Four months had passed.
My siblings and I really enjoyed living on the farm. The
sense of peace, tranquillity and contentment overwhelmed
us. There was no war nor suffering, hunger nor material
need. Life was basic and simple. But in life nothing is
forever.
In mid 1976, the hot and
dry season began. A dining hall was erected in every
village. Onka wanted to provide for all of our needs. This
way, people would not have to cook for themselves; equality
also could be achieved. But this was also a method of
control.
Since we ate in the
dining hall, many things started to change. People worked
for longer hours. Young people (15 to 25) worked from 5
o'clock in the morning until midnight. We had less food to
eat even though we just harvested a good crop. We could not
walk from one village to another without a permit, not even
to the next village. They started to mistreat the "new
people" (the city people). There was worry and fear on the
adults' faces.
"Bang, bang, bang" the
dinner bell resounded to break the silence of busy workers.
Some men and women, with their right hands over their
foreheads to block out the merciless bright sun and with
squinting eyes, estimated the time of day. The sound of the
bell always brought smiles on people's faces. The children
filed on narrow paths from their homes and strolled
innocently toward the dinning hall. The adults--most
dressed in black pajamas, some with straw hats and some with
white/red or white/blue checker krawma (krawma is a native
cloth with many uses)--marched toward the dinning hall. The
sight was haunting and dramatic.
In the dinning hall, the
children sat at one end of the room because the adults
complained that these children had no manners. They would
stir the soup for meat and left nothing for the adults. A
group of ten people sat around a table and on each table
there was a bowl of soup and a bowl of stir fry. The soup
consisted mostly of vegetables and water. There was no
meat. The usual lunch or dinner consisted of two or three
chickens--for 500 people. At the other corner of the room
were the Chinese new-people. They always sat and ate
together.
In August 1976, the rainy
season had started. Water covered most of the land. The
grass was green; buds sprouted; water vegetation emerged
from the water. The rice patties were teeming with
life--frogs and tadpoles, large fish and small fish, and
herd of water buffaloes and children. The children were
responsible for the care of the herd of water buffaloes and
bulls. In a field away from the village, while my two
buffaloes enjoyed the freshness of vegetation, I was chasing
a frog. Onka did not want us to fish or catch frogs to
supplement our diets, but I was hungry. The frog tried to
escape and jumped into a newly dug hole. I did not take
much notice of the hole then; I was too involved with my
potential dinner. I jumped into it after the frog. I got
it.
Getting out of the hole
was not easy because the lip was over my head. The hole was
rectangular in shape--it was about 2.5m X 2m. I was a
little curious because I did not remember seeing it there
the previous day.
In the dinning
hall, two days later, I noticed that I had not seen some of the
Chinese new-people. I asked my mother where these people went,
but she did not know. The next day, I went back to that hole in
the hope that I would catch another frog, but the hole was
filled. It was no longer a hole or grave but a mount. It
smelled awful; 15 to 20 people rotted in that grave because they
were Chinese. Continue..
