Is This Burma?

Mandalay - The Moustache Brothers: No Joke!

For a former royal capital Mandalay is irredeemably scruffy. Occasionally it feels like the entire down has been shaped by nothing but dust. A busty glare of bright sun piles its heavy weight down onto your shoulders and into you.

Mandalay is a far less inspiring city than its name and the romanticising of it misleadingly suggests. Its exotic name can easily mislead you from the realities of it. The exoticism is seldom truly fulfilled for an outsider.

However, there is one very good reason to come to Mandalay. Three of them in fact: Mandalay is the home of the Moustache Brothers.

In its relatively whirlwind history (compared to other parts of this rich and ancient land), you have the sense that Mandalay has travelled a white knuckle ride from nothingness to imperial capital to dustbowl. It was always the city that was about to become something else. Now, with the promise of Chinese economic winds blowing in form the north, it might just be on the path to becoming a rising commercial and strategic player.

Mandalay feels like the sort of place where foreigners should always be arriving, action should be taking place and buildings should be being built. And yet Mandalay’s realities have never quite fulfilled its promises. Again, the misleadingly false promise of its well known, exotic name perhaps. It can leave you doing little more than wiping the sweat from brow and picking the dust from your eyes.

A little blue taxi had taken me to the door of my hotel. For an extra dollar per night I obtained a room with a rice cooker. The electricity crashed with reliably unreliable regularity.

‘Own Power Supply Limited!’ the hotel signed warned. A bit like the villain’s layer in an old James Bond movie, a mind boggling myriad of levers and switches could always be reliably found behind the reception desks of most hotels. This was no exception.

I started to fill out the hotel registration form: Name; Given Name; Given Sex. It was tough to keep a straight face.I embarked on some very illicit money changing with the young man who worked in the hotel. With a nod and a wink we arranged a secret rendez-vous. He didn’t want his bosses to know what he was up to. He made me feel like I was purchasing huge quantities of illegal drugs or arranging an arms shipment.

I asked about bathrooms.

‘Yes we have hot shower.’ came the polite reply. ‘But no hot water.’

‘Right. Do you have cold water then?’

‘Yes, I think so. Hot shower and cold water, this is possible.’

It sounded promising. But then I reminded myself that I wasn’t here for the hotels or the hot showers or the electricity.

On arrival, I could have hauled myself around another dazzling succession of temples and pagodas. But instead I opted for something different. After some aimless wandering around I landed myself bang in the middle of the market where people were selling everything from baskets and brooms to dried fish and mountains of melons.

I witnessed what looked like a world record attempt to load up some seriously long plastic pipes on a bicycle. The pipes must have been at least ten metres long and required a fair bit of skill and no little audacity to load on and ride with. I caught sight of a girl with a club foot who defiantly skipped along with merry enthusiasm. A man sauntered past with a rack of chickens dangling from his feet on a motorbike.

The Zeigyo central market was worth a meandering detour; the rough and rutted bumpy backstreets of what might claim to be the heart of Myanmar’s second city. They flowed with dust and debris.

Here you could find everything you would and would not wish to eat. Amidst the congestion of the market stalls I encountered a seriously large bicycle park. All sorts of knick-knacks were being peddled. Everyone was carrying things on various forms of human transport: fruit, food, babies, animals, baskets, each other. Just being in the middle of it all afforded a consuming spectacle. Yet, in true Mandalay (and you might say Myanmar) style it seemed to hustle without quite bustling.

Plenty of times I got stopped to have conversations and make introductions with passers by and people working in the market. One man even gave me a full rundown of yesterday’s football results. Who needs the internet in Myanmar?

And so, as the dusty heat of the Mandalay afternoon wore me down I went in search of perhaps its three most famous residents. After getting lost a couple times on the confusingly signed streets I finally found the house of the Moustache Brothers. I knew I’d found the right house when I saw the large sign above the door. Unmistakeably, it read:

‘MOUSTACHE BROTHERS’

“TOP BANANA, COMEDIANS, CLOWNS, JESTER, BUFFOON, HARLEQUIN”

Another sign below read:

“IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE MOUSTACHE BROTHERS YOU Y YOU HAVE BEEN TO MANDALAY!”

As I walked over two of them came out to greet me. One of them had the trademark handlebar moustache.

‘Welcome to Mandalay! But please be careful. The Moustache Brothers are blacklisted and under surveillance.’ One of the brothers said to me, before adding with a theatrical flourish, ‘Only joking!’

I was liking them already. His name was Lu Maw and he spoke very good English, which he sprinkled with the occasional fruity colloquial phrase or two.

‘We are very hirsute gentlemen.’ Lu Maw enthused as he stroked his elaborate drooping moustache. ‘But also we are like dirty rotten rascals. You are very welcome to our humble abode.’   

‘Thank you.’

