Cambodia

On the Run

2010-12-07T08:11:00.000-08:00

It is SO great to have my dad here! He really hasn’t stopped moving since he stepped off the plane. He hitches motos all over the city, wanders the markets and checks out the sights while I’m at work during the day, then we hang at night. He knows this place better than I do now, and I think he’s buddies with all of the tuk tuk drivers in town. I'm a pretty poor host at the moment as the majority of my day is spent at the school or working on assignments in an effort not to flunk out of grad school, but he's great doing his thing. He swings by the school in the mornings and spends some time with the kids and talks with the teachers. The ninth graders were working on a brochure and powerpoint presentation about Cambodia for visitors who come to the school, so they had their first presentation with Dad on Friday. It was great to see the kids so proud of their work, and my dad was encouraging (and genuinely impressed - that was cool).
The evenings have been busy – one night we hit the jazz club, the next we went to the night market for soup from a vendor (with added chili that made even the master of Tobasco cry). On Saturday we joined my friend, Chantou, and her family at the wedding of her nephew. It was actually the family celebration the night before the wedding, and we were happy and honored to be there. No dancing this time, but you can't win them all. The yellow and pink tent was in place, the tables and chairs in order. We ate fish and mango salad and other concoctions that bubbled on the table. I am now officially part of the family, as I was invited by an aunt into the house to observe the couple receive the blessing from the monks and take pictures with the bride and groom. Dad and I stayed for quite a while – long enough for all of the uncles to take over a table, break out the brandy and raise their glasses a few hundred times. They celebrated the couple getting married, celebrated Dad’s presence, then celebrated when my future husband arrived. I have been to enough family functions now that I have an arranged marriage if I choose to accept. We have never actually had a full conversation, but I think he’s the only one in the family who is within a couple of inches of me. So what’s not to celebrate?
The next morning we caught an early bus to Siem Reap, home of Angkor Wat and a thousand other temples. The temples really are the pride of Cambodia, so it was important to make the treck. They are quite unique, and Angkor Wat is massive. I’m sure the history is captivating if one were inclined to do the research. Dad and I left early Monday morning to explore the temples - many people take three days to do this… we were finished a little after noon and left quite satisfied. Both of us were more entertained by the tree of about eight million fruit bats and the lady on the corner who sold us dried snake, frogs on a stick and roasted crickets. We decided we could easily forego the popular tours and kick it with the monks and tuk tuk drivers on the street. The great thing is that everything is cheap – two bus tickets were less than ten bucks – fourteen dollars a night for a guesthouse with A/C – and frog legs for about twenty-five cents. Dad was so excited about a ten dollar ticket to Bangkok that he jumped on a bus to Thailand this morning. I’m writing this on a separate bus heading back to Phnom Penh for work and studying, hoping he shows up in Cambodia again at the end of the week. If anyone ever questions why I hopped a plane to Southeast Asia, there’s your answer. I love it!

One Week

2010-12-07T07:37:00.000-08:00

The final countdown is here, and I’m experiencing the full range of emotions. I’m excited to be coming home, of course – especially for Christmas – I’m excited to see everyone and finally spend some real time with people. It is also hitting me, however, that this is the last week I will spend with the people I have fallen in love with here. I can use that term casually at times, but I truly have grown to love some individuals here and thinking of goodbye makes me hurt – the hurt that I can actually feel in my chest. I have left places and people before, and it has never been easy… but this seems very different. I don’t know if and when I will see them again. I have already cried many tears with teachers; I have learned in this phase that tears, like smiles, are a common language. Last week I was sitting at the table in our “office” with Srey, a teacher here. She was talking through a translator, and tears started streaming down her face – which prompted the same response from me. Another teacher came behind me and wrapped her arms around me. It was special – these relationships always have been. The same is happening in the classroom. I told the kids we had to sing our Christmas songs by the 14th, because the 15th is the day I fly out… and the entire atmosphere changed. The kids froze, and one girl covered her face. She started giggling because she was embarrassed that she was crying, but I joined her soon enough, and we all laughed. THIS IS ROUGH! But it indicates that a lot of very meaningful relationships were established over the course of the last year, and that was what I hoped for when I started this journey. We are making the moments count – I went roller skating with the ninth graders (which I really believe is more dangerous than riding a moto in rush hour traffic), then joined grade ten at the arcade the next weekend. Five eighth grade girls asked if they could come to my house to cook food together, so on Sunday they are coming to bake cookies. Those are the moments I treasure, and the memories that last much longer than a grammar lesson.
We will have a few more times together as a staff too – Friday we are going to the village of our security guard again, and Dad will join us this time. Dad and I have also been invited to the home of Thy, my dear friend from the school. He wants us to join his family for dinner, and a couple of my true blue bachelor colleagues will be there too (I have really connected with two of the guys at the school – all three of us are 30 and single, so we have our own club, which includes going to every staff party/event and chowing down). The final party will be the night we fly out. We are going to have a big staff dinner at the school before our midnight flight. The tenth graders are planning on being there too, and already have arrangements to accompany us to the airport on motos. They are so cool. I’m beyond grateful for the people at the school I have come to know and love. They have taken such good care of me for the last year, and have really become my family here. It’s amazing that such strong bonds can form despite language and culture. I’ve decided the idea of love and friendship and connection is a big ol’ mystery to me, but I get to reap the fruit of it, and I consider myself very lucky.
The most difficult person to say goodbye to is my friend Beate. We can party and play and laugh til it hurts, but we have also had some incredibly deep moments. She not only shared this leg of the journey with me, but became my other leg. She helped me stand. I find myself wondering why we meet people like this, then have to go separate ways. Man, I can’t even write this without choking up! A friendship like this surprised me, but it also gives me a lot of hope. I know there are very inspiring people willing to go great lengths for others (she gives and supports like nobody I have known), and I can see that powerful relationships will continue to be built if we are open to them. Here’s to soul sistas!!
I’m grateful to have Dad here as I leave. He has met all of my close friends and can now relate on a new level. His presence here is also a very good reminder that I have so many special relationships to return to. I am eager to have community and family, and my posse. I have a new appreciation for those things!! I’m happy that I get to sing with my family on Christmas and be home to greet the babies of my two best friends and start changing diapers. This transition phase reminds me of my Grandma Beryl – she would say,”This grand ol’ world in which we live is mighty hard to beat. There comes a thorn with every rose, but aren’t the roses sweet.”

Thanksgiving Cambodia Style

2010-12-07T07:07:00.000-08:00

This was one of the greatest Thanksgivings I have had. It was my first Thanksgiving actually preparing the meal – so I’ll start with a very big thank you to my mom and every aunt, uncle and cousin who has fed me during the holidays. Lot of work! The cooking adventure started the night before as I went on a dessert spree – yes, Betty freakin’ Crocker!! Really – I made pumpkin pie from a pumpkin, which I have never done, apple crisp, brownies, and coconut (creamless) pie – all in a gas oven the size of a medicine cabinet with no temperature settings. The crisp went in first at 8:00 pm and I started waiting for the sweet smell of cinnamon and apples… but nothing. It ran out of propane. Beate was helping me steam pumpkin, so she was able to talk to the gas guys (she speaks the language) and order a new tank before she left. It was great – like ordering pizza. 20 minutes later, two teenage guys showed up on a moto with a giant tank of propane.. first the wrong size, so a return trip.. and I was back in business. Hilarious.
The next morning I met Sok Ly, our school cook, and she took me to the local market. We weaved through bowls of fish and baskets of vegetables to get our20 kilos of potatoes and bags of onions, green beans, fresh corn, and salad building materials. We loaded everything onto her moto, swung by a bakery for day-old bread pieces, then made the first drop. Sok Ly helped me wash the vegetables, then quickly grew uncomfortable with the fact that we couldn’t communicate, so called the school for back-up help and translation. Within minutes, three tenth grade girls showed up at the door with plastic bowls and smiles. I explained what “playing hookie” meant,our vocabulary lesson for the day, then put them to work peeling potatoes. They were so excited to get out of school and really enjoyed talking in the kitchen – I LOVED that they were there. They were interested in learning about all of the foods – they didn’t understand stuffing at all, but loved it. While it was cooking, one of the girls totally caught me off guard - she leaned over the pot, took a deep breath, and said, “It just smells so damn good!” I died laughing, then had to return to teacher mode and explain that though she used “damn” in the right context (well done) it was not a great word for her to be using.
The teachers and some of their kids showed up in fleet of motorcycles when school finished that evening, and after a quick run to the corner vendor for seven chickens, dinner was served. The women came in the house and stormed the kitchen, helping with last minute prep, and the men asked if they could start drinking beer. The women quickly dismantled the chickens and rearranged the parts on the plates, propping the heads up in the middle. A new kind of "turkey" presentation, but beautiful. Beate left her husband to work and joined the feast as well, so everyone in my Cambodian family was present. I introduced the meal of mashed taters, stuffing, cranberry, green bean casserole and salad, and explained that the bird we eat is usually much bigger, but nothing in Cambodia is big. They had never eaten any of the foods before, but loved them – especially the desserts. We also roasted corn on the grill, which was awesome, but standard cuisine here. Only one person asked if there was rice, so I considered it a success, though I still have mashed potatoes coming out my ears. It was so fun – we ate on the outside entry on mats, and a couple people embraced the idea of sharing what they were thankful for. It was a special night – I was happy to have everyone come to the house and spend time together.. eating... more/again.

KC in Cambodia

2010-12-01T21:19:00.000-08:00

It is so great to have my dad here, and he is absolutely loving it! Four of the teachers joined me to welcome him at the airport with trumpets and a red carpet - they were very excited to meet him, and even at 11:30 p.m. were all smiles. The town was deserted at midnight, but Dad quickly jumped into the traffic on the back of a moto and joined the madness of the city as it comes alive in the daylight hours. I haven't been able to slow him down! He takes off during the day and we meet up when I'm finished with work - keeps saying "This is better than Disneyland!" He came to the school the first morning and spent some time with our director and teachers. Everyone loved him immediately, and within minutes he received notes from the second grade girls, asking him to play. The teachers now have a cup of coffee (or three) ready for him every time he shows up, and they are truly delighted by his presence. One woman said, "You are so happy - you are a good person to be around when I am not." Ain't that the truth! I agree - he has such a strong presence. I have already felt a change in my spirits - his enthusiasm is helping me have a renewed excitement for the school and the kids and the city. It is still kind of surreal - I felt so removed from the rest of the world, and now my pops is kickin it with me in a tuk tuk! We have been laughing a ton - it is so fun to talk about what's happening around us, and his stories from each day are hilarious... the looks he gets, the loads he sees, the interactions with people as he explores Phnom Penh. He has been bartering with women at the market and getting some sweet deals on rides around the city... I need to take some lessons. We are going to attend a Cambodian wedding this weekend, which will be such a good cultural experience (woot woot - more dancing and food!) and then we are heading to Siem Reap to see Angkor Wat and the other temples. I planned on running the 10K, but my back gave up on that idea about a week ago. We may do our temple hopping by bike - both of us know how to work up a good sweat, so that will be our workout. Not much time to write these days - busy working and playing! But there will be plenty of stories to share, guaranteed!

Visitors!!

2010-11-14T03:13:00.000-08:00

I am getting SO excited for my dad to arrive in Cambodia in TWO WEEKS! I can't believe that he will be here, and I'm counting the days now. It is going to be such a special time for me (and hopefully for him) as he joins me on this leg of the journey. Really, it will be kind of surreal to have him here, as he is usually sitting on the other end of a Skype session. I am happy to have my two worlds connect - for him to meet the people I talk about, to interact with the kids I love so much, and to experience all of the funny things that will happen simply by riding our bikes down the street. I'm really eager to share this part of my life with someone I'm so close to. And it's really important to mention that my dad is straight up hilarious and game for anything - really, one of my best friends - so we're gonna have a good time! The best running commentary ever. His visit couldn't come at a better time - the last couple months have been pretty challenging, but I also know it will be difficult to say goodbye. It will be nice to have some extra support. I don't know how I won the parent lottery, but I'm sure grateful.

The teachers are excited too - Thy, my close friend at the school, asked if he could take my dad fishing, and he also wants us to join his family for dinner in their home, which will be really special. I wanted to plan a trip to one of the villages, so we're going to the homeland of our security guard during a holiday in early December. We'll ride out on motos and eat some form of pig or fish and laugh. It's going to be great.

I'm also excited about another plan - Thanksgiving, Cambodia style! While you are watching football, we are going to be cleaning up after a staff dinner, too! I invited all of the teachers to my house for Thanksgiving since they are my family here. It will be a little different - I'm going to buy chickens from the vendor down the street since there aren't any frozen turkeys and I don't know how to catch a duck. But I will find potatoes and cranberry and do my best to make stuffing and pies and green bean casserole. This is a pretty big endeavor for me, since my role at Thanksgiving is usually manning the spinach dip and dessert table - but I'm going to give it the ol' college try, and either way, the teachers will say nice things. They may not mean them, but they will be kind. It's a safe crowd for my first Thanksgiving. If everything burns up or melts down, I can always make rice, boil some vegetables and call it a night.

Some great things to look forward to in the next month!

My life as a very serious runner....

