Word: san
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...Fear pervades Burma. San San Khing, a rice farmer from Kaw Hmu township, told me how the torrent of water stole away her 1-year-old daughter. The mother managed to hold on to her 5-year-old son, but by the time the tidal surge receded 12 hours later, his body was lifeless. Sitting in a refugee camp not far from her destroyed home, though, San San Khing showed little despair. Twice, her eyes welled up, but she blinked back her tears. Her children were gone. She had no money or food. Yet the terror of talking...
...gotten a glimpse of the military's power just 20 minutes before meeting San San Khing, when I was stopped at one of several checkpoints designed to keep out foreign journalists and aid workers without proper government permits. A polite immigration officer took down my passport details, as well as the name and address of my local driver. His colleague told me that the cyclone had blown down his house. Their demeanor was apologetic - as if they were embarrassed to follow orders that kept their wounded country closed. Then an army jeep screeched up to the checkpoint. A major jumped...
...Honolulu, the Australian interloper met Chuck Knox, who was in charge of the Los Angeles Rams, and became friends for life with then San Francisco 49ers head coach Dick Nolan. "I went because I was looking to learn something," Gibson said years later. "Their game is the same as ours. They're looking for the same type of individual": huge, fast, tough...
...Sitting in a refugee camp in Kaw Hmu township, San San Khing showed little despair for her loss. Twice, her eyes welled up, but she blinked back her tears. Her children were gone. She had no money or food. But instead of grief she seemed terrified at both her urgent need to tell her story and her decision to tell it to a foreign journalist. Burma's ruling military junta could do terrible things to her for such disregard...
...junta excels at fear. Twenty minutes before meeting San San Khing, I was stopped at one of several checkpoints that have been set up in disaster-struck areas to keep foreign journalists and aid workers without the proper government permits out. A polite immigration officer took down my passport details, as well as the name and address of my local driver. His colleague told me that the cyclone had blown down his house. They didn't say it, but their demeanor was apologetic - a slight sense of embarrassment that their orders were to keep their wounded country closed...