WOULD YOU LIKE AN EXPLOSIVE WITH YOUR COFFEE?

Cafe owner Sith offers me a whiskey

I’m bouncing along in our 4X4 on a rural Laotian road. We’ve just left a village where I watched a blacksmith pound old war refuse into farm tools! ‘Swords into plowshares’ indeed. On our way back, we stop at a small roadside café to satisfy our thirst. It's a hot day, and a freshly squeezed juice would really hit the spot.

As we enter, I quickly notice that by western standards it’s not a café. It’s more like an ornate shack with tables, and bizarre decorations. I’m wary of the lack of cleanliness, but my guide recommends the place. I decide against a fresh juice, and opt for a safer can of soda. 

Soon, I’m approached by an old Laotian with white hair. This is Sith, the café’s owner. I’m relieved to learn that he speaks some English, though his French is even better. 

“I French teacher, many years,” Sith tells me. He first learned in school, back during French colonial times. Wearing shorts and sandals, he still sports a black French beret. 

Retired from teaching, he now runs this small café. I check out one section of the eatery’s walls, and I’m surprised to see it covered with two things: posters of pretty Laotian women, and a variety of unexploded ordinance!! While peddling coffee, Sith has been selling UXO relics as war souvenirs on the side.

This is a very dangerous trade, and our host has quite a selection. The display has various mortar rounds, artillery shells, spent artillery casings, a claymore mine, and a belt of machine gun bullets. His biggest display is of 'bombies', small explosives from deadly cluster bombs. Up on a shelf, he has set up a gridlike display of more than 50 of the dangerous orbs. 

Display of deadly US 'bombies' line a wall. Are all of them disarmed?

Since Sith isn’t a trained in bomb disposal, it’s a good bet that at least one of those 50 bombies is still live. If that was true, and one of those bombies is dropped onto the floor and detonates, it could easily kill everyone in this room. It’s happened before. 

Selling disarmed explosives is illegal in most parts of Laos, but in remote places like this, the strict laws regarding the safe handling and selling of UXO aren’t followed. 

As I’m looking at the deadly display, Sith picks up a bombie, tosses it in the air, then offers it to me. “You want buy one?”

I look at him nervously. I’m not into war souvenirs, even if it was defused. Besides, if I was caught carrying a bombie at a border crossing, or caught carrying one inside my luggage onto an aircraft, I would be in a great deal of trouble. I decline. 

More 'bombies' on display. Many types of cluster bombs were dropped on Laos.

Since I’m not buying, the friendly old guy shifts the conversation to politics. He mixes in  the old, and the modern of the political world. He states to me, “Nixon is like George W. Bush.”

“Why is that?” I ask.

“Nixon like the war more than peace,” he says. “Nixon like to bomb the people.”

Sith doesn’t get many American visitors, so as I depart, our host pulls out a bottle of homemade Laotian whiskey. Getting out a small glass, he has a toast with me. 

After we drain our glasses, Sith quickly tucks the bottle away. As he does so, he wears a mischevous grin, as though he’s trying to hide it. “My wife,” he says, gesturing toward the back of the café. 

Now I understand. Sith didn’t want his wife to catch him drinking!

We climb back into our 4X4, and hit the road. 

SWORDS INTO PLOWSHARES, BOMBS INTO TOOLS

"They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks" - Isaiah 2: 4

These metal posts are made from US made cluster bomb casings dropped during the war

A light rain falls as our 4X4 pulls into Tha Chok, a Hmong farming village in northern Laos. Only the main road through town is paved, the rest are muddy dirt roads. Exiting the SUV, I step around puddles and walk into the village. The homes are humble; I see evidence of rural poverty. Most houses are wooden, with traditional thatch rooftops. Life has been improving here though; six months ago electrical power lines finally arrived. It’s a developmental milestone, though most living here cannot afford to buy appliances.

As we approach a village farmhouse, my guide points to a small wooden shack built on top of stilts. He explains why the shacks are elevated; nobody lives in them, they are for food storage.  “They put rice inside,” he explains. “They keep away the rat.”

Although the elevated storage shacks are wooden, the stilts supporting them are made from far different material; metal. They are remnants of the war; each of the four stilts are made from the split half of a cluster bomb casing! They have been turned up on one end, and buried into the ground. The smooth metal surface ensures that rats can’t climb them to reach the rice! 