2010-11-05T22:32:00.001-07:00

It has been a while since I have written anything – my mind is going ALL the time, but getting thoughts down seems to take some time. Between teaching at the school, working on assignments for grad school, and eating, I seem to run out of hours. I realized that one of my favorite aspects of this culture is the importance of eating – I just plain love food, and I commit time to the things I love. I learned a new Cambodian saying: “Don’t hide your stomach”, which is funny, but not something I want to necessarily embrace. SO, because I like to eat, I like to run. Well that’s what people say – “running”, but of course it’s jogging at a very average to slow pace. Regardless of terminology, Cambodians clearly don’t see many women running around the streets of Phnom Penh, so it is a daily adventure (well, every-other day-ly). I have been running during my lunch hour, which is clearly a bad idea because it is the hottest part of the day, but it’s the time that works. So every run starts with me saying hello to the motodope driver who is perched on his bike outside our gate and nodding when he points at the sun and shares a painful expression. I run down one of the long roads, which is pretty busy at noon, and trust that the cars, trucks, motos and bicycles will give me a few inches. This can be a scary stretch, because the idea of space isn’t a major concern, and most people seem to think that a gap of three inches is more than adequate for passing. I don’t know how safe you would feel standing three inches from a grizzly bear, but being at that proximity from a speeding Lexus or a cart stacked with rebar doesn’t feel very safe at that distance. I’m still standing, so the course is working out. The humor comes when I pass people. Now, I realize I resemble a baby giraffe when I jog, but come on. The old women standing on the sidewalks stare, then smile when I say hello. A few have tested the new move, then quickly stop. The children shout, “HEL-lo!” and ride their bikes in circles around me. The young guys mock me, running along the side of the road (also like baby giraffes), and a few have chanted “mouey, bpee, mouey, bpee” (“one-two-one-two”) – one tuk tuk driver even made the effort to use his fingers to count for me as he drove by with a goofy grin. Everyone else just points and laughs. A guy drives by with four tanks of propane, a dead pig, and 14 live chickens on his motorcycle, and nobody bats an eye… I run by, and people act like they are at a parade. Sometimes I get irritated, but I have to remember where I am and who I am. ‘Normal activity’ is really relative. I have been able to have some cool interactions – there are three little kids who run up to me every time they see me truckin’ down the street, and I do love that. The only things that really scare me are the stray dogs and gangs of tuk drivers on the corner. The dogs aren’t so threatening, I suppose – they are all pretty small – but none of them are trained, and they are pretty unpredictable. Some dart after me, and some just look like they are plotting an attack. All of the men who walk in the mornings carry long sticks. I think there is some proverb that says to walk softly (or speak softly – neither of which I do) and carry a big stick – I’m understanding why. So far, no bites, no rabies. I’m hoping to run the 10K at Angkor Wat in December. There is also a half-marathon, but let’s not get crazy – I threw the shot put in high school for a reason. It should be a lot of fun, and I will at least be with a group of runners and won’t have to face the ridicule of the “street.”
Today I joined a 5K fundraiser at one of the international schools. The course was great – through back allies, along a pond of dried up water lilies, through a field (hopping cow pies) and along a strip of the main road. One section consisted of bricks, stones and smashed tiles. I am proud to announce that I won the women’s group with a time of 29:08. Very impressive, I know. I have never been first in any kind of footrace, and I don’t know how it could happen with that kind of pace, but anything is possible here. Obviously, there weren’t many people. It kind of reminded me of an episode of The Office – if you’ve seen it you’d laugh. The important thing is that I got a chocolate bar.

Pchum Ben

2010-10-15T00:08:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I joined one of my close friends, Chantou, and her family in the province to celebrate Pchum Ben, a special Buddhist holiday, also known as “Ancestor’s Day”. It was by far the best experience I have had here; for four days and three nights I was invited to be part of her extended family (really extended – I couldn’t count the number of aunts, uncles and cousins, but it was a party!). So many memories were created in a relatively short time, and by the end of the first day, I felt like I was part of the family. We left early Thursday morning with the rush of traffic, leaving the deserted city behind us. I bought a ten dollar helmet and rode the back of a moto (small, red, with a basket) for two and a half hours, putting my life in the hands of Chantou’s nephew… really, a Dumb and Dumber moment. It was a beautiful ride through the rice paddies, but six inches of seat isn’t much to work with. We met up with the rest of the family at the edge of the river and loaded our bags, bodies and motorcycles onto a narrow wooden boat. The riverside was vibrant with color – trees and water lilies floated on the surface of the Tonle Sap, and houses built high on stilts lined the banks. After crossing the river, we transferred our bags to a big ol tuk tuk – the tuk-wagon, I called it – which was driven by one of the uncles. This was our ride for the weekend – it carried us through the village, off roads, and up to the mountain… with a little pushing. It carried about twenty of us at that point, but we definitely tested its maximum capacity later.
The area was so green – trees and other plants grew along the road, tall palm trees stood in the distance, and small mountains were painted in the background. I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier… I’m small town, so I felt more at home there than in Phnom Penh. We drove through the small market and along the red dirt roads that took us to the home of Chantou’s mother and father. They are beautiful people – her mother is hilarious, full of stories and expression, and her father, very serious and observant, yet warm. They welcomed me with open arms, plenty of food, and a straw mat. I met the rest of the family as well – I couldn’t tell you their names, but they all took care of me, making sure I ate as much rice as I could stomach and didn’t go without a can of Angkor – “My country, my beer!” Molly, sit – Molly, eat rice –Molly, take a bath, take a rest, take a photo - Molly, we go now – Molly, dance! I was clearly the outsider, but never did I feel like it. It was oddly familiar and comfortable, which was a pretty cool feeling, considering I was in the company of virtual strangers.
The weekend was packed with memories. They danced and sang karaoke all night for two nights, cranking power for lights and four huge speakers from a small greasy generator. I joined, of course, and earned the favor of the ladies across the street, who imitated my moves the next morning when I visited them for coffee. We toured the village and surrounding area, winding through fields and mountains, dodging cows and water buffalo. Kids rode shirtless on bikes, and women walked cattle along the roads. Many parties were in full swing in front of houses and at the pagodas – music, dancing, and shouts as we drove by. We went to the pagoda on Friday morning. Chantou’s family prepared food to take to the monks – rice and curry and fruits and meat – and they dressed in their traditional formal clothes, the women in long silk skirts and white beaded tops, and the men in silk shirts and pants. Later in the day, we visited the temple of their ancestors, the place where they put the bones of family members who have passed away. They offered wrapped gifts, burned incense and prayed inside the temple, then four young monks sat with the family. An elder sprinkled water on the family members with the leaves of a branch… and then we drank orange Fanta. Obviously, I didn’t understand everything that was happening, but I felt honored to sit with them and witness it nonetheless. From there we jumped the fence of a local school and strung a rope between two poles for a game of volleyball. We had to share the court with three cows, which I later learned are the same breed as those used for bull riding, so it was necessary to mark the eNORmous cowpies with plastic bottles. The cows got a little restless when we got into our second game – they kept moving in on our territory, so the guys chased them off with sticks. It kept them at bay until one got feisty and turned on us. He started grunting, then lowered his head and went after Chakrey (cousin). Really went after him – at a much faster speed than I would have anticipated from a cow. So Chakrey took off, and the chase was on… the cow left him to run down Chantou’s daughter, who started screaming and sprinting, and after she jumped into a tree for safety, it charged after me. I don’t ever remember being quite so scared, to be honest. So with all the speed I had (which isn’t much, of course), I ran for the steps of the school and the protection of a pillar, everyone joining me in my half-scream-half-laugh. More scream. “You have red shirt – it’s like Espain! Ha ha!” We all stayed in our safety zones until the mad cow got hit with enough rocks from Chakrey and left. We called the game, and rode four to a moto back to camp. Hilarious. We laughed about it for the rest of the weekend. So many moments to lock away – we climbed the rocks of a waterfall with the district governor and his bodyguards, hiked the backside of the mountain, then bought boiled eggs for the tuk ride home. We stopped for coconut on the way back – a cousin and the tuk driver shimmied up the trees and threw about thirty of them down while we waited below with axes and straws for immediate consumption. Really, such unique experiences. Maybe the most authentic was bathing in a sarong from a well… a little uncomfortable at first, but… when in Rome! I also gained a real appreciation for my mattress after sleeping on the wooden floor for three nights. I slept with Chantou’s daughters on the covered porch – we shared a mat and a mosquito net.
My favorite moments came at unexpected times. Just sitting on the floor, listening to Chantou and her family share stories and laugh. I dozed in and out, as I couldn’t understand what was being said, but there was so much love. I enjoyed sharing meals with them, of course, and as always, they loved that I ate their food. Before we left, each of the families sat with the grandfather and received a blessing from him. He extended a blessing to me as well, holding my hands in his. He wished me health and success and love, and I thanked him with more sincerity than he probably knows. It was special. We returned to the city – by tuk wagon, boat, and moto – stopping at the homes of every aunt, uncle and cousin who couldn’t make it to the reunion. We caravanned back to Phnom Penh, one car, one tuk tuk, and five motorcycles. I knew I was in with the fam when we stopped at a roadside rest area and they ordered me lunch - rice, boiled egg, and fried frogs wrapped in lettuce. I really feel this experience was the result of developing a special relationship with Chantou over time. I was able to experience real life, real traditions, real family interactions. And I was able to really enjoy it, knowing that I would be able to share similar moments with my own family soon. I feel like every experience here helps me appreciate life more.

The Commute

2010-10-12T02:08:00.000-07:00

People say every day is an adventure, and really, this is so true here. Yesterday afternoon the black clouds rolled in, and it started pouring. By my four o’clock class, the hall was flooded and I had to wade through floating plastic cups to get to the English room. At five, water was creeping up to the lip of the ledge, so I unplugged the cords on the floor, put the keyboard on one of the desks, cleared the bottom shelf of books and threw the padlock on the door, hoping for the best. The front of the schoolyard was a small pool of swirling basketballs and blue garbage bags, and kids were huddled under the overhang on the steps, squealing and throwing things into the small reservoir. I guess the kids considered this a special time – the student bathrooms were covered in water, so they were allowed to use the toilet next to the office. Simple joys. I thought it was pretty fun, myself - this was a new thing for me. I wrapped my computer in a black trash bag and stuffed it into my backpack then climbed on my bike. The streets were already teeming with water, washing trash from the sidewalks. The sides of the road drop off, so everyone was competing for the small strip of higher ground in the middle - most streets didn’t even offer that. Potholes dot the area, which make for rough "blind" riding... six inches of water, then a foot and a half - no way to know when you're goin down! The best strategy was to follow the tires an SUV – they blaze a pretty good trail. I didn’t expect to jump the wakes of cars, but I guess anything goes. Water was up to my shins while pedaling – a lot of work! It rained most of the night, and I kept thinking about the state of our school. I headed out this morning, and the traffic was nuts – everyone trying to find a dry route to their destination. Well, I don’t know the city well enough to change my course, so I just started swimming. What I really could have used was my sweet little kayak! I walked my bike through knee-deep water, laughing with my fellow waders. “No problem,” two guys said. I was better off than some - my long legs make for a miserable bus trip, but they put me at an advantage for these conditions, and for one of the first times, I was grateful to be a giant in Asia. One poor little guy barely kept his handlebars above the water. Sticks kept getting caught in my spokes and I cursed the big jeeps that moved through the streets like barges, throwing waves into the basket of my bike. I finally made it to the school, which looked like an ant colony rebuilding its nest. Everyone was in repair mode, bailing water from halls and classrooms with dustpans and buckets. They didn’t complain, didn’t worry – just went to work. I spent the morning in a puddle, sweeping water over the lip of the door with my sandals while the kids worked. My pants dried out by lunch, and now it’s sunny and hot – really, no problem.

Literacy 101

2010-09-28T21:28:00.000-07:00

I am currently taking a graduate course online and was given an assignment that caused me to reflect on what I’m doing here – I still stop and ask myself that question a lot. We were to read the short story, “Thank You, M’am” by Langston Hughes and respond to a quote of our choice from the text. Now, if you don’t want to engage in my little assignment, no problem, but I do think you should find the short story and read it (or re-read it). I’ll also mention briefly that I get marked down on APA criteria and other details all the time, so easy on me, English teachers – enough red marks already.

“The woman said, “You ought to by my son. I would teach you right from wrong. Least I
can do right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?””

This quote is simple, but carries a lot of weight. The woman sees the boy’s need for love and guidance. Even in her harsh tone, deep concern and compassion is expressed. She is aware, however, that she cannot fulfill the role of a parent or lifelong mentor – it is not her responsibility, nor her place to bear it. Despite the unspoken boundaries that exist, this woman seizes the opportunity to do what she can to take care of the boy and teach him a lesson that will last – a moral lesson, yes, but also a lesson on grace and love. She cannot save him from the pain or neglect in his life, but she can offer her heart and wisdom, a bar of soap, and a cup of cocoa.

This quote speaks to me on a personal level and certainly resonates with me as an educator. I have had many students in my classroom who remind me of this boy. They have walked through the door with dirt in the folds of their necks, soiled clothes, and black teeth. My natural desire is to take these children home and provide a safe, clean, loving environment, but, like the woman, I recognize that it is not my place to do so. What I can offer is a safe, clean, loving environment for part of their day. I can challenge them to grow and give them tools to be successful. If I have one hour a day, then let me use it well. If I have one year to show children that they are valuable and capable, that is my “right now.” The woman saw the needs of the boy and offered what she could at that moment. This quote allows me to see the significance of every small opportunity to give and to teach. It reminds me of the words spoken by Theodore Roosevelt: “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”

Right now I am living and teaching in Cambodia – I cannot walk down the street without seeing extreme poverty. I know the change I would like to see. There is an endless list of things I “ought to” do or things that “ought to” be, but I cannot take on that responsibility. So, today I will help my students develop a second language, a skill that could give them more options in the future. I will teach them to think in a new way. I will laugh with them and enforce the consequences of copying homework or hitting (there was, in fact, a lot of love in the reprimand of Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones), and I will eat lunch or play volleyball with them in an effort to build trust and strengthen relationships. It doesn’t seem like much and won't solve all the problems, but it’s my bar of soap.

