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Daw Suu's Letter from Burma #28



Mainichi Daily News, Monday, June 3, 1996

EVERY STURDY STRUCTURE HAS A SOUND ROOF

"Repairing the roof"

Letter from Burma (No. 28) by Aung San Suu Kyi

	There is a Burmese saying to the effect that if the roof is not sound the
whole house becomes vulnerable to leaks.  That is to say, if soundness is
lacking at the top there are bound to be problems all along the line until
the very bottom
	It has certainly been my personal experience over a number of monsoon
seasons that a leaking roof renders other improvements to a house futile.
During the six months of rain, every spare basin, bucket, saucepan and
plastic container in my house has to be commandeered to catch the rivulets
that flow in merrily.  When there is an especially heavy downpour the
containers have to emptied frequently and the myriad small leaks that appear
quite suddenly (and disappear just as suddenly) at unexpected places have to
be mopped up.
	Keeping the inside of the house dry becomes a constant juggle with a
variety of vessels and rags.  I tried to stop the incessant drips with
intricate arrangements of plastic sheets, waterproof tape, putty and other
gummy substances.  But all these maneuvers succeeded merely in stemming the
torrent temporarily and over the years paint, plaster and woodwork in the
path of the worst leaks steadily deteriorated.
	So making the roof rainproof was at the top of the priority list of
essential repairs that we decided has to be undertaken during this dry
season.  Only when the roof was sound would it become worthwhile to put new
paint on walls that have been neglected for several decades and, in general,
to make the house cleaner and brighter.
	There were some who had the, in my view, horrifying idea of replacing the
original tile roof with a corrugated iron one but I held out firmly for
rescuing the old tiles and supplementing those that had been damaged beyond
redemption with other ones.  As soon as the tiles were brought down from the
roof the advocates of corrugated iron were totally won over.  Each tile was
solid and beautifully crafted and baked into it were the name of the company
that had produced it, the date (1936, presumably the year the house was
built) and a number.
	The tiles fit so well into each other that in one part of the roof where
the supporting woodwork had rotted away a sheet of tiles as firmly linked
together as the best Lego model had managed to keep in place.  And once they
had been washed clean the tiles glowed a soft red and looked as good as new.
I must confess some of us waxed quite lyrical over the beauty and durability
of the tiles.
	Of course, there were a number that were broken or too badly chipped to be
reused so we had to buy replacements from shops that specialized in selling
parts of old buildings that had been pulled down.  The tiles that we managed
to get were slightly different from our original ones, but were equally well
crafted and almost as solid and on each of them was the date: 1865.  We
viewed them with awe and could not help remarking that we human beings,
often so proud of our powers and achievements, are not even as durable as a
simple brick tile.
	For all the metaphors about human clay, in substance we are probably closer
to wood.  Many of the wooden supports in the roof had not been able to
withstand the onslaught of the seasons, despite the fact that only teak had
been used.  Considering present day prices there was no question of putting
in new teak supports.  Even old teak was prohibitively expensive so we
decided on old /pyinkadoe/ (iron wood), which came, like the 19th century
tiles, from buildings that had been pulled down in recent years.  The
builders thought that with proper maintenance the supports fashioned from
old wood should be good for another 60 years.
	Repairing the roof involves reorganizing the whole house.  I had to keep
moving around from room to room as the builders kept removing the tiles.
The very day after the first lot of tiles had been removed it rained.  Not
only buckets and basins and pots and pans were brought into operation on
this occasion, there were even a few glass tumblers catching solitary drips.
The most abiding impression of the episode was the camaraderie and laughter
with which everybody rallied around, viewing the somewhat unseasonable rain
not so much as a setback but as a comic interlude.  Into each life some rain
must fall and how good when its fall contributes to a better atmosphere.
For me there was a special bonus: I had moved, together with some bulky
furniture, into the hottest room in the house but thanks to the rain it was
pleasantly cool most of the time I had to camp there.
	While the repairs on the house were going on life was doubly hectic as I
had to cope not only with my routine political work but also with packing
and unpacking, tidying and rearranging furniture.  It occurred to me more
than once how important was the contribution of the wives of my male
colleagues.  By looking after all household matters and supplying endless
encouragement to their menfolk these indomitable women, to whom the
international media pays scant attention, play an essential role in or
endeavors to repair the roof or our nation.

* * *

This article is one of a yearlong series of letters, the Japanese
translation of which appears in the Mainichi Shimbun the same day, or the
previous day in some areas.