This cluster bomb casing has been turned into an elevated onion planter!

Walking to another nearby house, a cluster bomb case has been put to other agricultural use: as a planter! I approach the strange elevated planter, wondering what's growing inside. 

Hmong children eye me curiously as I lean over and take a whiff. Onions! By the looks of them, they’ll be ready for harvesting soon. 

This strange display of former military hardware isn’t over, there’s more down the road. My guide leads me into the yard of another nearby house. One long wall of the home’s fence, is made entirely of cluster bomb casings, sitting on one end, lined up one after another. Incredible! There are more than 20, with varying degrees of rust. The fence leans over from all the weight, appearing as though it may collapse. 

Also in the same yard, a separate cluster bomb casing protrudes from the ground, with a tire around it. Sitting on top of it, teathered by its neck, is a small monkey. This cluster bomb case is the monkey’s jungle gym. My presence seems to excite the unfortunate pet. The monkey climbs up and down his metallic home. This has to be the most bizarre use of war refuse that I’ve seen yet. 

Bomb casing is now monkey's jungle jim

Dropped here during the war by the US Air Force, old cluster bombs are tragically still killing Laotian civilians today. My guide says there used to be more cluster bomb casings here before. But with the village so poor, many were sold for scrap.

As we continue walking around the village, he points out a couple of partially detonated old bombs. Split wide open, they now serve as animal feeding troughs! 

Still there’s more. My guide takes me into a small shack, the neighborhood 'blacksmith' shop. Given the poverty here, there is no giant bellows, no fiery furnace. The Hmong blacksmith working here makes due with a fire on an elevated metal table. He doesn’t have an anvil either, for this he has improvised. He has pounded a post into the ground, and covered the top with a strong metal cap made from a military casing; this is his pounding post. I watch as he works on his creation for today: a long knife. It makes a loud metallic racket, as he pounds away at it with a heavy hammer. 

The raw material for this knife, is metal from unexploded ordinance (UXO)! He fashions many other household tools and farming implements this way. (I recall one of my previous meals on the Plain of Jars. I had soup, with an aluminum spoon that had an odd appearance from being hammered into shape. It had been handmade, fashioned from a crashed US aircraft.)

I’m amazed at the ingenuity of the Hmong in these poor villages. They have taken what were once hazardous bomb materials, and then adapted them to suit their needs. Their inventions are used not just for their homes, but also their livelihoods. There are so many cluster bomb casings around this village, it’s obvious that major fighting took place here. I wonder how much UXO still remains here...

Crude fence of cluster bomb casings. There was heavy fighting here during the war.

A local Hmong walks into the blacksmith shack, and I start up a conversation. He’s a farmer, and lived here even before the war. When the conflict came he fled, hiding out with others in caves, and in the forest. When the war finished, he returned. He now has five children. Working as a farmer, he had found bombs when clearing land. 

“What kind of bombs did you find?” I asked him.

“They were all bombies,”(cluster bomblets) he said.

“How many did you find?”

He thinks for a few moments, and replies, “about 10.”

“What did you do with them?”

“I would take them, put them in a campfire, and then run. Sometimes the bombie would crack open. Sometimes nothing happen. Sometimes they explode. It explode so big, the whole fire go out.”

Rusted remains of 'bombie'

This was his crude method of bomb disposal, and fortunately he didn’t die in the process. It wasn’t just bombies that are a buried threat here. In a nearby village, another farmer was killed while he was out tilling his fields. His died when his plow struck an old mortar round. Who would have thought that farming in Laos would be such a dangerous job?

Shaking the brave farmers hand, I bid him goodbye, and we start walking back through the village. Passing more homes, I spot another thatched roof house, with strangely metallic walls. 

Town blacksmith makes a living reworking war refuse into tools, such as this knife

My guide points, saying, “Look, the walls made with UXO.” Sure enough. Rather than the usual wooden planked walls that the neighbors have, these walls are made of metal. Since they have been hammered out flat and pieced together, it’s difficult to make out what their origin was. Most likely, they were fashioned from cluster bomb containers, or from drop tanks used for surplus jet fuel. 

Passing another simple home, my guide says, “Old man live here, he used to grow opium in his garden, for personal use. He died, so don’t have any more.”

