International Women's Day

The rhythmic sound of wooden mortars itting pestles floats up from the basement of a sala at Wat Makha in Lop Buri where a group of elderly and middle-aged women are pounding rice. Outside can be heard the swish of rice on bamboo as two other women sweep the old-fashioned rice-milling tool to and fro to unhusk the golden grain. No, this is not a village scene from early this century. It’s 1998 in Hua Samrong where a group of women are reviving the traditional method of milling rice by hand, not seen in the area for more than 40 years. “Our way of milling rice by hand disappeared when the rice mill and machinery came to our vil- lage,” says Boonlue Yuprayong, 60. But as the years passed by, the women of Hua Samrong realised that the new machinery had not improved their income. They also longed for a return to the communal rice-milling work groups and the more nutritious brown rice they used to produce. Once ..the idea of returning to hand-milling was floated, Boonlue and other women in the community jumped at the opportunity. In June last year, a group of 15 women, mostly elderly and middle-aged, formed a collective aimed not only at earning additional income but also at restoring a traditional way of life and producing healthy brown rice for consumption.

“I’d like to bring back the old ways of living – simple and economical – and see more caring in the community,” says Amnuay Junngern, director of the Private Sector Relations Division at the Office of Na- tional Culture Commission, and adviser to the women’s group. Born and bred in Hua Samrong himself, Mr Amnuay helps with funding and pointing out ways to run the business efficiently. Using a space allocated by the temple, the basement of the sala has been turned into a milling ground and office for the group. The small room is used to store unhusked rice, tools, sacks of rice by-products and packages of milled rice ready for sale. There are also two wooden mortars, each with three pestles, and baskets used for sifting and win- nowing the grain. The tools look antique but they are actually newly-made. Since the introduction of rice-milling machinery some four decades ago, the traditional tools were mostly left to the ravages of time, lying neglected in people’s houses. Only one foot-pounding mortar survived intact in the community. Fortunately, the people who know how to use the old tools are still around and remember how it’s done.

Grandma Sarai Kaewsakul, 75, the oldest member of the group, says she had not seen hand milling since she was a young woman. “I remember myself and everybody pounding rice and eating hand-milled rice. But it disappeared when the rice factory came,” the wiry old lady recalls. “It’s good to know that I still can do it though I’ve not done it for over 40 years. I’ve taught these young girls to do the job,” she chuckles. Mrs Sarai and the other senior members of the group are seen as storehouses of knowledge by the younger generations who are keen to learn about disappearing traditional Thai ways of life.

“I’ve never seen these kind of tools and methods before. Since I was born, I only ate white polished rice from the factory,” says group leader Saichol Channgern, 48. “It was quite tiring and hard to learn at first, but now I love it.” So far, no man has joined the group though it is open to all. “This is a duty of women. In the past, only those men who loved their wives dearly would work on it,” teases Mrs Saichol.

The working day for the group usually starts around eight in the morning until four or five in the afternoon. The air in the sala’s basement is filled with laughter as the women chat and joke and share the work according to their expertise. Two women, usually one older and one younger, are milling the rice, swaying the bamboo beam to remove the husks from the grain. Now the husked, brownish grains go to the mortar. This, Mrs Saichol adds, is to soften the rice. Then the pounded rice will be sifted and winnowed, separating rice bran and broken grains. After that the rice is ready to be weighed and packaged. On an average working day, they can make at least 200 two-kilogram bags of rice each.

But despite the hard labour, the faces of old and young women alike are lit up with smiles. To save everyone’s energy, the group has three women taking turns at each mortar. The poundings of the younger women sound stronger and faster than the older ones. Once the pounding is over, boisterous noise starts up. “We can’t sing or talk while we’re pounding or we forget the count,” laughs Kamol Chanrod in her 40s. Each woman counts 20 in her mind. After 60 poundings the rice is ready for winnowing. At times, the pounders forget their turn or take the wrong turn. What happens then is an outbreak of laughter. At lunch time, the women sit around the mortar and share their home-cooked side dishes and, of course, hand-milled rice. At the end of the day, each member of the group is paid ten baht an hour. Generally, they work from eight to four, minus an hour for lunch, which means they earn an average of 70 baht per day. This meagre sum is well below Lop Buri’s minimum wage of 130 baht per day, but it does give group members additional income to help them stand on their own two feet and also provide their children with an education. “I used to get 40 baht for making meatball sticks all day. But here, I get double,” says Mrs Sarai smiling. “It makes me proud that I don’t have to bother my children. But it isn’t money alone that brings me here. I love to work like this because I meet friends and see that my work has some value.”

