By James Thomas

Laos is like a hazy dream of Bangkok in August and a twisted memory of Cambodia in 1985. There is the inkling of a functional infrastructure all around the dirt roads and half finished streets and broken yet untended earth along the river front. Vientiane, the capital of Laos and the favourite destination for expatiates on border runs due to it is location, right across the river from Thailand. It's a sleepy city really and if you like to travel actively this place will drive you nuts, but if you feel like drifting it is perfect. Literally nothing will happen to you in Vientiane, good or bad, if you are on vacation. But if you are on a mission and on a budget its kind of maddening.

I was trying to get my visa done in two days. Thinking that I had prepared well, I hopped on the night train from Bangkok to Nong Khai, slept like a fevered child, then in the morning, two hours behind schedule, I shared a Tuk Tuk to the border with a French sex tourist and young Belgian tramping around on saved money. The second I arrived the rain was torrential. When we reached the Laotian side of the border we were met with sporadic monsoons and a rather dickish border agent. Ever since my interactions at job interviews in Bangkok I had been feeling like a bare racial nerve expecting little bigoted slights at every turn, but this man made me realize that some times redundant, pig-headed bureaucracy knows no colour and can be more frustrating than Jim Crow.

Each of us; my two European compatriots and myself, were from a different country, had a different look and were travelling for varied reasons. We had one thing in common, we had the good sense to not pay the asshole tax proffered by the Laotian Visa Brokers on the Thai side of the border. Apparently, these guys give border agents a cut of the profits they make from over charging travellers. So we were made to pay in time and little moments of personal persecution. I spent my wasted time chatting with my new companions and hanging out with a Thai man from Bangkok who was kind enough to let me practice my broken Thai on him. He thought my accent was hilarious and told me that I would make a great teacher. I was feeling great by the time I got my Laotian visa and avoided the cavity search I thought might be coming.

On the other side of the border I suddenly started to miss several things about Thailand in general and Bangkok in particular. The street food was set to western prices in Laos, and not worth the extra bills the accommodations were dismal and aimed at rich travellers to discourage the frugal sightseer, the back packers and the rambling travellers. Vientiane is a growing city trying to become the Laotian Bangkok but is now only a pale overpriced photo-negative that attracts those renewing there Thai visas or the seedy folk looking to flash their money to attract Thai women who hustle them at pool and separate them from their cash while trying to avoid touching these men whenever possible. I was impressed by the way these women would deflect the predatory attentions of foreigners without letting their masks slip for even a moment and I realized that the way they acted was analogous of the cities growing psyche. Vientiane is a pretty lady dressed in tight, cheap clothing with more confidence than modesty and a wild history drowned in false smiles, skin lightening cream and bored sighs.

I might have come to enjoy a lot of things in Vientiane but ultimately it was a distraction and a hindrance to what I am in Asia to do.

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Good Jobs, Good Racism, Great Food !

This is what a native speaking teacher looks like to some Thais

I came to Bangkok a month and a half ago planning to work for a year teaching English. I had a degree, some experience, and a TEFL Qualification. This was what all the job postings, all the message boards, and all the people I spoke to (over the phone) told me I would need to work in Thailand as a teacher. I am an American native speaker and that is what they want.

But then I started doing interviews.

Some were in offices that looked like where you would find a porn producer scouting talent. I came dressed in the best suit and tie I had with a grin and the sort of "yeah yeah yeah" determination you should bring into an interview and it seemed to be going great. I went to five interviews in one week in person and did several online and over skype interviews. I received good solid feed back. They would say things like:

"You fit all the criteria"

"Of course we have positions available for you"

"Everything seems to be in order. When can you start?"

I waited for call backs, took a break and waited a day and then I called and I called and no one answered. I recalled the looks of resignation the HR managers faces when they saw I was black. That stone-walled look I received after they figured out I possessed too much melanin.

I asked around. Talked to other teachers and they said that a lot of black teachers get the same treatment.

in one of my later interviews the Dutch interviewer looked at me as if I were a large pile of errant dog crap (he actually sneered) when he walked through the door. Then we sat down and he proceeded to inform me that there was a good chance that I would scare the children. When he tried to call me back I ignored his call and went to another interview with man who believed that I could be a teacher without unleashing a wave of black rage upon the students.

I realized that for a lot teaching schools want the artifice and not the qualifications.

Now thanks to all the bigots that wasted my time I'm broke and in need of assistance until I receive my first pay check in October.

I came to Thailand because I'm qualified to teach, I worked hard to graduate, and I'm good with children. I came to save money for graduate school and to get into publishing. This sort of short sighted bigotry used motivate me to try things people said I was not right for. I'm not surprised really by what happened, but it has put me in position where I must appeal to the better angels of those I know to get me by this first month. If you think you can help you can contribute money to my paypal account: kanto22@gmail.com or through Western union if you can.

I will be forever grateful for those who even read this much less help me out I hope to hear from you all soon.

