Impressions of Myanmar (Burma)
Wyman, Sue, Contemporary Review
Editor's Note: There has been much attention recently on events in Myanmar or Burma with an election widely dismissed by the international community and release of Aung San Suu Kyi. This article is based on a trip made before these developments. Like the BBc and other news organisations, we have felt it prudent to allow our author to use a nom de plume as she may wish return to the country. She teaches at Harvard.
A CROSS from the Mandalay Palace moat, within walking distance of a complex now owned by the military junta, a pink billboard with these words in white is fixed to a scaffold:
* Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views.
* Oppose those trying to jeopardize stability of the State and progress of the nation.
* Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the State.
* Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy.
When I asked whether I could photograph the billboard, our guide said that he would try to pause there on our return from the Mandalay hill.  I assumed he had given me a diplomatic 'no', but true to his word, he later stopped the bus and escorted me through the stream of traffic. 'People's desire? Their desire!' he muttered as we re-boarded. I was with a group of unimportant tourists, Americans on our first trip to Myanmar as Burma now calls itself. But already, after only five days in the country, we had grown accustomed to the frankness of our guides. They may have been repressed but they were not afraid to say so. In this, as in many other matters, we would learn that no facts about Myanmar are wholly reliable, that all perspectives on the country are complex, and that the resilience of its citizens should never be underestimated.
Currency provided our first reality check. In the Foreign Exchange Currency forms we filled out on the plane, we had to swear we did not carry more than US $2000. We had been warned that credit cards were not accepted; this warning proved accurate. Wrinkled and worn bills were not accepted either, under government decree. Yet in Yangon, the stalls in the famous Scott's Market showed no sign of going out of business. Someone had to be buying the rubies, sapphires, emeralds, pearls, jade, gold, and silver that were either on display or secreted in drawers--and carrying them out unmolested. On the night we arrived, our guide advised us to exchange $100 for kyat, the local currency, because we would go to places where US currency would not be accepted. We went to local markets and several remote villages, but nearly always, people wanted dollars. Given the rate of inflation in kyat, this attitude was comprehensible. We bought ours at the rate of 900 to the dollar but were told that prices fluctuate from 600 to 950. 'In our country, banks do not help people', the guide explained as we rode into the centre of Yangon. If an ordinary person needed money, he would go to a pawnshop. There he would pay an interest rate of 5 per cent a month, a sum that would soon wipe him out. This explanation reached us as our minibus rolled past the famous Shwedegan pagoda, its stupas and shrines gleaming even at night under 60,000 tons of gold.
Statistics on most aspects of Myanmar life appear to fluctuate as broadly as the currency. When we were in Changrai, just across the Thai border, our local guide told us that Myanmar had a current population of 54 million. Our Yangon guide put it at 60 million. The CIA puts it at 48 million, factoring in the effects of AIDS. Estimates from other sources rise to 68 or 70 million, encompassing immigrant labourers and citizens who leave to find work or asylum. In Mandalay, I asked for a breakdown on class and relative income. Our guide responded that there are three levels: low, middle, and high. The high, 5-10 per cent of the population, consists of military people and traders; they have 'become most prosperous'. The middle, 30 per cent of the population, has been holding its own but not gaining. The poor have, as usual, been losers: whereas once the father was the primary wage-earner, now the whole family works to survive. We later asked our Yangon guide about incomes. He said that the minimum wage was the equivalent of $40 a month, adding that the chief general's income was $100,000 a month. A government worker would typically earn $60 a month and not pay rent, but the family would still stay together, pooling costs and incomes. For such a family, a typical apartment would measure 20 x 40 feet, house three to five people, and consist of two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom.
It should follow that the urban poor subsist in spaces even more cramped. At the Yangon railway station, I saw a few men hunkering down with their possessions and assumed they were like the homeless one sees on the streets of New York, London or Paris. Possibly too there are squatters' camps in areas that tourists do not visit. Yet throughout a trip that took us all over Myanmar by plane, bus, boat, and local train, the only beggars we encountered were the Buddhist monks and nuns who solicit ritually. We were told that they number 500,000 (as contrasted with 300,000 soldiers), and certainly we saw them everywhere, the men and boys in robes of orange or burgundy, the girls in pink, with shaved heads. In a population that is 90 per cent Buddhist, they enjoy the approval that the military lacks: they educate the young who join their orders free of charge, they serve as sources of authority in villages, and when they send their members out each day for food or funding, the begging bowls do not return empty.
