How one girl, offered as a prize, ran away from home and ended up in argument in a fish market that led to the creation of a school

By Father Joe Maier

Published in the Bangkok Post, Spectrum section, March 18, 2018

He got to the Slaughter House maybe a month before she did. She: Ms Teacher. Uncle (although he wasn't "Uncle-old," but with his thick glasses, just kinda looked like you should call him "Uncle") Teacher Gimp. Calling him Gimp didn't seem offensive, although maybe it was, but the kids he taught for months and years in the Slaughter House Slum accepted him for what he was: a gimp, with thick glasses, virtues, and warts and wrinkles, all wrapped up together.

One foot pedalling, lungs coughing up the black exhaust fumes of an old truck delivering pigs, he arrived on his homemade three wheel modified wheelchair/bicycle contraption. Three wheels, not two, so he wouldn't tip over -- kerplunk -- as he only had one good leg to pedal with.

Uncle Teacher Gimp actually lived there -- that is, his mum and dad lived in a lean-to under the railroad bridge, a few steps away from the Slaughter House. He had left home a couple of years before that, but he couldn't find a job as no one wanted to hire a gimp, and so he came home. He had nowhere else.

He said he grew tired of being dirt poor and being laughed at as a gimp with thick glasses. Coming home: living in a proper shack under the railroad bridge next to the slaughter house is better than any street.

His mum said he should come home and teach kids to read and write. He said he didn't know how to teach. She said she would make him a deal. Her son, Thick Glasses Gimp, would teach Slaughter House kids to read and write. Mum, who sold fresh fish for the family income, said she would arrange things. He said: 'Mum I'm afraid. I can't teach. I can't.' She said: "All right, you will help me in our stall to sell fresh fish."

And Ms Teacher arrived a month later. But it didn't begin nicely. No way.

The story tells it that somebody owed somebody some money. A sizeable amount. Gambling, drugs and such, and couldn't pay back the debt. So, a deal was cut. She, Ms Teacher would be the prize. She was an orphan, 21, college graduate, pretty. So, what the heck … A good second lady companion.

Weeks before, she had graduated from a respectable teacher's college. She'd always wanted to teach children. That's when her elders told her about this deal they had cut; that she was the prize.

She panicked and ran away within minutes of hearing the news. She had just enough cash for a bus fare to Bangkok and knew a classmate from Teacher's College who had always talked about living near the Klong Toey Slum Slaughter House. Maybe they would take her in. Her girlfriend's family said they could hide her for a few days, but we would not be able to protect her. These are powerful bad people who want you, they said.

The gossip got to the Slaughter House, even before she did. Word travels fast around the fresh market, as such gossip always does. She got into a lively "conversation" with a man with a wristwatch and jade ring and heavy gold bracelet (common for the day) and several sacred amulets covered in gold around his neck -- to protect him.

He told her if she needed a job, he would hire her to wash pig entrails each night. As a teachers' college graduate, she said thanks but no thanks, as she would rather teach. He told her she was crazy. Not just a little bit, but totally crazy. Like with the full moon. He said the people in these parts are stupid and they do not send their stupid children to school. People come here to butcher pigs and cattle and make money. Nobody goes to school.

She told him he was rude, calling children stupid, and that he was insulting the teaching of his sacred amulets. He took offence, loudly, spouting some not-nice words. He didn't exactly threaten her, but as good as. Little did he know, a hefty, serious lady -- none other than the mother of Thick Glasses Gimp -- who was the main fish lady of that fresh market had been listening. She wiped her hands on her apron, stepping out in front of her fish stall just feet away.

She had heard it all. Her son, Thick Glasses Gimp, stood beside her, leaning on his one crutch, while his mum fronted up to "bracelets and amulets guy" and told him to step back, and that his mother had taught him no manners. Later, his own wife made him apologise. That's when hefty serious fishmonger mum got the idea to begin a slum kindergarten and have her son, thick glasses gimp, work there.

She ordered him to guard the fish stall and, with some other ladies, took Ms Teacher to find a room for her that was safe and clean, and introduced her to the neighbourhood.

That very afternoon, they showed her a vacant pig pen. She called the other women and children to come and clean it that very day, and the men to bring in salt to clear the odour and flush the gutters. They put in a makeshift toilet and bathing area using river water. Ms teacher did not like Thick Glasses Gimp, and did not want him to guard her, but Fishmonger Mum told her: "This is the best we can do, and you will be safe with the children and Thick Glasses Gimp as a guard."

All this happened years ago, when the Slaughter House pig pen class room had just opened. The community and children came with flowers and joss sticks to ask for blessings for their new impromptu school.

Ms Teacher accepted Thick Glasses Gimp as a school guard, but for three years she refused his constant requests to marry him. Eventually, seeing that he did not gamble or smoke or drink and was always there for her, she agreed.

She taught him how to teach and they raised a family. Recently they celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary, and their two daughters now teach in the teacher's college where their mum was a long-ago alumni. Over these many years, more than a thousand children have studied with Thick Glasses Gimp and Ms Teacher.

In the public eye, Klong Toey Slaughter House dwellers used to be pure "toast". Couldn't get a good job. Not easily accepted anywhere. Klong Toey Slaughter House, butcher of animals. Even worse, son and daughter of butchers of pigs and cattle. In this society: a sin passed down from parents to their children. What a horrible legacy.

Even more. Perhaps the worst of Thai street insults: "Ignorant. Can't sign your own name." To be personally marked as a citizen by the making of a rough thumb print. You can sense it, almost smell it. No schooling.

If you would ask Ms Teacher something like "did you hear voices in the night mystically, quietly calling you here to teach the kids of the slaughter house", she would blush, and tears would come to her eyes, but she would smile and only say her mum used to tell her: "Some day, girl, you will know when it's time and my spirit and the quiet voices of our ancestors who were teachers too will guide you to some beautiful children who will not learn to read and write unless you teach them. Give them your love and learning."

Two months ago, after 60 years, the "Big Folks" abruptly closed the Slaughter House. The last truck loaded with squealing pigs mistakenly pulled in from the provinces. The driver pulled up to an empty holding pen, where the children playing there shouted: "Go away -- pigs all gone!"

That and some of the other visible landmarks are gone, such as many of the shacks where families lived and raised their children, not even two metres above the pig pens. True, it was just one part of the slum, but for sure the most visible part. Living where you can, doing what you can to make ends meet in a city that sees you as a burden and what you do -- butchering animals -- as a sin.

For Ms Teacher, as the old Irish song goes, if you listen carefully, you might hear the voices of your ancestors quietly whispering: "Don't worry, we are fine, and you have done your best. One day, we shall meet on the horizon, at the edge of the rainbow." And of course, there is a school there.