One Year Ago

In honor of the one-year anniversary of our big flood, I am posting a photo of our house as it was seen that day from our neighbors’ upstairs window, where we had temporarily evacuated. Yikes! And, there’s also a photo from several months later, for comparison.

Weather has improved dramatically lately – the river has been down at normal levels for five days now. We heard reports today of a typhoon over the Philippines that might travel this far, but I have my doubts. In the meantime, things are looking good.

There was much grumbling over the past few days over the new uniform requirement. No one likes having to do so much laundry!

Unexpected Gathering

Last Friday evening, a remarkable coincidence occurred at our house. For the first time ever, we were asked by some Thai neighbors to translate a legal document from German. And also for the first time ever, we happened to have a native German speaker on the premises.

Late afternoon, while Robert was riding his bicycle home from school and stopping to pick up dinner on the way, I heard a car pull up outside and a friendly, "Hello?" at the gate. I hurried to the door and met Lena, the German exchange student living a bit north of town for the year. A week earlier, Robert had met her host mother, Mor Chatra ("Dr. Chatra"), the local dentist who runs the primary school toothbrushing programs. Mor Chatra had assured Robert she would bring Lena over soon.

The three of us sat on the porch chatting, and when Robert arrived he joined us as well. At about 5:30pm, Mor Chatra and Lena started to go to their car, as in walked our neighbor from across the street with an elderly couple. "Robert," she asked, "could you help us read this document?" Robert took one look and ran outside. "Lena, could we trouble you for some German help?" he called.

Lena was happy to help, and thus began a lengthy, stressful discussion about the nature of the documents. The elderly couple’s daughter had married a man in Switzerland, and then died, and the documents were the only information her parents had received. The 16-year-old Lena did her best to understand the German legalese (not being a lawyer, this tested even her native German skills) and soon determined that we were looking at a will. She would then translate into either English or Thai, at which point Robert or I would try to clarify the Thai for the older people. The whole process was made more difficult by the fact that they were hoping to get different information from the documents than what was actually there, and they couldn’t understand why their desired information wasn’t available.

Immediately after the neighbors left, Mor Chatra’s daughter and nephew arrived at the house and a fantastic downpour started. Since no one could leave in the rain (Thais hate getting wet in rain), Robert brought out banana chips and we spent more time chatting on the porch. It was an unexpected end to an unusual week in Thailand.

[The photo shows the above mentioned houseguests, as well as Milk, our neighbor across the street who attends school with Mor Chatra’s daughter.]

And Just Like That ---

Thai people love uniforms like no one I’ve ever seen. Status is important here, and clothing is a way of showing where you fit into the hierarchy. Farmers wear oversized long-sleeved plaid flannel shirts and thick head coverings. Nurses wear white outfits with little white hats. Students of all ages – from Anuban 1 (pre-school) to university – wear different uniforms depending on the theme of the school day. And teachers, yes, even teachers have uniforms in Thailand. Teachers are "ka ratchagan" – civil servants – and they must dress to show it.

During our first year in Thailand, the teachers’ outfits were more or less on a regular schedule, possibly depending on the particular school or the region of the country. For example, at my Monday-Thursday school, teachers dressed as follows: Monday – "ka ratchagan" uniforms (khaki, very official with rank bars and medals); Tuesday – sports clothes (school colors shirt and long black exercise pants); Wednesday – Scouts; Thursday – school uniform (dark blue suit with the school seal embroidered); and Friday – northern Thai.

This school year, because of the 60th anniversary of the King, there were some changes. In May, the order came down from above that all "ka ratchagan" were to wear yellow shirts on Mondays. Yellow polos with the King’s seal replaced the light brown uniforms. In June, Tuesdays were added to the yellow shirt schedule. Casual yellow shirts replaced the sports clothes. Suddenly, female teachers were wearing pants two days a week, and they enjoyed it. Some even started substituting black pants for their navy blue skirts on Thursdays!

Yesterday, however, a new order came from above. The difference is that, this week, "above" means the leaders of the coup. The new order requires that all "ka ratchagan" throughout the country wear the khaki "ka ratchagan" uniforms EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK. Starting tomorrow. No more yellow shirts on Mondays, no more northern Thai on Fridays, and no more pants for the women. All "ka ratchagan," all the time.

