Adrienne's Thailand Encounter

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Novice Monk Indoctrination Ceremony

Contents © A. Catone-Huber, 1993-2004 Photos © Vinai Dithajhon and A. Catone-Huber, 1993-2004

Barefoot children running through the overgrown hillside, women with rings around their elongated necks, straw huts, brightly dressed women washing clothes in the river; these are some of the sights from a hill-tribe trek in northern Thailand. We are daily in awe of each different tribe, each separate culture within the borders of a single land. We hike through the heat of the dry season, each day reaching a new village.

Woman from the Karen Tribe The tour leader tells us of a parade planned for the following day. I'm not sure what to expect of a parade in this small, very remote village. After a week with the group, I long for some time on my own and decide to go wandering. We are staying in a hut on the outskirts of town so I begin my evening walk in the direction of town center. After just a quarter mile, I find parts of tomorrow's parade. Are they rehearsing?

At first I meet just one or two people here and there. A child, perhaps six years old, painted with make-up, eye-shadow, lip stick, the works, is carried past me on the shoulders of a teenage boy. They smile as they go by, not too many Caucasians go through here, so I'm noticed. I see several more pairs. A lavishly dressed child in bright colors sits always on the shoulders of an older boy. I start to follow the direction of the pairs.

I follow past the Buddhist temple in the center of town. It seems to be lively there. I turn a corner to find myself suddenly in the midst of a huge ceremony. It is in the front yard of a local wooden hut. The first things I notice are the children. Twenty or thirty of them, brightly colored in their reds, pinks and blues, they all sit, upon the shoulders of an older boy. Most of the boys I would guess are teenagers, a few a bit older. Most of them are dancing wildly with the children laughing on their shoulders.

The next point catching my immediate attention is that I am the only woman outside the house (a few can be seen inside through the open door), and I have managed to capture the attention of all but a few of the men not directly involved with carrying a child. How many? 50 at least. 100 eyes fixed on me, while the ceremony continues in, what becomes for me, the background. For the first time in Asia, I panic. Nothing however, comes to mind. I certainly can't slip out unnoticed and who knows what reaction fleeing would bring on. I stand my ground. They stare. I watch the children. They stare. I panic more. They stare.

Novice Monk Finally, I am saved by a boy no more than 16. He smiles. He speaks a very few words of English. He takes my hand and invites me past the circle of staring men, into the courtyard. It is like nothing I have seen before. The carried children are wearing brightly colored outfits. The reds predominate on long dresses with pants worn underneath and socks only on the chest-high feet. My western cultural leads me to the conclusion these beautifully made-up children are young girls, but I am in error.

"It is a ceremony for the children", he tells me. Tomorrow, they become novice monks. For as much as the next 12 years, these boys (boys!), now in make-up and brightly colored dresses will wear nothing but a single orange rob. They are to eat little and dedicate themselves to gaining knowledge. Worldly possessions will become a thing of the past, and once they enter the monastery, it becomes their home, parents and siblings excluded. So for tonight they are made up lavishly in vivid colors and showered with attention, their last celebration for some time to come.

I am invited to dance, and am honored with a novice monk to carry. I dance with the boy atop my shoulders, who seems a bit nervous being there. As an obvious foreigner, I am invited to join and learn, but it is clear, women are not normally active participants in this ceremony. Still, I dance, learning quickly the almost tribal steps of the others. The stares turn to smiles, some to laughs when I blunder, but still friendly. With apprehension subsiding, I get another stroke of luck. I meet a photographer from Bangkok, here taking photos of the ceremony. I've seen him before. Yesterday we met, at the "Karen" tribe of the long-neck women, and he speaks English.

The Parade He tells me more of the ceremony. The children are taken from house to house, every house in the village (good thing it's a small village). The ceremony goes late into the evening. Most of the carriers are older siblings or close relatives of the boy. Today the villagers will wish them well on their journey. Tomorrow, a procession will lead them from the end of town to the monastery, where they will be left. I am invited to follow tonight from house to house. I do for some time, but leave before the end, satiated, with disappointment showing slight on the faces of my new found friends.

The next morning the group awakes and rushes excitedly to the parade site. We watch an amazing display, with the novice monks now carrying illustriously colored umbrellas atop their carriers, such that the brilliance of color overwhelms the scene. Neighboring villagers have come to watch the procession, some joining in. The long-necked woman of the Karen tribe extended their neck rings and stride proudly between the dancers and musicians.

We look on, as tourist do, watching, fascinated, from a distance. Although just a few feet away, it seems a great distance indeed. That is, until the 16 year old boy from the day before passes where I watch. Very discreetly he looks over and winks at me. Though now I look on with the others, I know in my heart that in a rare moment I have reached out to learn and understand, and have made a connection with my hosts. I wonder now, back home in "real" life, if they sit around, as I do, telling stories of the time the American woman came to their village and joined in the novice monk indoctrination celebration.