In this arid part of southern Shan State, it’s the only game in town. In U Toe Maung’s village, Yenwae, in Hpekon township, all the farmers grow opium. They always have. Strolling among the opium fields is one of his earliest memories, he said.

When he was attending the village school, he didn’t pay much attention to his books. His education mostly took the form of learning from his parents’ example how to sow, cultivate, harvest and conserve poppies.

At the age of 20 he went into the business for himself on a 1-acre plot.

“My parents gave it to me as my inheritance when I got married,” he said. “It was all they had. I know growing opium poppy is bad but …” he trailed off.

One day armed men came, demanding tax. At first he was fearful, but now he accepts it as the cost of doing business. “I was scared the first time, but not any more,” he said.

His field yields a single annual harvest, but some farms in Shan State yield two harvests.

He plants in the rainy season and harvests in the winter. Until planting season returns in a few months, he hunts, works around the village and teams up with other farmers to build roads.

He does not lack for customers for his product. The dealers come to him.

In a good year, he can earn enough to buy a car. But when prices fall, hsi family has to borrow money to stay afloat.

U Toe Maung is aware of how people regard opium growers.

“Poppy profits represent our only income. I know people say opium farmers are bad, and I understand why they say that. But with the rains the way they are, what else can we grow? You can dig down 2000 feet without finding water,” he said.

He knows, because his parents and grandparents before him tried and failed.

“We have so little water that, when visitors come, we have to serve them beer. There’s not enough water to make tea. Even in the rainy season it only rains once or twice and we have to calculate the use of every drop, for cooking or washing,” he said. “Regular visitors know they have to bring their own bottled water.”

Luckily, the weather being mostly cool, villagers can get away with taking a bath only once a week, or two weeks.

“One rainfall is all the poppy needs. Any other crop needs more rain, or irrigation from a dam. There’s no dam here.”

There isn’t much else either, he added. “Other villages have phone communications and roads and running water. We don’t have any of those things. It takes us four hours to go 50 miles [80 kilometres] from this village. It’s a dead zone here for

development.”

A village police officer, who asked not to be named due to the sensitivity of the topic, said he agreed with U Toe Maung’s assessment.

“We have a satellite phone in the village administrator’s home, but no other communications and no water. I understand why they have to offer beer instead of water when visitors come,” he said.

Still, the number of poppy farmers is falling.

“Because of arrests and low opium prices over the past three or four years, some are facing difficulties. Opium farmers are not as rich as the dealers. They spend their profits on seeds for the next season and for living costs. Some get into debt and leave town or even go abroad to find other work,” he said.

U Toe Maung said he isn’t going anywhere. “If we could grow substitute crops, we would all stop growing poppy. Maybe the government will give us substitute crops,” he said hopefully.

– Translation by Khant Lin Oo