For Only Ten Baht: Meeting The Hill Tribe People

Thailand, 1994

The rain stops suddenly.

The sun struggles through heavy blue-gray clouds, transforming the mountain into a shimmering green. The heavy, sweet odor of the wet jungle is colored by brilliant tropical flowers and plants sagging with fruits never seen in the west. Our small van battles the rugged terrain on a crudely paved road choked by vegetation.

The van lurches onto a small cutout in the jungle -- a tiny parking place in the red dirt. All I can see is a narrow dirt path. There is no road sign, no post, no indications that the path leads to a steep decline back into time. It's simply there.

We had reached the thatched hut village of the Akha people, living in the mountainous jungle of Northern Thailand.

The trip north from Chiang Mai, Thailand's second largest city, had been a lesson in global community. Eight of us were packed into a small mini van, picked up from hotels scattered throughout the city. The guide, a warm young man named Cha, introduced each couple as they climbed aboard. There were two backpackers from Belgium, a businessman and his wife from Italy, and honeymooners from Philadelphia who politely explained they were Americans on a trip retracing their escape route from Viet Nam twenty years ago.

My husband and I were the only couple who spoke English as a first language. As we drove north from Chiang Mai I listed to the languages in the van: Thai, German, Italian, Vietnamese and English. When Cha spoke or anyone spoke to someone other than their partner it was in English. I was keenly aware of the fact that everyone could understand us, while we could not understand anyone else.

We climb out of the van. The steamy heat of the jungle is like hitting a wall, leaving you mildly dizzy and struggling for breath. The mountain is a myriad of sounds, colors and smells attacking the senses. An entire world dances before us, unseen, but heard, challenging us to search.

We follow Cha to the dirt path where he pauses and points to the mountain below. Breaking through the leaves, vines, palms and flowers is a cluster of thatched huts like brownstones fighting skyscrapers for space.

"These are the Akha people," Cha explains. "They originated in the mountains along the Black and Red Rivers in southeastern Yunnan, China."

I stare at the huts recalling Viet Nam movies of peaceful villages in the jungle. I can almost hear the artillery, see the rockets and watch the flames of the war played out on my television set. It isn't Viet Nam but it looks the same. Southeast Asia. I glance guiltily at the Viet Namese-American honeymooners. They are just staring silently, their faces fixed.

Cha, oblivious to the turmoil of the honeymooners, leads us to four poles planted firmly in the red dirt. The skin and skull of a dog is stretched between the poles. The dog's mouth is pried open by a branch, barring its teeth in death.

"The Akhas believe that this dog will protect their village from evil spirits," Cha says, reverently stroking the wood pole.

Thinking about my well-fed dog at home, I smile at our shared magical belief that a domesticated dog, dead or alive, can protect our homes from determined intruders.

The Akha people are one of many groups of highland people living throughout Southeast Asia. They are generically known as hill tribe people, characterized by small, scattered communities built in the mountain jungles. There are six main hill tribes in Thailand: Karen, Hmong, Lahu, Mien, Akha and Lisu, with a total of approximately 416,000 people. Hill tribe villagers practice an ancient but novel way of life, clinging to deep-rooted beliefs that led them to resist others trying to destroy or assimilate them. They fled wars, human predators, and chaotic social and political conditions to maintain their freedom and protect their unique lifestyle. The Thailand hill tribe people are all migrants from neighboring regions such as China, Tibet, Laos, Viet Nam and Burma (Myanmar). Hill tribe villages are scattered and often moved. They usually choose an area in the mountain where they burn out the jungle to make a field to grow their main source of food, rice. The jungle soil loses nutrients quickly so new fields are made regularly. As a result, hill tribe villages last only a few years, with personal possessions limited in both size and quantity.

Leading us past the dog, Cha maintains a steady drone of facts concerning the Akha people. They came to Thailand about 100 years ago, fleeing chaotic conditions in Burma (Myanmar). Today, there are about 25,000 Akhas in Thailand, with most living north of the Kok River in Chiang Rai province.

Abruptly, the path ends at the entrance to the village. I have no time to take in the scene of a village lodged in a time period hundreds of years old. Without warning, we are engulfed by some two dozen children. Laughing, calling to one another in a sweet, singsong language, the children are everywhere. They are extremely small in size, dressed in dirty, brightly-colored shirts and school uniforms. They giggle the free, uninhibited laughter of children throughout the world. As if playing a game, they tie dozens of tiny woven bracelets around our arms. The bracelets are made from colorful yarn woven in geometric patterns and decorated with dried seeds.