Reaction at our schools has ranged from irritation to resignation. Those teachers who only own one or two "ka ratchagan" uniforms – a majority – are trying to figure out how they will find the time to wash and dry them every day of the week. The stated reason for the new policy is because it will help soldiers to distinguish between real "ka ratchagan" and imposters, but it’s hard to tell if the teachers are buying this or not. In any case, it’s a fascinating example of what life can be like in a country where following the orders of your superiors – even when they are army generals who have overthrown the elected government and annulled the Constitution – is the only acceptable response.

[The photo, taken 18 months ago at my practice school during training, shows a teacher wearing the "ka ratchagan" uniform.]

City Escape

On the spur of the moment after yet another downpour on Friday night, we decided to use this weekend to make a temporary escape from the blood-pressure-raising flood watch. Merissa, a volunteer who lives in a nearby province, and Bryn, another volunteer who lives in our provincial capital just an hour away, invited us to spend Saturday night with them at Bryn’s house. Hey, we thought, it’s been months since we spent time with other volunteers, we need a bit of social life! So we re-secured our possessions into the black garbage bags, re-packed those items that had been slowly spilling out over recent weeks, and re-hung the tea bags, spices, and toiletries on the window nails. Finally, mid-day Saturday we locked the gate and headed out of town.

Our nights on the town in the capital usually include dinner at a rambly wooden riverside restaurant that makes great pizza, and last night was no different. What was unusual, though, was that the tables where we usually sit were covered in muddy water. The lower level of the restaurant was flooded! We sat on the upper level and watched as servers walked across planks down below, between the kitchen and the staircase. A trip to the restroom at the end of the meal meant that I, too, got to walk the plank. (My beverage consumption over dinner did not make this feat any easier.) Only in Thailand would a restaurant continue business as usual while partially submerged in floodwater!

After dinner, Bryn led us further upriver to a night market that Robert and I had never seen. We met up with several of her Thai friends, one of whom sells handicrafts in the street outside her house. They were kind enough to serve us beer and popcorn while we chatted and watched the shoppers wander by.

And then... about a hundred feet away, we heard the thumping beat of Thai hip-hop music. Carrying our beer glasses, we moved towards the sound and discovered a group of teenage boys spinning and grooving on a mat. Breakdancing! They were really very talented – lots of fancy, flexible moves. We watched for at least 20 minutes before finally moving away.

At some point I looked around at the crowd, the market stalls, the lively chatting, and realized that back in our sleepy river valley town, our neighbors were all inside for the night. The only sounds would be crickets, roosters, and occasional mumbles of television or drunken men conversing. What a difference a city can make. We’re glad to live where we do, but it sure was nice to have a Saturday escape.

[The photo, taken over a year ago, shows Bryn on the left and Merissa on the right. These days, Bryn has long hair and Merissa’s is short.]

No Bus for Us

A flood? A coup? A flood? A coup? A flood?

It’s hard to decide what to be more excited/concerned/nervous about – the daily rise and fall of our river or the military takeover of the government. Even just within today, my attention has bounced back and forth between the two situations numerous times. I’d say it’s exhausting, except that thanks to the coup we’ve been granted what feels like a free and unexpected weekend.

The "Standfast" for Peace Corps Volunteers in Thailand was lifted this morning, so we can leave our sites again, but we are not allowed to travel to Bangkok or Chiang Mai. We had originally been scheduled to go on a trip this weekend – starting one hour ago – with teachers from one of Robert’s schools. The primary destination? Bangkok. The hotel on the 2nd night? Currently flanked with tanks, as it’s in the heart of the government center.

The Peace Corps was, to put it mildly, a little shocked when Robert called today to tell them that the trip was still on, and to ask whether we should be packing our bags to join them or not. "They’re still going?" asked our Program Director incredulously. "But the place is full of soldiers!" said our Safety and Security Officer. "So we don’t have to go then?" Robert asked hopefully.

We were nervous about the trip anyway, since it involved two overnight bus rides during what has felt like the worst of the rainy season, and we were even less interested in going once the capital was taken over by the army. So I was relieved when Robert called me at school to confirm that indeed, no, the Peace Corps was not going to bend the rules for this one.

Many people did run home from school or work during the day to take care of their flooding houses, but that’s the OTHER river, on the OTHER side of town, not our river. So now we’re snug in our still-dry house, not on an overnight bus, and OUR river is back down to four steps below the road.

