This is a sympathetic treatment of Eak's story. Unusual for a newspaper in Thailand.

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From Burma with hope
Of hell, heaven and HIV: A boy's journey
Lin Gu
Outlook /Bangkok Post
5 Aug 2006

Sitting at a round wooden table outside Scoopy Ice, a fancy ice cream
bar in central Chiang Mai, a 24-year-old man nicknamed Eak talks softly
of the exodus.

It's muggy under the tropical sun, yet he wears a tidy grey jacket and
clean blue jeans. His young, sculpted face looks more like that of a
timid first-year college student. Motorcycles whizz by, spoiling the
tranquillity of this ancient river town and almost overwhelming Eak's
low, resonant voice. His calm betrays his eight years as a monk, and
yet it is the same manner with which Eak will greet his clients at the
nightclub tonight in one of the numerous back alleys of this popular
tourist resort.

Even today, this male escort still appreciates what he gained in his
time in the monastery. He learned the Thai language and started to read
Buddhist scriptures, but most of all, he found shelter and refuge from
two familiar companions: Fear and death.

Ten years ago, before he fled across the border and became a monk, his
hill village in the troubled Shan states of northeast Burma had already
been forcibly evacuated, reducing his home to a makeshift tent in the
jungle.

"Since my childhood, I have had little taste of freedom and happiness,"
he says, gazing at a swarm of dirty scooters on the sun-bleached
boulevard. He can still remember as a small boy watching the killing
and raping of his fellow villagers by Burmese soldiers. Local
resistance groups in the Shan states were fighting for
self-determination. The Burmese army responded with a mass relocation
plan, seeking to drain their civilian support. Tens of thousands of
villagers were forced at gunpoint to abandon their homes and move to
sites near main roads and towns. No food, medicine or clothing was
provided. Many forced migrants ended up as labourers or beggars. Many
others - approximately 500,000 according to the Unrepresented Nations
and Peoples Organisation (UNPO) - fled to Thailand.

Eak, his parents, brother and sister, had already fled back into the
Burmese jungle when his father urged him to cross the border. A
monastery seemed the best option for survival for the 14-year-old boy.

The coconut sundae melts under Chiang Mai's burning sun as Eak
describes his bumpy journey of more than 100km from the Thai border. He
left his first monastery after nine days and joined a second where he
performed daily chores. Eight years and two monasteries later, Eak's
daily routine was filled with beating drums and reciting scriptures.
Curiosity kept creeping into his soul until one day, Eak decided to
leave his safe haven. He took the chance, not knowing where it would
lead him.

Together with friends, Eak ended up in the city of Chiang Mai - fields
of play for foreign tourists, fields of toil for Shan immigrants like
him, also known as Tai Yai in Thailand, meaning "elder brother of the
Thai". Many Tai Yai villagers escaped the Burmese junta only to be
denied refugee status by the Thai authorities.

Without identity cards or work permits, they worked illegally,
subsisted on low-paying jobs. Eak tried his hand as a construction
worker and painter for a couple of months before someone told him of a
more lucrative employment opportunity.

"In the beginning, I didn't have a clue what this new job could be,
except talking and drinking with customers," he says. But at least it
couldn't be any tougher than his previous work.

On his first day on the job, a middle-aged US tourist asked him to
leave the bar and spend the night with him. Eak confesses to being
confused, and the language barrier was the least of his worries.

"I had to pretend to use the toilet to check with another colleague,
and he told me: 'Try to satisfy the customer with whatever he wants,
and you can just say "no" to him if you really feel like it."'

As they entered the hotel room, the tourist started to take off Eak's
clothes. The shy heterosexual immediately signalled his refusal, waving
his hands. "How could two men do stuff like this?" was all he could
think at the time, he says.

That first night ended in a friendly chat. But that would not always be
the case. Eak realised he must adapt to the rules of a new game in the
same way he had survived the strict discipline of the monastery.

