One chapter of Annie Prolouex’s novel the
Shipping News opens with “Thin, hot, moist… He had the big man’s yearning for
small women.” The line came back to me a few times when trying to decide whether
or not to relocate to the emerging markets of Myanmar, not because of all the
thin women but the concept of yearning, and specifically, the lawyer’ yearning
to be at the center of the action.
And Yangon did not fail. I have been here a
couple of months and practicing in Yangon reminds me of Halloween parties,
rainbows, bad jokes, obscure anthropological documentaries, stories the odd
lecturer once told about his early days at Clyde & Co in Tanzania. It is
never boring, or the boring stuff is interesting by virtue of the challenges
(to use a euphemism) that present therein.
There are a handful of expat lawyers in
town, and all of them have been very kind and welcoming to me. There is a camaraderie and the kind of people
attracted to the opportunities seem to be pioneers and adventurers.
“You must not be seen with the Baker &
Mackenzie guy again. No one has anything to talk about here. The rumors will spread
that you are leaving.”
“But I really like the Baker &
Mackenzie guy. He is Australian, a brilliant lawyer and a pioneer. I’m not
going to meet him in secret at sine backwater place like I am Richard Pratt.”
“You can not be seen with him again.”
“I don’t care. In Australia lawyers connect
with each other. We are collegiate. And
this place is insane. Anyone who has successfully navigated it with passion and
enthusiasm and built a business here, like you, is a mentor. If talking to him
makes me like my job with you more, then that is a good thing.”
“Ok. Maybe you don’t go to the Lab or
Gecko. That is where the bored people go who talk the most.”
I think
I have just negotiated my right to have coffee with another lawyer.
The work is colourful and spans many
industries all with the same question - hwo can we get into the market in these
days of opportunity, possibilities, inchoate regulations and uncertain
conditions? Our clients come in various states of readiness or undress –
existing clients who have completed phase 1 – have the first hotel up and are
looking at getting the tranche of services apartments underway, the beverage
company who has got the beverage into manufacturing and distribution mode
within the country but needs to incorporate to provide itself with technical
advisory services… Then there are the raw entrepreneurs who come in with a big
plan, their ears back, loads of cash to blow, a can do attitude and all the enthusiasm
and drive of a 16 year old gymnast. There are also risk averse clients from
major corporations who I view as hairdressers might a ‘walk in’, testing the
waters and enquiring as to ‘how things are done’. They are aware that what
passes for financial reports is not going to fly with their compliance
department somewhere in SG or Italy and when they leave I doubt we will see
them again.
The culture of the firm and the small
western legal fraternity is nice – diverse, extroverted, all with an
interesting take on life and usually an interesting life story. It does not
seem to be anyone’s first adventure, but there is no reason why it shouldn’t
be. The American intern has come straight from a stint in Brussels, the Australian SA has recently arrived from
Cambodia, the Canadian has come from in house telco work in Afghanistan.
The work is undeniably interesting but the
structure cannot compare to the well-oiled machine of a top tier firm in
Australia – I feel the absence of Word Processing, the Library and IT acutely
and I am glad I thanked them before I left. I thought that I was grateful to my
administrators in Australia and expressed it sufficiently, until I arrived here
and hit an all-new point of gratitude. My current receptionist yells at me
every day but I am opting for the path
of least resistance and just smile. Out last argument ended with “Fine, you go
and get killed you get shot by monks with guns, you are eaten with tigers, I
don’t care, not Nanada’s problem! Not Nanda’s problem! Everyone makes problems
from Nanda! But no more, not Nanda’s problem!” I had said I was going to a monastery
for the weekend.
Unbeknownst to me at least 3 different
people sacrificed .3 units listening to the talk on how if I was shot by armed
monks or eaten by tigers it would not be Nanda’s problem. Okay Nanda: NOT YOUR
PROBLEM!! I just smile and get on with it.
The city is not an easy place to be and
heaves with oppressive heat, offset by the mellow nature of the locals and then
gentle pace of life. It is no Vientiane however and taxis drive at 110ks and
hour with holes in the floor of the car and 120 mothballs in a plastic bag to
mask a smell I don’t want to know about. When I get in they ask if I am
pregnant. If I am not we floor it and drive at break-neck speed narrowly
missing school children, monks and dogs. Just once I say “Yes I am” and the
driver goes at 20ks an hour, tells me he is too drunk to drive a pregnant woman
and asks if I wouldn’t mind driving.
When leaving late at night the compatriot’s
head to Traders Bar, an expat bar in the one hotel in town with decent Wi-Fi
and a healthy dose of old world charm. It is heaving with dated elegance and
serves a mean virgin colada. Each time I go I order a virgin mary, knowing full
well they are out of tomato juice, they have been out of juice since I arrived
but each time they pull some strange new date out of the air about when the
next shipment will arrive. None before August, but the whole thing is so arbitrary
so I persist, witting for my own amusement to see what will happen. On Friday
nights you can go and listen to the retired octogenarian bellhop tell stories
about the old days when George Orwell was loitering around.
If one leaves the office late the streets
of Yangon are empty and young men roll up their long skirts and tie them into
little loin clothes to play soccer in the great open main CBD roads the
equivalent of the Terrace in Perth or Elizabeth street in Sydney. Their raw and
innocent pleasure is infectious, like everything else in the place.
No matter what time I leave I can pretty
much always get a cab. The driver and I will negotiate for 30 seconds, I get in
and we take off. “You NGO?” the often say. “No, not NGO.” “Oh. Not NGO. Where
you from?” “Australia” I say. “Oh! Australia! We have many refugees. 50 years
of civil war, ceasefire now. Some refugees go to Australia. Now much more a
problem.” “Yes. It’s a difficult situation” I say and sigh. It is a conversation
I have had a few times.
On weekends I try to get out of Yangon, do
little things for myself, see my beautiful Lover in SG. Yangon is not an easy
place.
And yet is absurdly hip in so may other ways.
Quirky and fabulous tapas bars the next new
and hip French place, pop up art galleries, emerging theatre, launch parties,
ASEAN summits, a burgeoning underground punk scene, glamorous bars serving 2
for 1 mojitos, wacky business communities and the nightclubs turned into quasi brothels.
3 months here is enough, although if one
was willing to stay, was not in love across the sea in SG it is indeed the land
of opportunity.
