We’re in a tiny village surrounded by jungle and rice paddies. There are no roads, just tracks between the fields.
Wooden houses on stilts with low thatched roofs.
No paths at all. Just a collection of houses on a brown dirt floor.
It’s beginning to get dark.
We’re sitting round the log fire drinking Lao Lao with Mr Khaw.
He’s getting a bit drunk. Actually, we’re all getting a bit drunk.
Across the fields we see six people. Three men and three women.
They are walking into the darkened and dried up rice paddies.
Mr Khaw turns to us and bangs his arms together.
“They are going to have sex”, he chuckles.
We ask how he knows.
“One of them is my father”.
There’s an awkward silence.
“But one of the women doesn’t want to. They are from the next village.”
We say that if she doesn’t want to, surely nothing will happen.
“No, not in Laos. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t want to. They will do it anyway. That’s normal in Laos”.
We’re not sure it is normal in Laos.
We’re also not sure how he knows his dad is going for group sex with some people from the next village. Or why he’s telling us.
“My mother died a few years ago. They are drinking Lao Lao. They will have sex.”
We stare at him. It’s not a pleasant moment.