Sitting in Silence: Watching Development in Action
- Rand Blimes
- Apr 30
- 3 min read
Note: This post is part of a series from a tiny village in northern Thailand called Mae La Oop, where I spent six weeks leading a semester-abroad program. There were no restaurants, no hotels, no tourist shops — just kind people, floor mats, and more amazing home-cooked meals than I thought one human could consume. My family and students lived with local host families, volunteered in the school, and worked alongside NGOs on grassroots development projects. It was challenging, immersive, and utterly unforgettable.
There were ten of us sitting on the porch of a house in Chaem Luang Village, a little ways away from Mae La Oop, deep in the hills of northern Thailand. Three women. Seven men, including me.
A plate of jackfruit and bananas rested on the wooden floor, and a cloud of aimless fruit flies filled the air—scattering when someone moved the plate, only to slowly hover back once the fruit settled.
At the front of the porch was a large board. Several neatly cut strips of paper were taped to it, arranged into two groups with arrows pointing between them. Notes were scrawled in handwriting I couldn’t begin to decipher. Maybe Thai. Maybe Karen. I couldn’t tell. At that point, even the Thai alphabet was still a struggle for me, and I was completely lost when it came to Karen.
But even if I couldn’t read the board or follow the conversation, I knew what I was witnessing. I sat cross-legged on the porch, an outsider—silent, trying not to squirm during a four-and-a-half-hour meeting. I watched people think together. I watched people care about their community.
The others sitting there were all affiliated with an NGO called Raks Thai—or, technically, CARE International, which had absorbed Raks Thai but kept the name locally. Raks Thai works on community development projects with hill tribes across northern Thailand, helping improve land management, increase income opportunities, and support local youth.
This particular meeting had a clear purpose: the rains had been late.
That’s a problem in any agricultural village, but especially one where rice is the main crop. No water, no rice. And no rice means no income. So, for hours, these community members brainstormed. They discussed options. They pointed at the board. They moved pieces of paper. They debated.
I didn’t know what they were saying. But I knew what they were doing.
These were local people solving local problems. Not consultants flying in from a distant capital. Not outsiders handing out prewritten solutions. Just people who had lived their entire lives in this valley, now working together to figure out how to make that life continue.
This is what real development looks like.
I teach about this kind of thing in the classroom. But I had never seen it—never really felt it—until that day on that porch.
I couldn’t contribute. I couldn’t translate. I couldn’t even pretend to understand.
But I could witness.
Because travel—at its best—means shutting up and listening.
Other posts in the Mae La Oop Series:
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