Chin National Day

Occasionally we are privileged to experience something so unique, so fresh, and so foreign, that we wonder how we happened to be there at all. The chance to be involved in a moment so unlike anything you have previously experienced is rare and should be embraced.

Recently I was fortunate to have such an opportunity presented to me and I clasped it with both hands. The event was the annually celebrated ‘Chin National Day’ and I was clueless as what to expect.

Accompanied by an equally puzzled Kate, we travelled to the celebratory venue with my Mum. She works with refugees, assisting them to manage their transition into Australian life – drivers licences, English lessons, day-care, hospitals, housing and counselling. She has been assisting a community of Burmese refugees, the Chin people, who she warmly describes as a loving, peaceful, caring bunch, with a pinch of mischievousness mixed in.

The Chin people are an ethnic minority of Burma (Myanmar), with many now residing outside of their homeland due to the oppression and systematic human rights abuses of the ruling military junta. Most of the Chin people my Mum works with have spent many tough years in makeshift refugee camps on the India/Burma border and the transition to Western life can be very hard.

This year marked the 62nd anniversary of Chin National Day, a day of historical importance, emerging through the course of the Chin’s struggle for self-determination. In February 1948, instead of the traditional hereditary system of chieftainship, Chin representatives were elected at a conference in Falam town near the Mizoram border. The final day of the conference, February 20, was thereafter recognized as Chin National Day. Although the military junta rescinded this agreement in the early 60’s, the Chin people still consider themselves a separate state and celebrate their national day with gusto.

After a short drive we arrived at a local primary school in Goulburn, the venue for the celebration. On first glance it was hard to determine if we were at the right place, aside from a collection of flies and a few leaves from the surrounding gumtrees, nothing stirred. Then a speeding blur of metal and beaming smiles appeared and we knew we were in the right place. The Chin people, my Mum informed me, are reliably tardy when it comes to schedules.

We were escorted into the school hall where I immediately felt uncomfortably tall and the unfamiliar sensation of being an ethnic minority. Other than the westernised look to the hall, this could have been anywhere in the world. As I sat down on a bright orange plastic school chair I felt too close to the ground, but also a sense of anticipation at what lay ahead.

The Chin people were dressed in traditional clothing – intricately patterned woven shawls, shirts, dresses and headwear. To the untrained eye, mine, they looked similar to Native Americans in their dress. On stage there was a ceremonial flag for the occasion with 2 birds featured in the middle. I needed to find out the significance of the birds.

The celebration began with a ceremonial address – delivered by the local leader of the Chin community, followed by an explanation of Chin National Day and its significance. So far so good; nothing untoward, no surprises.

Traditional songs and dances have significant cultural and spiritual meaning to the Indigenous people and the Chin are no different. Well, in some ways. The Chin youth boarded the stage with seemingly limited enthusiasm and began to dance. The dances were representative of the rice harvest and the stars; performed admirably. The backing music was the intriguing part. No percussion or unique ancient traditional instruments here, the backing music was delivered via an electric keyboard and an electric guitar. It was Burmese soft rock applied to an age-old custom. Many would find it ridiculous but for me it added to the intrigue and spectacle of the evening and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Prayer is tough to understand in a regular church. When delivered through a barely functional microphone in the Chin dialect it becomes near impossible to a solely English speaking Australian. I didn’t know whether to stand or sit, when to say Amen or the context of the sermon. I did my best ‘smile and nod’ impersonation and waited for others to act.

By the end we had witnessed two dances, a number of speeches, some solo vocal performances and learned some of the Chin history. There was only one thing left to do; sample the traditional food.

A feast of biblical proportions was laid out on trestle tables: enough food to feed the attendees and probably half of Goulburn. I spied a curry dish and, on confirmation that it contained ‘cow’, ladled a generous serve onto my structurally challenged paper plate. Add some rice, salad and a glass of lemonade and I had the makings of a feast. The curry was tasty, unlike any curry I had eaten, and it was a fitting way to finish off the evening.