Like other members of the group, Sarai sees the work as a way to have a social life and to revive the nostalgic past. Since modern rice mills mushroomed in the area, people in the Hua Samrong neighbourhood have become separated into nuclear family units. Though living in the same vicinity, they mind their own business. The culture of helping each other at harvest time has gone. The roles of employee and boss have overtaken those of friends and kin.

“The price of rice is expensive because every single thing in the process involves money. No one helps anyone do anything. A farmer like me has to hire people to plant the rice, reap the rice, mill the rice,” frowns Mrs Saichol. Boonlue added that farmers in the past were not in debt because most labour was based on friendship. “Back then, people in the village would gather at each other’s houses and help mill the rice. This was also a time for young men and women to meet and court,” she recalls. “We lit the lamp and sang all night while doing it. It was really fun.” Though today, there is no singing and courting like before, this traditional way of working together still hold its charms. “We have fun gathering here. We meet friends and talk. If we had not been here, we would have stayed at home, alone and lonely,” says Grandma Boonlue. “Talking and sharing problems with friends helps me relieve the stress and loneliness,” adds Mrs Sarai who, despite her age and frailty, is a master at winnowing the pounded rice without spilling a grain. Gone with the simpler way of life is their old eating habits which have changed from brown hand-milled to white machine-milled rice. This, they say has robbed them of good health. “It’s funny. Before people around here had hand-milled rice. But now we have to learn how to make it again,” says Mrs Saichol. “When I first tried hand-milled rice, it tasted strange. But now, I cannot eat white polished rice any more. Brown rice tastes better and sweeter,” she adds. “I feel healthier and stronger than before. Though I’m old, I have no problems with numbness or exhaustion. Perhaps it’s because I have good rice and exercise every day,” Mrs Sarai chimes in. As well as improved social life and health themselves, the women are also making merit at work by giving people better health by providing them with nutritious rice. Very much attached to Buddhism, they have incorporated its philosophy into their business.

“We weigh the rice for each pack a bit over two kilos. We don’t dare take advantage of customers. It’s a sin. If we do, in the next life we will be born cross-eyed,” says Kamol Chanrod with a sly grin. Mrs Saichol adds: “We’re glad to contribute to the good nutrition of people. If they become healthy, we’ll also get some merit.”

In spite of being farmers themselves, the women purchase rice from other sources as the local produce is the harsh type and, if milled manually, will be tough when cooked. “We look for soft rice from elsewhere which will be delicious when cooked,” says Mrs Saichol. “We can’t grow soft rice here because rats love it and will ravage your farm completely.” They buy the unhusked rice at 8,200 baht per kwien (1,000 kilograms) from which they can make as much as 3,000 baht profit which goes to a central fund to pay debts and buy tools and more unhusked rice. After a year in business, the group has almost paid off it’s initial loan and profits are increasing.

The profits come not only from the rice. Every part of the grain can be sold. The milling process produces husks which sell for five baht per kilo. Sifting and winnowing produce rice bran and broken rice which can be sold for livestock feed at 10-15 baht per kilo. “If we sell rice to the milling factory, we get money for the rice, but the factory get the by-products for free,” says Mrs Saichol. Although the group sells their rice for only 50 baht for a two-kilo bag, they still make a profit, largely due to the fact that they only pay their workers 10 baht per hour. But group leader Mrs Saichol hopes the pay will increase as profits go up, But as the price of rice climbs and the economy continues to stagnate, consumers may choose the cheapest rice available and not think about which is the most nutritious, she says. “We want people to go back to eating and produce hand-milled rice which is high in nutrition. It helps generate income for poor farmers and is another way to preserve our Thai heritage.”

For more information on the women’s hand-milled rice group, contact Mrs Saichol Channgern, 51 Moo 11, Hua Samrong, Tha Wung, Lop Buri 15150, or tel (036) 655-216 or 655-123.