Back in the Saddle… Or on the Tuk Tuk Anyway

2010-09-26T09:47:00.000-07:00

I’m back in Cambodia after a beautiful month and a half at home… breathing fresh, COOL mountain air, eating dinner with my parents, dancing with the most handsome guy I know, and pretending I was part of the Eastern coaching staff. Now back to sweating by sunrise, navigating busy streets and eating the tropical fruit in season (cannot pronounce it, nor can I spell). I was greeted at the airport by my good friend and three teachers from Goldstone – all smiling and waving. There were lots of hugs when I arrived at the school, a quick glimpse at pictures and new books, then back to the routine. A weird transition – very familiar and still very foreign. I wasn’t worried at all this time – just sad to leave home. It has been easy to get back into the swing of things – I know where to go, I know how to give the same poor directions in poorly spoken Khmer, and I know which foods to avoid (not many, of course) - but it’s kind of wild to hop across cultures so quickly. Saturday I was in an air-conditioned car and Monday afternoon I was swerving around cabbage trucks on the back of a motorcycle.
I have a new home for this stint – I loaded my bags and bike (which hasn’t been stolen yet) onto the tuk and moved in one trip. It’s a simple life here. I’m now only five minutes from the school by bicycle and next to a small market where they sell seatbelts, baguettes and bananas. The house is linked to four others behind a big red gate on the edge of a quaint little pond. The water looks nice in the morning - the reflection of the sun glows while water lilies (and Styrofoam) float by. The pond is better observed from the window, however, because it is really the dumpsite for the waste in our area. I don’t know who thought building on the sewage system was a good idea, but here sits our cozy home. And it is cozy – my roommate is one of the warmest individuals I have met. She loves the Lord, loves ice cream, and loves me enough to welcome this wanderer with outstretched arms. I feel very much at home already. She is a teacher at a nearby international school, so we immediately began late night collaboration sessions. Her heart is huge, and I think she will teach me a lot in a short time. Our first challenge is to rid the kitchen of rats – a unifying task. A two-inch gap under the door to the back of the house and droppings in the bread basket indicated that we were sharing our space with dirty friends… but when I saw a little bugger scampering behind the fridge this morning, our efforts to exterminate increased. Asking for a rat trap in charades is one of the more amusing experiences I’ve had at a grocery store, but I was able to walk away with “rat glue,” which looks a lot like burnt taffy and has already proven effective. Gross. Pretending I don’t hear the squeaks right now so I don’t have to pull clean-up duty. Our other housemate is a very mature sophomore whose parents are missionaries on the outskirts of Cambodia. She is staying in the city to attend high school - she has already lived in Cambodia nine years, so she knows the ropes. The three of us make up an odd little family, but I think we will all benefit in some way. I have gained a mentor, and I can possibly impart some wisdom on my new little sister, though she seems more sophisticated than me in many ways.
It’s important to mention that this leg of my journey will be shortened a little, and that I’ll be heading home no later than December. I’ve learned so much about my personal priorities by being away from the people who are most important to me… then being with them again. Things have become pretty simple: I need to be home. I need those relationships. And, well, I need to see if I can have one more dance. So I will be here to start the year with the students and staff, train the person who will take over my position, then return to Washington. I have shared plans and tears with the teachers here, and though it is difficult to think of goodbye, they understand how much I cherish relationships and are supportive. They were the ones who taught me more about the importance of family and community, after all. I will treasure the time I have here in this season and hopefully offer something of value before I leave. So here we go again!!

A Few Thoughts...

2010-08-03T22:22:00.000-07:00

As the end of my first stint in Cambodia is drawing to a close, I have had some time to really reflect on all that has happened during the last seven months. I want to spend more time processing the events, relationships and lessons before I’m thrust into the tailspin of trips and reunions that wait at home, but of course there’s always too much happening to sit and think. Maybe that’s what thirty hour flights are for.
It will be impossible to adequately explain the impact this experience has had on my heart and mind, but I suppose that’s the nature of experience – you have to live something to fully understand the significance. So I don’t expect my experience to change others, but I am no doubt changed myself… changed by the people, changed by the culture, changed by the images of poverty and beauty both, and changed by my own personal wrestling match during the last year.
I anticipated some things – I knew I would meet interesting people, eat wacky food, and work through various challenges. There was no way to know what those things would look like, however, until I came face to face with them in the context of life. That has been the fun part – interesting, hilarious, frustrating, scary – and fun. I didn’t expect to gain a best friend from Holland in Cambodia. I think I’ve learned more Dutch than Khmer. I didn’t expect to spend every lunch hour eating like royalty – really, how many hot lunch programs are serving fresh shrimp, beef and pork (OR blood, liver, baby frogs and chicken feet)? There’s no way I could have predicted that I would develop such deep love for the teachers at the school. I knew I would give my heart away to the students, but my deepest connection has been with the staff – men and women who serve tirelessly and who have taken care of me. They have become my family here. And their love hasn’t been reserved for me alone - five or six teachers sent gifts for my mom and dad with the message that they love them. They have so little, but they simply want to give. It’s special.
I also thought I would use Phnom Penh as a platform to do more traveling – I figured I would be checking out a new city or country every chance I had… Thailand, Vietnam, Laos. I think I actually left the city a total of three times in seven months, including a school study tour with 75 kids. I haven’t had wild adventures in the jungle or toured Southeast Asia yet. Rather, I have shared meals with families in their homes, celebrated holidays with the teachers at the school, and played volleyball with the students after school. I believe that has been the most valuable investment of time. The teachers don’t vacation. They were at the school every day of their two week holiday. Most of them have never crossed the border of Vietnam, only five hours away. So though I would like to do more traveling next year, I don’t regret my ties to this place. I may not have seen the post popular tourist attractions in Bangkok or Ho Chi Minh City – or even Phnom Penh for that matter – but I’ve eaten Khmer noodles and grilled fish with my friends, hitched rides on the backs of their motors, and laughed over and over at dumb inside jokes about soup, language, and being single. Those things are far more meaningful than my picture of Angkor Wat.
Living in Cambodia has helped me understand many things on a deeper level. Teaching at an non-profit school in a third world country seems like a noble endeavor, but in Phnom Penh, I’m one of hundreds. That’s why everyone is there. Almost every expat is working for some organization – everyone there has left family and the comforts of home to help the people of Cambodia. There’s no applause once you arrive – they hand you a shovel and tell you to roll up your sleeves; “Glad you took the plunge, now let’s go.” It’s good – I like that. It forces people to check their motives. It is a needy place – you can’t volunteer with the notion that the world is going to stop and honor your love for humanity… it’s the expectation. At the same time, it’s very possible to live a very comfortable life, somewhat isolated from the country. People can still go to their offices and coffee shops, jazz clubs and pools, having very little interaction with the real lives of those in poverty, with the typical life in Cambodia. We can do the same thing anywhere – stick to our community without venturing out to a different population or group. It’s easy to do, because it’s so comfortable. But, wow – I would have missed out on many rich experiences if I had stayed in the walls of expatriate land.
Often I was more of an observer than a participant – the foreign fly on the wall – but I have realized the value of presence. Just being there – sitting on the steps while the guys play chess, slicing meat while the women talk and prepare food, listening to the staff meeting with no translation. The conversation or event may not have had the same significance to me on a cognitive level, but I was able to communicate that I was invested, that I cared. That’s important. Ironically, the lesson of presence was equally powerful in my absence. Sharing meals with people here clearly meant that I wasn’t sitting at the dinner table with my family or friends, and that has been hard. I haven’t been the friend I would like to be – the one someone can call at three in the morning or be there for life’s trials. I have kept thinking about the quote by Theodore Roosevelt - “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” So now I’m almost home (staging for twelve hours in Korea) and I will do what I can, where I will be. I can’t wait for every second of precious time. I know it will disappear all too quickly, but I just want to stay focused on the moment – I realize that’s all I really have. I’m leaving Cambodia in a really good place (mentally, spiritually – physically, kind of… small infection that is forcing me to hobble through the airport, but ok), and I have a lot to return to. Thanks for sharing this leg of the journey with me. Now I’m ready to go home for a while.

Farewell for Now

2010-08-03T22:19:00.000-07:00

The last few days have been great – I have been tying up loose ends and celebrating every day with food (shocking – that’s all I seem to talk about). We enjoyed the last day of school with a party at the school – the kids prepared dances and songs (and pork kebabs), and we said goodbye. Most of the kids will be at the school every day of vacation because that’s their safe place to study and hang out, but I will be gone …so the final days meant something to me. The day after our school party, the teachers took me into the mountains along with two other volunteers to celebrate the end of the year. We drove a couple hours, then the Corolla (with four in the back… good thing I’m small) climbed a mountain that belonged to the military, I believe. Our driver handed a couple beers to the guards and we were on our way. It was near the land owned by a teacher’s family - such a beautiful place. We made lunch near a small lake (they made lunch, I ate), and we had some time to share thoughts and feelings on the year and about each other. After, we went for a walk – which turned into boulder hopping with the guys. They caught a couple fish, and I had a rock skipping contest with Thuoen – really, the perfect day. No city, no motorcycles, no garbage. Those things were replaced with fresh air, green trees, jokes and chicken salad.
I also joined a family for dinner in their home the next evening – the daughters are students at the school, and we have bonded through singing and candy. We ate morning glory and rice, played ‘Go Fish’, and we listened to their dad play the guitar. I couldn’t understand the words, but he sang to his wife as she smiled from the other side of the room. . I flipped through their wedding album, and we shared different stories from our lives. Good moments. Their house, like others, is very simple, but it is packed with love. I managed to spend time with many people right before leaving – I took my friend’s daughters to the market for pedicures (yes, less than a dollar so I have done the nail thing), and I spent the morning packing with my friend who is very organized, unlike me.
I actually needed the help, because I have been hobbling around the last two days. I really wanted to go home completely healthy and fresh so my entrance to the US would scream “Cambodia is GOOD” (which it is, of course) but instead – after seven months of good health – I have an infected foot that looks like it belongs on an elephant. It really is swollen, and now I sit at the airport in Korea with my bandaged foot in the air, taking antibiotics every six hours. Not the message I wanted to send, but par for my course. I always come home with some injury - last time I arrived with ten stitches in my hand and had to water ski with a plastic dish glove and duct tape.
I was taken to the airport by a very large entourage of people – it was a pretty grand farewell, and again, I felt spoiled. We had a dinner at the school with the teachers and students to honor one of our volunteers, then everyone escorted me to the airport at nine o’clock at night. I jumped in the car with my lame foot, and about fifteen guys from the school – both teachers and students – followed alongside on their motorcycles. What a great sendoff! Again, there’s no way to out-serve these people. They just give until there’s nothing left – until they either run out of food or run out of time. Good thing there will be more of both. Two of the teachers said, “I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Goldstone Makeover

2010-07-28T02:23:00.000-07:00

About a month ago, I received an email from a guy in Taiwan, originally from Texas, who wanted to volunteer at the school. He was hoping to put his experience with construction to use and was eager to start raising money to make repairs and improvements on our building. This guy came out of nowhere to serve – amazing. He showed up with his cowboy hat, a backpack, and a check for the school. Since his arrival, the school has been looking more like a construction zone than an institute of learning, but it has been great to see the students get involved in the work. We started by painting the outer fence and the walls on the grounds – and it was a good idea, in theory, to equip the kids with brushes, rollers, and buckets of blue and white paint. What a great experience! Work party! Enlist everyone! Well, it didn’t take long to see that 1) none of the students have had a formal PUD painter’s course, and 2) sixth and seventh grade students are quite capable of expressing themselves through abstract art …. everywhere. It looked like a massive capsule of White-Out exploded on campus. They went nuts. Gates, walls – yes (mission accomplished) – classrooms, windows, tiles, gold statue on the front of the building, armpits, toenails, cars – also yes. The trunks of the palm trees now don splashes of white, the tables are covered with white handprints, and even the tops of a couple old computers have a new white coat. So obviously we had to come up with a new game plan for our other projects, and I have spent the last couple days covering streaks. Painting fences and rails again – reminds me of summers at Box Canyon Dam.

The most recent challenge was laying sand and rock. A truck dumped a huge pile of stones in the middle of the school yard (leaving a crater in the cement)and we had to find a way to spread it around the school. I don’t know if they have wheelbarrows in Cambodia or not, but we certainly didn’t have access to one this morning. What we lacked in efficiency, however, the kids made for with zeal. The students were moving rocks in five gallon buckets, plastic cups, and grocery bags. First graders were collecting rocks in their pink pencil boxes, and the fifth graders started folding cardboard posters to cradle small piles. Dust pans, paint lids, fists – you name it. Resourceful little buggers. They were all eager to help, and it really was the perfect picture of teamwork. I don’t know if you are familiar with Nehemiah’s story of rebuilding the wall in Jerusalem, but I think this was the modern day children’s version. Some of them have worked tirelessly in hot, humid weather – barefoot. Others have seen it as an opportunity to kick back with a bag of sugar cane juice on the rocks. The place looks great - it’s amazing what a few buckets of paint can do to transform a place. There is a new sense of pride among the kids; they have been able to see the immediate fruit of their labor. It will be nice for the students to begin the next school year in a fresh environment – clean walls, doors that work, leak-free roofs. Yeah! A little goes a long way here. And thank you, Brad, for taking the initiative on a project like this and following through - with blisters, sweat, and only a few tears.