‘My father was comedian. My grandfather was comedian. So I am, as you say, chip off the old block. In 1996 we made a joke in Aung San Suu Kyi’s house about how Burma was being run for soldiers rather than the people. They didn’t like this so we were banned, blacklisted and made illicit. We are like forbidden fruit for tourists! We like to rock the boat and make a big commotion!’

‘My brother was seven years in Kachin state breaking rocks. Four days travel to see him. Very far away. Very easy to become sick in prison. But they can never break our voices and our humour. So today we must make smaller commotion to not go to prison again. My brother was seven years in prison with hard labour for only four jokes! This means my jokes must be very good because one year is not enough for each one!’

It felt wrong to be laughing out loud but I couldn’t help myself.

‘Here we are rogues of the government, blacklisted. Our only crime is to make people laugh. They not like us but they not stop us. Never. The cat is out of the bag now!’

As tacitly as I could, I asked him what he thought about his country’s rulers.

‘Our government very nosey. Always wanting to know everything we do. No hiding for the people. In this country the government tells farmers what they should grow. But they don’t know how to grow democracy! They tell factories what to make. But they don’t know how to make freedom.

‘You know our generals here they are too old. They must follow their own rules and take retirement and live a quiet life without disturbing anybody. No more disturbing the people of our country please. ‘We need to take the money out of the hands of the soldiers. We need to take the money out of the hands of the soldiers.’

Lu Maw invited me to sit down and take tea.

‘Afternoon tea for you because you are British. Just like the queen. You are a chip off the old block!’

Then he showed me well weathered collection of newspaper and magazine cuttings about the Moustache Brothers which had been written abroad. A headline from The Times from 2005:

“Rebel Comics Risk Jail To Poke Fun At Military Rulers”

The sub headline underneath read,

‘They entertain tourists with jokes about life in Burma but the secret police could come calling at time.’

Another headline:

“In Burma, Laughter And Tourists Are Best Defense”

“The dissident Moustache Brothers have opened their home to foreigners to defy a repressive regime with their comedy show.”

Or as the humourless regime described them:

They satirised and mischievously attacked the government, disparaging its dignity and making it a laughing stock.

‘Look here is a photo of Aung San Suu Kyi. This is very illegal. Especially if I wave it around like this. If the police see me with this, I am arrested.’ He almost seemed to revel in the illicitness of brandishing it.

‘They say The Lady of country, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi is very bad because she was married to an Englishman. But you are an Englishman and I think if someone was married to you they would not be a bad person. You’re not a rotten bad egg are you?’

‘I hope not.’

‘Top Banana! We are buffoons and jesters on a jaunt. We are not allowed to perform outside our house so we perform inside it instead. You must come back this evening to see our live performance.’ Lu Maw said. ‘Like your very great countryman Shakespeare said, to see or not to see, that is the question.’

So about two hours later I did. In my hotel I tried to find other tourists who might join me and share in the fun. Only Shaun from New Zealand was enthusiastic enough to take up my offer and we took a cycle rickshaw back to the Moustache Brothers’ house.

We were joined in the slightly strange setting (for a comedy performance) of their cramped front room by a young Finnish couple. The lights were on. The stage was set up. The very old looking microphone was just about in working order. And with an audience of five people, the Moustache Brothers began to perform. Lu Maw was the man in possession of the microphone and unleashed the commentary.

‘Your shoes made in China. Your shirt made in Thailand. Your camera made in Japan. In Burma we make only opium. Lots of opium. And prisons. Very good our prisons, they work very well.

‘You’re not a package tourist are you? Package tourists belong to the generals. They must be told where to go. Like government mascots, walking wallets. Actually you don’t look like a package tourist. They are not allowed to come here anyway.’

His brother Par Par Lay appeared in chains and wearing a giant stupid grin like a naughty child who‘d just been caught eating too many sweeties.

‘My brother arrested three times. Very popular with generals. In the clink. In the slammer. He is number one jailbird in our family. They send him to a prison very far away in the north of the country so it is very difficult and expensive for his family to see him. So we have to stay here and hold the fort for him.’

‘Very tough being in prison there. They make him break rocks and do digging all day. In prison one man was sentences to one hundred and fourteen years in prison. This is a very long time I think. Can you imagine how many jokes he must have told?’

‘Tell me do you know any good dirty jokes? In Burma we don’t need too many of these because our government is already very dirty. We are stooges! Did you ever meet stooges? You know, in Burma if you have problem with your teeth, you must go to Thailand. We have many good dentists here. But dentists are no use in Burma because people are not allowed to open their mouths!’

‘In Somalia there are many problems with hijacks and it is a big problem for rich countries. But why can’t these pirates come to Burma and hijack our people?!’

‘In this country we not have communism or capitalism or any other system. We have cronyism and nepotism. We are run and controlled by KGB people, the Stasi, the CIA, the Gestapo, The Thought Police.’