The Rain Still Falls (But More Lightly Now)

Since media is being censored, I’ll be cautious about giving too many descriptive details here, but I wanted to share a bit about what our first day of living under martial law was like.

For the most part, the average visitor would not have noticed any big differences in our town before and after the coup. Life seemed to be proceeding as normal, despite the post office, banks, and government buildings being closed. In fact, you might not even known that the school district office was closed. When we arrived late morning, it was full of people. A big meeting for area teachers that had been previously scheduled was still going on, and other employees who hadn’t wanted to sit at home on the surprise day off were milling about. On the whole, I might just say that things were quieter than usual yesterday. We didn’t even have our nightly serenade of Thai pop music blasting from the house next door.

A fellow Peace Corps Volunteer wrote a blog about the easily changing allegiances of Thais during the World Cup in June. Describing the atmosphere of watching a game with a bunch of Thai friends, he noted that they took the side of whoever was winning! Robert and I wondered if, at least publicly, that was also happening with respect to this coup. We live in the rural north, where support of the ousted prime minister has been traditionally high. But yesterday you wouldn’t have known that anyone here ever liked him. At one point, in a conversation with some employees at the school district office, Robert referred to what happened Tuesday night as a "coup." (To be fair, he used the Thai word for a regular coup, as opposed to a bloodless coup, which has a different word, we learned later.) The three women present looked shocked, and hurried to correct him that it had not, absolutely not, been a coup, it had been POLITICAL REFORM.

Right... Political reform. With tanks.

Yes, a Coup

We're just starting to learn a little now, but here's what I can tell you. The military has taken over the government here, and Bangkok has a lot of tanks and soldiers. It's "bloodless", so that's good. That's about all I know.

We did also hear that people in Bangkok were taking their photos next to the tanks, so that sounds like Thailand can't have changed too much overnight!

We first heard of it at about 11:30pm last night, when text message arrived simultaneously on both our cell phones. Peace Corps Thailand is currently under a "standfast", meaning that volunteers are not allowed to leave their sites or travel. We don't know how long this will be the case.

Perhaps the more pressing concern for us today is the level of the river. We had another night of torrential rain... Wish us luck.

Field Trip

During my first school year in Thailand, I used to get annoyed when unexpected field trips popped into the schedule. I thought it took too much time away from English teaching. But in my second year, I’ve adjusted my expectations and understandings of Thai schools, mellowed out a bit, and come to see field trips as enjoyable. So Sunday afternoon, when I got the message that we’d be visiting a Thai cloth factory yesterday, I was excited.

We left school at 9:30 – students walking in line, teachers in assorted motorized vehicles – and went up the hill to the house of a former county commissioner. He owns a cloth weaving operation with about 8 looms. He gave a talk to the kids and then showed them how the cotton is made into thread, and the thread into cloth. I was impressed by how difficult and intricate of a job it appears to be! He also talked about how the dyes for the thread are made from different local ingredients – leaves, fruits, etc. Now I know, when I buy cotton products in Thailand, how authentic they really are!

After the cloth factory, the teachers got back into vehicles and the kids walked down to the village wat (temple) for some prayers, meditation, and a speech by a monk on why you should obey your parents. Although my back got stiff from sitting in proper position for so long, it was still pleasant to sit and think and look at the paintings on the walls.

After lunch back at school, the 3rd-6th grades climbed into the backs of 3 pickups and we headed off to another nearby wat that they had never visited because it’s in a different village. There, we also did the requisite sitting and meditating, but the monk’s speech was hard to decipher because he spoke Pali (the official language of Buddhism, from India) instead of Thai. The kids were interested in the decorations and the history of the wat, though, so they still had a good time.

Although it was an enjoyable day, it was made slightly more difficult by temperatures near 100. Then a big storm came through last night, and the river is high once again. We’ll be extra cautious over the next few days now... It’s always something here.

Mine or Yours?

As I was washing laundry after school on Tuesday, I witnessed an unusual event that has since caused some internal reflection.

When I first heard the moaning, I thought it was the cat that has been hunting lizards in our yard lately. I quickly realized, though, that one of the women who lives across the road from us was making the unusual noise, rocking and moaning in front of her house. The moaning turned to howling, and occasional wild laughter, and a group of watching neighbors began to grow around the house. When a strange man pulled up on a motorcycle and began giving the woman a drink that made her vomit multiple times, I was sure that what I was seeing was a case of "pii kow," or possession by a ghost.

