Sombath Somphone, pictured above with Noble Peace Prize recipient Desmond Tutu, was abducted from the streets of Vientiane two months ago. There has been news about his whereabouts and his family, friends, and supporters remain concerned for his safety.

A US rights envoy on Monday appealed to Laos for more information on a prominent activist missing for two months, saying the case was having a “chilling effect” on civil society groups.

Sombath Somphone, the 62-year-old founder of a non-governmental organisation campaigning for sustainable development, disappeared in Vientiane while driving home on December 15.

CCTV images showed him being taken away from a police post by two unidentified individuals.

“It’s been incredibly frustrating to not have more visibility into the progress of the investigation,” Daniel Baer, deputy assistant secretary for the State Department’s Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor, told AFP by telephone from Vientiane after talks with the Lao vice foreign minister.

“I was assured that they are investigating — that’s what the vice minister told me — but I made sure that he understood that not having more information is not helpful,” Baer said, expressing disappointment that he was unable to meet any officials from the ministry of public security.

The Lao authorities have previously suggested Sombath might have been abducted over a personal dispute but said they had no information about his whereabouts.

The campaigner won the 2005 Ramon Magsaysay Award for Community Leadership for his work in poverty reduction and sustainable development in a country that remains one of Southeast Asia’s poorest nations.

The secretive one-party communist state — which exerts total control over the media and does not tolerate criticism — has in recent years gradually given local civil society groups more room to operate.

But Sombath’s disappearance has sent jitters through the activist network.

“There’s no question that it’s had a chilling effect,” Baer said.

“For as long as the case remains unresolved and Sombath doesn’t come home to his wife, the international community as well as many people here who know and love him will continue to ask questions,” he added.

That phenomenon aside…on Day One we bought the guys new shoes. When a few of the deminers argued that their flip-flops were more comfortable, I countered that shoes provide greater safety and improve productivity. In the end, it came down to our banning flip-flops from the field.

In fairness I must acknowledge a few advantages to working barefoot or in sandals. Inevitably shoes get wet and, in this climate, stay damp until dried over a fire. If my feet are in wet boots for several days, I sprout blisters, hatch fungal infections and, if I’m too lazy or neglectful, develop a skin condition best described as “rot”.

In addition, while I’m the best-shod member of the team, I’m the guy most plagued by leech bites, a consequence of those critters squirming through the weave of my socks and burrowing south. I usually don’t notice their presence until late in the day when I remove my boots and discover that I’m wearing bloody socks. Deminers who go barefoot or wear sandals spot their leeches early and burn them off before they draw much blood.

So why get involved in picking footwear for the team? The bottom line is that while the guys do have tough feet, they aren’t impervious to pain and can’t venture into all the places they need to go.

When we do area clearance, we must make certain that an entire parcel is thoroughly searched. Ninety-nine per cent accuracy is not good enough. If the deminers declare an area free of ordnance but have missed a spot the size of a ping-pong ball, they could be setting villagers up for a fatal accident. The only way to accomplish a thorough search is to have the deminers shod in footwear that will protect them from the meanest thorn and sharpest stubble.

There’s talk of bringing bomb detection dogs back to Laos. About ten years ago MAG, the Mines Advisory Group, brought two dogs from Sweden for trials. The dogs worked well with their Swedish handlers, but were an expensive addition to MAG clearance efforts and there was doubt, in the end, about whether the dogs’ contribution equaled the cost of breeding, training, and maintaining them.

(One of the two dogs was not particularly nice to be around. I may be alone in that opinion, although it’s likely that the Swiss tourist who lost the end of his nose to that dog would agree with me. On the other hand, if sociability were a job requirement for us humans, many UXO clearance teams would be severely understaffed).

Dogs offer a singular advantage over humans sweeping the earth with metal detectors. The detectors, even when adjusted to exacting levels of sensitivity, will indicate the presence of many pieces of metal that are not, in fact, ordnance and each of those false alarms must be explored. In heavily bombed areas deminers may excavate hundreds or even thousands of pieces of “frag” for every bomblet found.

Since dogs search for the scent of explosive, not metal, they trot right over frag and go straight to ordnance, sparing the deminers who follow along the effort of digging out all the bits and bobs. (Other critters have also been used to detect explosives; rats and wasps have received the most publicity).

Weather conditions, even time of day, affect the presence of scent so an animal’s ability is somewhat variable. Different dogs must check each other’s work and humans with detectors must conduct “quality assurance” inspections on a significant portion of the land before a parcel can be declared safe.