However if that form of solicitation is the only kind officially permitted (and on this, I have no information), what exists in its place is ubiquitous vending. We could not approach a pagoda without being surrounded by hawkers of postcards, sand paintings, necklaces, and longy, the sarong-like garments worn by men and women. Some items, like Orwell's Burmese Days and the marionettes we recognized from puppet shows, seemed targeted for sales to foreigners. But the strings of flowers and the bottled water could have been sold as readily to locals, if they too had the wherewithal to buy them. Tourists play a vital role in Myanmar's economy, a fact brought poignantly home to us by the parting words of a local guide: 'Please visit Bagan again and tell your friends to come to Bagan to save the people of Bagan. Your recommendation is my life, my blood'.
The region he named is a testimony to the temple-building passion of rulers past and present. Legend places its origins in the ninth century, when the first Bagan king in a dynasty of fifty-five erected its city walls. The pagodas and stupas that make it renowned were constructed in the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries. There may have been as many as 4000, of which over 2000 remained in the twentieth century, some well-preserved, others in decay.  Recognizing their historical importance, UNESCO designated Bagan a cultural heritage site. And then the generals started building. To display their prestige and gold-wash their sins (spending money on a temple is an act of merit), they added pagoda after pagoda, until now there are again over 4000, with more to come. UNESCO remonstrated, pointing out that the changes debased the value of the old and genuine. The generals ignored them; the designation vanished.
We heard this account as we stood at the top of Nann Myint Tower, a thirteen-storey structure that looms above the surrounding terrain, its sleek central cylinder capped with a traditionally crenellated five-tiered roof. Erected in 2005 by a protege of Myanmar's ruler, it is clearly government-run. This fact did not prevent our guide from telling us a story that I cannot confirm, although the outcome is beyond dispute. Years ago, the old librarian of the area's archeological centre discovered an ancient map that indicated the existence of a treasure buried in the region. Recognizing that the treasure must long since have vanished, the librarian kept the map to himself. But after he died, his successor showed it to a man who would attend an international archeological conference. That delegate believed in the map, and in time he became the country's leader. In 1990, the military government ordered everyone out of Old Bagan, a village that encompassed 5000 people and 1500 houses. They were given two weeks to relocate into houses significantly smaller, with a subsidy equivalent to fifty cents per family. Trucks arrived to carry their goods and transport them to New Bagan; what remained of their village was razed. No hidden hoard has since come to light, although the Architectural Museum of Old Bagan is an underrated treasure-house of statues, paintings, inscriptions, and other items from that period of glory.
Endurance is a quality the people of Myanmar from every region must cultivate. We arrived near the beginning of 2010, the year in which national elections had to be held, according to the Constitution drafted by the military junta in 2008. No date had been set for those elections, but as more than one of our guides informed us, the generals were already working to ensure their own sizeable majority. The Legislature, or Pyithu Hluttaw, was to consist of 440 representatives, of whom 330 would be chosen by the electorate and 110 would be 'Defence Services Personnel nominated by the Commander-in-Chief' --in other words, by Senior General Than Shwe, the ruler of the country. The people of Myanmar had hoped to reduce the military presence in the legislature to 5 per cent. When we were there it was officially 25 per cent, and that was a gross underestimate. We were told that the generals were already sending their retirees out to campaign for votes; in the months that followed, additional generals resigned in order to stand for the legislature. One guide estimated that more than half of those 440 seats would be effectively military. In March, recognizing that the deck was stacked, the National League for Democracy, the party of Nobel Peace Prize winner Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, declared that it would not participate. Even if it did and emerged as the winner, Dr Suu Kyi could not become president because she married a foreigner, an English academic whom she met when they were both in Oxford. (This interdiction is another provision in the new Constitution.) 'But something is better than nothing', said the guide, reminding us that under the new rules, the President would be elected by parliamentary vote, and that with more than ten parties figuring in the election, a less controlled choice might be possible. 'Now many people are quiet', he continued, 'because if they are moving they can get into prison. So they are watching for the election and what will come'. What has come is an election patently rigged, in which the generals won 80 per cent of the seats, although they did keep their promise to release Dr Suu Kyi. No one can predict what will happen next, but however events unfold the people of Myanmar should hardly cast caution to the winds.