Minor Surgery

2010-07-19T07:05:00.000-07:00

I should also mention that I am currently writing with a giant band-aid on the side of my face, and it hurts a little when I laugh at my own jokes. I had my first experience at a local clinic today. A cyst next to my eye had been steadily growing for the last eight months, and it really got to the point that 1) I didn’t want to stand to the left of anyone during a conversation because that’s all they would see, and 2) it’s all I could see. I had the peripheral vision of a city carriage horse. And people here are very direct – I can’t count the number of times people asked what happened to my face. The school director made an appointment for me at a clinic, and for 27 dollars they removed my small tumor. I walked into the waiting room, clearly the center of attention. The director explained the problem to everyone - I guess it was important to answer all of the questions for the public - and we waited. I told her she could go back to the school if she needed to, but she insisted on staying (and I was glad) because she needed to sign papers as a witness. Always need a witness. Yikes.
We went into a small room, where she actually ended up holding the light for the procedure (a dual purpose for the witness). My legs dangled off the edge of the surgery bed, and they taped a small piece of gauze to my forehead and cheek. I made sure they would, in fact, numb the area before cutting. The doctor said, “Yes, a little pain, but okay.” I immediately received five shots next to my eye – and I’m not so sure that numbing the area was the better option. It felt like wasps attacked my socket - that's a tender spot! But within minutes, the area was numb, and I could only feel the pressure of the doctor wringing my face like a towel. He could speak English, so kept me updated on the process, but I couldn’t see anything. When he got to stitching me up, he asked me if I felt pain. At first, no. Then I jumped, and said, “Yes – pain.”
“Oh, sorry.” He kept going.
Again, “ Yep – pain. I feel pain.”
“Sorry.” (Like you say sorry when you play the boardgame and send someone back to the beginning).
He said, “Maybe bruise for two or three days, but no problem.”
When he was finished, he was excited to show me what he removed (I know that’s gross, but I wanted to see, too)… but he couldn’t find it. He sorted through bloody squares of gauze, then lifted the tray. He looked on the floor. Nothing. I started laughing. My director showed me how big the cyst was by indicating the size on her finger, and the doctor continued to search.
“Maybe it fall behind the bed,” he said. “It fly away.”
Hilarious. I have no idea where the contents of a gland would go, but I hope they cleaned the room before the next patient arrived.
So it really feels like I was punched in the face, but I’m happy to have that thing gone.

One Month Later...

2010-07-19T06:13:00.000-07:00

Wow, I don’t know how a month has gone by so fast – I guess life just happened. I do know that I wake up with the sun at 5:30 and fall asleep, absolutely exhausted, every night around eleven or twelve. It’s a good kind of tired, and it’s a good life.
The school has been extremely busy – we have had eight volunteers in the last month, which has kept me running. I’m learning a different role as I coordinate schedules and try to make sure everyone is taken care of in this foreign place (which is still somewhat foreign to me). So far, I’ve done a pretty lousy job, but people are forgiving. Our most recent volunteer is a guy who has come to work on the grounds and make improvements on the building (bless his big fat heart – this is not a small task). I searched for a place for him to stay, but found nothing. He wanted to put his money toward the school instead of a guesthouse… so I told him to pack a tent. How’s that for hospitality? Well, we did one better than a tent – we set him up with a nice cot and a mosquito net and reserved a corner on the roof of the school. He had plenty of company – the guard was there along with the local rats and a roaming cat. He had an adventurous spirit, and now I figure he has a better story. It’s fun to have new faces around, and the students and teachers love meeting so many people. I have been excited to see the teachers freely engaging in conversations; they introduce themselves and ask visitors questions… then sometimes look at me to see if they did okay. It’s a different environment, and I really love being part of it. I have also enjoyed getting to know people from around the world - I don’t know how so many people end up here, but here we are. I had some of the volunteers over for dinner, and we collectively represented four continents. We agreed that it was a good beginning to a really bad joke – “so an Australian horticulturist, an English teacher, a Swiss surgeon a guy from Taiwan and a guy from Tennessee walk into a bar…”
There’s also music in the air. One of my best friends gave me a big chunk of change before I left, and I used it to buy a keyboard for the school. (That was an adventure in itself – we made the purchase and delivery Cambodian-style: after price negotiations, I embraced a four- foot, dusty Casio in a black garbage bag and a dented metal piano stand on the back of a motorcycle in the rain.) The kids have been loving it - we sing all the time! The third and fourth graders are rockin’ “This Little Light of Mine” with a lot of “oh yeah”s, and the grade nine students have decided to sing “We Are the World” at the end of the year. Yes, Michael Jackson. I promise you that the 80’s and 90’s will live on forever in this country. A girl asked if we could sing “Hello” by Lionel Richie at the party on the last day of school – so, yes, we have also been rehearsing that with all the soul we can muster. A few students have been eager to learn how to play as well, so there are lunchtime lessons almost every day. It really makes some of the students come to life, and it has the same affect on me.
The rest is just life, sprinkled with weird moments. Like the typical Sunday list: do laundry, buy groceries, and swing by a pharmacy to pick up de-worming antibiotics… for me, not a dog. (Foreigners should do this every three months, I guess – I just got my first dose). I started my on-line graduate classes … again, so that it dominating my world… again. But I have also had the opportunity to house- sit for my friend and her husband during their vacation to Holland. I love their flat – it’s simple and quiet, and it’s perched on top of the city. It’s like a little bird nest – I can see the horizon from both ends of the house. I watch the sunrise while the water boils for my coffee, and on Sunday evenings I get to see the sunset from the opposite balcony. I love looking at the streets below – the old women start walking early in the morning, and the moto-dope drivers are already on their corners, waiting to harass the first person to step out of his gate. The restaurant owner sweeps his floor while the guy across the street does stationary exercises on his roof. Yesterday morning there was a little parade of boys beating drums and a giant wobbly clown. I have been staying here alone, which I love. The only scare came a few weeks ago at eleven o’clock at night – I was talking with my parents on Skype, and suddenly there was a man on the balcony outside the window (on the fifth floor – he wasn’t just strolling by). My mom was yelling from the computer, “Who is it? Don’t open the door – don’t open the door!” Turns out some idiot on the top floor left the hose running and it was dripping on the metal roof of the tenants below… so I got to meet the landlord in his boxers and apologize.
So everything is great – but I am excited to come home!! In two weeks I’ll be boarding a plane – already starting to get restless.

Stages of Relationships

2010-06-23T02:28:00.000-07:00

Month One: Everyone is polite. Shy. All smiles and best behavior from both sides.

Month Two: More comfortable, but very little communication. We share the same space and are still very polite. “Hello” and “How are you? Fine, thanks, and you?” (every time). No problems. The students are still very well behaved. I eat alone at a large table because they want to respect my space. I want to join the other happy table, full of laughter and jokes and joy, but want to respect their space. On the outside looking in.

Month Three: I ask more questions and force myself into their circle. I sit in the middle of their lunch bunch, unable to understand a word… but there, all twenty of us at one table while the other remains unused. English classes open the door to comfortable relationships. They practice speaking English during the day and giggle, still embarrassed. I butcher simple words in Khmer. We laugh together.

Month Four: We eat mango on the steps and have real conversations – stories and worries and questions. We attend weddings together and eat meals together. I spend time in the homes of the teachers, and we share about our families – how much I miss mine, how much they miss theirs. Time together.

Month Five: Real relationships continue to develop. I walk into the school wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt. Pum says, “Oh, Molly, you look so handsome… ha ha ha.”
“Don’t you mean so beautiful?” I ask, flipping my hair.
“No, handsome – you dress like man. You not find husband, ha ha ha.” I act offended and pretend to hit him, but really love that we are on this level. It may be a little sad that I think real relationships exist when we start making fun of each other, but I love it anyway. The same guy makes a funny sound in his chair, and the teachers start laughing at him. He turns to me and asks, “How to say?” He stands up and, pointing at his rear, squats twice and says “toot, toot.”

Month Six: We are VERY comfortable with each other. I walk back to the kitchen to scope out the food scene. One of the cooks looks at me, says my name, and puts her arms out to the side, saying the word for fat. “What? You think I got fat??”
“Ha ha – Yes.”
I ask another teacher at the school if she thinks so too. She tilts her head. “Hmm. Yes, I think so.”
I run away. I try to come back the next day for soup, and a different cook holds her arms out in front of her, puffing out her cheeks. I scream and leave again, searching for a scale. Yes, two kilos (4-5 pounds) since January. Tough love. I am informed that they would not call me fat unless we were friends, and it’s actually considered a compliment. (“Fat is happy” they say.) My brother, bless his heart, assured me that I haven’t put on too much weight, and that he would notice because Carlsons carry weight in our faces. That’s true. But now I’m sitting further away from the camera during Skype sessions.
So yes, we are at a place of honesty - like family, right? Honest. And it is good for the most part.

Alright Already

2010-06-21T08:17:00.000-07:00

I have wrestled with the decision long enough, and now that I have discussed it with my parents, it’s okay to talk. I have decided to return for another year of work at the school in Cambodia after my visit home. I don’t know if it’s crazy or not, but after trying to answer “why”… the best I can come up with is that it simply feels like the right decision. I was determined to head home for good and start looking for jobs… but I just don’t feel like my time here is finished. Maybe I have more to give to the students and staff at Goldstone, maybe I have more to learn about the country and the culture and the people living here… and maybe I just have more to learn about myself. I have been worried about impact, but a good friend helped me realize that we have an impact on the people around us just by living and loving and giving what we have...almost by accident sometimes. We can have impact anywhere. We simply make a decision where we are going to spend our efforts and our time. And I just need more time here... not becaue I don't want to be somewhere else. It has taken such a long time to build relationships with the teachers and kids at the school…I finally feel like I’m at a place where I can offer something. I’m not worried about how to get to school anymore or any of the other things I had to adjust to. I have a better understanding of the students - their levels, their abilities, and the weakness that need to be addressed – and I’m starting to get the education system here... not happy with it, but getting it. I’m not going to fix anything in a year, but I can contribute to a foundation on which someone else can continue to build. I’ve had to do a lot of learning first – not that the learning will ever end. So I’ll get to spend a month and a half at home – which is actually more time than I have had at home in a LONG time – and maybe even find a way to visit again next April during our short break. I’ll start saving pennies. Regardless, I can’t wait to get home now… only a month left! I’m excited to sit by the fire and swap stories with anyone who shows up in the backyard. I’m gonna plant myself by the river and soak up every ounce of love I can get.

Which Side Are You On?

2010-06-21T07:36:00.001-07:00

I wrote about getting locked out of my house the other night… so today I had the opposite problem. I am house-sitting for my friends while they are on vacation – they have a flat with a great roof… plants and a view of the tops of every building in the city – and I need to learn a new system. I went down the eighty stairs this morning at quarter to seven to jump in my tuk, and the gate was locked. I didn’t think it was a problem - just busted out the brown key. Which didn’t work. Orange key didn’t work, and the other one only fit in the door of their apartment. I tried each key again and again… nothing. I saw Seopia, the guy who drives the tuk, on the other side of the gate. I yelled out that I was stuck, so he came over and tried to help – he reached his hand through the metal opening and tried negotiating the key in the lock from the other side. He did the same trial by error with the keys… but there were only two options. We both stood there for about ten minutes. The gates are high – no climbing over this one. I was hoping someone else would come out and rescue me, but it was an incredibly quiet morning. So I called the school, sheepishly, and let them know I would be late. Really, the stories I have to tell them – not stuck in traffic or lost my keys or ran out of gas – but I’m locked IN my house. I went back up the stairs and ate a proper breakfast since I had time, and Soepia kicked it with a cup of coffee at the sidewalk shop. It kind of makes me nervous, though – I started thinking of my fire escape route if I couldn’t get out of the gate (don’t worry, Morterud girls, I have a plan). I missed most of my first class, and they have instructions for tomorrow just in case. It was pretty funny – for one day. It could be a tiresome game after a while. But it made me laugh – because isn’t that the way life is? We’re either stuck on the outside looking in or the inside looking out… and we aren’t happy being stuck in either spot. Well, I got back in, so I get at least one more night on the roof. I’ll see if I get to spend tomorrow morning here as well!

The Last 24 Hours

2010-06-16T22:46:00.001-07:00

I really almost got creamed by a cow yesterday. During 5 o’clock traffic, this huge beast of a thing was plugging through the intersection with his partner, pulling a giant cart of swinging orange clay pots. The carts and cattle never look like they are moving very fast, but nothing was gonna slow this unit down…certainly not a red light. I was on the back of a moto and had to duck so I didn’t go head to head with nostrils and a set of horns, and my bag moved along its chest. Really, not the normal commute. I was on my way to my friend’s house to deliver my backpack for them to use on their trip to Vietnam. She and her husband made me dinner and sangria, so we relaxed on the roof and enjoyed front row seats for the lightning show. The wind blew, and for the first time in a long time.. it felt cool. SO nice. I rode a tuk tuk back to our villa, but apparently didn’t make it home before curfew. It was just before ten – the door was locked, the lights were out. I could see the lights of our small apartment from the driveway, and I could hear the sound of Khmer sports commentators and the voice of my roommate cheering for the Switzerland soccer team. I tried to call her to let her know I was outside. Nothing. I texted her. Nothing. I called again… only a Cambodian operator. I tried calling my other roommate, but some man who couldn’t speak English answered the phone. I yelled from below during commercial breakes, then finally gave up. The guard at the house, Dara, thought it was hilarious. I kicked off my shoes and tried crawling on top of the big van that was parked below the balcony, but it was impossible. I really thought I was stuck until Dara pulled out a ladder. “Teacher, ladder!” he laughed. All ninety pounds of him held the bottom of the ladder while I climbed, wobbly and shaky, until I ran out of rungs. I pulled myself up to the lower ledge of the balcony, which was packed with dirt and moss, and I jumped the rail between two potted palms and knocked on the door. So funny. My roomie was scared by my surprise visit from our safe and secure upper patio, but I made it inside with enough time to kill three cockroaches in the kitchen and make some caramel tea. This morning I got to school and someone brought a small bag of roasted crickets… everyone asked me if I had eaten breakfast. The director said the big green grasshoppers tasted better, but these were not bad. Well, in that case. I can’t compare, of course, but crickets really aren’t bad. ONE. I think I was picking the legs out of my teeth during class, which is pretty gross.

