Getting government approval to operate a business in Laos apparently takes quite a bit of time and savvy finagling. My friend Catherine, an Aussie teacher at VIS, learned that firsthand when she rented space for an art gallery. Hoping to spotlight the work of local artists, she set up her living space upstairs and did some minor remodeling downstairs to create two display areas flooded with natural light.
When her official paperwork finally came through, Catherine shared the news with her landlord, Mr. Boulein, who immediately began planning a baci ceremony. Pronounced “bah-see,” the ceremony is held frequently in Lao communities to commemorate a special event, honor important people, cure sicknesses and celebrate just about anything.
Catherine had hoped to hold the baci on Tuesday, when a friend would be visiting from Australia, but Mr. Boulein explained that April 5 was an auspicious day and therefore the baci couldn’t wait.
As guests arrived at the i:cat gallery, Mr. Boulein’s mother (hereafter called Grandma) assessed our attire and pinned on colorful silk sashes. I enjoyed mingling and chatting with the well-wishers, an eclectic group of people from myriad countries and all walks of life. Catherine was surprised to find that some of her Lao friends actually knew each other and were conspiring to keep tabs on her.
Grandma pins a sash on me.
Soon Grandma ushered us in to the air-conditioned gallery room for the baci, where we sat on woven mats. She encouraged us to scoot close to the pah-khwan centerpiece – a large silver vase with a massive arrangement of marigolds and braided white strings. A collection of offerings surrounded the vase, including a roasted chicken, a plate of eggs, bags of potato chips, a basket of sticky rice, cans of soda, and thin beeswax candles.
The spiritual leader and the pah-khwan.
Each of us sitting next to the pah-khwan grabbed a white string tied to the centerpiece and clasped the other end between our prayerful hands. I felt fingertips on my shoulder and realized that everyone in the room was connected to each other – and thus the sacred pah-khwan – by touch. The spiritual leader then chanted long rapid monotone prayers, which were loosely translated by the lady on my left, Jackie, owner of another international school here in Vientiane. In a nutshell, he was praying for Catherine’s good luck, prosperity and overall happiness. At a couple junctures, he said something that elicited a few yelps from the crowd, which apparently were calls for the spirits to pay attention to his prayers.
Finally, we pulled the braided strings off the pah-khwan to offer individual blessings: Using the frayed end of the string, you first brush bad energy out through someone’s fingers on the top side of the hand. Then you turn the hand over and offer a number of blessings while brushing positive energy in over the palm and wrist. After all possible wishes have been offered, you tie the string around your partner’s wrist, giving the tight knot a final twist and rub for extra luck.
A highlight of the experience was when Grandma put the plate of chicken in Catherine’s hands, and the spiritual leader proceeded to do the string blessing with deep reverence and sincerity.
One young lady, Daeng (whose family owns my favorite breakfast place in Vientiane – Kung’s Café), was tying a string on my wrist when she started to offer up the omniscient prayer for me to have a kid. “Tell those spirits NO babies!” I said. She laughed and went along with it.
Daeng brought this beautiful basket of fruit.
With the Lao New Year holiday – Pii Mai – just around the corner, traditional water blessings followed the baci. We paraded outside, where Grandma had a silver bowl filled with water and flower petals. One by one, we crouched down for her to pour a bit over our hands.
I can see why Lao people treasure the baci ceremony. In her six years in Laos, Catherine has cultivated many friendships, and this brought us together with a common purpose. By the time we gathered outside for pizza and drinks, the ceremony had generated a palpable vibe of support and optimism for Catherine and her new enterprise.
Pretty, Sheila, Catherine and me. Pretty’s husband, Tommy, is a professional photographer, so I hope to get copies of his pics on here soon.
