Between me and Beh Reh we have probably done hundreds of village programs together over the past ten years. And despite not being able to speak the same language we both have a knack for comedy and performing. We can read each other so flawlessly that our comedic timing brings the house down.
During a village program everyone will make an introduction and the foreigners are given special time to share what’s on their heart with the village.
I would come up and pretend to be a typical white guy- acting like if I just speak slowly and loudly they’ll understand my foreign language. I’d start speaking in English and then look around cluelessly for a translator, finally settling on Beh Reh to come up and be my translator, all pre-planned of course.
I’d say in perfect English, “Beh Reh can be my translator.”
And then he’d look at me with a straight face and then translate into Burmese to the crowd, “I have no idea what this guy is asking or why he brought me up here.”
I’d smile and nod along as if Beh was translating perfectly. I’d continue, “My name is David Small.”
Beh would translate, “I don’t understand anything this guy says and he has bad breath. ”
The audience would start to giggle. Some would try to swallow their laughter out of respect for me as a visitor to their village and some had to put their hands over their mouths to keep the laughter from spraying out.
“I come from Canada” I would say and then raise my arm next to Beh and point off into the distance as if Canada were just over a mountain range.
With a completely straight face Beh would translate, “wow, this guy raised his arms and man does he stink!”
Now the crowd wouldn’t be able to hold in their laughter. I’d look curiously at Beh, not sure why they’re laughing about the fact I live in Canada. Beh would look me back with a straight face and give an innocent shrug.
“I am soooo happy to be here!” I’d say emphatically.
“He’s got suuuuchhhh a big butt” Beh would translate, glancing at my backside.
The crowd would roar with laughter.
I’d catch Beh glancing at my backside and I’d look over my shoulder hoping to get in on the joke.
Beh would shrug.
“Thank you for welcoming me to your beautiful village”
“I think he is single because no girl would ever marry this ugly white guy.”
“We had to walk a long way to get here, but seeing your smiling faces is worth it.”
“This fat guy nearly had a heart attack on the walk to get here.”
“Our team has a great program for you today.”
“If anyone wants to sell one of your daughters he wants to buy one.”
Now the crowd has tears rolling down their faces and some of the older ladies in the back are falling over with laughter.
Then we get to the big reveal. Every comedy act has a great reveal. I turn to Beh, and he turns to face me, all this time he’s managed to keep a completely straight face. He gives me another innocent shrug. The crowd senses something coming and quiets down slightly and leans in, and that’s when I unleash perfectly rehearsed Burmese.
“I understand everything you’ve just said! I am not fat! I don’t smell bad! I don’t want to buy one of their daughters! ”
Now Beh lets out his signature high pitched laugh and begins to run away as I lunge for him. I chase him around the audience until we end up back on the stage and end in a fit of laughter. Beh and I laughing at each other, it cracks up the crowd, and us, every time we do it.
Beh and I have been doing this routine for years and as long as I can manage to keep a straight face (not often) then it’s always a big hit.
Some villagers in Burma can’t remember the last time they laughed that hard. It’s a joy to spread joy.
I love good slapstick. I grew up with Kramer throwing himself through Jerry Seinfeld’s door each week, his hair standing straight up as he would come in with a one liner or idea that was so ridiculous you couldn’t help but laugh.
One time on a mission KawSay and I came up with a drama about a guy who was lost and trying to find his way. We had built a special t-shirt before the mission that had a hidden pocket that we could slide a half inch piece of wood into. KawSay would put on the shirt and throw an overcoat on and you couldnt tell there was anything out of the ordinary.
He would then wander around asking for directions, first he came to Adam and Aimee, and like a typical married couple they would pretend to look at his map, then in sync they’d make a face like they knew exactly which way he needed to go, and in perfect timing they’d each point the opposite direction of each other.
KawSay would stare at them unimpressed as they both pointed in opposite directions. Adam and Aimee would go back to the drawing board, looking at the map again before silently counting to three and now Adam would point where Aimee had previously been pointing and she would point where he was previously pointing.
Pure slapstick.
KawSay would grab his map, tearing it slightly as he pulled it away and then moving on.
Then he would find me and ask for help. He’d show me his map, now torn in two, and I’d try to hold the pieces together to find out where he needed to go.
Eventually I’d turn him around and use his back like a table to try and hold the map together. I’d purposely keep dropping one piece of the map. Getting increasingly frustrated I reached into a drawer and pulled out a staple gun. I look at the audience, holding up the staple gun, and wink at them. They laugh politely, thinking it’s just a prank for the drama.
Then I’d line up the map pieces on KawSays back so they were right on top of the hidden half inch board hidden under his shirt, and I’d staple the map right into KawSay’s back! The crowd would gasp and howl with laughter as KawSay would act as if I just stapled it directly into his back. He would yelp and hop around the stage, the map flapping around stuck on his back. We could sometimes elicit a solid five minutes of straight laughter with this gag. Kids would stare at KawSay in astonishment wondering how we’d pulled that off and if it was real.
One things that never ceases to amaze visitors to Burma is that despite the destruction caused by the war, there is still joy here. Walking for days to reach a village that hasn’t had guests in many years, and then making them laugh until they cry is a beautiful form of healing and hope. You’re not forgotten. You’re worth the effort. This war sucks, but let’s forget it for a while and laugh together.
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