Weddings

2010-06-08T08:35:00.001-07:00

I really believe weddings are such a rich cultural experience. I have now been to three, though I can only tell you the name of one bride. At the first one I committed the offense of wearing a black and white dress. I was quickly and repeatedly informed that these colors were reserved for funerals. I learned my lesson and was more appropriately dressed for the second one. This took place in the province, and was probably the best experience. I traveled to the country with four of the teachers at the school, and they were really excited to feed me a breakfast of spiders and lotus nuts on the way. I knew we had arrived when I spotted the large pink and yellow striped tent. Almost every wedding is held in the same kind of tent, and they are set up anywhere they can find space… dirt lots, gas stations, the middle of the street. This one was in front of their house, covering tables, chairs, and a wall of about eighteen speakers. I recently learned that the music is not necessarily for the enjoyment of the wedding party and guests, but to announce to everyone within a ten kilometer radius that there is a wedding celebration. While everyone else endures ruptured eardrums. The bride was the sister of a teacher at the school, so we had VIP access to the house, which was nice. We climbed the stairs, changed our clothes, and ate fruit in a cozy little circle on the floor. I loved it. I was only there for a few seconds when my friend grabbed me and pointed to the pink envelope I brought. It was a gift for the bride and groom, though I didn’t know the appropriate time or place to present it. Well, now. She took me by the hand and led me through the back of the tent. The bride and groom were seated on the floor of a stage, the wedding party arranged beautifully behind them. Khmer music was blaring, and there was a constant rhythm of drums. My friend gave me instructions in Khmer and left me in a small line to the right of the stage, nudging me forward as she turned back to the house. There were many guests seated in front of the couple, and a photographer was snapping pictures as people presented their gifts. I panicked. I hadn’t seen this before, didn’t even know the names of the bride and groom, and suddenly I was at the front of the line. Some girl took pity on me, and led me to the stage. We knelt before the couple, and I imitated the girl’s actions, lifting pressed palms in front of my face after setting my folded envelope on the silk pillow. I was suppressing laughter, my natural reaction to uncomfortable situations. I realized, while I was posed on the stage, that I had forgotten to take off my shoes. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at every foot… shoeless. I’m sure I was only there for about 30 seconds, but it felt like a good twenty minutes. I searched for a familiar face or SOMEONE who would give me direction. Everyone just sat there with pasted smiles. So I got up escorted my size twelve sandals out of the tent, sweating bullets.
The third wedding presented an opportunity to sport my new Khmer attire. It was a long process to get things straight, but it was a hit among the teaching staff. A teacher’s wife is a tailor, so she was at the school one day to take orders. All of the women were flipping through magazines, cooing over the latest fashions. They all looked the same to me, and we concurred that the sheets of fabric would only make it to the middle of my shin anyway. I therefore decided to get a skirt with strips of traditional fabric sewn together – Khmer style with a twist. I selected four colors of fabric and hoped for the best. Well, it was my good fortune to have four different skirts made – one from each kind of fabric. I laughed, but said thank you, appreciating my many options. One of the teachers knew this was not the right idea, so demanded that I hand them back for correction and told the woman they were too big for me anyway. A week later, the skirt came back. Yes, it was very colorful and very tight and I was informed that the fabric I selected was ragged. I looked like a mermaid, and was afraid that if I sat down or bent over, the whole thing would burst into polyester and silk confetti. So it went back again for adjustments. The third time was a success, but then had the challenge of finding a top to work with an earth tone rainbow. I embraced the white puffy sleeves and ruffles and called it a match. Oh so Khmer. I decided to forego the hair and make-up and fake eyelashes, but I felt more culturally sensitive with my circus tent and big white bow.

Decisions

2010-06-07T02:44:00.000-07:00

I have never been good at making decisions. My brother and I used to spend an hour in the candy aisle at Rice’s Mini-Mart deciding how to spend our fifty cents. Now the stakes are higher than ten Jolly Ranchers or a Snickers bar. I‘ve been faced with many “life” decisions. In the process of navigating my way through them, I’ve been exposed to my own character (strengths and flaws), and I’ve been forced to really examine my own beliefs, values, and dreams. Sitting in the middle of another culture has helped me in this process in unexpected ways. I haven’t written much about my personal mental and spiritual wrestling match, (and I will continue refrain from going into the deep trenches of my heart so you aren’t reading a Dear Abby column) but I will say that this experience is teaching me things about myself that I didn’t plan on learning. This is the most significant part of the journey – the fried spiders and bus rides and rainstorms are fun, but the shaping of my mind and heart is really at the core of this experience. That’s the tough stuff, the beautiful stuff, the powerful stuff.
I left for Cambodia with a definite seven month plan and the possibility of extending that commitment if things were working for me and the directors of the school still wanted me around. I assumed (cannot do that …ever, ever, ever) that I would cross that bridge toward the end of the school year, but was faced with the decision about a month after arriving. As a result, I have been wrestling with the idea of committing another year to Cambodia since the end of February. It may not seem like a big deal, but it has been for me. For three months I have been falling asleep and waking up to a mental list of pros and cons. I’ve been contemplating conflicting dreams, and have become so frustrated that I can’t have my cake and eat it too. I want to continue to work in a developing country AND establish deep roots with my family and friends. Obviously both can’t happen simultaneously unless twenty people move to Asia or there is a global shift that propels Cambodia to the coast of Washington (which would be nice because the temperature would drop a good thirty degrees). The most difficult decisions are those without “right” answers. They force me to ask a billion questions. Am I really having an impact here or is this a selfish feel good experience? Will my relationships with the people I love hold up if I am away for an extended period of time? Am I using my talents the right way? I’m wired for this kind of life – it works - but am I being responsible? If I stay, does it mean that I’m signing up for another year in the singles club? Really, I’d rather not be a member anymore. And the big questions – have I given everything I can? Have I learned everything I should? Is my time here finished? I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to say yes.
I’ve been able to examine my motives for making decisions; am I pleasing people? Myself? God? Am I even really listening to His voice? Being part of the Khmer culture has helped me look some things in the eye. This is a culture that likes to look good. They want to save face at all costs, and they are constantly seeking approval. It is most visible to me in my classroom. They will not answer a question unless they are sure they are right. They look up with eyes that long for affirmation. I find myself jumping up and down, yelling, “Just try!” I beg them to be wrong- to feel good about their ideas, regardless of what others think. I plead with them to be more honest, even if it doesn’t look pretty. And recently it hit me square in the face that I can be the exact same way, and I’ve been paralyzed as a result. I can be very independent, but I am also easily swayed by emotions. I worry that my family will feel hurt if I stay. I worry that the teachers will feel neglected if I leave. I still want my parents to approve, my friends to understand, and my brother to agree with my choices. But life doesn’t work that way.
Applause fades quickly. Eventually we’re all left standing alone, looking in the mirror. And that’s kind of scary too. I want to spend myself on something I believe in. I’m learning in a very real way that I have to make decisions I can live with – whether or not they make sense to someone else. Even if others do see the same things, it’s viewed through a different lens. My purpose and perspective may be very different than that of the person standing next to me. Two different minds, two hearts that come alive in different ways. And that’s more than okay – I think it’s necessary. We’ll be used in different ways as a result. I simply have to be okay making decisions that others may not agree with or understand. On a personal level and a spiritual level. So now I need to heed the advice I have been giving to my students. The decisions aren't necessarily easier, but they can be simplified. Before I left, my dad wrote something on a card that I have read over and over. It said, "Keep true to yourself no matter how much advice people are willing to offer." I'm trying to figure out what that means when I'm torn between two worlds. But I'll try.

Mmmmm...

2010-06-02T00:20:00.000-07:00

I lied before. There is still a lot that surprises me. Today I was going out to the kitchen to get some water and talk with the cooks, and for the first time, I was really disgusted by food prep. I get the spiders, I get the random organs in the soup, and I slurp down the brown sqares of blood that jiggle around like jello. I have also eaten pig skin in soup and found it to be pretty tasty. But today I watched one of the women pluck the hairs out of the skin of a pig, which was draped over a basket like a pink baby blanket. It looks very different in lemongrass broth, so I'll probably forget this process by noon tomorrow - I just didn't realize that they bought sheets of hairy skin for lunch. The other day they roasted up some baby frogs. I've had frog legs before, which taste a lot like chicken, but these little guys went down one at a time and had a different flavor. The crunch of a potato chip, but the texture of shrimp. Or frog. It is what it is, I guess.

Today it's raining, and I just want to dance in it. It's light - nothing like the flooded street we rode our bikes through - but enough to cool this place down a little bit. The thunder is rolling and the kids are huddled under small umbrellas and a metal roof between classrooms. All of the cockroaches ran through the window to find cover as well, but I'm accustomed to their company - they are breeding in the corner of our kitchen too. I'm left wondering why they don't throw those guys on the BBQ, but I won't ask. I'm sure I've already unknowingly consumed a couple.

Rice Drive

2010-05-24T03:47:00.000-07:00

On Saturday I was able to join a group of people from our church to deliver rice and food to a very poor community. Their village was at the base of Oudong mountain, about 40 km outside the city of Phnom Penh. The families in this village were in desperate need of food – some hadn’t eaten in several days. As we drove along the red dirt road, men and women started rushing to the delivery point. The children were waving, and rode alongside us on their bicycles. Everything had been arranged in advance, so the people who were registered in the community were given a ticket and were expecting the trucks. When we got out of the cars, we were greeted by about thirty little smiling faces, singing, “Hello!” The children huddled around the visitors, some dancing, some showing off on their rusty bicycles, and some quietly lingering at the back of the mob. The kids were barefoot – some with clothes, some without – and their faces were marred with dirt and sweat. A couple had scabs on their heads and legs. But it was impossible to look at those things very long - I was introduced to some of the most beautiful children I’ve seen. They were excited to meet us and loved taking pictures, so we snapped away. I went over to the lines of people from the village, and sat next to some of the women. They seemed to look hard at first, but revealed warm smiles when I got close to them. I love moments like this… the women always speak to me, and though I don’t know what they are saying, I am able to connect with them for a moment. They waited patiently, squatting on the ground, checkered scarves on their heads or shoulders. We started moving the bags of rice from the truck – each family received a 30 kilo bag of rice (over 60 pounds) and a bag of other food items and water. Some of the bags were placed on the ground, but eventually I was able to carry the rice to their homes, and that was where I was really impacted.
A woman took my hand, and I walked with her. She led me to her small house made of metal sheets and wood. She had a wooden platform inside, which served as her bed and table, and there was a small place for a fire. She turned to me and smiled, then gently tapped her chest, indicating that this area belonged to her. She called to the man in the opposite house. He smiled and came over to us, lightly touching his hand to her arm. He was her husband. Then both of them pointed to one of their neighbors. They shook their hands, indicating that she had not received any food. She was on a wooden flat, making a basket. She looked up and smiled, but did nothing else. I returned to the trucks to get food for her, but the rations were reserved for people with tickets. I tried negotiating, wanting the woman to have something, but found there was nothing I could do. So I returned empty-handed and sat with her for a while, knowing that I could have given so much but wasn’t able to offer anything at that moment. I didn’t like that feeling. A couple people came who could speak Khmer, and I learned that she had to sell her home when her father died, leaving her off the list. She was also responsible for raising a little boy who had lost his parents. Then a woman approached with two eggs. She appeared to be quite old and was very thin. She came to offer her eggs to the woman who didn’t receive anything. A few minutes later, some people came back with bread and a couple cans of milk.
I was moved by such a spirit of community and generosity. They were taking care of each other – giving out of their own poverty. I was also slapped in the face with an unfair reality. And I stepped back for a moment, questioning the reason we do things. Obviously we came to this are because there was a serious need. As we distributed the rice, we took many pictures – some were taken to remember the experience, but I think we can also take them to honor our own efforts in helping the poor. I was taking pictures of people who were sitting in a very desperate place, asking for help. And they were grateful, gracious, and very appreciative, but I realized that sometimes we make ourselves out to be heroes … when the heroes are the people who are fighting to survive despite extremely challenging circumstances and an uncertain future. The real heroes were sharing the very little they had. I was impacted by their actions of love. And I don't mean to imply that we should stop giving our time, energy, money, or love, but I suppose I'm simply seeing it as my responsibility to give what I have without bells or whistles. My responsibility to give on a small scale, without a scheduled Saturday trip or a trip to a third world country.
I valued this experience, but not because I was able to contribute much. All I did was pack a few bags of rice (that someone else purchased). I was really honored to spend some time with new people - people who have maintained a genuine heart of love, humility, and generosity. I hope I was able to offer love in that moment as well, but as usual, I received far more than I was able to give.

Cr-eeepy

2010-05-24T02:30:00.000-07:00

Worse things have happened to people – even to my friends here – but a couple recent events reminded me that I can’t get too comfortable. Cambodia is a safe place, but like anywhere in the world, danger exists. Sometimes I forget. I think I grew up in the safest town on the planet; wild animals were a greater threat than any person. I tend to carry that mentality with me, which is good because I don’t live every day in fear… but it’s not entirely realistic. (So to all my moms - I'll be more careful).
Most people in the city try to be inside by nine o’clock at night, just to be safe. The majority of my girlfriends have self-imposed eight o’clock curfews if they're alone. Well, I thought I could outrun anybody that looked scary, and that nobody would mess with a six-footer. Not so. After dinner with some friends I was riding back home along a pretty dark street. I only had to travel a few blocks, so I wasn’t worried. As I was pedaling, I heard a motorcycle slow down behind me. I clutched my bag with my right arm, knowing that sometimes moto drivers snatch purses. Instead of reaching for my bag, the driver put his hand on my leg, letting it run from my hip to my knee. It was a scary feeling – I just kind of froze, then screamed, “no… No, NO!” He looked me dead in the eye and smiled, then veered to the left at the cross street. A surge of panic hit me, but I was fine. Nothing else happened, and I was half a block from our villa. It was a scary moment, though. I felt paralyzed, and I was frustrated that I didn’t have control of the situation. It was a good reminder that I am human, that I don’t have power over the decisions other people make, and that some people are just kind of creepy.
Which leads me to the next odd experience. I’ve been staying with a friend for the week because her roommates are in the states on leave. We were working out on the roof outside her apartment - a little boot camp with Billy Blanks. About fifteen minutes into it, while we were doing some ridiculous leg kick, I noticed a guy sitting on the ledge of the house next door, about ten meters from us. The lot is vacant and dark – no idea why he was there – but he didn’t move, except to swing his legs over the edge of the roof. It would have been an easy jump to the base of our lot, even with the spiraled wire donned with razor blades in place. I don’t blame the guy’s curiosity – I’m sure he had never seen two white girls jumping around on the roof to the sound of a drill sergeant. There are also different cultural norms regarding personal space here… but it was still uncomfortable. So my friend went down and asked the guard to talk to him. I think he left, but I kept eyeing the water heater on top of the house just to make sure he wasn’t hanging out in the shadows. We walked down the steps afterward, discussing the possibilities of a man leaping across the roof – like a Matt Damon movie set in Morocco. Imaginations can make things much worse. But still creepy.

