The day was overcast but this is not unusual for the semi-mountainous tropics of the Thai-Burma border. My motorbike held me and behind me sat Sayama. She didn’t put on thanaka and was fully dressed in Western clothing. Sunglasses completed her “disguise”. Without legal status to be in Thailand, it was always a risk for her to leave her apartment. But we laughed as we discussed what would happen if I was pulled over. She assured me that the odds were slim since most Thai police on the border couldn’t speak enough English to question me. They wouldn’t stop us since I was a farang (white foreigner).

It was always a treat when she came to the outdoor market with me. She skillfully bartered with the Burmese food stall workers. The lepetho packets (pickled tea-leaf salad) were always cheaper in her company. My scrape paper and stub of a pencil frequently came out of my pocket. The sweaty paper argued with the lead as I tried to scribble down new Burmese vocabulary.

We zoomed around the street corner and merged onto the main route. I confidently accelerated as Sayama practiced her English with me. Half the words were lost in the wind but I smiled feeling so at ease in this setting.

The comfort bubble burst as the bikes in front of us came to an abrupt halt. The locals gibbered in Thai and gestured for us to pull over too. There were no sirens but police motorbikes were empty of their riders as the officers stood spread out along the road.

Not understanding the language, Sayama and I were sure they were doing an immigration raid on the nearby factory. All the workers are from Burma. Very few have work permits which employers love because it allows them to under-pay, over-work and hold their employees captive. Slave workers. Kids are the most vulnerable. Though ILO has published an extensive report on this abuse, the Thai police garner cushy bribes to stay out of the employers’ hair. Maybe today was different.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes…what was going on? We sat on the ant-ridden, warm curb with our backpacks in front of us. The stuffy breeze cooled our sweaty backs where the packs had been. The locals stirred with excitement and restlessness. The empty crossroads ahead echoed the far off noise of on-coming cars. The chatter rose and then all fell silent. Those resting on their motorbikes quickly descended to join those on the curb. As the roar of motors grew closer, a man near us flagged his hand down and demonstrated a posture of face-to-the-ground. The police whistles blew and Sayama crawled behind me with worry in her face. Are they going to shoot or come search our ID’s?

As we huddled together, I realized I still didn’t have a clue how to navigate life in this country and culture. The black cars rumbled by, a whole parade of somber sameness. I peeked up to see that Thai flags were attached to a few of the antennas. After the passing, the police whistles went off again. Life resumed as if this was a normal occurrence.

When we returned from the market to the apartment, we asked one of the Thai workers what all the commotion was about. Didn’t you know? The beloved Thai princess was driving through the edge of town after visiting local villages. Don’t you know? You bow before royalty.

Sayama and I burst into a relief of laughter. We explained to her that we seriously thought we were going to be arrested or worse. She joined the laugh. The lesson rumbles through my mind with a few questions – Do I have the humility to be ready to constantly learn from the new experiences that God brings my way? Do I cower in fear and jump to conclusions? Do I assume the worse when maybe the chance of a lifetime is passing in front of my eyes? What if royalty is in the faces of the small street kids? I want to be the first to bow to their level and embrace them.

Angie contributes stories about her time at the Thai-Burma border once a week.