Maung Lay

Maung Lay was born in a small village in Myanmar. When he was only one year old, conflict forced his family to leave their village and seek safety in a refugee camp. Although he was too young to remember the journey itself, the refugee camp has become a grounding point throughout his life. Looking back, his first memories that come to him are memories of green. He remembers running barefoot through the mountains with his siblings and other children, disappearing into the jungle until their parents called them home. The world felt enormous then. Deep forests stretched beyond what he could see, and every path seemed to lead him to another adventure. While adults worried about survival, children created games from whatever surrounded them. 

“We would just play outside all day,” Maung recalls. The houses around them reflected the relationship people had with the land. Bamboo leaves formed roofs that shielded families from heavy rain. Forests provided shelter, food, water, and the materials needed to build a home. Nature was something woven into everyday life. 

One of Maung’s favorite memories is playing tag with other children while their parents gathered nearby watching and chatting away until sunset. At the time, he never questioned whether life was difficult. “As a child, you don’t really know what your parents are going through,” he reflects. “You can’t really do anything about it.” Only later did he understand the sacrifices his family made. As the youngest boy of five children, Maung grew up in a traditional household. His father spent months away from home, working in the fields to provide for the family. His mother stayed at home, raising the children and holding the household together. As an adult, Maung recognizes the strength both parents carried during those years of hardship. 

Even within the limits of the refugee camp, Maung’s curiosity continued to grow. “I always wanted to know what was outside,” he says. He watched movies and videos about America and imagined a country filled with accomplished hopes and dreams. The world beyond the gates of the camp seemed unimaginably large, and he dreamed about seeing it for himself. When his family’s application for resettlement was finally approved, excitement and sadness came together. Leaving meant opportunity. But it also meant saying goodbye to the only home he knew. As he flew across oceans, everything familiar disappeared along with the clouds. 

He expected America to look like the movies. Instead, he discovered something entirely different. “My American expectations got ruined,” he jokes. Endless miles of buildings towered over him. The streets replaced forests. And dull grey became his primary color. “It felt like a concrete jungle,” he sighs, “I missed seeing the green.” The adventure he had imagined quickly became the challenge of learning how to belong. Maung entered school without knowing English or understanding American culture. Every classroom lesson required him to make sense of unfamiliar sounds while also trying to keep up with his classmates. Reading and spelling were his biggest obstacles. “It wasn’t just learning English,” he explains. “It was learning how to learn.” 

Watching TV became his greatest teacher. Sitting in front of the TV after school, he listened carefully to conversations, repeated what he heard, and slowly pieced them together, creating meaning from what he watched and heard. Each day, English became less daunting to learn. Still, balancing two languages was never simple. “Learning Karen and learning English sometimes clashed,” he says. Yet he refused to replace his native language. Speaking Karen was essential for him; it was a way to communicate with his family and a way to preserve a connection to his history, culture, and community. 

As he grew older, one thing became undoubtedly clear: Maung belonged outside. Nature had always given him a sense of peace, and he wanted a career that allowed him to spend his days outdoors rather than inside an office or surrounded by grey buildings. Working in parks offered exactly that. It gave him the opportunity to travel and explore public parks across the United States while rediscovering the sense of freedom he had felt when he was a child. 

The work wasn’t always easy. Conservation and park management remain fields where people of color are often underrepresented, and Maung found himself working in predominately white spaces. At times, that made him feel like an outsider. Regardless, he continued because the work mattered to him. “It taught me patience,” he says. “It gave me confidence.” It also deepened his understanding of ecosystems, wildlife, and the responsibility people have to care for the places they inhabit. The more time he spent in nature, the more content he became.

His experiences working outdoors also made him reflect on his own culture. Many Americans spend their weekends hiking, camping, or climbing simply for recreation. However, for many K’nyaw families, forests carry a different history. “Our people hid in the jungle to survive,” Maung explains. “Going back into the forest isn’t always relaxing.” Generations of Karen people relied on the wilderness for protection. Others simply never had the luxury of leisure because survival was always at the forefront. These realities shaped how different generations viewed the outdoors. 

For Maung, reconnecting with nature through recreation has become a way of reclaiming those spaces. They are not places of fear, they are places of healing. Rock climbing is his way of expressing that healing journey. When he moved to Minnesota, he discovered his favorite spot to climb was Palisade Head on Minnesota’s north shore. “Climbing brings you back to your center,” he says. When worries or fears occupy his thoughts, climbing teaches him to breathe, slow down, and stay calm. He compares it to being K’nyaw. Just as climbers trust one another with their lives, Karen communities have survived because people looked out for one another. 

Respect for the land is equally important. For generations, Karen people have depended on forests and rivers for clean water, shelter, food, and medicine. Rather than viewing nature and land as something to conquer, they understood themselves as caretakers. “We are stewards of the land,” Maung says. That philosophy guides him whether he is hiking, climbing, or simply walking around the park. 

Looking ahead, his greatest dream is to one day return to Kaw Thoo Lei, where he would like to teach others how to climb safely, introducing young Karen people to outdoor recreation, and share his years of knowledge about environmental stewardship. For Maung Lay, climbing mountains is about more than reaching the peak, it is about trusting others. It is about remaining calm in moments of fear. It is about honoring the land that raised him. And it is about carrying the strengths of the K’nyaw people wherever life leads.