Ode to Sweat

2010-05-18T21:23:00.000-07:00

I marvel at how people here can roam around with jeans and long sleeves and act like they are comfortable. When you get closer, it becomes clear that everyone is sweating. Beads of moisture are sitting on every forehead (I still have everyone beat, hands down – I have full on streams of sweat)… and comfort is relative. I think people just give up on the idea of dressing appropriately for the climate and sweat out their fashion statement. Go ahead and try to conserve energy. Test out that dinky paper fan. Invest in dri-fit. You'll still sweat. So it makes me think of Dr.Seuss... and I’m going to try my hand at poetry:
I will sweat in cowboy boots
In aqua socks or strappy shoes
I will sweat in shorty shorts
In linens, cottons, mesh, or courds
During church and at the school,
Water’s so hot, sweat in the pool.
I sweat in tanks, pajamas, skirts
Pit stains dominate all my shirts.
I sweat if I sit, I sweat if I stand
Doesn’t matter if I crank the fan
Typing alone – only fingers move
Sweat in every single groove.
Try to wear a lightweight tee,
But your only hope is to find A/C
So wear your jeans, your wool socks too
Either way, it'll get the best of you
Embrace the glow, love the stain
Calories don’t melt without some pain!

Goldstone Boot Camp

2010-05-16T01:55:00.001-07:00

There’s no way to capture this moment in writing, but it was priceless. The ninth grade English curriculum touched on health and fitness, so I told the kids to wear their workout clothes the next day. The girls wear long navy blue skirts and white blouses daily, so breaking out of their uniform was exciting for them to begin with. I didn’t realize just how exhilarating a short aerobics class would be. A friend of mine came to help out, and because the girls were too embarrassed to exercise in front of the boys, we split them into two groups. We stood the benches upright against the classroom walls and turned our cramped little space into a miniature fitness center. First, I demonstrated how to do jumping jacks. They all started giggling – I never know why they’re laughing, so I’m accustomed to carrying on while they laugh. But I realized they weren’t laughing because I looked like a bouncing idiot (well, not entirely) – they were laughing because they had never seen this done before. I cranked some music through two small speakers, and they tried out their new move. They started jumping tentatively at first, slapping their hands together – then they sped up, awkwardly flailing and squealing like kids at a carnival. They were absolutely ecstatic doing the most basic PE warm-up. They were smiling and laughing and having so much FUN. Their laughter was contagious . Most looked like they were going to pass out after thirty seconds, breathing like they sprinted a lap around the track. Next came wall sits, and we finished with push-ups. They kind of looked like push-ups. Each new exercise brought the same excitement, and the boys had the same response…literally screaming with joy (and maybe a new kind of pain – squats just can’t be THAT fun). Their shirts were pasted to their backs with sweat (really, I sweat when I blink … working out in this hot, humid mess is crazy). I didn’t expect this kind of reaction during routine calisthenics –days like this are so great. And I learned quickly that even though not a single kid is overweight, they need more exercise.

Don't See That Every Day...

2010-05-11T22:28:00.002-07:00

Yeah, yeah I do. I wish I had a camera in my pocket all the time, because these everyday occurences are still pretty funny. The other day I saw a monk smoking a cigarette… can they do that? They kick it at the mall with their cell phones, and pile on the back of motos. I see everything on motos (I know I talk about this a lot, but it really is hilarious) – I saw two guys carting a full size mattress a while back and wondered why I bothered renting a Uhaul the last time I moved, when I had a fully functioning ten speed. In fact, I’ve become so comfortable on the back of motorcycles myself that now I eat breakfast while we roll down the street. I jump on the back with my coffee and a cup of yogurt. The other day a guy came to the school to cut down dead palm branches with a big ol machete. He scurried up the tree in a matter of seconds, and soon coconuts were falling from the sky. Everyone celebrated by lopping the tops off and punching straws through the meat to get to the juice. I wasn’t finished with mine by the time I had to leave, so I was drinking from an enormous green coconut, swerving through traffic on the back of a beat up Honda. I also used to think it was funny when bunnies ran through the door of my classroom or birds flew in from the vents in the wall, but they have become frequent visitors. There’s also a constant stench of burning garbage, insense, and raw chicken in the room until lunch. Every day a man walks through the gate of the school with a giant block of ice on his shoulder – about a meter long, no plastic. They crush it in a pillowcase with a club and throw it in a cooler for the day. I still laugh at stuff all the time, but very little surprises me.

Stories from the Past

2010-05-11T22:28:00.001-07:00

I didn’t know much about the dark past of Cambodia before coming here. I watched The Killing Fields before I left the states so I had some idea what their recent history was like, but it was nothing I had studied in school or researched for any purpose. Honestly, I don’t know if it would have meant much to me if I had, but now it does. The events that took place during the time of the Khmer Rouge are still very much alive in the minds of the people here; I haven’t met a single person from Cambodia who was not impacted in some way. As my relationships grow stronger and more trust is established, I’m hearing the true stories from people who lived it – the personal reflections of a real nightmare. I can’t even begin to understand, but I’ve been able to listen.

They begin to reflect as something stirs a memory. The other day it rained, and one of the teachers started to share. She spoke as candidly as I would if I were talking about jumping in puddles… but her story wasn’t lighthearted. It wasn’t a good memory. She was young during the time of Pol Pot – about five years old – but she was still expected to work. She ate next to nothing – a spoon of rice in the morning and a spoon in the afternoon. Her responsibility was to dig up buried human waste and mix it with the soil. She would shovel it into large baskets. The stronger people would bear two baskets with a stick across their shoulder, one in front and one behind. She was young, however, and could only manage one, which she carried on her head. They would walk the baskets of waste and dirt to the rice fields, where it was used as fertilizer. As the rain came down, the contents of the basket would drip down her face and body. She said it felt like it never stopped raining, and she didn’t dare stop working.

There are so many stories. One man shared at church the other day that he was found under a tree by a compassionate woman who took him home and raised him in her village. Another teacher at the school was left alone at two years old, only to be taken care of by her six-year old sister for months. They ate bugs from the ground and hid in caves on the banks of the river when they were scared. A man I have become good friends with was completely alone when his father died. He had to burn his father’s body by himself – nobody to help him, nobody to stand with him.

These people, my friends, are so resilient. They smile and love and laugh again as quickly as they can. But they don’t forget. And as a result, they don’t take their lives for granted. They are the most appreciative people I have ever met. I’m constantly inspired by their strength and their gratitude. It has helped me to see how blessed I am – I have been protected from war, from poverty and a lot of pain. I don’t know why, but I’m grateful for the safe, loving world I have experienced.

Tour de Cambodia

2010-05-06T00:06:00.000-07:00

Khmer New Year was the third “new year” Cambodia celebrated, following the International New Year and Chinese New Year. I didn’t know much about the actual holiday or which calendar I was supposed to be following, but I did learn (only a couple days before everyone abandoned Phnom Penh) that I had a week of vacation to see as much of this country as possible. All of the Khmer people living in the city travel to their homelands in the province to visit family during this time. It was a special time for them, which made it a special time for me. I didn’t have much of a plan for the week, but I knew people who did, so I rode their coattails to Seim Reap and Sihanoukville. Two different friends, two different itineraries, and two cities in opposite parts of Cambodia. As a result, I spent more time on the Mekong Express than I did at any particular destination, but it was worth the travel time and the leg crunch that comes with being six feet tall in a five foot world.
The first leg of my journey started early Monday morning. I hadn’t even confirmed plans with my new friend, but I packed my bags, hoping she would be waiting with my ticket. I hopped on the back of a moto-taxi – my big purple backpack strapped to my shoulders, my messenger bag wedged between the legs of the driver, a plastic map in my left hand, and the rest of my coffee in a melting plastic cup in my right. If Cambodians can pack six people, two live chickens and a fifty pound bag of rice on a motorcycle, I can manage to travel this way too. We drove to the bus stop, where I met my friend and another traveling companion. We laughed at the idea that three people, all strangers really, would be spending three days together. It seems to be a common story here. We boarded the bus, and I spent the next six hours wishing I could shave five inches off of my femur.

The road to Seim Reap goes through the heart of Cambodia - in more ways than one. Not only did we travel through the center of the country geographically, we also wound through villages of multiple provinces, allowing us to get a very real look at the lives of the people living here. The majority of the Cambodian people live in rural areas, and most are extremely poor. Many rely on the support of relatives who have moved to the city – and though Phnom Penh is not a wealthy city, the people living and working there are rich by comparison. The houses in the province are very simple, just one room shared by generations. Many homes are perched on stilts to avoid the flooding that occurs during wet season. The roofs and walls are thatched, and the boarded floors still offer a view of the ground. Huge cauldrons collect their only source of water, a precious resource, especially now. We are in the thick of hot season – and that label is no joke. It’s hot. Everyone slows down a little as the sun snatches every electrolyte and drop of hydration. From the window, I could see people clinging to paper fans, spread out flat on their backs, trying to conserve as much energy as possible. The road was lined with small tables set up to display fruits and vegetables, spiders, coconuts and lotus seeds. Men and women waited all day for someone to pull over and purchase their goods, like kids at a lemonade stand. Palm trees created a canopy above the rivers and sections of the road, and fields sprawled across most of the land. Everything is so dry right now – the people, the cows and even the ground look thirsty.

That being said, once we arrived in Seim Reap and spoke with the owner of our guest house, we learned that April is, in fact, the worst time to visit – apparently rain forests don’t have the same wild, green, mystical look when there’s no rain. No matter. We were there, and we were determined to see the temples. We climbed one of the temples in time to see sunset, which was gorgeous. We were in good company, as about five thousand people had the same plan. The next day was full of temple crawling as well. Our goal was to see the sunrise as well, so we woke up around five o’clock in the morning. We spent too much time talking with our Australian guesthouse owner and his two birds and missed the first glimpse of the sun, but we were still the first people to arrive at Bayon Temple - a very cool experience. The three of us climbed around the huge stones and stared down the faces that looked us in the eye. It was absolutely silent except for the sounds of distant monkeys, geckos and birds. I felt like an archaeologist … and a little like Indiana Jones. I was kind of expecting a guy with a machete to jump out of a cavern. It was both serene and eerie. The moment of exploration ended quickly as people piled out of tour buses and the temples turned into a Disneyland attraction, and the rest of the day was just plain hot. By the time we made it to Angkor Wat –the pinnacle, the center of the park, the reason people travel to Cambodia - my brain was milk toast and my shirt resembled a locker room towel. So we took some pictures then found a pool. I have promised not to complain about the heat too much, but it had to have been over a hundred degrees most days - I don’t know what the humidity index was either, but the sweat on my shirt indicated that it was about 120%. My only statement: I hate the equator.
The second leg of my trip was refreshing. After another ten hours on a bus, I landed on the beach at Sihanoukville. I had been there already on a field trip, but making sure seventy-five kids don’t drown is not relaxing. This time I was able to order about fifteen coconut shakes (they were cheaper than bottles of water) and eat fresh barracuda. I think Jimmy Buffet would dig this place. The first day, we just lounged. Didn’t think, didn’t even move much – except to the neighboring restaurant for a plate of chips and salsa. By the next day, my friend and I were restless, and it was overcast (which was pretty nice), so we decided to play. We rented a moto from the hotel, and I became motodope driver for the day. I did a couple laps around the block before adding another person to the equation, but she trusted me for some reason and jumped on the back. We lurched down the road, and I had to keep my head on a swivel so I didn’t collide with a cow, another moto, or a tuk tuk going upstream. We stopped on the side of the road to fuel up – which means that we bought an old 1.5 liter Pepsi bottle filled with yellow fluid – and headed toward the beach. Parts of the road were washed out, and pot holes dotted the concrete, but my rides with Cruger prepared me well. We went kayaking for the afternoon - I was so happy just to be on the water and see some mountains in the distance. I loved spending time with Beate - we sat in the water eating fried rice, trying to figure out why life is so weird. Those are my favorite moments... pondering and wondering without finding any real answers. Then the next morning she rented a sailboat and taught me the ropes. It was great, but the idea of sailing in the Gulf of Thailand is a bit more romantic than it actually was – high temperatures, a rolling sea and a belly full of coffee and condensed milk is not a good combination. I was about two waves from throwing up in the beautiful Gulf of Thailand. I bailed from the boat about a hundred meters from shore and swam to solid ground. I don’t know why I subject myself to the ocean over and over again. I tried to eat squid salad afterward to cap off my week (ordered chicken salad… lost in translation or Cambodian prank?). The man driving the van back to the city kept waving his hand in front of his face and gave me dirty looks while my group of new friends tried to act like they didn’t mind the smell of my lunch. Not the best way to make friends. Seasick, cramped, and sweating, it was so nice to get out of Phnom Penh for a while, and have a few new adventures.

Other Changes...

