Mother Mekong’s moods

The Mekong’s critical level is 12.5 meters. The peak quickly reached 14.2 meters. A dense low had fallen in love with Vietnam and refused to leave. We were getting water from there, plus that from the Chinese dams. Billions of kip (Lao currency) in damage to property and untold lives were lost. Northern Thailand’s Chang Rai and Isan were awash. Through all this Australians remained blissfully ignorant.

The levées built in 2000 were soon breached in places. Vientiane city was awash, roads closed, and people’s lives for a while became a nightmare. Laos ranks as one of the poorest nations in Asia. It has little in the way of infrastructure and social services. Only the well-off can afford insurance. The majority just have to clean up and start over as best they can. Their insurance is family and land.

It’s a bizarre feeling to be sitting in the midst of a bright sunny day with con trails etched against the blue and be facing the risk of a major flood from the world’s 11th biggest river.

Every now and then a Lao army helicopter flew past, their pond scum green livery and Lao flag seemingly even more incongruous against the blue and potentially pregnant clouds. As the danger level was quickly passed and the river reached dizzying and terrifying heights, we watched the Mekong swallow the Thai temple and crematorium across the expanse of hurling debris laden water outside our house.

At one stage all the lights went out on the Thai side as the river drowned the cables. Nong Kai, the town that welcomes the Friendship Bridge, was the worst hit in Thailand.

Twenty meters upstream from our house the water mounted the bank and oozed through the sandbags. I looked out and noticed the water seeping into our front garden, the divisions in the cement bleeding a dark green slow moving stain. The road beside the house filled with water despite it being a dry day.

So, I thought, this is how it begins.

Two days in a row the deputy PM Somsavat walked by. A man who is particularly despised; he is not only dangerous but extremely corrupt. He walked with a small covey of obsequious officials. Our neighbours were unimpressed. "If he took his hands out of his pockets and took real action, we might be safer" said one man. Another neighbour hoped he would fall into the river, half volunteered to push him, then laughed nervously.

In fact we suffered an outbreak of ministers. I went out to see what was happening and photographed the Minister for Justice strolling by. He thanked me for taking his photo, resplendent in Lao silk shirt.

A fattish man in a NSW University of Technology T-shirt visiting his old mother, complained. "The Government is so corrupt they won't do anything to help the people." Doesn't take the diaspora long to pick up the local grumble.

Despite the rain and incipient threat, the irrepressible Lao women, seeing advantage in everything, were fishing, swathed in plastic bags and wearing the distinctive conical hats favoured by tourists. They dipped their huge square nets suspended from bamboo cross pieces repeatedly in the swirling waters. They may be 70 but you wouldn't want to arm wrestle one. Others are grilling bananas to feed the sandbaggers who moved in overnight. The flood of blue uniformed Electricite Du Laos workers that arrived we took as a portent that the Government considered the situation serious.

So we moved all our books and pirate DVD's upstairs and hoped that the morning would see us with dry feet. We downloaded Australian newspapers and still no reports. I had been sending reports to the Sydney Morning Herald and ABC. I had sent photos just in case they thought I was making it up.