The Swedish dogs were the product of a special breeding program, sons and grandsons of bomb detecting dogs, and underwent lengthy training programs and apprenticeships. They were matched to specific handlers and couldn’t be tasked to work with a rotating crew of deminers. By the time the dogs arrived from Sweden tens of thousands of dollars had been invested in each of them. The loss of a dog to accident or illness would mean a tough financial hit to a program already struggling for adequate funding.

The heat and humidity in Laos was hard on the Swedish dogs; one died shortly after returning to Scandinavia, from a condition possibly exacerbated by the stress of life here. In neighboring Cambodia, where dogs have been employed in minefield clearance, no dogs have been lost to accidents with ordnance but there have been dog fatalities due to snakebite; sadly, snakebite is a fate that will likely occur in Laos from time to time, if dogs are used extensively here.

We visited a school and asked students if anyone knew of problem ordnance near their village. Sure enough, several girls told us that their friend had come upon a cluster bomblet while collecting bamboo shoots. None of the girls new the location of the bomblet; we would have to talk to their friend who just happened to be absent that day. So, off we went to find the girl and, possibly, her bomb.

We found the twelve year old, at home, healthy and hard at work. She told us that she’d rather be in school but she had too much work to do. Her parents, out working in the fields, would expect her chores to be completed when they returned. If she found some spare time, she would start cooking dinner.

She confirmed that she had recently found a cluster bomblet but she declined to lead us to it. How could she? With so many chores to do? With dinner to cook? If she had time to spare, wouldn’t she be in school with her friends?

There was only one solution. The men started working under her direction. One guy fetched water. One slopped the pigs. Another fed the chickens. Two guys pounded rice. In half an hour we had all her assigned tasks completed, freeing her to take us to the bomblet. But… there was still one, final concern. It wouldn’t be proper for her to go into the woods with seven men. She insisted that we return to the school and recruit several of her classmates to accompany her on the trek.

All in all, she came out smelling like a rose. Her parents would be pleased that her chores were done. Her teacher would excuse her absence from school. Her friends would be impressed that seven adults, an American among them, were beseeching her for help. And, her village was rid of a dangerous bomblet. Not a bad end of the day for a girl caught playing hooky.

Among the various livelihood projects that we are enabling few are more popular than fishponds. And, what’s not to like?

The ponds don’t have to be big to serve as a suitable habitat for small fish, frogs, snails, crustaceans, and other edible organisms that are already part of the Lao villagers’ diet. With a pond in the backyard families have a steady source of protein and are spared hiking a distance to their prior fishing or netting places.

Last year, before our project wrapped, we cleared land for forty-seven new ponds in two villages. Some ponds were, literally, in people’s back yards. Others, just a short walk from home.

This is an easy place to establish ponds, since this part of Laos receives abundant rainfall throughout much of the year and, even in the dry season, there are free-running streams that can be diverted. In some places water can flow through a long series of linked ponds.

There are many traditional Lao recipes that call for the inclusion of small fish, sometimes no bigger than the minnows that American fishermen use for bait. Families with ponds commonly use dip nets to catch fish or frogs one meal at a time. If they want to harvest fish and preserve them for later use, they will salt them, smoke them or dry them in the intense, dry-season sun.

It may not look like much but this market in Dak Chung is our Wal-Mart, our Walgreens, and our Piggly Wiggly. If they don’t have it in Dak Chung, we’d best decide that we don’t really need it.

We don’t get here often because Dak Chung is an hour from camp and the roads are tough on both vehicles and passengers. The two most critical items that bring us shopping here are fuel and drinking water. We consider vegetables and fresh meats to be luxury items; we can’t store perishable foods for long because we don’t have refrigeration.

For a couple of days after a trip to town we eat high on the hog, wolfing down perishable foods before they spoil. Then, once the feasting is over, it’s back a steady diet of less perishable foods: dried fish, water buffalo jerky, canned sardines, cabbage, garlic, onions, chili peppers and the like.

And, of course: rice, rice, and rice. The Lao words for breakfast are “first rice;” the words for lunch are “second rice;” can you guess the words for dinner?

Pictured above are casings that once contained a sub munition called the BLU26. Each pair of pictured casings constituted a unit that held up to 670 bomblets. Upon impact each bomblet exploded and dispersed 300 steel ball bearings. After opening in the air and releasing the sub munitions the casings simply fell to earth usually landing within the target area.

For over forty years, villagers have been finding random halves canisters and recycling them. They may sell them for their scrap value or, more likely, put them to good use around the house and farm. We commonly find them used as feed troughs, flower beds or bar-b-que pits. Because rodents cannot easily climb the canisters, they are often used as support posts for elevated rice huts. Pictured above, a villager has collected many of the canisters and has used them as a fence around his house.

When we encounter am abundance of empty canisters we know that there is a high likelihood that we will find unexploded bomblets in the same area.