Yet if caution is called for, they are far from spineless. As the guide who escorted us to Yangon assured us, 'People are poor but not poor in spirit'. Furthermore, their poverty is not the destitution that exists in many third-world countries. Everywhere we went, food was plentiful, whether in the fields or in the vendors' varied stalls. Vegetables and rice are major exports. Local markets also abound in produce; people buy from them daily or several times a week. Beyond custom, this frequency may be linked to the general electricity shortage. While even tiny villages now get some electric power, the state-run facilities deliver it part-time, and those times vary inconsistently, making refrigeration chancy even in the homes of those who have it. (On our way out of the Ananda pagoda, where a local fair was winding up, we were passed by a minivan full of happy monks who were leaving with their lottery prize: the monastery's first little fridge.) We were told that in Myanmar, instead of saying hello, new acquaintances ask, 'How's the electricity in your town?' I don't know whether major cities experience power outages, but elsewhere, a twenty-four-hour supply is a source of satisfaction. Even with full-time power, however, few could afford the devices that keep Western children glued to a screen. This absence, and that of imported junk food, makes for a population free of the obesity problems that plague the United States and the United Kingdom. Myanmar children look leaner than ours; but they do not appear to be starving.
What they--or their parents--do hunger for is learning. 'People love education in this country', all of our guides assured us, and the reasons are not hard to fathom. With schooling, job opportunities expand; for most people, it's the only way up. The military junta, acutely aware that standards plummeted when it took over, has been eager to gain credibility by restoring the national system of education and making education both free and compulsory, at least through primary and middle school. Parents must pay for secondary school, but scholarships for poor and gifted students are available. The monks too provide education free of charge and take in some of the poorest children, offering their novices a combination of secular and religious studies. (Children can leave the monasteries later.) Even for the many outside the monasteries, religion is a stimulus to learning. In Theravada Buddhism, the Buddha is conceived as a teacher rather than a god, and great respect has always been accorded to those who study his teachings. Secular teachers too are respected, though the government keeps their salaries low.
Like so much else in Myanmar, the effectiveness of the educational system is a matter of debate. According to one official report, there were 156 institutions of higher education in Myanmar in 2008--in Education, Health, Science and Technology, Defence, Culture, Agriculture, Forestry, and more.  This figure represents an enormous expansion. However, the quality of teaching varies widely, and up-to-date textbooks are in short supply, especially in technical fields. At lower levels, rote learning and memorization remain favoured methods of instruction. To develop critical thinking skills might get the teachers into political trouble and leave their students ill-prepared for the examinations that determine their futures.
Still, progress is clearly being made toward the government's goal of universal literacy. Two of our guides cited a literacy rate of 85 per cent. While this figure struck us as suspiciously high, I read later that in 2002, UNESCO estimated adult literacy in Myanmar at 91.8 percent.  I cannot determine whether this statistic includes ethnic minorities, hill tribes, and others removed from the statisticians' purview. But I can confirm what our guides also told us: Myanmar children are learning English, and they begin as young as five or six. The first proof of this claim predates my visit. In November, I had gone to the Myanmar Embassy in Paris to obtain the necessary visa. The lone clerk handed me the application forms, and I sat at a low table in the waiting room to fill them out. Seated beside me was a child of six or seven who was also doing her homework. Within a few moments her elegant mother, who must have been connected to an embassy official, came out to check on her progress. As they spoke, I glanced at the child's workbook: the page was filled with pictures of objects whose names she had to fill in--in English. Two months later, I would see a similar workbook that belonged to a little boy of the same age. However, he lives in Shwe Pyi Thar, a village of 200 people accessible only by footpath and river, and twenty minutes from the nearest school.
Our trip to Shwe Pyi Thar was one of the activities scheduled by the staff of the Rv Pandaw 1947, the ship we boarded for a 4-day cruise along the Irrawaddy River. This was the first of three villages at which we would dock, the smallest and, by Western standards, the most primitive. But crops from the adjoining fields were abundant, as was the bamboo from which the villagers thatch their roofs, weave baskets, and make furniture. Electricity also reaches the village, or at least enough to maintain a 'cinema'. An enterprising local has installed a vintage television set in his house, and several times a week he walks to a larger village to obtain DVDs. He shows them on a daily basis, charging an admission fee of 30 kyat or roughly three cents US. A few little boys were already hanging out there ... or perhaps they had come to look at us. We arrived shortly after school had let out, so that several of the children were still in their uniforms of white shirts and green longys. As more of them gathered to inspect us, the guide asked them for a song. They responded with Frere Jacques in Myanmar; we sang it back to them in English. Then they recited the alphabet in English and counted in English up to ten. This display was hardly proof of mastery, but the exercise books they showed us were authentic, and we also saw evidence of higher education in a neighbouring thatched house. A blackboard had been set up inside, with a diagram and what appeared to be an explanation written in English. When we asked what it was doing there, our guide pointed to a corner, where a lean young man with intelligent eyes and muscular abdominals was standing. A university student in engineering, he had volunteered to come to Shwe Pyi Thar to teach the local people.
