Asia > Thailand > The North > Chiang Rai > Articles > Voluntourism in Thailand

Sixteen pairs of eyes stare at me expectantly, demanding knowledge, thirsty for enlightenment. I cast a pathetic “help me” look at my guide and mentor, Paul – he shrugs nonchalantly, putting the ball firmly back in my court. I’m on my own here, and about to resort to a despicable cliché…

“Does anyone know what this is?” I challenge, whipping out a fuzzy grey koala pencil grip – you know, the cheap-arse souvenirs purchased in a pack of 24 at the Two Dollar Shop, or in my case, at an exorbitantly inflated price at Sydney airport in last minute shopping desperation. “Koo-arl-ar” comes the chorus, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s an easy segue – “what animals live in Australia?” to “what animals live in Thailand?” I think I’m back on track.

Never let it be said that teaching is easy. Especially when you have no training, no lesson plan, and you’ve been thrust in front of a class of 15-year-old Thai teenagers with a genuine hunger to learn. Despite the fact that I am a raw amateur, these kids want – and expect – to improve their English in my hour-long teaching session. I couldn’t have asked for a more enthusiastic and receptive class. If only I felt worthy of their undivided attention.

Here in the villages surrounding Chiang Rai in northern Thailand, volunteer English teachers like myself are an invaluable asset. For many of the children at these underfunded schools, it’s a miracle they are attending class in the first place. Many are refugees from Burma; others belong to ethnic hill tribes, and do not have official Thai citizenship. To have the opportunity to learn English – a third language after their mother tongue and Thai – provides them with a skill that may further their chances of employment, perhaps in hospitality, retail or tourism – and ultimately break the cycle of poverty.

I have just as much to gain from the experience. For perhaps the first time in my long history of travel, I am giving something positive back to a host community. I have, in fact, become part of that community, a participant instead of just an observer passing through. In sharing my skills, I too am gaining knowledge, learning about their culture, sharing their homes, their food – and forging new friendships. I’ve achieved an intimacy rarely experienced in my often superficial world of travel journalism.

My venture into what’s become known as “voluntourism” began at Detours Abroad, an offshoot of Antipodeans Abroad, an Australian travel company which, for the past 20 years, has organised volunteer placements for school leavers in third world countries. Detours developed about 18 months ago out of recognition that mature-aged travellers also yearn for deeper, more meaningful travel experiences; the company now sends volunteers aged from 18 to 80 to programs all over the globe, including building projects, teaching programs and wildlife research. Most of these placements range from two weeks to a month, but Detours will tailor an itinerary to suit the traveller, acknowledging time restrictions and specific requirements.

According to Colin Carpenter, CEO of Detours Abroad, adult “voluntourists” are often professionals, well educated and well travelled, who have experienced 5-star luxury travel, and are looking for an interesting and worthwhile compromise to backpacking. Volunteering not only fulfils a need in themselves, but gives them access to a community they might otherwise never get to experience. Colin is quick to point out, however, that they are a travel company, not an aid agency. Their clients pay for their services; in return, they are given access to a proven infrastructure.

“It’s a travel product,” says Colin. “What we’re offering is certainty – instead of knocking on the door of an orphanage, it’s all pre-arranged – food, accommodation, work. The spontaneous approach is all well and good, and makes people feel good, but it lacks structure. Also the people at the other end need to know you’re coming.”

In my case, the ‘people at the other end’ is a group called the Mirror Foundation, a non-government organisation that runs frontline campaigns to improve the living conditions of over 21 different Akha, Lahu and Karen communities scattered throughout the Mae Yeo subdistrict of Chiang Rai. As well as arranging volunteer English and Japanese teachers at local schools, Mirror tackles sticky issues such as drug abuse, erosion of culture and trafficking of women and children. They help with the complicated task of arranging Thai citizenship for the ethnic minorities, arrange scholarships for promising students, run a charity clothing and toy drive, and operate a local-access television station set up to address the needs of the Mae Yeo communities. To say they are a dynamic and inspirational enterprise is somewhat of an understatement.

Volunteers are an integral part of the Mirror Foundation’s operations. They are given the choice of either living in a local community, or staying at the Mirror Foundation headquarters just out of Chiang Rai. Either way, the accommodation is simple, yet clean. Volunteers sleep on thin mattresses on the floor of communal quarters; bathroom facilities are rustic, with traditional Thai hand-flush toilets and cold bucket showers. They are provided with three fabulous meals a day, and transport to and from campaigns. Being a Thai-run enterprise, English spoken on-site is minimal – I was certainly grateful of the presence of my Detours Abroad guide and go-between, Paul Garrioch, whose fluency in Thai was a godsend during awkward moments of non-communication or meetings conducted entirely in the local tongue.

While at times during my brief three-day sojourn at Mirror I felt inadequate, useless and under-prepared, there was one moment when my skills came to the fore, and I finally understood the value of my contribution. A group of about 20 volunteers, including myself and Paul, some Japanese students and a bunch of local Akha scholarship kids, headed into the Chiang Rai night market to hand out leaflets pointing out the dangers associated with giving money to child beggars. Our target demographic on this occasion was western tourists – people who unwittingly contribute to the problem through a misguided sense of charity. Suddenly, in this tourist environment, I was the mouthpiece, at the fore of the campaign. The local Thai kids, although enthusiastic, lacked the English skills to communicate effectively, and looked to myself and Paul for assistance. Suddenly, I had to step up to the mat, to take control. I was being useful, and it felt very good indeed.

After a night of successful campaigning, we piled into the back of an open-tray ute, cattle-style, braving the unpredictable traffic system in traditional Thai manner. Squatting on the metal railing, a newly purchased handwoven Karen scarf wrapped around my head, I huddled silently in the chilly mountain air, listening to the angelic tones of Achu, a 16-year-old scholarship student, singing love songs in her local Ahka tongue. I didn’t understand a word, but the sentiments were universal. I smiled contentedly to myself, and felt truly privileged to be sharing in this 5-star travel moment.

For more information about voluntourism opportunities in Thailand and around the world, visit www.detoursabroad.com.au or www.mirrorartgroup.org

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