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When I go home to my village I always take clothes and presents for the children. They always come to visit because our house is the only one in the village that has a TV,” she says.

Cheryl claims the local authorities are doing a good job in helping the population but admits there is a huge gap in wealth. ‘‘In the Wa State, a few are extremely rich, everybody else is extremely poor.”

In Maw Hai, the noticeable difference is not so much rich and poor, but young and old—there appears to be no teenagers. The mystery is solved in Panghsang. At the entrance to the military academy a group of soldiers stand around. Many of them are girls and many are very young. Nika, 18, said he was forced to join the army.

“Every family with more than one child must give a child to the army—that’s the law here,” he says. A boy in a uniform that is far too big for him says he is 12. Another soldier explains that you can be recruited from the age of 10. The soldiers earn between 30 and 40 yuan ($4.40 to $5.85) a month.

The fear of an attack from Naypyidaw is, according to observers, the reason why the Wa leadership maintains its army. Even though the ceasefire has held for almost 20 years, the relationship between Burma’s generals and the UWSA is not without complications. ‘‘Nobody here trusts the Burmese,” says Jiao Wei.

A recent attempt by the regime to move Wa settlements away from the Thai-Burmese border has inflamed tensions, for instance, and there are worries about Chinese influence.

“The Burmese authorities don’t want more Chinese in Wa State; but most of the economy comes from China, so we welcome them,” says Jiao Wei. He says Naypyidaw has no business in telling them what to do. “If they attack, we will retaliate. But we will not fire the first bullet,” he says.

With that he declares the interview over and cracks open a bottle of whisky containing pulverized tiger bone. ‘‘This will keep you healthy,” he toasts.

Sandimar, meanwhile, hopes the Wa State will continue to offer him a safe haven. He says about 300 monks, most of whom are originally from the Wa hills, have come from Rangoon recently, along with a group of student activists, among them 23-year-old Aung. A long scar on his forehead bears witness to the treatment he received in prison.

“I had never seen this kind of brutality,” he said, and explains that he was arrested when soldiers attacked a demonstration he was taking part in. He tried to escape but was surrounded. Forced to lie on the ground, he was repeatedly beaten with sticks and rifle butts. “They hit me in the back and the head several times. Then they asked me to stand up, only to strike me down again. I was bleeding all over the place. Then they put the barrel of a gun in my mouth. I was sure they would kill me.”

Aung was released after a week and, like Sandimar and Sai Sai, traveled directly to Wa State. He is aware that he has swapped one military regime for another; the UWSA is by no means a democratic institution. “At least the Wa leaders care somewhat about their people. They don’t conspire to kill you,” he says.

“If you really want to confront the Wa leadership, you may get into trouble, but you can discuss and talk about whatever you like. They appreciate a well-informed critique,” he added.

Whether the Wa leaders remain so open-minded if the public pressure from the opium ban continues to grow or if Naypyidaw acts on its irritation about China’s involvement in the region remains to be seen.

For now the Wa have gone beyond their Conradian image as headhunters to become the unlikely protectors of Burma’s saffron revolutionaries and a key player in the global crackdown on drugs.

Tor Norling is a freelance journalist from Norway who covers South and Southeast Asian affairs.