The second and third villages we visited, Yandabo and Kyauk Myaung, are pottery-making centres, the latter famous for producing 50-gallon jars. We toured it on a Saturday when school was closed, but in Yandabo classes were very much in session when we reached the stucco schoolhouse. At the schoolmasters' orders, the children crowded out on the steps to sing for us. Most were boys, although we were assured that the school included all the village children. The photo I took reveals signs for 'Grade 1' and 'Grade 2' above the doors leading to their classrooms. Moments later, passing the local cafe, we saw a professional photo, prominently hung, of a smiling young woman in a graduate's gown, the diploma from her institute firmly in hand.
Then there was the serendipitous encounter that occurred on our final day in Myanmar. We had gone to the Yangon railway station to board a train that makes a ring around the city, providing cheap and essential transportation for farmers, vendors, shoppers, and assorted others. Since its arrival varies with the press of traffic, we had ample time to observe. Between us and the track sat a woman on a stool, her watermelon slices fanning out from a red plastic basket at her feet. She wore a striped t-shirt above her flowered longy, and her cheeks were lightly coated with tanaka, the paste made from bark that women and children use to shield their complexions from the sun. Occasionally a customer would stop to buy a slice, but since business was slow, a few of my companions started talking to her through our guide. She explained that she was a widow with five children (she looked 22 but said she was 37), and then she announced that all five were in school, the oldest now in high school. We didn't ask whether she was one of the thousands who move from rural areas to Yangon every year to gain access to better education.
In villages throughout the country, the schoolhouse is often adjacent to a clinic. Sometimes (I cannot say how often) sources other than the government have funded them. The Nippon Foundation of Japan has financed over one hundred schools; the Institution of Engineers in Singapore contributed a school after Cyclone Nargis; and previous tourists from our boat, the Pandaw, donated money for clinics and schools in three villages near the Irrawaddy. In other third-world countries, donations of this kind would be solicited. But the xenophobia of Myanmar's leaders makes the process of contributing tricky. Intermediaries have to be found, and foreign donors must keep a low profile. No one there has forgotten how the generals reacted to that cyclone of May 2008: many survivors lacked food and water, but the junta refused to accept foreign aid, so supplies had to be sent to Thailand and then rerouted by its government. In consequence, most help arrived too late. Estimates of the death toll from Nargis range from over 100,000 to a million. 
A member of our group who had used the same cruise line during a trip on the Mekong river told us that, after the cyclone struck, the Pandaw was allowed to keep operating because it had 'a local presence'. The company immediately turned one of its boats into a permanent hospital ship and another into a temporary hospital. Two years later, its ability to navigate the system and the Irrawaddy remains impressive. We arrived when the dry season was beginning so that, far from being impassibly flooded, the river's depths alternated with shoals that only local pilots could anticipate. They would be taken on board and then sent home as the boat left their domain of expertise.
In retrospect, I realize that the same might be said of the British presence, or whatever remains of that presence, in post-colonial Myanmar. The parallel does not extend to attitudes: the river pilots are warmly welcomed, while the British still incur scepticism. When I asked one guide about current relations with the UK, he said 'Good, but not excellent', and his was the most favourable answer we received. Another guide informed us that the British gave Burma its independence at precisely 4 hours 20 minutes on 4 January 1948--by their astrological calendar, the worst of dates and times. At 4:20, he informed us, the stars are in the thief position; to call someone a 'four twenty' implies that he is a liar and thief. No other guide was as critical. However, two others told us that in changing the country's name from Burma to Myanmar, the government was restoring the name that local people had traditionally used. Similarly, in renaming Rangoon Yangon, the government reverted to the city's local name, which means 'end of strife'. They added that by choosing to call the country Burma, the British had recognized its largest ethnic group, the Bamar, but ignored the others. To check these claims, I went to the internet, where once again I found a contradiction. Traditionally, both names were used within the country, both refer to its largest ethnic group, and both stem from the same ancient word. But Myanmar became the written and literary term, whereas Burma was oral and colloquial.  So when the government changed the English name to the Union of Myanmar in 1989, it implicitly upgraded the nation's cultural status as well as its own.
