Mayuri, and her daughter... at their home outside of Khon Kaen during Christmas break
In 2003 her husband was fatally shot by a gunman in their own yard while speaking mid-sentence with her as she stepped into their home. He left behind an elementary age son & an infant daughter. And a longstanding problem, unresolved.
We were first introduced to Mayuri in the year after Riley was born. The tragedy had just happened, and Rob's professor at KKU let the network of former students know of the ugly goings-on in their previous northeast Thai region home... care packages, donations were welcome... the horrid plight was worthy of attention & more. Having an infant daughter nearly the same age, we connected at once with the news & sent support packages, but could never grasp her reality.
Mayuri and her husband were farmers. She still owns and lives in the house where the evil event took place, a small, rural chunk of land 30 minutes from Khon Kaen. It sits on a quiet dirt road with a dozen or so neighbor homes within sight, forming a little, scattered farming community. Mayuri and her aging mother now operate a tiny convenience shop out of the house. The morning we visited, two people stopped to buy cold drinks.
Mayuri shared details that pretty closely resemble those of the attached article. Please read for yourself at www.wrm.org.uy/bulletin/74/Thailand.html
Almost 7 years later, she continues to farm, unsuccessfully on land adjacent to her current home and more fruitfully on land she owns some distance away. But distance has its disadvantages. The paper company tied to the murder has since changed ownership, and has only slightly cleaned up... its image mostly. Making paper the bright white we desire is a dirty, nasty process. Pollutants are still pouring into the community's soil, as all of the area farmers continue to struggle growing rice & crops. The area is well suited for rice, as rainwater & run-off pools in ways conducive for growing the crop. But now corporate contaminates pool with the rains where rice should grow. The paper company has bought & planted tapioca trees in these fields... about the only thing hardy enough to now grow in the tainted area. But the locals want to grow what they want to grow. And know that their drinking water is safe. And that their livestock are not grazing from the polluted earth.
While Mayuri explained these things through Professor Dave's translation in that quiet, country mourning, the clunking of cow bells grew... closer & closer. A small herd of 10 or 12 were led by a neighbor along a path just a few feet behind us. Could have just about leaned over to pet them while they plodded by, I'm kind of surprised Riley did not try. The noise as they passed almost made Mayuri's words inaudible, but she kept right on talking through the commotion. Life goes on, even disturbed.
We did not meet her son, he was out. Her daughter was extremely shy, and did not seem happy at all that we were there. She had to have heard some of our conversations & known the reason for our visit. I feel bad for upsetting her morning. Then I curse the ones at fault. We ask Mayuri how the kids are doing, and she says fine. Her son still has a few years left in secondary school, and would like to take up a trade & make things. I wonder if they will be able to make that happen for him.
I also wonder if the spot where we were sitting... a blue tiled floor on a shaded outdoor gathering area... was the spot where her husband's life & dreams ended.
Since her husband's death, progress on the area's conservation front has gone from slow to slower. There are governmental agencies that are supposed to monitor pollution, field complaints, and look out for citizens. Such agencies are mostly on a regional level, and there is disparity between regions. In a country where the average monthly wage is about $300 US, it doesn't take much for a company to pay an official to look the other way. Or hire a gunman. Since the murder, neighbors have been too scared to speak out. A few have sold bits of land to the paper company for a joke of a price. The rest are stuck there because nobody wants the land and it is worth nothing.
That is Mayuri's situation. I asked if she had the ability to move, would she do so & start over somewhere else? Or is she so attached to this place where her husband died & where she has known neighbors for so long, that she would stay? She said she would like to move, but it is not a possibility.
I'm writing this all as Rob works late into the night, almost 11pm and still not home. Very unusual to be this late. I won't complain, he will come home.
World Water Day was celebrated just a couple days ago. Reading different accounts about the lengths people go to for clean water reminded me of Mayuri. Many things that I now encounter do. I think of her often and wanted to share her with you.
