improvement. During my three-month absence he’s only spoken with Ausies and Brits and his grasp of American English has grown a tad rusty.

Yesterday, I sent Yai to buy four notebooks. He came back from the market with forty. I asked him to buy me a new mosquito net: any color but pink. Upon return, he proudly showed me the pink net he found after some searching. Yai is still struggling to explain how it happened that when one of the technicians called for him to send the “firing cable” he sent the “filing cabinet” instead. (I’m certain that when the file cabinet arrived the technician took one look, shook his head in disbelief, and ruefully muttered, “Some things never change.”)

Every place we’ve stopped on the plateau I am greeted by Lao friends who seem genuinely glad to see me return. It’s flattering to be remembered and (perhaps) missed. When the rain lets up a bit I’ll begin to make my official rounds of old haunts. It’s going to be an exciting few days as Yai and I travel from village to village checking on conditions and logging new tasks to be completed. It feels good to be back. I count myself lucky to be involved in gratifying work among wonderful people.