Yet in other respects, the colonial past continues to set cultural standards. Yangon University, founded by the British in 1920, is still number one in prestige. The two lakes in that city, constructed by the British to improve the local water supply, remain treasured resources for its people. The dining room of the Traders Hotel in Yangon is a tribute to Edwardian decor; even the puddings are in character. One of several Kipling's Bars can be found at the Mandalay Hill Resort Hotel, and The Kipling Cafe serves passengers in transit at the Mandalay airport. In mandating English at primary-school level, the current regime continues a practice established under British rule, and British rather than American spellings remain common. Ads for the best-selling beer in the country bill it as 'Myanmar's favourite', and when Shwe Pyi Thar children recite the alphabet in English, they end with 'zed'. The boat that brought us to that village promotes itself as 'An Original 1947 Built Colonial Steamer'. Constructed in Scotland by Yarrow & Company, it reached Rangoon in 1950 and underwent two later renovations, becoming a cruise ship that currently accommodates sixteen passengers. Its staff of twenty-four is entirely from Myanmar and so, presumably, locally trained, but in the kind of service one associates with novels about the Raj.
Our next water transport was by long-tailed boat, the local name for the canoes with outboard motors that carry passengers around Inle Lake. We had flown from Mandalay to Heho and taken a twisty trip by minibus to Nyaung Shwe, the lake's main point of entry. En route and for the next two days, our guide was a woman and a member of a tribal minority. She explained that Myanmar has 135 ethnic groups, that 53 of them live in the Shan state, where Inle is located, and that of the total only five have been given autonomy by the government. Among those five are the Shan and the Intha, a name that means 'sons and daughters of the lake'. Autonomy entitles them to have their own area and regulatory counsels, factors that may not be unrelated to their views of the government. For when we asked her how the local people felt about the upcoming elections, she said that they were not much concerned: 'Let it be, let it be is their attitude'. Perhaps too they are less uneasy than others about their material circumstances. Ruby, silver, and iron mines, as well as extensive agriculture, make this largest of Myanmar's seven states comparatively prosperous.
Whatever the reasons, for the first time we heard positive reports about government intervention. In this heavily forested region, where access to electricity is spotty, people had been cutting down trees for firewood at an accelerating rate. Alerted to the threat of deforestation, the government ordered them to replant. On Inle Lake, hydroponic farming flourishes; the spongy floating gardens are a tourist attraction as well as a source of food and income. But after learning from a team of international experts that Inle was gradually silting up and would disappear within 500 years if sedimentation was allowed to continue, the government permitted foreign organizations to explain the situation to the people and, with local cooperation, halted further expansion of the gardens.
Population expansion has not halted. 'Inle' means 'four-village lake', but now there are seventy villages in and around this shallow body of water almost 14 miles long and 7 wide. And yet, once clear of the entry points and the landing docks bordered by stalls, shops, and restaurants, the visitor experiences quietude. Two hundred species of birds have been recorded here. Fish remain plentiful, caught by local fishermen who use elongated basket nets, seine nets, or spears. The first of these is an Inle specialty, as is the men's method of rowing their skiffs: they stand in the stern, balancing on one leg, and thrust the other out to propel the single oar, which they grip at the top but can tuck against the ribs when both hands are needed for a task.
In the villages within the lake, the houses rest on stilts and cast vivid reflections in the water. However, it would be an error to confuse the picturesque with the primitive. The Intha are largely self-sufficient. They grow their own vegetables and raise pigs and chickens, the former often penned in a bamboo cage below the kitchen. They have also developed a range of craft-based industries. They weave cloth that they have spun and dyed and make it into garments; a specialty is fabric spun from lotus stems. They manufacture paper from mulberry bark. They have their own iron-works; on the day we visited, blades were being hammered on the forge. Their silversmiths and goldsmiths make jewelry in designs that are recognized elsewhere as distinctive. In their boatyards, they build canoes large and small, as well as other craft for produce and transport. Only the motors are imports, from China, and the boats are sold beyond the local region. Cheroots are another Inle product, made from ingredients grown around the lake and assembled by young women whom our guide identified as daughters of local families. As our boat wound around one of the villages, she pointed out the primary school and clinic, adding that there are four high schools on the lake. She also pointed out a floating cylindrical structure that is used to keep the drinking water clean.