2010-04-21T23:31:00.000-07:00

I was writing about changes, and I must say that even though my hair has adapted, the rest of my body isn’t faring as well. It’s not because I don’t work well with the culture – in fact, it may be too comfortable. Three things about Cambodia: they don’t plan, they are always late, and they love to eat… the description in my personal ad. Every tendency I should probably change is totally accepted here. The people love that I eat all of their food with enthusiasm, and it really is delicious. But consider the daily diet: bread or rice and egg for breakfast, coffee with sweetened condensed milk (a LOT of it), rice and (something) for lunch, mango for snack, rice or noodles and meat for dinner. Sugar, added sugar, sugar disguised as healthy grain, natural sugar, and salty meat. I can’t eat anything with flour in it, so that helps my cause, but I have definitely thrown out plenty of empty sweet milk cans. I’m pretty sure I have tripled my chances of diabetes. Long story short, I got on the back of my friend’s moto, and as he swerved to gain balance, asked how much I weighed. In my defense, he barely breaks a hundred pounds. I hadn’t even considered stepping on a scale at that point, because I was certain that the equator would melt off any extra weight that was hanging on. I don’t need to go into details, but I was inspired to check out the prices of a local gym.

I would like to inform you that I am now an honorary member of Muscle Fitness, which resembles the weight room at Selkirk, or maybe Average Joe’s (Dodgeball). It’s so great. I bought a coupon book – twelve visits for twenty dollars. There aren’t many foreigners at this place, which I like, and they have all of the necessary equipment… except the big blue jumping machine (has anyone seen a contraption like that outside of Ranger territory?) There are two ellipticals, but I only allow myself to use one – the other is held together with pieces of masking tape, and there’s a sign in front of it that reads, “If a guest breaks the machine, a guest must be responsible to paying for machine.” I don’t want to be either guest. The people of Cambodia have been celebrating Khmer New Year, so many businesses and homes have prepared gifts for the monks, which include fruit, biscuits, drinks, flowers, and burning inscence. (I didn’t understand the system, so almost swiped an apple and a Diet Coke from the table in front of our hotel.) The gym embraces this practice, and there’s an extra shrine in the corner for good measure, so as I gasped for air during my mock run on the duct taped treadmill, I inhaled the drift of burning sticks. Workouts are kind of deceiving here, too – it only takes about forty-five seconds to work up a good sweat, so I feel entirely too productive in eight minutes. It looks like I completed a marathon, but I really only made it four and a half blocks. Exhausting.

Another real problem is the combination of age and concrete – both of which are attacking my back. I know I’m not that old, but I have not been kind to my discs. I tried playing a pick-up game with some Chinese exchange students at a nearby college. I showed up with my team - three women, ages 30-50 – and we joined a gang of twenty year-old guys. I don’t know how it worked, but it did. Hilarious. They ran circles around me, and I shot 15-foot jumpers. Then I tried to play defense and broke in half. A week later, I thought I was good to go again, so played volleyball in the school driveway. It’s the best way to hang out with the other teachers – we laugh at each other and pound the ball into the base of the palm trees. But I keep trying to play in my new fancy black sandals, which have the same support as a piece of cardboard. Every time I land on the slab of rock, I can feel every vertebrae fuse together momentarily.
I tried to work out the spasms with a traditional Khmer massage, but there was nothing relaxing about that – in fact I think it probably snapped a couple important tendons. This small, unassuming woman walked in, and I had no idea how much strength she possessed. She was easily half my size, but that didn’t stop her from lifting my entire body off the ground. I was involuntarily thrown into a blind karate match – she was kicking my calves and dropping her elbow into my back like a trained ninja. At one point my legs were thrown into the wall behind my head, and I stopped to thank God for long limbs, because they certainly would have hit the crown of my head otherwise. At one point I was laughing so hard that I lost the ability to sit up, and Stone Cold did too. We both fell over giggling, trying not to disrupt the serenity. My friend was next to me, and kept saying, “what’s wrong with you?” She was accustomed to this form of torture and somehow found it enjoyable.
So that’s the update on the flipside. Still trying to find balance.

"Changes" Revision

2010-04-19T06:29:00.000-07:00

I think this is so funny - today, the same day I went on and on about the magical moments with the teachers and how much we were all enjoying our time together, they totally boycotted English class to play volleyball. "Today cancel study?"

Changes

2010-04-19T01:31:00.000-07:00

The last couple of weeks have offered a more flexible schedule, as the students have had a short break. More time has allowed for some new experiences (I’ll write more about Happy Khmer New Year and Tour de Cambodia on the Mekong Express later) and the absence of kids has given me more time with the teachers at the school and in their… salons.

We were able to conduct English classes daily, and I was also able to work with the teachers – not formal “teacher training,” but a series of guided discussions and attempts to come up with solutions for existing problems. What a valuable experience – certainly an opportunity for mutual growth. It was so interesting to learn how the teachers approach discipline, classroom management, and instruction. It was important, yet challenging, for me to understand their way of thinking and to work forward from their perspectives. I knew I couldn’t simply tell them what to do differently, because they wouldn’t have taken any ownership.. and who am I to try to assume that power anyway? There were so many questions for me as the person leading the training – I’ve seen different systems, policies, programs and strategies, but does it mean that they would work in this environment and culture? Does it mean that they are the best solutions for this school, this staff, these kids? I also realized that introducing a new idea is easy, but getting a group of people to understand it the same way and put it into practice is entirely different. I guess it’s like any change - it has to mean something to the individual or it's not worth the discomfort, the struggle. I understand that exercise is important, but it doesn’t make dragging my body out of bed at 5:30 AM to go for a run any easier (so I don’t, for the record). Change is difficult. And working through this process in two languages is very difficult.
The great thing is that the teachers here are excited to learn – they want to have better relationships with the students, and they want to use different forms of discipline… that aren’t modeled after nuns in the 1970’s. They really love the students and have so much hope for their future success; as a result, they feel a great deal of pressure and responsibility. They shared their frustrations and failures – something I avoid doing if at all possible in order to save face, and something that hasn't been communicated until now. I could relate in so many ways, and shared some of my own fears as a teacher. I don't like doing that either, but there we were, getting open. I asked them to think beyond what they were currently doing - to consider other possibilities, and they said they couldn't. We reached a new level of honesty, and then they were looking to me for answers. That's not the role I wanted, so I told them I didn’t have all the answers, but I wanted to work on finding them together. I really don't have the answers - I'm not an administrator, and I've only been part of this system for three monthes. It was humbling and a little scary, but it’s exciting to see change, however small.

There have been changes outside of work as well. The women at school kept mentioning my need for a new look – everyone here has long, straight hair, and I don’t think they thought my messy, frizzy mop was aesthetically pleasing. I was wondering what to do myself… as the humidity increased, so did the volume of every wild strand. It was looking a little medusa-ish . So I thought, “When in Rome!” Lily, my colleague and fashion consultant, took me to a beauty salon down the street from the school to permanently straighten my hair. A reverse perm? The experience was a lot like filming the Asian version of Steel Magnolias for half the day. I didn’t know why it would take so long when I was told to block out my morning and afternoon, but this extended schedule included negotiations with the street vendors, a quick run to the market and a break for fish and rice. The shop had pink lace curtains and pictures of Cambodian royalty framed in gold. The smell of chemicals knocked me over. The normal gossip with the hairdresser was going on around me, but of course all I could do was smile awkwardly for seven hours and apologize for not understanding instructions to tilt my head. Of course they were talking about me, but they just smiled back. I was not to wash or bind my hair for three days – which in this climate is true torture. By day three it looked like I swapped mousse with bacon grease. It was worth it, though. The teachers and students are now happy with my appearance. Over and over they said, “Today you are beautiful.” I’m going to pretend that comment didn’t imply that I have been ugly for the first three months of my stay. Either way, despite my height and "strong" build, I feel more Cambodian already.

Extended Family

2010-04-04T20:31:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago I had one of the best evenings. I have fallen in love with a family here – the father is a guard at our house, the mother is a cook at our school, and the son is an eighth grade student at Goldstone. Their love for one another is evident, and they have extended their hearts to me. They have become good friends of mine – all three – and we have kind adopted each other. The woman is beautiful and has such a tender heart. She is gentle, soft-spoken, and kind, and she has the power to make me the same way when I’m with her. I love it and wish it would stick. Her husband is also very soft-hearted, but he is a strong man. He is very eager to learn, always asking questions and digging for answers. He laughs with his eyes, and he lights up when he tells stories. Their son is great – he likes hunting scorpions and reads every ghost story he can get his hands on.
I wanted to make dinner, so they joined me at our villa on a Sunday night. I was hoping to prepare everything so they wouldn’t have to work, but the mother refused to let me work alone. This was a good thing, because as she “helped”, I became her apprentice in the kitchen. I was making pork-stuffed tomatoes with cilantro, potatoes with onions, and a zucchini-red pepper medley (would that sound good on a menu?) - and mango for dessert… every day. Turns out I have been cooking these tomatoes with pork the wrong way for the last six weeks and likely have some form of bacteria from raw pig, but never mind. Chivey gently took the bowl from my hands and worked her magic over the stove. We say very few words when we’re together, but somehow we connect beautifully. She showed me how to place the bowl in a boiling pot and steam the meat. Then she took a knife and modeled the best way to cut a mango, the blade running just under the skin. She really was an artist. I know she was laughing as I chopped away at the other vegetables, sweating like a mad cow. Chunks of garlic and onion were flying through the air, and olive oil splashed onto the kitchen floor. There couldn’t have been enough fans on me during this process. In end, it was edible, and the mango – as always – was sweet.
The conversation during dinner was inspiring -this is such a strong family unit. In Cambodia, the majority of marriages are still arranged. That was also the case fifteen years ago, of course, but this couple refused. Chivey’s parents had arranged a marriage with a wealthy, educated man in Canada. Not only did she have the opportunity to go to a different country, but she would have been able to study at a university. She would not go – she was in love with Seanghai. He didn’t have money, he wasn’t educated, and he wouldn’t leave Cambodia, but she loved him. So they started their lives with nothing but each other. I was swooning, loving the romance of their story.
A few years later, they had their son, and Seanghai was given the opportunity to work for an aunt in Canada – he could work as a cook in a restaurant and possibly bring Chivey and their son over a few years later. This would allow them to make more money, but again, they turned down the offer – they said life would not be worthwhile if they didn’t have each other. The only thing that mattered was being together. They believe that. They live a simple life, but it’s more than enough for them. They show so much appreciation and gratitude for what they have. They were even grateful for my charred vegetables and soggy potatoes.
I’m so excited to spend more time with them. They have invited me to spend a day with them this week. I’m going to the market with Chivey, then she is going to take me to their home. She will teach me how to cook some traditional Khmer foods, and Seanghai is going to show me their land. I’m eager to learn more about their lives. I’m happy to be living here instead of passing through on a tour bus – I’m realizing how much time it takes to establish trust and build relationships like this.

Invisible

2010-04-01T00:56:00.000-07:00

I watched a movie the other night called "Invictus" – you may have seen it. It is a powerful story, a true story, about Nelson Mandela and his vision for the national rugby team and his country as a whole. Together, Mandela and the success of the team changed South Africa, transforming a broken, divided nation. It really was inspiring. There was one line in particular that stood out to me: during an interaction between the captain of the rugby team (Matt Damon) and one of Mandela’s bodyguards, Damon asks what Nelson Mandela is like. The bodyguard said something like this: “Our last president wanted me to remain invisible. To him (Mandela), no one is invisible.”
I’ve been thinking about that line a lot, and more specifically, how I can adopt that characteristic – to really recognize every person I meet and make them feel valuable. That’s hard, though, right? We’re such selfish critters. And as I observe this country, I am completely overwhelmed by the needs that exist. There are so many people living in poverty here - and there’s not just a lack of money or food, but a lack of love. Children are in the streets cleaning the windshields of cars with feather dusters. They are selling newspapers and flowers and bracelets, standing at windows with open palms, pointing to their mouths. In addition to the deprivation of basic needs like food, clean water, and adequate shelter, they are not being loved and nurtured, and most of them are not even recognized by the stone faces on the other side of the glass. Sometimes that is me. The other day I was talking with my friend along the riverside – we were trying to have a serious conversation while we ate on the rail of the walkway, but person after person continued to approach us, begging for money. We ignored them, trying to carry on a normal discussion. I hated it. I ignored human beings who were five inches from me. I made them invisible. Some of them were deceitful, but that’s not the point. There’s a reason they are asking – real people with real needs are in a position to ask for something.
I look at ways to really make a difference here, or anywhere for that matter, and sometimes it seems too big. Every day I'm faced with the decision – do I give something or do I ignore the person in front of me? Should I stop or should I keep walking? I try to justify moving on - I can give money to the children in the streets, which they might keep, but most likely it will go to someone with more power. I can give them food so they don’t go hungry for a night, but I can’t take a little girl out of her circumstances by giving her an apple. Rather than looking at what I can’t control, however, I have to start thinking about what I can do at the moment. Whether or not I have something in my pocket, I can look every person in the eye. I can grab a hand or smile. I need that from people, so others must too. I know the kids at the school need it – I know every child I’ve had in a classroom has needed that.
I'm always crossing paths with someone – I don’t know why, but there we are, sitting on the same corner. Most of the time it’s not even about me helping someone. The question isn’t really whether or not the money or the apple will cure their hunger or sickness – because it won’t. Not really. It's not a solution. I think the question is whether or not I’m willing to give something I have to someone who has a need. I think these situations are opportunities to allow someone else – a total stranger or a good friend – to affect my heart. And hopefully, in that moment they will feel loved in some way.
It reminds me of a song I've been listening to... I think the chorus is written like a prayer:
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity

Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see
(Brandon Heath)

Simple Lessons

2010-04-01T00:04:00.000-07:00

#1 - If it feels like an insect is taking a chunk of your skin, it is. Hit it.

#2 - If you are eating curry and something looks like tongue... and feels like tongue... it is. Eat it??

#3 - If it looks like a dead rat, a cockroach, or a gecko, it is. Don't step on it. Or eat off the counters.

#4 - If ants are on the outside of the can of sweet milk, they are on the inside too. And at the bottom of your coffee cup. And in your stomach. Too late, already drank it.