Before we departed I wanted to thank the Chin leaders for having me along to their celebration. I also needed to get some clarification on the birds featured in their flag.

It didn’t take long. The birds are the Hornbill – a male and female. The Hornbill is native to the area the Chin people originally resided and it is a fiercely loyal bird. The Male bird hunts food for the Female and any offspring. Their bond is a lifelong one. If the Male bird dies then the Female will not find another Male, she will starve to death. This is meant to symbolise the closeness of the Chin people, that they are loyal, they stick together through any crisis. I found it to be an appropriate symbol and was very thankful for the explanation.

As I weaved my way through the crowd and out into the summer evening heat I was thankful that my Mum had extended me an invite to this celebration. Sure, it was not on time, speakers did not turn up and the music was bizarre, but the emotion and resilience of the Chin people had impressed me and warmed my heart. They said see you next year and without hesitation my reply was, “yes you will.”

Cityrail adventures 1 (well kind of)– Cabramatta

On Cityrail adventures: I have put together a list of all rail stations within 50km of my house and using a random number generator I pick a place, then travel to it, have a coffee, lunch or beer and then return. This trip was not undertaken by train, but by car, as time was short. In my mind it is still a Cityrail adventure.

I have often heard of Cabramatta, the food, and the people: a city within a city. Up until yesterday I had shrugged off peoples insistent suggestions that I visit there. However yesterday I did venture to Cabramatta and what I saw and experienced blew my mind.

Cabramatta is a suburb of Sydney, located 35km south west of the CBD; a nondescript area of the city, surrounded by dry, grassless fields, tacky ethnic mansions with lions and gargoyles standing sentry on their fences, and vast series of highways – expanses of tarmac stretching in every direction. This is not a wasteland but it is close. It is not the area you would expect to find a thriving, vibrant, rich community.

Community is the best way to describe Cabramatta. I have not been to Vietnam but I have visited Hong Kong and Cabramatta reminded me a lot of Kowloon’s hectic city streets – street hawkers, market stalls selling fruits, sweets, vegetables, meat and seafood, and the tailors flush with fabric awaiting the next customer. There was vibrancy to the scene, people scurrying to and fro, the urgency apparent. It was also a place inhabited by Asian people; Anglo Australians were in short supply. This gave the street legitimacy, improving the experience, allowing the visitor to get lost in the moment. This wasn’t Sydney; it was Hanoi – well, in my mind at least.

I had heard many positive reviews of Tan Viet, a local restaurant and so my mate and I headed there for some lunch. Tan Viet is very popular with the locals and this day was no different. A line snaked out the door and down the pavement. After a short wait we were shown to a table. The restaurant smelled of fish sauce, oil and onions and was packed to the rafters with eager consumers. With a cup of tea in hand we perused the menu. It took about 5 seconds as we both agreed on the crispy chicken and soup – this was the dish of the house and every table was eating it. To accompany I had a soybean milk drink, Roger a sickly sweet concoction that resembled an icy cocktail, minus the booze.

When the main meal arrived it was understated but delicious. The delicately flavoured noodle soup paired well with the saltiness of the crispy skinned chicken. I quickly saw what the locals loved about this place. After 30 minutes we had polished off the lot and had the shared grin of the diners we sat with – a grin of satisfaction at a job well done. For $14 each, including drink, it was a bargain and I would not hesitate to return.

A quick dash across the main road and we arrived at the local cake shop. I was keen to purchase a treat to accompany my afternoon cuppa. I settled on pandan sponge – a lime green sponge cake. Apparently the cake is either dipped in pandan juice, or the pandan extract is used in the cake making process. Either way it was an interesting cake, although not one I would flock back to buy.

As we left Cabramatta I lamented that it had taken me so long to visit. Cabramatta is a shining example of the value of multiculturalism, a little slice of Vietnam in the middle of seeming endless urban sprawl. It was such a rewarding experience and somewhere I will hasten to return with my friends in tow.