Before we flew to Myanmar, a guide in Thailand told us that in 'Burma' people toss litter everywhere. Throughout our travels, we saw proof of his statement. In the high-end resorts that cater for tourists, the grounds are kept scrupulously clean. But trash is as common on village roads and fields as it is along urban thoroughfares. For the screen-saver on my computer, I use a photo taken from the Mandalay Bridge at the approach of an idyllic sunset; as endemic as the ducks and the reeds are the scraps of refuse on the grassy turf. Sometimes, instead of seeing scattered shreds of litter, we would come across mounds of plastic bags, containers, cups, and garbage. They were even heaped up in an area adjacent to a housing development for generals and their families. Inle Lake, however, seems free of man-made refuse, although it reappeared when we went inland to a market and, later, walked through the village of Indein en route to ancient pagodas. Nonetheless, in this little area of Myanmar, a balance appears to have been struck in the relationship between humans and nature.
In making this and other claims, I concede that my impressions are partial. Even prying tourists remain unaware of much that the citizens of Myanmar endure and see little of the repression described on international websites. When we were in northern Thailand, our guide pointed to the hills that form a border with Myanmar. He said that despite a constant military presence, many people try to cross over, especially members of tribes that have been victims of ethnic cleansing. 'In Burma they pay no taxes', he added, 'but the government can step in and take everything'. In those hills and others on the Myanmar side, farmers still grow opium, and since income from its sale supports the junta, that traffic is likely to continue.
Medical treatment is another field in urgent need of reform. Because the salaries of doctors are appallingly low, they open private clinics and negotiate prices beyond the reach of the poor. We saw state-sponsored clinics in several villages and heard about the widespread use of homeopathic remedies. But would those resources be sufficient if a family member became seriously ill? At one point, a member of our group wrenched her knee. That night, when she asked about going to a hospital, the hotel manager demurred. He said that the experience would be 'unpleasant', that she would 'be kept waiting and waiting', and that the doctors would not be of much help. On the other hand, within an hour of the accident, our guide had found a 'healer' who massaged her leg to lessen the damage. The next morning, the guide arrived with a cane for her, a family possession that he insisted on her keeping.
And so, despite the downside, I would recommend visiting Myanmar. Economically, the Chinese have supplanted the British as a foreign influence. They sell the cheap motorbikes seen everywhere but Yangon, where only the police are allowed to ride them, and 'unload' other low-cost electronics and machinery (two of our guides used this verb). In exchange, the Chinese import produce, buy jade and other gem stones, and strike secret deals with the junta. For the mass of non-military citizens, however, tourists provide an important counter-balance, especially when they arrange their trips to keep the government's cut to a minimum. But the benefits to Myanmar's people alone should not motivate the traveller from Europe or America. Rather, one should go to see a country where non-consumerist ways of life still flourish--where much that is beautiful remains unspoiled, both scenically and in the people's spirit.
 As much as I would like to acknowledge these guides by name and thank them for their bravery and helpfulness, I cannot risk placing them in jeopardy, so they will remain anonymous.
 The earthquake of 1975 also caused considerable damage; restoration has been done, with mixed results.
 Constitution of the Republic of the Union of Myanmar (2008), English version, p. 47.
 Han Tin, 'Myanmar Education: challenges, prospects and options', p. 122. http://epress.anu.edu.au/myanmar02/pdf/ch07.pdf
 Han Tin, http://epress.anu.edu.au/myanmar02/pdf/ch07.pdf 'Review on Adult Education in Myanmar', http://www.unesco.org/education/uie/pdf/country/Myanmar.pdf
 Our arrangements were made through Indochina Services, www.indochina-services.com. The Lonely Planet guide to Myanmar (Burma) provides further information on this subject.…
Questia, a part of Gale, Cengage Learning. www.questia.com
Publication information: Article title: Impressions of Myanmar (Burma). Contributors: Wyman, Sue - Author. Magazine title: Contemporary Review. Volume: 292. Issue: 1699 Publication date: Winter 2010. Page number: 409+. © 1999 Contemporary Review Company Ltd. COPYRIGHT 2010 Gale Group.
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