Mother of Water

by JG Learned

Rolling under the smooth surface in the straight reaches, seething with foam in the gorges, sculpting stone and moving millions of tons of silt as it winds its way from Tibet to the South China Sea, the Mekong River is one of the world's truly great rivers.

In China the Mekong is called Lancang Jiang – The Turbulent River. The name Mekong is from the Thai word ‘Mae Nam Khong', meaning Mother of Water. It is a turbulent mother indeed. It has given birth to several civilizations, it nurtures the soil of its river plain with yearly inundations of silt, and provides the peoples along its banks with food; within the Mekong River system there are about 1,300 different known species of fish, and new ones are still being discovered. Until it reaches the delta in Cambodia and Vietnam, slowing and branching into a myriad of channels, the Mekong is a kaleidoscope of currents and upswells, whirlpools and eddies, even in its calm stretches. It is an eerie experience to swim across it, pulled and pushed in several directions at the same time - something not for the faint of heart or short of breath.

It is an axis of life, a huge and marvelous force. The water levels fluctuate dramatically between monsoon and dry seasons. The land and agriculture in the river basin are shaped by its yearly changes. The rhythm of rain and river decides the way of life for the people who live by it.

For centuries, western nations have sought to use the Mekong as a commercial artery through Southeast Asia, deep into China, but rock and rapids at the northern and southern ends of Laos have thwarted every attempt. For only a few short weeks in the rainy season can barges from Jinghong, China make the journey to Ban Huay Sai, in Laos.

As in the past, before roads, the Mekong brings life to the lowland Lao people. There has always been an intimate relationship between the Lao and their rivers. While landlocked, they are as completely at ease on rivers as they are on land. The difficulties of transport seem as child's play to them. I incredulously watched a 20-foot long dugout transport a 5-foot tall refrigerator standing upright, navigate a swift, swirling stretch of river, held steady by two women sitting fore and aft, without a wobble.

Laos is mostly mountains. To the west of the Annamite Mountain range, which forms the border between Laos and Vietnam, the watershed flows to the Mekong. As a source of life, its tributaries are as important to the Lao as the huge river itself. One such river is the Nam Tha in Northern Laos.

Not a fast river, the clear waters mirror the landscape as it wraps itself around mountains, through verdant gorges. The nature surrounding these tributaries is wild, dramatic and largely unspoiled. Butterflies swarm in courtship on its banks. Huge trees, laden with countless types of orchids and epiphytes, hang precariously from the banks, waiting for the river which nurtured them to one day wash them away. On the river's surface, long wooden boats, plank and dugout, pass each other up and down, transporting people and livestock from one village to another, some with small long-tail motors, others paddled and poled. It's monsoon overflow fertilizes the small farm plots on its bank.

In the hot, humid summer months, the river's edge provides some respite from the heat. The workday done, families gather on the bank to bathe and chat and relax. The sounds of children laughing mingle with the sounds of birds' sunset song and the awakening calls of nocturnal jungle insects. Close by, water buffalo bask contentedly in the shallows, only their heads above water, heedless of the children playing. As darkness falls, night and jungle and river become as one. The serenity is reflected in the people to whom the river is a part of them.

Each drop of rain in the mountains swells the Luang Nam Tha, which in turn contributes its flow to the Mekong without an uproar. Downstream countless villages, towns and cities are nourished by the mingled waters of the tributaries. Thousands of nets catch millions of fish, laughing children play on the banks, life is sustained.

As the river rises in the rainy season, the gardens on the banks of the Mekong and its tributaries disappear one by one, as do the fine-sand beaches, the low islands and the rocks. Huge trees are uprooted from the banks and float and roll downstream. The rivers turn a darker umber hue from red laterite soil washed from the farmed lands. It swirls and swells and gathers speed, urgent to reach its destination, the South China Sea, where it becomes part of the One Ocean.

Water is the mother. It is a cycle with no beginning and no end. The sun evaporates the sea at the same rate as all the world's rivers flow into it. Clouds form and rain falls, creating the life-giving rivers, patiently carving away mountains of stone, grain by grain; shaping the land, shaping our lives. If water is the mother, the sun is the father, to whom we must both respect and daily give thanks to.