"Ten baht, ten baht," the children cry, using the only English word they know. Ten baht is roughly equivalent to 40 US cents. I buy a turquoise and purple bracelet with tiny silver seeds sewn along the edge. The child I buy it from is a little girl, about 9 years old, with short dark hair, large teasing eyes and an irresistible smile. She shrieks, holding up the coin for the others to see. I thank her in Thai and the children roar at my awkward pronunciation. I don't realize it at the time but the little girl has laid claim to me. I am now her tourist.

Several older women join the children. The adults are barely taller than four feet, dressed in black knee-length skirts, tee shirts, and hip-length black jackets. Their calves are covered with black puttees. On their heads they wear brightly decorated helmets made from black cloth. The cloth is decorated with colored appliqué, embroidery, beads, seeds, shells, and silver.

Hill tribe people are proud of their unique identity. Each tribe has its own language, customs, style of dress and belief systems. The Akha belief system is based on spirits. Spirits live everywhere and can protect or hurt people. For example, luck in the human body resides in the head and earlobes. A person gets sick because luck departs or an evil spirit has captured a person's luck and won't let it go. An elaborate system of rituals is used to coax back the luck or defeat the stubborn spirit. Similarly, to protect a village against harm, Akhas display symbols of human wealth and human sexuality, both greatly feared by evil spirits.

Cha patiently watches the children work the tourists. We all know that they're like children around the world -- totally irresistible. As the eight of us follow Cha, I note that everyone is wearing at least one bracelet. The backpackers have three on each arm.

The children know we've finished buying and put away the bracelets. Laughing, chattering and staring at our strange clothes and huge size, they follow us through the village. My young friend stays close by my side establishing her win.

"That is the swing," Cha points to two 15-foot poles lashed together to form a pyramid. It's the symbol of the Akha village.

"Every year when the rice matures the Akha have a swing festival." Cha explains. "Vines are suspended from the top of the triangle and a wooden seat is attached. Everyone swings."

Swinging is particularly important for young Akha women. They dress in their best clothes and show themselves to eligible males. The swing festival lasts for four days. Then it's left untouched until the following year when it is torn down and replaced by a new swing.

Pausing in front of the swing, I try to visualize the Akha festival. I can almost see the young people, swinging high over the jungle, their eyes dancing - and then suddenly meeting the gaze of a future spouse.

Although the hill tribe people seem untouched by civilization, they have had contact with Thai people and tourists for many years. The government is invested in preserving the hill tribe lifestyles. This can often be a very delicate balance between the government's struggle to maintain the diminishing Thai jungle and the customs of the villagers. The government has intervened to help the villagers conform to national forest conservation and still earn a living. This often means providing alternative crops, giving necessary seed, and offering services. As a result, many hill tribe villages now have running water, some electricity and educational and health services. The anachronisms abound. It's not unusual to visit a hill tribe village buried deep within the jungle and peer into a dirt floor hut to see a barefooted villager sitting on the ground weaving a basket from jungle grasses, smoking an opium pipe and watching a portable color television set.

We follow Cha down the main path through the village. It's narrow and muddy, winding between huts built on stilts, corrals fashioned from tree branches cut in the jungle, and work areas with no walls and only a thatched roof for shelter. Lumbering water buffalo watch us indifferently; tiny black pot-bellied pigs, roosters and rangy chickens screech at our approach. The children laugh at our response to the animals; the adults stare curiously.

The priest or village leader carefully chooses the site for an Akha village. The Akha believe that humans are inherently destroyers who must kill (hunting, cutting down trees, burning out fields) in order to survive. This disturbs the spirits. The priest must ascertain whether the spirits in a chosen area will accept humans. He drops an egg on the ground. If the egg breaks, the spirits will accept them; if it doesn't they must choose another place. The priest's house is built on the spot where the egg is dropped. The other houses in the village are arranged around it. Each year the priest leads the men in conciliating the local spirits.

Cha speaks rapid in Thai to the children following us.

"I can only speak with the children," Cha explains. "They go to government schools and must learn Thai. The adults only know the Akha language."

"Do the children, after being educated, leave the village?" I ask.

"The very smart ones that reach the top levels in school are invited to go to secondary school and then college. The government will pay for everything. But when they are finished they must return to the village to help."

"Social workers?"

"Yes." Cha smiles.

For over a century one of the best-traded commodities for the hill tribe people was opium. The demand was unlimited, the price high and the poppy grew wild in the high altitude and cool climate of Southeast Asia. Particularly popular with the Mien, Lahu, Hmong and Lisu tribes, the government was forced to intervene with an opium suppression policy. The old people, already long addicted to opium were left untouched. However, the young people were forbidden to smoke. If found using opium they were removed from the village for rehabilitation. Opium still remains a problem for many of the hill tribes.