It’s not surprising that the old Hmong that lived here grew opium openly, since Laotian hill tribes had used opium for years in traditional ceremonies. During the war, the US military and CIA were unfairly blamed for the Laotian opium trade. The fact is, opium had been grown and traded in Laos for generations before Americans arrived. When French colonials were here, they encouraged opium production as a cash crop. 

Hmong teenagers in traditional attire

As part of the ‘Golden Triangle’, Laotian opium eventually found its way into western countries in its more refined form: heroin. The opium trade wasn’t even outlawed in Laos until 1971, but it’s still a scourge today, part of the underground economy. 

As we head back towards the main road, we come across a pair of young Hmong women wearing traditional Hmong outfits. They look stunning; it seems I’ve stumbled upon a family photos shoot. Their skirts are multi-colored, and hand woven. A long, belt like garment hangs low from around their waist, highlighted in pink, white and red. Their outfits are topped with a black and white hat that resembles a turban. 

The only thing that is of western style in their outfits, are their low heeled shoes. 

Like many Asians, these Hmong girls are short in stature; each stands well below my shoulder. But size doesn’t matter here, their outfits are reminiscent of royalty. If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed that they were both princesses. 

This village may not be rich, but the Hmong people still dress up for special occasions. The ethnic Hmong have endured a great deal of hardship over the years, but they are still very proud of their culture. 

DISAPPEARING FORESTS AND DANGEROUS SHRAPNEL

Old growth forests in Laos are slowly disappearing, as lumber is sent to China and Vietnam

A new day finds me in another 4 wheel drive SUV, this time heading down a road northeast of Phonsavan. On our way, my driver passes a pair of heavy trucks, hauling timber. I eye up their stacked cargo, thick logs cut from old growth trees. 

“Many timber go to Vietnam,” frowns my translator. “Bad for Lao.”

As a raw natural resource, logging in Laos has been on the increase. From what I hear, most of the money goes to the government, even to the military. Since the Soviet Union no longer exists, the government has been forced to search for new revenue to pay for their army. Logging is one of their sources of revenue. 

We curve through the hills, as the trucks continue on eastward to supply the Vietnamese lumber business. I ask my translator on the foreign influences on Laotian business.  

“So many Chinese and Vietnamese come here to do business,” he says, and then he cracks a joke. “In the future, there will be no Laos. It will be Chi-Nam!” 

Two rusted tailfins from wartime mortar rounds

As we’re driving, the countryside looks beautiful. Laos has excellent scenery, but looks can be deceiving. “This area very beautiful,” my translator tells me, “but not safe.”

He motions towards a group of farm houses, the scene of an unfortunate post-war accident a few years ago. “Over there, they made a (cooking) fire outside of the house,” he says. “There was a bombie in dirt under the fire. Blow up. Two people die.”

* * * * *

Later that day, my guide brings me to a remote ethnic Hmong village further outside Phonsavan. As we walk down the main street, my guide leads me into a wooden shack. Peering into the darkness, I’m puzzled as to why he led me in here, until he points towards the wall. There next to an empty chicken cage, I see a large brown pile of metal. 

Bomb shrapnel!

Pile of bomb shrapnel collected by a black market scrap metal dealer

The owner of this shack runs a black market business: dealing scrap metal. Poor locals sell him bomb shrapnel they've found for recycling. This pile of jagged shrapnel is all rusted, save for a couple of non-wartime items, like a couple of bicycle wheels and machine parts. Mixed into this once deadly heap are tail fins from mortar shells, rusted clumps of ball bearings from cluster bombs, and numerous jagged, twisted chunks of shrapnel from heavy bombs dropped by the U.S. Air Force. 

This shack is just a small part of the underground scrap metal industry, now outlawed in Laos. Black market dealers give collectors 30 cents per kilo for scrap, and $1.50 per kilo for explosive. A pittance for such dangerous work. 

I recall the two boys that I had seen with metal detectors, searching for bomb shrapnel on the old Ho Chi Minh Trail. About half of all the un-exploded ordinance (UXO) accidents in Laos happen when someone is collecting shrapnel, or trying to salvage explosive from an old bomb. 

I look at this rusted pile and wonder about all the scrap metal hunters who contributed to make this deadly heap. How many of them have been injured or killed? How many more of them will die in the future? When people are desperate for money, they will do just about anything for work. 

