Sample Education/Aid Grant

Laurie Weed's Portfolio Travel Writing Grant Writing

Akha Hill House: Finding a Way

This story was a 2004 finalist in the Backpack Nation, Phase 2 Story Contest.

In Chiang Mai, the hub of northern Thailand’s trekking industry, more than a hundred tour companies compete to drag crowds of foreigners through a well-trampled circuit of impoverished hill tribe villages. The agents collect hefty fees for delivering this “authentic hill-tribe experience"—complete with bamboo

rafts and elephants—while the villagers eke out a few baht selling handicrafts and sodas, or posing for photographs in their colorful native dress. Even the most oblivious tourists seemed to return from these treks looking slightly embarrassed, so although we were curious about the hill tribes, my travel companion and I decided against a tour and continued north, to the less-trampled countryside near the Golden Triangle.

From the much quieter city of Chiang Rai, I found an oblique guidebook reference to an interesting daytrip up the Koh River. Officially, the local boat service stops at a Karen village that has become a tourist sideshow, but a short distance upriver there is a natural hot spring, from which a “one-hour walk”, according to the book, would put us at a “simple but comfortable” guesthouse run by a small Akha tribe. From there, I presumed we could do some light hiking (without the rafts and elephants), and whatever we spent on food and accommodation would benefit a local village rather than a tour agency. Akha Hill House would turn out to be much more than I expected, in every way.

Morning found us afloat in a balsa wood canoe built for five people, now ferrying a dozen Thais and two large farang against the swollen current of the Koh after heavy rains. Plumes of spray rose around us as the boat driver dodged branches and debris clogging the waterway. The other passengers disembarked at the Karen village and for a few extra baht, the driver left us at the nearly deserted hot spring. When we asked for directions to Akha House, he gestured vaguely toward a neglected, unmarked road. We were both in sandals and carrying very little water, but expecting an easy walk, we set off without another thought. The paved road soon crumbled to dirt, and then twisted sharply uphill.

As midday approached, the trail deteriorated into a narrow footpath, obscured by foliage and frequently sinking into muck. I began to regret not researching this adventure further, but the mountains were gorgeous and it was refreshing to be in a natural setting with so few other people around. After a particularly blistering stretch, we stumbled onto a grassy plateau in the middle of an enormous, silent valley. The trail had disappeared. Confounded, we circled the plateau a few times, hoping for a sign. In desperation, we followed a cow trail straight uphill through the brush, ducking under low-hanging branches, jumping over the occasional mud hole, and finally breaking through the undergrowth only to find a snorting water buffalo blocking the path.

At last, three hours after starting out, we stumbled upon a cluster of huts surrounded by vertical patches of vegetables. As we clambered down the hill, a shy, black-haired child appeared and beckoned us to follow him. After settling into a rickety bamboo shelter, we inhaled bowls of rice and vegetables by candlelight, and played a few games of bottle cap checkers with a cheeky little boy who kept cheating. Apae, the handsome village chief, joined our table and told us all about his tribe in excellent English. Originally from Tibet, the Akha are among the poorest of Thailand’s “fourth world” minority groups. Apae’s tribe migrated through Burma (now Myanmar) to escape Chinese persecution, and settled on this hill about sixteen years ago. Like other refugees, they are ineligible for Thai citizenship and their traditional, nomadic way of life has been lost, since the government no longer allows them to relocate at will. Without national rights, access to services, jobs, or protection, they must fend for themselves in the mountains as best they can. For many hill tribes, this means growing poppies for the opium trade and practicing slash-and-burn agriculture. But Apae and his people have a different vision for their survival in a changing world. Together, the ninety-two-member tribe decided that education is the key to preserving their culture and providing their children with the tools necessary to make choices about their own lives.

Akha children can attend grades 1 through 6 at the Thai school in the next village for minimal cost, Apae explained, but the secondary school (grades 7-12) is two hours away in Chiang Rai, and operates on a private system. It costs about 25,000 baht ($631 USD) to educate one child. This amount covers tuition, transportation, books, accommodation on nights they can’t get home, food, uniforms, and other miscellaneous supplies, for the child’s entire secondary school career. Although the price tag seems paltry by Western standards, cash income is scarce among the hill tribes, and education almost unheard of. But his tribe was determined, Apae recounted, “to find a way”. First, they built the modest guesthouse and the bamboo lean-to where we sat, listening by the fire. They learned to purify water, and bought a generator to provide a few hours of light at night. In spite of occasional threats and sabotage from commercial tour operators, who regularly steal their trail markers and misdirect visitors, the Akha now run the only tribal-owned retreat and trekking operation in the Chiang Rai province.

Since its humble beginning, Akha Hill House has inspired visitors to contribute more than just the guesthouse fees (starting at 70 baht, less than two dollars US per night) and payment for the simple meals and guided hikes around the valley. Past guests have donated clothes and books, and spent time translating signs and brochures into their native languages. With help and advice from their foreign friends over the years, the Akha have created their own non-profit organization, complete with secured bank account, website, and donor t-shirts. They have no real advertising—most visitors find them by word of mouth or by accident, as we did—yet somehow, dollars continue to trickle in. As travelers spread the word, private donations and sponsorships have begun to supplement the tribe’s earnings, and overall the Akha House mission is succeeding. The children are going to school, and one young woman has gone on to university to become a teacher.

Chief Apae never attended school himself. He learned English on his own, speaks compellingly to potential donors, and once traveled to Japan on a sponsored fundraising trip. He proudly refers to every child in the village as “my student”, and quizzes them on their studies. Apae makes the two-hour trip to Chiang Rai almost daily, to chauffeur the children to school and conduct tribal business. He willingly transports visitors when he can, although the mountain road is often impassable during the wet season. Assuming the road out couldn’t possibly be worse than the route we followed in, we piled into the back of an aging, rear-wheel drive Toyota— the tribe’s only vehicle—the next morning, with three Akha men and some empty propane tanks. Four schoolgirls in faded, carefully pressed uniforms climbed into the cab with the chief.

Around the first bend, the dirt road melted into a slippery, red clay maze of wheel-deep ruts, angling up the mountainside. We wrapped our arms around the homemade rail, wedged our feet against the rolling propane tanks, and turned pale as the engine shrieked, mud flew, black smoke billowed out around us, and the truck began a perilous zigzag along the edge of the ravine. By some miracle, we ascended the hill in one piece and burst out cheering in our respective languages—all except the students, who continued reading placidly in the jump seat. Relief was short-lived, however, because after bone-cracking along for a few minutes on dry land, Apae gunned the engine for another vertical mudslide. When we reached the paved highway, I slumped down in the back of the truck, shaking and covered with mud, and tried to imagine making this trip every school day.

When I asked the indomitable Chief Apae how I could help his cause, he smiled and said, “Tell your friends about Akha House.” Nearly two years later, I am still telling their story. For one thousand U.S. dollars, the cost of a lavish, week-long commercial trek in Chiang Mai, another Akha child could go to school. If this story is selected for a grant, the entire amount will go to the Akha Hill House Student Project. Funds can be transferred directly to the tribe’s secured bank account. Information is available online at www.akhahill.com.

I would like to find my way back to Akha Hill House again one day, although I think I’ll plan my next trip during the dry season, and I’ll definitely call ahead to arrange pickup from Chiang Rai. Once we were back on the bus and my adrenaline levels returned to normal, I realized, whaddaya know, we just went trekking and had an authentic hill tribe experience.