By James Thomas

First off my boss is a nice a enough guy. Now I know that is a qualifying statement and what is coming next is going to be some grim reflection of honesty from my poignant yet embittered perspective so let me first say I am one very optimistic SOB. How can I say that do I have any evidence? A) I still want to live in America. B) I am willing to watch the new Avengers movie and any Comic book adaptation: Bring 'em on could be good. C) I get tattoos knowing, though I may change I'm sure I can adapt my mind enough to enjoy my 'Hecho en Africa' Tattoo. C) I believe whole heartedly that the publishing industry and the field of professional writing have a vibrant future (Suck it Digital age!). I wrote all that to make sure you don't think I am merely some miserable self defeatist. I am a traveller and a dreamer and a maker of stories. But I am also an Los Angelian meaning like my New York cousins I don't do well with Bull Shit. So I can safely say my boss is an incompetent hustler.

It started before I got to Laos. I had been asking him for the paper work I would need to receive my Non immigrant B visa. Actually before that he informed me that I would need to get this particular visa before I started working. When I asked him what this would entail he said in a blunt and dismissive manner “I don't do visa runs.” Then I asked him if there was anyone I could ask in his company about what I would need to collect to get a visa. He replied, “Sort that out yourself.” Now here is where optimism and desperation can get you in trouble. I was so psyched about finally having a job that as I sat contemplating my options, in the KFC in outer Bangkok where I met my boss, I wasn't thinking about some very basic facts that contradicted what he had just told me. Firstly, all foreign nationals living in Thailand at one time or another have to deal with the visa process even if they marry a Thai. Secondly, this man runs a business primarily dealing with foreign national in country with complex and ever changing travel regulations. He should know this. But of course I said yes.

So I planned my trip to Laos invested time and money into research all the while running low on funds and resources. I asked everyone and looked on the Thai Ministry of Foreign Affairs website everyday until there was no more time or money. All the while I asked my boss for the documents I would need to receive my Non B Visa. It took him a week to send me one email that arrive two day before I left for Laos. I talked to him about the documentation and that I was getting worried about things because of the delay in sending me the paper work and all he offered in consolation was, “Your worrying too much.” that's like George Clonney telling Tiger Woods “Don't worry its just a divorce.” what was this man playing at? Did he know what would happen if I was not able to get the visa that he himself had told me was so important? Did he care?

So, armed with a nice professional out fit and an optimistic out look I took a tuk-tuk to the Thai immigration office in Laos at 6am to avoid the line, which I was told might extend to the end of the block but of course there was no line because it was raining. I waited with a Bostonian who had worked for the immigration office, a loud Aussie, who was getting his married renewed and a gay Englishman who worked as a nurse trainer in Khon Kaen. The nurse trainer was nice enough to lend me his umbrella while we waited. They opened the Embassy 20 minutes late and I was the first person through but when I got there I was told that my documentation would not be enough to receive a Non B. I was told I would need a copy of the contract, which I had requested weeks before along with the other documents but had only just received. So I left immediately and called my boss. He said that everything would be fine and he would send it to me the next morning. I waited all day for him to send the email without success and called again. Again, I got the same “everything will be fine” line and went to bed that night drunk and angry.

The next morning I woke up a little later and headed down to the internet café and got the document and headed to the Embassy, diminished but not beaten. There was really no line so I walked right in and showed them all the paper work I was told I needed and again I was told the paper work was not enough they then gave me a list of what I would need and the lady behind the counter said that if I could get the documents faxed to me I would be able to get the application filed that day. I called my boss again and this time when I mentioned that I would need paper work to verify the solvency and legality of his company he was pissed. He accused me of wasting time and said that it would take to long and that I should just come back to Thailand. Prior to that I was a bit angry at the people at the visa office and myself but then, I realized that the one person who could have handle everything that had all the resources was being a complete jack ass.

Why me? Why not!

When I introduce myself to people out here, and they ask me where I come from, invariably say I'm Californian. I say this reflexively without unpacking what it means like so many Americans who think the world is just jumbled collection of US colonies, clumsily and without revealing the relevance of such a statement. Then they ask more questions ,dig deeper, and find things that surprise them, little arcs in turn in the labyrinth of me that surprise them and haunt me for days in reflection.

I was born in Compton. Which only means I was born in another one of the places that you could call a US colony. When I tell Americans this they blink and their eyes widen. Like when I tell English people I studied at UEA. Around 20 percent of the black men my age back home are either incarcerated dead or have a prison record and many don't finish high school or let alone attend college. Most of the black men I met in Norwich England, while I attended UEA, were African exchange students. There the only threat to their mortality were STD's and binge drinking.

I've realized that some of the people who have joined my group and are reading my blog may not really know who I am or where I came from. Since I asking for peoples help I should be more forth coming. Split the fruit so to speak and get to the meat.

                                                                                        When people ask me why I never joined a gang, robbed folks, or fell prey to the Los Angeles police force, I tell them it was boring. Everyone else around me thought that type of thing was there only option. They thought this because Compton is actually a really boring place, with no money coming into the community and the nothing more entertaining around than a theatre, a car show and a barbecue.

The other reason is I like books. I like thoughts. I like people and even though these things exist in Compton they live there in a very constrained way.

So I left. I moved with my family to Long beach and struggled through City College while working got two Associate degrees and then went to San Francisco State University after winning a writing Scholarship in a chance to go Abroad to finish my Bachelors which I did. Sometimes I'm surprised about where I ended up but not because I'm black. I'm surprised because no expected me to do it.