During nine years of continuous bombing, between 1964 and 1973, the US dropped over 280 million cluster bomblets on Laos. Between ten and thirty percent of the bomblets failed to explode on impact. Today, more than 70 million unexploded bomblets remain on or in the soil.

To remain healthy here I stick to some unwavering standards. The most important self-imposed rule is to never drink questionable water. I used to raise sheep and one thing you’ve got to admire about sheep is their demand for wholesome water. A sheep will die of thirst standing next to a pail of dirty water. When it comes to water I’m proud to say I’m a bit sheepish. I don’t drink water unless I’ve opened the bottle myself, or watched the kettle come to a boil. (I guard the kettle myself because I’ve seen well-meaning hands top off a pot of boiled drinking water with river water).

Another rule that has served me well is that here, in a village with no refrigeration: only eat small animals. Our guys will buy an enticing chicken, duck or turkey whenever an opportunity presents itself. Then, they’ll tether the animal to a tent peg until the day that it’s needed in the cooking pot. That meat will be fresh and wholesome—from death to dinner in less than an hour with no leftovers to worry about.

Big animals? Big difference. Yes. It takes a village to raise a child. But it may take two villages to devour a water buffalo. (Those suckers can weigh two thousand pounds!) Families invite friends and neighbors to join them in eating what best be eaten immediately. Then, cooks will boil leftover chunks repeatedly until, days later, the last of the carcass is finally consumed. If the weather is cooperative, people will preserve some portions for later use by salting, smoking, or drying them in the sun. But, often the places where those pieces languish until consumed are not sanitary.

Pictured above are two enterprising young trappers who supply our camp with small game: mostly squirrels and bamboo rats. Small rodents don’t offer much meat but they conform to my standard: eaten fresh and consumed entirely. If you’re a confirmed carnivore, like me, better fresh squirrel than leftover, thrice boiled buffalo.

My pack lightens quickly after I arrive here. I usually have goods such as medial supplies that I deliver to hospitals, clinics and aid programs. Once those items are distributed I travel lightly. As clothes wear out I discard them, further lightening my load.

When my baggage bottoms out I start thinking of items to carry home to add to the extensive collection of Hmong and Lao cultural artifacts that I’ve collected during sixteen trips to Southeast Asia.

An anthropologist would be hard pressed to walk through a Hmong village or rummage through a Lao home and find significant items that my wife and I have not already added to our collection. But, there is one item that I’ve pursued for years to no avail: a pack frame used by traders to transport goods by horse.

My elderly Hmong friends tell me that they once used packhorses to carry goods from village to village along mountain trails, sometimes leaving Laos and venturing into Thailand, Burma or China. I’m confident that if I had a packframe to show around, among the old timers, it would spur interesting memories. Perhaps, of horse caravans bearing a clan’s annual opium harvest. But can I find one?

There are plenty of small horses roaming pastures here but I almost never see them put to any use. Villagers all disclaim current use of horses for transport. Everyone tells me that this is a different day and age: “Why would we use horses when we have the iron buffalo?” (A two-wheeled, walk-behind machine capable of pulling a light wagon.)

I’ve only once encountered an actual caravan and attempted to buy a pack frame, but the teamster was unwilling to part with any of his gear. He had frames perfectly matched to his horses and none to spare. But I did get a photograph to document my near success.

1. Are there a lot of snakes in Laos?
Yes. Many interesting varieties, big and small.

2. Do you encounter them in your work?
Yes. We see them all the time, because we work where snakes live. Hardly a day goes by that we don’t see a snake, usually fleeing from us as fast as it can move. If you don’t enjoy snakes you can still have a wonderful time in Laos because you can mostly avoid spending time in the places where snakes hang out.

3. Are the snakes poisonous?
Yes. Many are, but not all. Be aware that snake people prefer to speak of snakes as being “venemous” rather than “poisonous”. My favorite snake here is the King Cobra. It’s called the “king” because it eats other snakes. I consider it king because it can be so impressively long. Once, one crawled by me that was longer than my pick-up truck.

4. Have you known any one who was bitten?
Yes. Bitten by my least favorite snake in Laos, the Malayan Pit Viper. The MPV has an unusual habit. Strangely, it doesn’t readily flee when people approach. It just sits still and, as a consequence, gets stepped on more often than other snakes. I’ve learned here in Laos to never step over a log. There could be a MPV resting on the far side. Better to step up onto the log and then step well off the other side.

5. Have you known anyone who died from snake bite?
No. But I have a friend who was bitten and had to have his leg amputated. If he’d gotten medical help sooner, he might not have lost the leg. His village is a hot spot for Malayan Pit Vipers. He has an uncle who was bitten (and lived) and a brother who was bitten (who died).