Galloping inflation over the past few months has pushed Myanmar people toward God. The link between piety and prices? “Oh My God” is the frequent response when the cost of everything from food and fuel to pharmaceuticals rises every four or five days.
A chicken egg that cost 120 kyats before the 2021 coup is now 360 kyats. A duck egg has jumped from 200 kyats to 500 kyats. The same goes for cooking oil, rice, tomatoes, cabbage, white radish, chicken, pork and prawns. There is no food whose price has not shot up.
In Yangon, the long lines of people queuing to buy palm oil recall Ne Win’s era, when necessities including rice were rationed. Customers must show their citizenship ID under a regime diktat to prevent people from queuing twice for extra cooking oil. Mobile shops selling subsidized cooking oil at 6,000 kyats per viss (around 1.6 kilos), half the market price, are crowded and sell out quickly.
Satirical cartoons on social media depicting people snatching cabbages from markets are not entirely an exaggeration.
Cabbage, water spinach and eggs were once common on the dining tables of low-income households. But under Min Aung Hlaing’s rule, even middle-class families sigh heavily at their prices.
Shopping may be an enjoyable pastime elsewhere, but not for Myanmar people. The scramble for household provisions is a daily torment for most housewives.
Low-quality rice has surged from 2,000 kyats per viss (2.13 kilos) before the putsch to more than 5,000 kyats. Higher-quality grain is something only well-off families can afford now. I was left speechless when junta boss Min Aung Hlaing told an 8 pm news broadcast a few days ago that Myanmar was exporting surplus rice.
An aunt of mine complains about the soaring price of sea fish she buys to feed street dogs. Min Aung Hlaing’s coup has increased hardship even for stray animals.
Meanwhile, power outages force me to use canister gas to cook my children’s lunch. Cooking gas prices have also gone up recently, but charcoal prices are not cheap either. I am also muttering “Oh My God!”
But price hikes are not the only problem. Certain goods are also becoming scarce.
I entered a store to buy chicken seasoning powder a couple of days ago but found none on the shelves. The salesgirl who knows me as a regular customer told me in a low voice to wait while she fetched some from the storeroom. When I told my wife about it in surprise, she said chicken seasoning had been unavailable for weeks.
At a City Mart supermarket, I discovered that Ovaltine nutrition drink was being rationed at two packets per customer. When I said I needed three packets for my grandparents, the cashier kindly sold me two packets and the third with a separate receipt. I realized that Ovaltine might be out of stock too.
After months searching for Gillette Foamy shaving cream at popular shopping centers, I finally tracked down two bottles at a pharmacy. Logic told me to grab both, but the needs of my two young kids come first. Diaper prices are also increasing.
The prices of pharmaceuticals have skyrocketed too. Patients risk further damage to their health when they hear the prices of pills they need. “That medicine is out of stock” is a common refrain at pharmacy counters these days. My wife has had to get used to her stomach pain, as Kremil-S antacid is often out of stock.
I can’t help cursing Min Aung Hlaing. However, we urban residents are at least more fortunate than compatriots elsewhere, who are forced to abandon their belongings and businesses as they flee junta air raids and artillery barrages.
Inflation, shortages of consumer goods, serious power outages, and a crime wave of theft, mugging and pickpocketing have become part and parcel of life in towns. Adding to the general deterioration are the unlicensed buses that are back on Yangon’s streets. The rogue vehicles are notorious for driving dangerously as they scramble for passengers.
Women wearing sling bags on their shoulders are no longer safe in Yangon. The mugging epidemic also targets phones, bikes and electric bikes. Public bus drivers frequently warn passengers to “take care of their phones and purses” – a sign that pickpockets are on board.
Rogue bus drivers exhort commuters to pray to God as they speed to overtake public buses and taxis. They also provide a source of extra income for traffic police and soldiers, with “bus bribes” now a familiar sight in Yangon.
Out on the streets, Yangonites are in constant fear that junta soldiers will stop them and check their phones. You can be arrested for using a virtual private network (VPN) or storing photos deemed politically sensitive or offensive to the regime.
Walking in downtown Yangon, the din of diesel generators rattles your ears and the stink from overflowing garbage cans gives you a headache.
Fine restaurants like Japanese eatery Gekko that attracted both local and international customers have shut down since the coup.
The regime claims foreign arrivals have increased, but tourists are a rare sight in Yangon. The flocks of foreigners that you saw at Shwedagon Pagoda, outside Yangon City Hall, in Chinatown, and on buses to and from the airport are a thing of the past.
Both urban and rural areas of Myanmar have been in turmoil since the coup.
No guest likes to visit a troubled home.
Every morning, my wife tells me, “Why don’t you play Paritta [Buddhist chant believed to ward off misfortune or danger] on your computer?”
But I know it will take more than chanting to lift the curse of military rule.