On my own, I would not have come to such a conclusion. I might have assumed that the woman was having a seizure or some other psychiatric experience. But because Robert saw this same woman have a similar episode last January, and had been filled in by another neighbor as to its presumed cause, I was pre-informed.

When Robert saw the "pii kow," it was cured by a monk who came and chanted over our neighbor. The strange man who performed the cure that I saw is called, I was told by my co-teacher yesterday, a "ghost doctor." Both times, the "cure" seemed to have the desired effects: the woman returned to her normal self.

My reflection over the days since the incident has concerned the questions: Whose explanation is correct? And, to what extent does it matter anyway? Some years ago I read The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, by Anne Fadiman, describing the true story of a Hmong girl with epilepsy whose parents and doctors could not accept one another’s assessments and treatments of her condition. The parents’ belief was that her illness was of a spiritual nature, while the doctors approached it scientifically. I wonder whether this week’s incident demonstrated a similar conflict between traditional and modern medicine. Whose interpretation is accurate? Was she possessed by a ghost, or is there a mis-wiring in her brain somewhere?

My co-teacher, who I discussed it with yesterday, told me that most educated Thai’s no longer believe in possession by ghosts (though they may still believe in ghosts in general). They accept the scientific explanation. It’s the rural areas where these beliefs still hold. I, myself, coming from the background I do, tend to believe more in the scientific explanations as well. However, in both incidents that Robert and I witnessed, the cure was not scientific but spiritual. I suppose it’s a question that cannot be answered easily, if at all.

The photo shows the area where it all took place.

Typical Tuesday

Last week’s "Typical Monday" was, interestingly enough, followed by what I might consider a "Typical Tuesday." I teach at 2 different schools. One, my Monday-Thursday school, is pretty well-run and the teachers, in my opinion, care a lot about the students. The other, my Tuesday-Friday school, is somewhat of a dysfunctional mess for many reasons I won’t go into just now. In any case, this past week illustrated some of the differences between the two schools.

On my "Typical Monday," as described, I taught several classes and helped with English club. By contrast, on my "Typical Tuesday," there was no teaching. All day. None.

When I arrived at school just after 8:30 (no morning run, but still oatmeal for breakfast), my co-teacher, Waewnapa, was a bit stressed. "Oh," she said, "a group is coming to look at the library today so I have to make many boards." In addition to being the 6th grade teacher and the English teacher for all grades, Waewnapa is also the librarian, and the principal has made a big push to develop the library over the past year or so since our flood. This past week, several school libraries in the district were being evaluated in some sort of contest to see who had the best one. Our principal really wanted to win.

So, our morning was spent making "boards," an activity in which I have minimal skill, not being artistically inclined or motivated. Boards are display pieces, kind of like what American elementary school students might use as in their science projects. They generally have lots of photos, descriptive text, and decorations. When I arrived on Tuesday, most of the work had already been done, so my role consisted of helping to select which paper flower went on which board, and what color (pink or white?) should be the paper used for listing the names of library donors. It made for a slow morning.

In the afternoon, the evaluators arrived, and I helped by standing nearby, smiling and occasionally agreeing that I could speak Thai. The principal also excitedly pointed out that I had helped with some of the decorations. The evaluators seemed mildly impressed by this information. I also assisted by taking photographs of the evaluators doing important things, like standing and reading the boards or sitting at tables in the library.

When I finally left school shortly before 4:00pm, I could think of little that I had truly accomplished during the day. Oh well. We had a fine evening, anyway, complete with yellow curry and aerobics class at the town hall.

[Note: The photo of Waewnapa making a board was actually taken last February, during another board-making flurry, hence her warm clothing! This week’s board-making took place during a severe hot spell.]

Typical Monday

As I was jogging along the rice fields this morning, getting some exercise to start off my week, I decided that I ought to write a blog about what a "typical" school day for me might be like. Of course, in reality there is no such thing as a "typical" day in Thailand, because nothing is predictable or consistent here, but today came pretty close. So here it is!

