Phan Zoya - Little daughter: a memoir of survival in Burma and the West

Little Daughter

A Memoir of Survival in Burma and the West

ZOYA PHAN

WITH DAMIEN LEWIS

VIKING
CANADA

VIKING CANADA

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Published in Canada by Penguin Group (Canada), a division of Pearson Canada Inc., 2009.
Simultaneously published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd.

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Copyright Zoya Phan and Damien Lewis, 2009
Map on p. xi copyright Liane Payne, 2009

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LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

Phan, Zoya
Little daughter : a memoir of survival in Burma and the West / Zoya Phan,
with Damien Lewis.

ISBN 978-0-670-06968-2

1. Phan, Zoya. 2. Women refugeesBurmaBiography. 3. Women
refugeesGreat BritainBiography. 4. Women political activistsGreat
BritainBiography. I. Lewis, Damien II. Title.

DS530.68.P43A3 2009 325.21092 C2009-901536-6

British Library Cataloguing in Publication data available

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This book is dedicated to my late mother, Nant Kyin Shwe,
and late father, Padoh Mahn Sha Lah Phan.
Z.P.

For Eva
D.L.

Zoyas father and mother, with (from left to right) Say Say, Slone, Zoya and Bwa Bwa

Special thanks to Mark Farmaner and Anna Roberts for helping make this book possible. Special thanks to my literary agent, Felicity Bryan, and international agents, George Lucas and Andrew Nurnberg, for their enthusiasm and belief in my story. Very special thanks to Mike Jones and Katherine Stanton at my British publisher, Simon & Schuster, Carolin Graehl at my German publisher, Droemer, and my American publisher, the Free Press, and my Canadian publisher, Penguin. Special thanks to my sister, Nant Bwa Bwa Phan, my older brother, Saw Say Say Phan, and my younger brother, Slone Phan, for their support and encouragement. Special thanks to David Lewis and Leslie Lewis for their preparation of the French retreat in which to work on the manuscript. Thanks to Christine and David Major for the Dorset writing retreat and the wonderful cooking, and to Sue Wreford for the comfort and calm of her Wynford Eagle country house in which to work.

One of the ways in which the regime ruling Burma keeps hold of power is through denying education to its own people. Without education I would not be able to do the work I do now to try to help my people. I was very lucky to be able to attend university, and for that I must thank the Open Society Institute scholarship programme, Prospect Burma, Burma Education Scholarship Trust, and other individuals including Lisa Houston, Martin Panter, Michael Woods, Paul Sztumpf and Steve Bates.

When I was two years old I died and came back to life again. It was my first brush with death and, sadly, there were to be many more. One morning my mother discovered me lying unconscious in our bamboo hut. I already had a high fever, and she had hoped that overnight I would have slept it off. But I was always a sickly child, and now she feared that she had lost me.

She covered me in a damp cloth, scooped me into her arms, and ran as fast as her legs would carry her to the village clinic. This was a small bamboo hut just near our house. There was one nurse running the clinic and my mother hoped and prayed that the nurse would be there, and not out treating someone.

She rushed inside in a dread of panic. Luckily, the nurse was in, but she took one look at the little unconscious bundle that was me and declared that it was hopeless.

Im afraid your daughter is dead, she said. Im sorry, I cant help her.

My mother was beside herself. She refused to believe that I was gone. For years she had served as a soldier in the jungles. She was tough, and she refused to believe that I was dead.

No way! she cried. No way has my Little Daughter died, just like that. No way!

She scooped me up again, and decided to try for the neighbouring village, to see if the nurse there might help. There was only a faint path through the jungle, but she was sure she could find her way. What made it all the more difficult was that she was already nine months pregnant with my little brother.

She left my older sister, Bwa Bwa, in the care of my big brother, Say Say, and headed out alone. It was the dry season and the Mu Yu Klo River, which ran past our village, was low, and so my mother was able to wade across. For forty minutes she fought her way through the jungle, until finally she burst into the clearing of Pwe Baw Lu village. She rushed across to the clinic, tears streaming down her face as she ran.

The nurse there was far more sympathetic. She examined me closely and declared that I was in a deep, fever-induced coma. She put me on a drip and gave me the few drugs that she had in an effort to calm the fever. Then she told my mother to be patient. I was still breathing and there was always a chance that I might come out of this alive and well.

After three days on the drip my fever started to come down. A little later on that third day I regained consciousness. My mother was sitting right beside me as I opened my eyes. She couldnt believe that I had come back to life again. None of the nurses were present, for it was Christmas Eve and they had gone to a party at the village school.

My mother gazed at me in wonder, but then she realized with a shock that my eyes werent right. One was looking at the sky, the other down at the earth. She was convinced that I was brain-damaged. The shock sent her into labour, and the nurses had to rush back from the Christmas party to help her deliver the baby. And thats how my little brother came into the world.