He looked at the young, slightly timid Finnish couple. They looked uneasily back at him.

‘You know that by being here you will be arrested.’ He looked knowingly at his watch as if expecting a knock on the door at any minute.

‘If the police come I am going to scarper out the back door. I am back door man. Are you nervous about being arrested by taking part in this anti-government show? Is this not something to tickle your fantasy?’

They didn’t know what to say. For a while they didn’t pick up the joke and semi-squirmed rather uneasily.

‘You’re not stooges are you? Don’t worry I am only joking! I am a comedian. Its OK, don’t worry. My mother is keeping watch. She is eighty-four years old and nearly blind but you don’t need to worry because she is watching. She is very cunning.’

The Finnish couple allowed themselves to breath deeply and laugh.

‘I always push my brother first. He end up first, as you say in England, down the clink or in the nick, in the slammer. But I like to perform and make whoopee!’

‘As you say, I am caught red handed. Making too many jokes. Really I am backdoor man for black humour. You know my wife? She is very beautiful. She is on front of Italian Lonely Planet Burma for 1996. Did I mention this? She is very beautiful woman.’

He showed off the book cover and teasingly dangled it.

‘But she is mine, not yours, she mine. Are you jealous? She give me massage every day for two hours. So I am, how do you say, henpecked, or under the thumb? Lonely Planet 1996 cover, did I tell you this? I did.’

‘In England I think you are very poor. In a room you only have one light switch. Here in Myanmar we need ten light switches. Chinese lighting. Made in China!’

Then he launched into traffic cops. He put on a police helmet, then took it off and starting throwing notes of money in the air.

‘In Burma we do this every day. Throw our money away and it lands in this helmet. This man, the policeman or traffic cop, we call him Jackpot Man. Everyday he wins the lottery and collects his money off people. That’s why he has a helmet so he keep all his money in it. And his backhanders too. Do you take backhanders for me? I am back door man. Cops and Robbers here in Burma but the Cops are the Robbers, and the Robbers are the Cops! Survival of the richest here in Burma.’

‘It is Family Fortunes for the generals! Fortunes for everyone in the right family! The greed of the generals is bleeding our country. For their pleasure we must pay with our suffering. It’s like a buffet for the soldiers too. They just help themselves, take everything they want without paying. Empty our pockets leaving us skint and broke. They are away with the fairies!’

‘Our country is for sale! You want to buy? Very easy and quick to buy. Just pay direct to generals. Pay direct. No need for worry about rules or system. Just pay direct!

‘The tsunami came to the Malacca Strait. It gave a sidelong glance at Burma and then decided to forward on to a wealthier nation. On the way it met some big fishes (our generals). They told the tsunami there is no need to go to Burma because they have already destroyed it. The tsunami saluted the generals and turned back.’

‘So America has a new president. Can we have one too please? My wife, she is very beautiful. On cover of Italian Lonely Planet, you know. When you see her, you will want her to make striptease for you. But this not possible. She do this only for me! Because we do not always use costumes we tell the KGB people that we are not doing a real performance. And because they are very stupid they believe us!’

‘We love satire! Making jokes about government is very important.’ he beamed with a big twinkle in his eye. ‘Our job is to make laughing stock of government.’

I couldn’t agree more.

‘We make fun but we also make serious points as well. In Burma we like to say democracy has to grow roots before it flowers. But for good roots you need good soil and you need to treat your soil well. In Burma we do not have human rights. We only have human wrongs!’

‘Satire is a big crime in our country. Satire gets you into trouble and takes you to jail. We know it can make trouble to tell jokes, but we decide to continue anyway. ‘Our country is a comedy and a tragedy. But they cannot stop us making jokes!Thank you for coming to see our illicit, blacklisted performance. Every day we never know for sure if things will be normal. It is tourists coming here who keep us alive so please tell more people. The more people who know, the more it helps us, the more it helps our country.’

I resolved that if I returned to Mandalay I would bring them a book of idiosyncratic English words and phrases. If you happen to head to Mandalay one day, take something with you.

‘We always welcome new friends to pop in and chat. And remember, we the Moustache Brothers are the real presidents of Burma!’

Sharpness still flashed in his eyes like a man who would never lose his fondness for finding something funny to say. The Moustache brothers for president! That unlikely scenario kept me smiling. The way these cheerful, exuberant, mischievous, but ultimately very brave men determinedly continued to burst the pomp and propaganda of the Myanmar regime was admirable and genuinely inspiring.

‘Good luck!’ I said, hopelessly failing to disguise the slight sense of foreboding in my voice.

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Is This Burma?

• Should I Go?
• Bago - Mr. Bald, Mr. Funny and the Goat’s Fighting Balls
• Mandalay - The Moustache Brothers: No Joke!
• Snakes and Horses: The Deserted Cities of Mandalay