THE 'WAR AFTER THE WAR' AND THE DRONE

USSR built Kamaz truck, damaged by US cluster bomb attack

A dark green, Soviet made Kamaz 66 truck is in front of me, and it's a battle scarred ruin. Full of countless holes and dents, it was hit in a cluster bomb attack in northern Laos during the war. 

It’s a new day, and once again I’m seeing the effect of cluster bombs. When I went to the COPE center, I saw what cluster bombs did to Laotian civilians.  Here in the 'Lao People’s Army History Museum', I see what a cluster bomb did to a communist vehicle. A laminated caption with bad grammar tells the story: 

“In 1971, Camrade BounLap, a brave driver, of the 3rd Squadron of the 2nd Company of the Battalion 402 drove the truck to deliver ammunitions from Nonghaed District to Combat Operation Command...
in difficulties of the three serious days and nights admist enemy’s bombings, but he bravely broke through and safely arrived the destination even he was hit by US bombies”

Looking over this old Russian beast, there are numerous jagged shrapnel holes throughout the body of the truck. Most of the windows were blown out. With all this damage, I’m seeing visually how exploding 'bombie' shrapnel from cluster bombs could penetrate even thick steel. I doubt the caption’s dubious claim that the driver delivered his cargo of ammunition after the attack. Judging by all the shrapnel holes above the driver’s seat and through the driver’s door, he would have been very lucky to have survived at all. If this truck really had been carrying a cargo of ammunition, the bombies probably would have ignited them and blown the truck sky high. 

So when were General MacArthur & the USS Missouri in landlocked Laos?? (museum photo)

As I wander about and check out the army museum, I find most exhibits are similar to what I’ve seen in museums of Vietnam. Display cases are filled with the US made weapons, captured from Royal Laotian Army troops. There are also propaganda photos of Pathet Lao troops, posing and fighting. Some show real action, but others were obviously staged, presented as authentic. 

A caption beneath one photo is almost laughable. It has the following text: “Japanese fascist troops were defeated in Laos in 1945.” The photo here was not taken in Laos at all, it was taken in Tokyo Harbor. What the photo actually shows, is the Japanese signing their official surrender to the American military on the deck of the USS Missouri! That’s a long way from Laos. 

Vietnamese guerrilla weapons captured in 1989

Making my way upstairs, I learn about a surprising chapter in the history of Laotian and Vietnamese conflict, which occurred long after the Vietnam War was officially over in 1975. 

On display are captured rifles made in the US and USSR, from a little known conflict in southern Laos. The cases are full of captured evidence: binoculars, radios, documents, a canteen and compass. I quickly notice that some of these items are marked with a forbidden insignia: the red and yellow striped flag of the former Republic of Vietnam. These were captured from a rebel group called the 'National United Front for the Liberation of Vietnam', a group well known in Vietnamese expatriate circles.

From 1987 – 1989, this group of anti-communist Vietnamese guerillas from refugee families inflitrated the southern Laotian provinces of Saravanh and Xekong. They hoped to establish safe havens in southern Laos, and then from there infiltrate Vietnam, just as the Viet Cong had done years before. The bold aim of these insurgents was to restore the former government of the Republic of Vietnam. 

Led by a former Navy Admiral from South Vietnam, Hoang Co Minh, the group crossed from Thailand into Laos, where there were a series of attacks and skirmishes. Hoang and as many as 100 of the rebels were killed. Others were caught and given long prison sentences in Vietnam, where some of them still are today. The Vietnamese and Laotian casualties from this hidden campaign aren’t publicly known. 

Other photos and exhibits here highlight the most recent conflicts Laos has had with their old nemesis, Thailand. This battle also happened during the 1980’s, when tensions flared up over small amounts of territory in the northern Laotian province of Xaynabouly. Fighting broke out 

Captured drone from the Thailand - Laos border battles of the late 1980's

in Botene and Paklay, and these weren’t just little border clashes. The casualties from these armed confrontations reached well into the hundreds. 

One caption beneath an old 23 mm anti-aircraft gun here boasts of Laotian success, “In 1987 – 1988 it was used to fight enemy at Botene battlefield which shot down 11 aircrafts of the Thai extreme rightist troops.” In an age of guided missiles, that’s an unlikely number. 

