Walking the streets of Sitwe, Myanmar

Sitwe, Myanmar, is a place where time stopped 50 years ago.  In the western part of what was once known as Burma, it is a backwater where tourists are a rare sight.  I had come to this location on assignment for a non-governmental organization to document recent abuses of the ethnic Rohingya, a Muslim minority.  Switee, located on an island between two rivers, empties into the Bay of Bengal.  I have a habit of walking the streets of a new job early in the morning.  Primarily because early morning light is my favorite, also I get a feel for the people of an area this way.  Sitwe was no different though I was shocked to see how backward it looked.
No motorcycle taxis.  Just rickshaws.  No modern clothes, not even western t-shirts.  No internet cafes, no cafes at all.  It seemed the only place I was going to get a meal was my two-star hotel.  It was the usual cold fried egg and cheap hotdogs.  You made toast from stale bread; the coffee was jet back mud.  I was the only westerner in the dining room for the next four days each morning.  The NGO had arranged to have me picked up each morning at 8 am and taken to a refugee camp where I was supposed to document the Rohingya refugees.  Later, I learned it was the cleanest camp in Sitwe, seems forces did not want me to report on the other refugee camps.  The faces I found on the streets of Sitwe were remarkable.  Men with features that seemed etched in stone, full of character, and equipped with warm smiles.  The remainder of the assignment, I spent my off hours looking for just that measure of "Face Value."