That was two years ago. Now Eak's day follows a similar pattern. He
gets up around noon, goes to the gym and takes a shower. After lunch,
he goes to the supermarket and lends a hand to his girlfriend, a
cashier. He gets to the nightclub at about 8pm and stays there till
midnight, depending on customer demand.

Any man with cash in his pocket can come and pick up an escort like Eak
at the club. So far, Eak has entertained US, English, Scottish,
Japanese, as well as local Thai men.

"Sometimes it's quite interesting to talk to foreigners, and we don't
need to have sex every time. A chat can be enough," he says.

Eak earns from 7,000 to nearly 20,000 baht a month. Like many others in
the Shan states, Eak's parents rely on the cash he sends home. Eak told
them he is working in a restaurant. He last visited them three years
ago as a shaven-headed monk, reuniting with his family for the first
and only time in 10 years.

Eak's girlfriend, also of Tai Yai ethnic origin, knows only too well he
isn't waiting on tables. They met in Chiang Mai and, according to Eak,
she feels okay about his occupation as long as he protects himself.

"I remember to use a condom almost every time I have sex with clients,"
he says.

How often is "almost every time"? "Nine times out of 10," he says, and
smiles.

Male sex workers of Chiang Mai have an HIV infection rate of 11.4 per
cent, according to a 2005 survey. Nearly half are of Tai Yai origin and
come from the Shan states. The Shan are in high demand for their unique
physical features. Of the more than 30 boys at Eak's club, about 80 per
cent, are Tai Yai.

Eak learned about safe sex from newsletters distributed by self-help
groups among Tai Yai immigrants in Chiang Mai. His boss is unusually
relaxed and allows community-based organisations like Mplus to conduct
training workshops at the club, outside business hours.

Eak and his colleagues learn how to protect themselves at these
workshops, how to bargain with clients over condom use and where to
turn to if they have psychological or physical problems. Some have even
become volunteers in the organisation. Eak is one of them.

Kasidit Saotongthong first volunteered at college and is now the Mplus
outreach manager. Founded in 2004, Mplus serves what it calls the MSM
(men who have sex with men) community. Male sex workers are their most
important target group. Part of Kasidit's job is to convince the bosses
of nightclubs, massage parlours and bars to open their doors to the
training of male sex workers.

"Not everyone can be as friendly as Eak's boss," he sighs.

Safe sex is not the sole topic when Mplus approaches young men like Eak.

"We're also concerned about their lives and families," explains project
manager Pongthorn Chanlearn. Many Tai Yai people who came to Thailand
illegally are denied refugee status. Without proper documentation, they
are denied medical service and must deal with the daily danger of
detention. The police fine them, jail them and send them home. Yet
still they return, fleeing the greater horrors of life in Burma.

"That's why we also offer English language and massage training
courses. Some with ID cards can even try to obtain a formal education,"
explains Pongthorn, who, a Thai himself, believes that Thailand should
supply more opportunities for these immigrants to develop themselves.
Mplus also works with other organisations to address the rights of Tai
Yai immigrants at large.

Eak is lucky and he knows it. His journey to a monastery 10 years ago
granted him quasi-legal entry to Thailand. He holds a special ID card
that defines his limited rights to travel and other activities. A
long-term Chiang Mai resident like Eak must live for at least six years
without a criminal record if he wants to qualify for a fully-fledged
national ID card.

Of course there are times, Eak murmurs, that he regrets his line of
work. But not all the time. He enjoys "interesting chats" with foreign
clients, addressing his undiminished curiosity of the broader outside
world.

The dark eyes flicker as Eak mentions his plans, to learn computing and
improve his English so that he can be better prepared. One day, he
proclaims, he and his girlfriend will open a small fruit business.

In fact, Eak has already rolled up his sleeves to help others sell
fruit in his spare time, the first step on a new journey that he hopes
won't be as bumpy as the road he has already travelled.