Captured during that time, is something I’ve never seen before: a pilotless drone! We know a great deal about drones today, but in the 1980's they were almost unknown. Used by the Thais, it must have landed somewhere on Laotian territory during the brief border conflict. Much more primitive than a Predator drone, this drone is far smaller. Driven by a propeller, it has a split tail. A camera sticks out of the nose; it was obviously used for reconnaissance. I wonder, who built it?

Statue of Pathet Lao fighters. Apparently some fought with crossbows and spears??

Although the current peace between Thailand and Laos is much improved, there are still occasional incidents from violent groups that are beyond the control of both governments. In 2000, a group of around 60 Laotian rebels crossed over from Thailand at the Chong Mek border crossing, and took over the Laotian border post. They were hoping for a popular uprising, which never materialized. The Laotian Army opened fire and killed five insurgents, while the rest fled back to Thailand. The Laotian government blamed the Thai government, and used the incident to crack down further on local dissent.

After seeing all of the museum, I found some chapters of their military history are missing. There is little information on the long war that the ‘People’s Liberation Army’ waged against one of the country’s own ethnic minority groups, the Hmong. 

I also didn’t find any displays on the thousands of North Vietnamese soldiers who died in Laos, as they fought alongside the Pathet Lao, against the Laotian army and their US supporters. They didn’t give credit where credit is due; the Pathet Lao never would have taken over the country without the help of the North Vietnamese Army. Their only tribute shown to the Vietnamese, is a bust of Ho Chi Minh. 

I wonder if their absence of appreciation shown here, is a reflection of the dislike that many Laotians still feel for Vietnam today. 

HEALING CHILD VICTIMS OF CLUSTER BOMBS

Artwork of cluster bomb discharging 'bombies'

A cluster bomb has to be one of the most destructive weapons in world history. If you’ve ever seen video of a cluster bomb in action, you would agree. The damage they can do over a very wide area, is absolutely devastating. 

Dropped by air, most cluster bombs first appear to be a large, standard bomb. But this is deceptive, a cluster bomb’s outer shell is only a container, a ‘dispenser’. After release from an attacking aircraft, this metal container plummets toward earth, and splits apart, opening in mid-air to discharge it’s dangerous payload. 

Here in Vientiane, I’m looking up at a cluster bomb right now, frozen in time just after it has been divided in two. With the airborne dispenser broken apart, it’s lethal cargo has been dispersed into the air below. The contents don’t look very dangerous, they resemble a scattered rain of small metal baseballs. But these spheres aren’t toys, they are submunitions, and each one can contain enough explosive and shrapnel to kill or injure a roomful of people. The Laotians have their own name for these: ‘bombies’. 

This dispenser and dummy bombies hang by thin lines from the ceiling above me, and are no longer dangerous. They're part of a sobering display of anti-war artwork in the Vientiane headquarters of COPE. (Cooperative Orthotic & Prosthetic Enterprise) Obviously COPE is not your average humanitarian organization. Even the COPE sign outside is formed from old prosthetic limbs, molded together. 

The biggest cause of postwar related injuries in Laos has been, and continues to be, from cluster bombs. A caption for this unique artwork explains the hazard well:

BOMBIES

There are many types of cluster bomb. All work in similar ways scattering explosive ‘submunitions’ over a wide area. In the case of the large casings suspended here, one case would contain enough small ‘bombies’ to cover an area equivalent to three football fields. 

Each case contained up to 680 individual cluster bombs, each with a killing radius of 30 meters. The fins on the outside cause the bomb to spin to arm the device. With impact the explosion occurs. In test conditions 30% of this type of device did not explode. This means that out of the 260 million dropped there could have been 80 million unexploded cluster bombs left after the bombing ended. 

The 'COPE' sign is made of prosthetic limb parts

While I look at the hanging artwork, a Laotian boy walks up, and grabs one of the bombies suspended on its transparent line. Pretending it explodes, he feigns pain, and walks away. At least he’s aware that bombies are dangerous. Another boy approaches later, but he’s in a wheelchair tricycle. I wave hello to him, since I don’t speak Lao. He smiles, and waves back to me. This unfortunate boy is a patient here at COPE, and he’s wearing a prosthetic leg that he probably lost to a bombie. Some patients here have stepped on unexploded ordinance, (UXO) and lost both legs. Others picked up a live bombie and lost an arm, sometimes going blind. 



