I
left my camera in a taxi the other day. In Burma.
The
camera that feeds me. The camera that I love. The camera that pays my
rent and shapes the way I see the world.
Let
me just start this story by letting you know that I got my camera
back. And with no thanks to my own actions. I got my camera back
because People. Are. Awesome.
It
took about 7 seconds to notice that my backpack wasn't with me as I
stepped onto the sidewalk. That was long enough for the taxi to
disappear around the corner, even after a good flip-flop sprint after
it. We stood out there on the street for a few hours. It was night.
Everything was closed, even the police station across the street.
"I'm sure he'll bring it back," I thought. "There's no
way this can be happening. I've never done something this stupid, so
I must get a freebie, right?" I was sure he would get off his
shift, notice the bag in the backseat, and come right back to drop it
off. I waited. I waited some more.
Before
dawn, when the monks started walking down the middle of the street to
collect alms, I decided it was time to go inside.
There's
a chance insurance would have covered it, but try getting a police
report in Myanmar.
Also...
try dealing with an insurance company.
I
woke up a couple hours later, trying to figure out what to do, and
talked to the guys at the hotel. "Did you get the taxi number?"
they said? "No? Then he's not coming back."
"People
are pretty cool here," my friend Taylor told me. "He
probably won't even think about selling your camera, and who would he
even sell it to if he did?"
I
sat. I sulked. I tried to remain unattached, in the midst of my
Buddha dominant surroundings. But the reality is... if I want a job,
it needs to be replaced.
At 2pm L.A. showed up in the hotel
lobby. (Name changed).
Let me tell you a little bit about L.A.
 |
Our hero |
Ian and I met him down by the pier at
Botataung Pagoda, a few days before the camera debaucle. He was super
friendly and charismatic and wanted to practice his English with us.
We chatted for a while. I took some photos of him and his girlfriend.
He asked where we were staying. We avoided the question.
 |
| Botataung Pagoda |
I've made it
a practice to not tell people where I'm staying. Number one, I
usually have the aformentioned camera livelihood gear with me. Number
two, I've had some stalkers in foreign countries. Not the kind you
would necessarily expect, either. Yes, I've had Burmese spies follow
me on motorbikes, but I've also had 16-year-old female students show
up in my lobby and wait all day for me to show up. Sh*t can get weird
when you're a charismatic, friendly white woman traveling far from
home.
So we avoided the question. "Oh,
are you staying at Yoma Hotel?"
"No."
"Are you staying at Sunflower?"
"No."
And finally I grew weary of acting
shady and just decided to tell him. It's exhausting being suspicious
of people all the time, even in a country where you've been followed
by spies. Things are changing here, after all.
So we told L.A. where we were staying.
We trusted that he was a genuinely kind and wonderful person, and he
surpassed all of our expectations.
Because when I lost my camera in a cab,
I had his info on a little sheet of paper. He was so lovely that I
wanted to make sure to send him his photos.
An email address and a USA phone number
don't get your camera returned to you when your taxi driver doesn't
use the internet.
The driver called L.A., the only local
number in my whole bag. L.A. didn't have my number, but we had
fortunately decided to tell him where we were staying.
He came to our hotel. He arranged for
the driver to bring back the camera. He insisted to come back at 6pm
to mediate and translate because, as he said, "It is my duty."
This is Burma.
Hear what you will about government
oppression on the news, protests, corruption... this is Burma on the
ground level, with all the other crap stripped away.
I practically had to force L.A. to let
me buy him dinner for $1.
The taxi driver had asked only for some
money for his time to drive back from his home, which was an hour
away. I gave him triple.
The kindness of these two people makes
me hopeful about the world, and humble.
I go off and travel by myself a lot.
And I can't tell you how many people (probably with very little
travel experience) have told me, "Don't trust anyone."
To them, I ask this: What's the point
of traveling?
What's the point of anything if you
don't trust other people?
Because I am a white woman, in Africa,
in Asia, it does not mean that everyone is out to get me.
It does not mean that I will end up
dead. It does not mean that I will get robbed.
It means that I need to read what's
going on around me and be an aware person. It means I have to trust
those who I feel good about, shy away from those I feel are shady,
and have the humility and strength to question and change my
judgement part way through any interaction.
People are awesome.
2 people specifically saved my trip, my
spirit, and my trust in people.
I want to thank them from the bottom of
my heart for their honesty and efforts to right something that was
definitely my wrong.
And to you, reader, I challenge you to
trust someone today. Drop that skepticism with your taxi driver, the
cashier at the grocery store, the cop on your street corner. Just be
a good human. And change your default to assuming that people are
awesome.
