A cobra is about as knowing as they come.
The one in question shows up one afternoon about mid way through my three month stay that fall of 2015. I've only done it once, stay three months like that. It was a special investment that not only helped with the completion of two credits towards my academic goals, but also offered a richness of incarnational knowing beyond any expectation. And that's what this whole thing is all about.
Except, I really could have done without the snake.
That first time we see it, it skulks its way behind the dining shelter's half wall at the back near the kitchen, surprising Pi Dao (our cook and nanny at the time) who is minding her own business chopping vegetables for supper. I am a little bit removed, up under the porch by Suradet and Yupa's house, working on a school report. It's quiet just before, all the children at school, sunny and hot, even in the shade, with a fan taking care of that. We're out in the country a little bit, and the space and pace of a Thai afternoon is quite agreeable. Peaceful. Restorative.
Pi Dao's terrified screams changes everything in an instant. I stand up, alarmed not just by my understanding of what she's screaming - "Ngu! Ngu!" Snake! Snake! - but by the sheer terror in her voice. I am told very firmly to keep my distance, which I am more than happy to do.
Thai's don't like snakes, not at all. Since most of them are poisonous, and well, they're just creepy (sorry to all you reptile lovers out there), it doesn't even take a big one to get a reaction. But Pi Dao's terror and urgency gives me a hint that this one is probably a respectable size.
There is more screaming, and long sticks are brought out, and there's some fishing around in a nearby bush. But the thing gets away from us. I ask how big was it? Where we might stretch out our arms, Thais indicate by holding their hands in a circle to demonstrate circumference. About as wide in the middle as a good sized-orange. O-kay.
So now I have a riddle. What's worse that sighting a cobra on your property?
Losing sight of the cobra on your property.
He lurks around like that, unseen, for two weeks.
I had never thought of what it means to snake-proof a room before, but Suradet reminds the children of all their snake safety that night at evening worship. All the screens are checked over. Towels are wrapped up and put at the bottom of the doors. Everyone is extra cautious for days. I find myself giving a wider birth to the bushes than I had before.
And then, to be honest, I forgot about it. I was sure it must have gone on its slithery way by now, back up the steep hill and into the jungley forest. But again in the afternoon about two weeks later, everyone quietly doing their own thing, soaking in the gentleness of the place, and quite without any invitation or notice, he shows up under the cabinet.
More screaming this time, louder and angrier. There is now a fierceness in both Yupa and Pi Dao that rivals any she-warrior image one might conjure. This snake has had it's last day threatening our kids! I am up with my camera now, quite happy again to keep my distance, but close enough to watch. Yupa has it pinned against the wall with a long piece of wood, about half way down its length, leaving a vicious top half spitting and hissing and striking. Pi Dao has another long pole and is taking aim at the gyrating monster's flailing head. I hear the 'deng, deng, deng' of her attempts against the cement, and then, finally the fatal blow. Spontaneous cheering! Danger is done. The creature is dead.
I take pictures. When the kids come home they all have a look. A neighbour drops by later and asks if we're going to eat it, and is offered to take it home himself for supper.
Yes, a cobra is about as knowing as you can get.
My husband Ken asks me why I tell these stories. "You want people to come, don't you?" he asks.
But that's the thing. We don't know anything if we don't live it real time with them. We can't begin to pretend to come alongside in any kind of honest way, any kind of authentic partnership if we have no idea about the cobras. Until we've felt the fear ourselves, or the heat, or the long discomfort of waiting six hours to see a doctor for less than a minute, or the agony of losing a son because road safety and policies are just that lax. Unless we know this by living it with them, incarnationally, we don't know anything.
Not everyone will stay three months. Likely I won't be able to do that again even in the new reality that will be my more-Thai-connected life very soon. Three months is a longer time. Not nearly as long as the years some actual missionaries have invested, for sure. But for most of us, it's more likely to be three weeks. I'm hoping for two six week stints in a year. We'll see.
My point is, we need to be there. Yup, it's expensive. And yes, there are some risks involved, cobras being only one variety. But it's real.
And if you can, please come. We would be so happy, Suradet, Yupa, the kids and I, to have you visit us. I can't promise any cobras. But I will predict that it will change you in ways you couldn't imagine....mostly because you just showed up in person. Which makes all the difference in the world.
To find out about the next two trips being planned contact me at rabreithaupt@hcckw,ca
