Umpiem Mai is a refugee camp, one of nine that line the Thai-Burmese border. Together they home an estimate 140 000 people who have escaped atrocities in Burma. With the oldest camps almost 30 years of age, this is one of the world’s most protracted situations for refugees. People come here hoping to register as asylum seekers and move to safer corners of the world. Facing deportation if they go outside the camps, people’s lives are on hold. Although many have been able to resettle as refugees across the globe, constant new arrivals have ensured population numbers here haven’t fallen.
I and my coordinator Ta are here for one day, taking pictures of the women artisans in this camp of 15 000 people to help promote fair trade for WEAVE. On first sight Umpiem Mai looks like a relaxed, rural village. Children are busy playing their serious games that are so often underestimated by passing adults concentrated on their own daily woes. Roosters pompously fight for territory on the hilly dirt roads that are lined with leaf-roofed, delicate bamboo homes. There are no brands, at least not like you and I know them. Instead the paths are lined with logos of international relief organisations with each one holding its own area of responsibility from medical care and education to protection and sanitation. Basic needs are covered and some people have electricity generators and radios. Food – rice, oil, fishpaste, peas, chillies and protein powder – is rationed and delivered on the 27th day of each month. Income generation is a problem, according to some estimates only 10% of the population here works for a wage. Domestic violence is common.
Many adults were born here, knowing no reality outside these camps. Naddii, one of WEAVE’s artisans and our guide for the day has lived at Umpiem Mai for some 10 years. She is tiny and in her efficient and graceful manner there is an ethereal quality. She takes us inside family homes raised from the ground with bamboo poles, their thin and transparent floors cracking under our weight. The bright afternoon sun pierces holes into the otherwise murky inside light as we photograph the women working at their simple weaves. There is no furniture par a few sacks and barrels, maybe an altar.
In late February a fire at Umpiem Mai destroyed the homes and belongings of almost 3000 families. Miraculously no one died and today the air is filled with the sound of rhythmical hammers rebuilding structures. As I and Ta watch from a nearby hill a man climbs up to talk to us. He has been here since 2007, his father and brother being no strangers to Burmese jails and hard labour. He is frustrated; university educated, he would like to do a master’s degree in computer science. But like most people here he is waiting to register as an asylum seeker to get permission to continue his life safely - as a free man. “Can you inform people? We are waiting. Can you tell them about us?” He asks me as we say good bye.
It would be tempting to end with a cosy platitude on hope. With all eyes on Burma of course there is hope but people here are yet to be convinced. Over the distant mountains, the sun may set a thousand times beautifully and mournfully. But before there is change in the outside world, here in the midst of formidable beauty these people’s dreams and destinies can’t escape. As the hours, years and decades pass, everyone is still waiting – for news, for a home, for a better life. This is the prison of the human spirit.