At 6:50am the alarm went off – a bit later than usual for a Monday, because we haven’t been sleeping enough lately and wanted to try to add a few more minutes. Robert got into the shower; I headed out for my run to a nearby temple on top of a small hill. Traffic was busy – lots of high school students on motorcycles, parents dropping kids off at school, women on their way to the market. I also encountered the usual wandering dogs (we know each other by now) and barefoot monks in orange robes out collecting their daily food from the townspeople.

After stretching, ironing, sending Robert off to school, showering, eating oatmeal, and checking email, I headed out on my bicycle just before 9:30am. It was incredibly hot – over 90 already – and very sunny, so I was sweaty by the time I arrived at school. My co-teacher, Warangkana, turned on her desk fan for me and I sat trying to cool off for several minutes.

Shortly before 10, two guys from Isaan (northeastern Thailand) showed up selling beautiful cloth to be made into "suits". Waranakana and the 5th grade teacher went a little crazy buying some, and I ended up buying some myself. We’ll see how my suit turns out!

From 10 until noon, we taught the 5th grade English class ("sweet," "sour," "salty," "spicy," and menu-making). (Photo) They were relatively well-behaved today despite the heat! We walked the kids across the athletic field to lunch and I visited with them in English about today’s meal. "What do you have for lunch today?" "Noodles!" "Watermelon!" "Pig blood!" My vegetarian lunch was stir-fried sprouts.

Just before 1pm, the kids brushed their teeth and had meditation. Then we taught the 6th grade for an hour. The first two-thirds of class were a continuation of "family" words from last week (grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.) and the last third was my presentation of how to make oatmeal. Yes, we made oatmeal. They had been begging to see it ever since the day we learned "breakfast," "lunch," and "dinner," when I stated that I eat oatmeal for breakfast every day. To my surprise, many of them liked it and came back for seconds.

Normally at 2pm we would head off to teach the 4th grade, but today they were busy, so I got to observe 6th grade music class instead. They watched a video about how to practice the different movements in classical Thai dance, and we all tried to follow along. My wrists and shoulders were sore after the first 20 minutes, so after that I just sat back and watched.

In English Club – the one hour per week we spend with the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grades combined – we practiced numbers 11-20 with a song and game. Then the day was over, at last, and I was more than ready to head home for my shower.

After putting on cooler clothes I went out on my bicycle once more to pick up some sticky rice and papaya salad to have along with dinner. Back at the house again, I did a load of laundry by hand, cleaned the ants out of the kitchen sink and dish drain, and prepared dinner. Robert arrived home just after 6pm, and we shared the details of our respective school days while eating at our teak table. For the remainder of the evening, we’ll be doing more ironing, email, and getting ready for tomorrow.

So there it is: a more or less "typical" Monday for this Peace Corps Thailand volunteer!

Sunshine

It hasn’t rained for 26 hours, and the sun has been shining most of the day, so our river has gone about halfway back to its normal levels. I am now expecting a calmer weekend. Hooray!

Of course, while sunshine is welcome today if it keeps the floods away, it still does make it awfully hot. It’s currently 93°F in the shade. Ah, well.

Expertise We'd Rather Not Have Had

After last year’s flash flood, I lamented many of our lost items – letters from friends, photographs, teaching materials, books, and clothing – and plotted how I might try to attempt to save them if the occasion happened again. Before we left for the USA a few weeks ago, we put most of our irreplaceable items into large plastic garbage bags, hoisted the bags on top of beds and tables, and hung smaller bags from curtain hooks. When we returned to our town, we unpacked a few of the bags in an attempt to have a more normal-looking household.

Yesterday, everything went back into the bags, and we ourselves went off to spend the night on higher ground in hopes of sleep and safety. As of this writing on Friday afternoon, our house is still dry, but I expect a very interesting weekend! Here is how the last 44 hours have passed:

Wednesday, 5:10pm: I board a songtaew in the city after sending my mother and stepfather to the airport at the end of their visit. I notice dark clouds in the sky, but it’s not raining. By 5:30pm, though, the rain has started to fall.

Wednesday, 6:10pm: Still raining. I check the level of our river as the songtaew enters town. It isn’t too high – still about 8 or 9 steps below the road. (There are intermittent staircases along our side of the river bank – used by fisherman, washerwoman, and young swimmers when they want to enter the water.) Over dinner, Robert and I decide that if the water rises to within 2 steps of the road, we will move to higher ground.