 

Balls for the game 'Petang' resemble bombies

There's been more than 13,000 casualties in Laos since the war ended from UXO and landmines, and about half were children. In the countryside wherepoverty is rife, children have few toys. When they happen upon bombies or other unexploded munitions, their curiosity may get the better of them, and results can be deadly. In 2008, a group of rural Laotian children went out looking for land crabs, and found a cluster bomblet instead. Four boys were killed, and five others injured. There are still about 300 civilian Laotian casualties every year from bombies and other UXO. 

Days before, I recall seeing men on the river front playing petang, a French game where balls are tossed back and forth, similar to horseshoes. Petang is popular in Laos, and unfortunately for children, the steel balls used in this game resemble bombies. How many children have been killed or injured in Laos, when they picked up a bombie, thinking it was only a petang ball?

With so many civilians still being killed or injured by cluster bombs not only in Laos, but in other post-war countries, public outcry arose against these devastating weapons. Like the earlier campaign to ban landmines, recent years saw a similar campaign to ban cluster bombs from the world’s armories. In 2008, the Convention on Cluster Munitions was signed by 107 countries, prohibiting the use, stockpiling, production and transfer of cluster munitions. Although a major step in ridding the world of these weapons, the world’s three largest weapons producers, the USA, Russia and China, did not sign the treaty. 

Here in Laos, the treaty came far too late. With millions of bombies still lying around the Laotian countryside, COPE will have no shortage of patients in the coming years. As I walk around the displays COPE’s Communications Advisor Tracie Williams joins me, telling me more of COPE’s noble work. “Our service is provided for free for those who can’t afford it,” she says. “We provide the prosthetic, rehab and other expenses.” 

Discarded patients' prosthetics hang from ceiling of the COPE center

I would expect this to be a very expensive process, but I’m pleasantly surprised at how cost effective their system is. Each below the knee prosthetic costs only about $100 per patient. Artificial limbs are made on site, just next door in their prosthetic and orthotic workshop. “They use International Red Cross Standards,” Tracie says. “They’re all handcrafted. Low cost.”

By not relying on expensive foreign doctors or manufacturers, their partnership with the Laotian government makes the operation more sustainable, “COPE is a local project, that works in conjunction with the Ministry of Health,” says Tracie. “Most staff are government staff.” Their well received operation now has five COPE clinics across Laos.

Among other UXO displays, is another somber artwork. Also hanging from the high ceiling are numerous prosthetic legs. These are old artificial limbs and some are homemade. A few are fashioned from wood. One is even made of bamboo, with the base made from half a coconut. It looks much like a peg leg from pirate

Homemade leg prosthetic at left, made from bamboo, and half a coconut!!

lore. All these limbs are from former patients. They discarded these prosthetics after receiving new ones here at COPE. 

Among the interactive displays, is a prosthetic leg you can try on. While I watch, a British visitor straps it on. I ask him if it’s comfortable. 

“Not really,” he replies. “It’s really awkward.”

The artificial leg is mostly plastic and metal, with a foot made of rubber. With a bent leg, I insert my knee, and tighten the velcro straps. I put weight on it, and the first sensation I get is immediate pain. Since it isn’t fitted for me, this is not unlike the pain that legless UXO survivors endure when they wore homemade prosthetics. Also here are training stairs, used for patient therapy. I slowly walk up the steps, using the hand rails. It’s definitely awkward. Reaching the top, I look at a mirror. I see I've one normal leg, and one artificial. This is how Laotian patients here see themselves every day. 

A few other patients are here as well. Using crutches, they don’t have a prosthetic yet. The total process of getting a proper prosthetic limb isn’t easy, it entails fitting, manufacture, therapy, and occasionally surgery. But the alternative for these unfortunate folks is to remain crippled and dependent for life. A prosthetic is all about regaining mobility, and many of these patients can return to work. In time, they feel empowered, and self-esteem improves. Some will even be able to walk through their villages without a limp.                                                                                        

“You can see the difference it makes in peoples lives,” Tracie says proudly. “They can go back (to their villages), and cultivate rice.”

Visitors to COPE can try on this prosthetic leg

Artwork of woman and child fleeing an attack