We stop in front of an Akha home. My young friend drops back into the group of children. A tiny woman, smoking an opium pipe that consists of a long wooden stem and tiny, thimble-sized bowl, faces us. She smiles, showing badly decayed teeth and points to a wood ladder of six small, unevenly cut steps.

"She's inviting us into her home," Cha says.

I smile back at her, bowing my head and holding my hands in the wai or prayer-like position that Thai people use to greet one another.

"Kob koon kar," I say slowly in Thai. Thank you.

Although we do not understand one another's language the meaning is clear. She nods her head quickly, grins broadly and scampers up the ladder indicating that I should follow. For a moment I wonder how I must appear to her -- a huge westerner with large round eyes, curly hair and clothing more suitable to the streets of New York than the jungles of Thailand. If she were in my "village" of 8 million people would I be welcoming her so graciously into my home?

Akhas live in houses raised high on posts. Thatched roofs sweep low over the sides of the house, with porches at either end. On one side an uncovered platform extends beyond the porch. The ladder leads to the uncovered platform.

I follow my hostess up the ladder. The steps are tiny, not suited for the big feet and heavy shoes of the westerners. The men have a particularly difficult time trying to balance their Nikes on steps made for bare feet a fraction of their size. The dramatic difference in size is furthered heightened as we enter the porch. The roof is too low, the porch too small, and the stools too fragile. We look like a football team trying to squeeze into a preschool classroom. We simply don't fit.

Surprisingly, the porch has little light. The bright mountain sun barely penetrates the thatched roof. As we try to arrange ourselves, the man of the house appears. He's only slightly taller than the women. Thin, with deep creases in his brown face, he offers us seats. There's much smiling as tiny wood stools appear - each roughly the size of a shoebox. It's difficult to perch ourselves on the stools but it's rude to refuse his hospitality. So we sit, each wondering if they'll hold our weight.

Our hostess emerges from the hut holding another woman by the arm. Although their clothing is different they seem nearly identical in size and stature. They smile and greet us in Akha.

Using the wai I smile and say in Thai, "Swahdee Kar." Good day.

I meet their eyes. We connect without language.

"They are his two wives," Cha says from behind me. "the Akha men are allowed to have more than one wife. The women like when their husbands take another wife. They have many children and much work. This way it can be shared. Akha wives become like sisters to one another."

The two women bow their heads and invite us to see their home.

Inside, beneath the densely woven thatched roof the house, it's almost completely dark. The wives quickly bring out tiny tin cans that function as kerosene lamps. Looking around I have the strange sensation of stepping into a movie set. It's the only way I can fully absorb the reality of Akha life. In a world of cars, computers and microwaves, subsistence living exists only where there is poverty. But this isn't poverty. It's thousands of years of culture deeply ingrained in a community nurtured by its resistance to change. The Akha proudly choose their destiny.

There are two parts to the traditional Akha house -- a living and work area and a sleeping area. Men don't sleep with women - it's considered unlucky. They stay in the section closest to the uncovered platform where we had been received. Woman and children sleep in the other end. Tea is brewed and meat cooked in the men's end; vegetables and rice are cooked at one hearth in the women's end and pork at the other hearth. The ancestral altar is a shelf or section of bamboo on the women's side with the first three sacred ears of rice cut at the last harvest. On appointed days food and drink are put in front of the altar. Ancestors are invited to eat and drink. The household head officiates, inviting spirits to partake of the offering: first his parents, his father's parents and finally his father's grandparents. Household members are not allowed to work in the field, hunt or have sexual relations on offering days.

Bowing and thanking our hosts, we leave the hut. Once again Cha leads us through the winding streets of the village. As we approach the steep hill leading back to the van the children quickly grab our hands. My young friend, who has followed me throughout the visit, takes my right hand. Laughing, shouting at one another, the children pull us up the hill. I realize that we are the game -- the winner gets their farang up the hill first. Laughing, panting and sweating, the eight of us struggle to keep up. With a shout, the children with the backpackers win. As I join them, everyone smiles. Quickly we gather the children and take photos. I wonder if any have ever seen a photo of themselves.

I take one last look at the village before I climb into the van. The thatched huts are nestled so carefully in the jungle they appear as if they've grown there like the trees surrounding them. The people work long hours, live hard lives and own little. And I wonder, with all our things, who really lives the better life.

Next Story >

Back to Travel Homepage for more stories.

Back to top of page.