Wednesday night: Rain continues to fall all night, though Robert says he heard it stop once or twice.

Thursday 9:20am: It’s still raining as I ride my bicycle to school. Crossing the bridge, I notice that the river has risen dramatically over the night. It’s now only 3 steps below the road at the point nearest our house, and it is moving very fast. After I arrive at school, I call Robert, who is still at the house, and tell him to pack up the computer and passports in a safe place.

Thursday day: It continues raining throughout the day, sometimes harder, sometimes just drizzling. My co-teacher, Ajaan Warangkana, says that in the event of a flood we can stay with her in a second-story room. I check in with Peace Corps, who says we can stay in a hotel in the city if needed.

Thursday, 3:15pm: As the teachers are gathering for a meeting, one gets a call on her cell phone reporting flooding in the district north of ours, upstream. A few minutes later, Robert calls to say that his school is closing early and sending all of the students home.

Thursday, 3:30pm: Parents begin showing up at school, asking to take their kids home because the town loudspeakers are warning of floods. When 30+ children hear the word "flood," they begin hollering and running around. The teachers dismiss them. I ride my bicycle home along with the students. On my way back over the bridge, I see that the water has risen just a few inches since morning, but is still moving quickly.

Thursday, late afternoon: Robert and I pack our backpacks and the house. I take the computer across the street to a neighbor’s second-story room. Robert listens to frequent announcements from our nearest loudspeaker, reporting more villages upstream that are being flooded. I check the river once and see that it has risen above the second step. Despite our earlier plan, we are reluctant to leave our house.

Thursday, 5:30pm: Robert and I go to look at the level of the river. It has risen above the first step and after a few more inches will be spilling over the brick pathway. (See photos!) Houses across the river, on lower ground, are beginning to get water. As Robert and I go to buy noodles for dinner, we discuss our options. Finally, we decide that leaving the house overnight would be more responsible. We compromise by planning to take care of our showers, toothbrushing, etc, before leaving, so that all we need to do at our safehouse is sleep!

Thursday evening: We eat dinner, finish packing, and get ready for bed. Plans are made for us to sleep at the house of Ajaan Lamduan, a teacher at one of Robert’s schools who lives less than a kilometer away but on significantly higher ground. She lives alone and has lots of space.

Thursday, 8:00pm: We say goodbye to our neighbors, put on our backpacks, and walk to Ajaan Lamduan’s house. We set up in her daughter’s room (she’s away at school). By 10:00 we’ve gone to sleep.

Friday, 2:00am: After a trip to the bathroom, I lie in bed listening to distant roosters and wondering about the state of the river. Suddenly the loudspeakers on the street are blaring. I poke Robert awake. The only words I catch are "water is here," "help each other," "safe already," and the name of our village. We aren’t sure what this means. About 15 minutes later, we hear the speakers again, but the ones nearest us aren’t turned on this time, so we can’t make out anything. Finally, after another half hour, a much more clear announcement comes. "Village 9, pick up your things. Move your refrigerators. Help each other. The water is flowing. If it reaches the road it will enter Village 9." It repeats a few times and then is quiet again. We lie awake until nearly 4:00am, wondering if the water has crossed the road and entered our neighborhood.

Friday, 6:00am: We wake up and get dressed. Ajaan Lamduan has brought us some desserts for breakfast, and she tells us that the water did not reach the road. 45 minutes later we head back to our house. It is indeed dry and the neighborhood has not yet been flooded. We get dressed and go to school.

Friday, 8:30am: On my way to school, I look at the river again. It has spilled over the banks and is covering the red brick pathway and the road alongside it. I can’t tell how high it reached in the night, or whether it is rising or falling.

Friday day: Although the morning was turning sunny and optimistic, rain has been falling on and off and now the sky is definitely cloudy. My teaching for the day is finished and I’ve retrieved the computer for the time being. I think there’s no way of knowing now if the water will rise again or not – it will depend on tonight’s weather! In any case, we’re ready to leave the house in a hurry again if need be. Ajaan Lamduan will welcome us at her house for as many nights as necessary. And that’s where we’re at!

PS: If you try to call us on our cell phones and can’t get through, try adding an "8" before the rest of the number. (after the country code) It might be a new policy thing going into effect today, but it’s not clear yet.