#5 - Fans blow air. Four fans blow air from every direction. They will always, always, always blow your stack of papers across the classroom. The first month, second and third. This will not change until you learn that putting something heavy on the stack will solve the problem. If you don't learn this lesson, 52-card pick-up will be the greatest source of frustration in your life.

Teacher Moments

2010-03-28T00:20:00.000-07:00

Teachers know the moments – the times in a classroom or small group when everything comes together. The kids have eager looks on their faces, they ask questions, their eyes are big, and they show emotion, connection, and excitement for learning. They even want to learn more. Isn’t that beautiful? These moments are rare, but they make every warning, correction, reminder, repetition and deep breath worthwhile.
The first was unexpected. I took a chance on getting some of the ninth graders interested in literature and asked some of the more fluent students if they would like to start a book club during their lunch hour. I wanted them to engage in deeper academic discussions that would expand their vocabulary and challenge them to express their thoughts on a variety of ideas and topics; social issues, history, etc. I thought it would be good to use historical fiction to open the door to different levels of thinking, so I suggested Number the Stars. This book was written at a fifth grade reading level, but it incorporates information about the Resistance efforts of World War II - so they were in. I wish I could have captured our first discussion on video to play for my college professors. They would have been elated. These students made connections between World War II and the Khmer Rouge that I couldn’t have made on my own, which was exciting to witness as an educator... but equally sobering, as they pulled from the real stories of their parents and grandparents. These kids have grown up hearing about the harsh reality of Pol Pot and the Killing Fields. Their own aunts and uncles and grandparents were lost during that time. They didn’t experience it themselves, but they are only one generation away from an extremely devastating period of history, and today they are living in a nation that is still desperately trying to recover.
They compared the stories of their own relatives with the treatment of the Jewish population. They questioned whether or not it was okay for the Danish people fight back in violent ways. They wondered how one person could gain so much power, and they identified the possible motives for such evil behavior. A student ran to find a globe so we could compare the size of Denmark to the size of Germany, then concluded that because Germany was larger, they must have had more soldiers and a stronger military. Now I’m no historian, and I don’t know as many facts as I should, but I was fascinated by the depth of these ideas … that were being expressed in their second language. The English scores are not high at our school, but this showed me how important it is to provide opportunities for students to demonstrate their knowledge in different ways - they may have used the wrong verbe tense, but they shared powerful ideas and asked big questions.
The second big moment was a little big lighter, and it had me smiling all night. The founders of the school and donors visited this week, which was a very special time for the students and staff. We wanted to express our gratitude…so we did so in song during a midweek church service. I tried to convince the students to let me accompany them with my harmonica, but I was shot down. The song of choice: Lean on Me. Classic. I sang that song for three weeks straight – three class periods every day, in my sleep, when I woke up, in the tuk tuk. Getting sixty-two kids to sing a song, or even a single note, in a unified fashion is no small chore. So we practiced, and the students loved it. They got the clapping and the steps down, and it turned into a legitimate Sister Act routine. We designated a boy to take over my role as conductor (to be honest, I had a hard time giving up control)… and he rocked it. He was so animated - he had rhythm and a whole lot of presence in that small body. He led the choir like a little Mozart. I wish you could have seen the nerves and the smiles. I don’t know what it’s like to be a mom, but when they sang for the church, founders and donors, I felt so proud. More importantly, it was obvious that they felt proud. Each student stepped off the stage looking like he or she had won an Oscar. That's what we hope for, right? We want to create opportunities for kids and empower them to do something they feel great about.

Family

2010-03-27T07:56:00.000-07:00

The school is starting to feel like home now. I don’t know when things started to seem so comfortable, but today I just stopped and smiled, realizing that I was part of an extended family. Of course, I’m the oddball adopted cousin - the black sheep in the sitcom who offers a little comic relief just by being different. A few events really helped me feel more connected to the other teachers, and time, as usual, has changed the dynamic of relationships. A few weeks ago, Cambodia celebrated International Women’s Day, and most of the staff came to the school on our day off and feasted. I showed up early to help prepare the food (I was more like a little kid who wants to help bake cookies... they appreciated my desire to help, but I was really in the way). I tried to mash garlic with an ancient stone bowl and pounder (don’t know the names of tools – sorry Julia Childs), but I was demoted fairly quickly and ended up with a job more suitable for my skill set and experience: slicing watermelon and waving off flies. About twenty teachers were there, and we sat together at a long picnic table, cooking meat and vegetables in the hot pot and lifting our glasses every couple minutes. It was so much fun – we laughed a lot, and as much as I love the students, it was nice to have some time with the teachers.
Another great thing has been the addition of another class. I figured that if the school was really going to grow in overall English proficiency, the teachers needed some time to develop the language as well. They were excited about the opportunity to have English lessons, so I made fourteen copies of a book (no copyright laws) and we got started. It’s really a win-win situation: they practice English, and I make them hang out with me for four extra hours every week. I don’t think I’m technically bribing them to be my friends, but it’s definitely strengthening relationships. They feel safer asking me questions during the day, and they aren’t afraid to make mistakes when they speak. I’m trying to learn as many Khmer words as I can in an attempt to meet them halfway, but they will definitely win the language race.
I've been invited by one of the teachers to attend her sister's wedding in the province, and I'm looking forward to building more memories with the other teachers who go. It may seem silly, but I was really excited to get that pink envelope. It’s fun to observe the change. As we become more comfortable with each other, there are more jokes, there is more laughter, and there are more attempts to converse. They aren’t afraid to make fun of me when I choke on coagulated pig blood in the soup or start sweating profusely at 7:30 AM, and I like that. And we continue to eat together all the time, which bonds us. Just yesterday there was a call for mango in the yard – all of the trees were dropping fruit like crazy, so we ran outside, gathered around a table, and gorged ourselves. It was like Thanksgiving with a tropical flavor. It’s nice to feel like I’m part of something - a little family away from family.

Reality Check

2010-03-21T20:27:00.000-07:00

Traffic is crazy here - I’ve already mentioned that - and it’s pretty common to see fender benders and bumps every couple kilometers. But yesterday I witnessed an accident that was brutal, and it has continued to flash through my mind. It was hard to watch, and I was completely powerless to help, which is a horrible feeling. I was riding my bike through a pretty nasty intersection where a major street merges with a large roundabout. It’s a mess to navigate, but somehow people typically make it through. I was focusing on the traffic coming from the right when I heard a loud scream and the crashing impact of two vehicles. About twenty yards away I saw the rest of the collision play out: a motorcycle had met with a very large tour bus. The moto had three people on it – a man, a woman, and a baby, and only the man wore a helmet. The woman on the back of the bike got caught in the rear wheel well of the bus as it continued to move forward, and she was lifted off the ground. She flipped with the moto, then both dropped, pieces of the machine flying in every direction. I didn’t even see the baby at first, but the man quickly lifted her from the pavement, cradling her little head in his hands. I ran my bike to the side of the road, threw it in the grass, and headed back toward them. Some other people had gathered around the scene, and the bus driver was with the family, his hand to his head. The rest of the world continued to move around them, pushing toward their destination. I froze at the edge of the road, realizing there was nothing I could do to help the situation. We’re conditioned to stop and help and remain at the scene, but I really had nothing to offer. I could not communicate with anyone – couldn’t call 911, couldn’t ask if they were okay, couldn’t transport them to a hospital. I was also told not to stick around the site of an accident that I’m not involved in because often they will find a way to involve the foreigner to avoid any kind of fine. Of course leaving goes against everything that seems right and “brotherly,” so I just stood there, shell-shocked. It was a sobering moment – everyone in this family could have died. The woman was able to stand up, and the baby was moving, but I’m guessing they didn’t get any medical care. I can’t stop thinking about their current condition. Eventually, I picked up my bicycle and moved on, feeling pretty defenseless on my two thin wheels. It made me more cautious, more aware, and reminded me of my own vulnerability. It also made me aware of my own limitations. I wanted to help them, but had to accept that the world has its own pulse, and it didn’t matter if I stood in the middle of traffic or not.

Who's on First, What's on my Plate?

2010-03-21T20:15:00.000-07:00

There are a million things that happen in a day that make me laugh, and most of them revolve around food. I’m usually laughing alone, because what I find funny is totally normal to everyone else. My cue that something is a little different is when the teachers pause to observe my reaction after I put something in my mouth. I totally had a “Who’s on First?” moment today at lunch while Thy (pronounced tea) and I tried to figure out the name of some fruit. He placed the plate in front of me, and said “Wut”. I repeated what he said, thinking he was teaching me a new word. “Yes, wut,” he said. I was proud of myself and repeated it again, thinking it sounded similar to the word for water.
He kept looking at me, waiting for an answer, so I asked, “What?”
“Yes, what?” he asked, as he cocked his head.
“Oh, what- what is the name of this?”
“Yes, what?”
“I have no idea.” I never know what I’m eating.
We both started laughing – and this might be a “guess you had to be there” moment - but it’s a good example of most interactions. I still don’t know the name of the fruit – it’s like a grape with pink spiky skin, and it has a pit like a swollen watermelon seed in the middle.
The other day I thought I was gnawing on a root vegetable – it looked like a soft pumice stone and had a chewy, starchy texture like a potato. I asked what it was: “pig skin.” Mmmmm. I kept eating. I eat everything, and the cooks love me for it, but I have to eat gingerly. With a mix of four meats in one soup comes the challenge of navigating four different types of bones. Spitting them out gracefully is not my forte, and I usually end up with fish on my chin. Shrimp soup is kind of dangerous – their antennae (or whatever shoots out of their heads) are pretty long and get stuck in my throat. But really, we’re eating shrimp for lunch instead of corndogs and stale tater tots – I love it!
I also love that everything is handed over in a small plastic bag. We went to a potluck the other night, and my roommate wanted to stop for fish. We pulled into an ally where a few women had tents set up behind a building. There were wicker baskets containing fish of every shape, size and smell. Two whole grilled fish - completely stiff, curved and black, like old bananas with whiskers , were pulled off the skewers and thrown in a bag. Iced coffee and sugar cane juice – pour it in a bag. I’m always looking for hooks to hang my drink.
The last adventure with food made my stomach turn, and there were more gasps than giggles. When I got home the other night, our guard was getting food from a woman selling eggs, fish balls and hot dogs. He asked if I wanted some eggs, so I said sure. I was excited, and carried my little bag inside. They were still warm, and I had another little bag of pepper, limes and fresh cilantro. I cracked my egg on a plate… then started sorting through small strings, brown fluid, and little clumps that felt like clay. The yoke was there, yellow and chalky, but when I peeled away the layers, I ended up holding a tiny head, neck and beak in my hand. I couldn’t do it.

New Language

2010-03-16T20:06:00.000-07:00

I imagine many of you have read the book titled, “The Five Love Languages,” where someone managed to package love into five pretty boxes so it would make sense to us. I think the ideas are extremely valuable, but during the last couple of weeks, I have had to look at expressions of love differently; I was missing them because they didn’t really fit the categories that were established in the bestseller or in my mind – not because people weren’t lovin’. The director of our school helped me gain a better perspective, and our conversation helped me see what people were doing to communicate their concern, their care, and their friendship. I told her I felt lonely during the day, and she told me that the majority of the teachers were afraid to talk with me – they felt embarrassed because they could not say anything beyond “hello.” I told her I should be the one embarrassed – I was trying to work into their world, and all I could say was “mango” and “water” (for the record, I have added a few more words and phrases to my vocabulary: “rice”, “beautiful”, “no more rice, thank you”, “little bit” and “delicious, but I really can’t handle any more rice”). And it makes sense – it’s so uncomfortable to be in a conversation when you don’t know what to say… and here, we don’t even know the words to use when the ideas are present. It’s frustrating, it’s awkward, it’s humbling – on both ends. But it’s kind of funny, that in the middle of those feelings, there’s a mutual understanding that says, “hey, we’re all trying here.”

So I have new categories – the first is presence. There is one teacher in particular who just knows people. He knew how I was feeling – as everyone congregated at one table and I was left at another, he knew. So he sat with me. He smiled, and I smiled, and we ate. We talked a little from day to day, but it was mostly silent. When I finally quit thinking about how uncomfortable I was and acknowledged how much he was giving in simply being with me, I teared up a little. I said thank you, and I hoped he knew how much I meant it. He said, “nevermind,” and smiled. And we kept eating.

I know one of the languages is physical touch, but I’m going to be more specific, so the next category is patting. My grandma used to do this actually – she’d pat everyone on the back or the butt – every friend I introduced to her would be a little surprised at first, but it was always very endearing. It’s the same here. A woman who works in the office greets me every morning, and she pats my stomach. I love her – it’s clear she has a huge heart. We say hi, repeat some of the same things a few times, and smile… and the whole time she pats my stomach. I figure it means she feels comfortable with me, but I really have to focus on my stomach – whatever you do to suck in a little and tighten up a little… but not in an obvious way. She’s not the only one – I would say I get poked in the belly between four and five times a day. This isn’t really my favorite form of communication, but I also know that I sure wouldn’t pat the stomach of a stranger or a sworn enemy, so I’m gonna go with it. And do more crunches.

The last category is knowing and thinking. Knowing what someone likes, does, or needs and thinking of them. These are the million “little” things that are so meaningful. A teacher shouts out, “Molly! Coffee!” when the coffee is ready in the morning. When my forehead is beading up, a man on the other side of the room turns on the fan without a word. A woman in the kitchen makes sure I know which foods contain wheat, and she’ll say “no” when I’m eyeing something on the counter… but she saves me the caramelized bananas and coconut. Delicious. She knows. An older woman who cleans the school has been watching me give high fives to the kids as they leave the English room, so now she gives me a high five whenever I see her. She’s about sixty, and her eyes light up every time. She has no idea that it makes my day – she initiates something that helps us connect. The kids know too – a seventh grade boy came to school with a bag of green mangos for me; “I picked them from our tree this morning.” First grade girls sit at the door with toothless grins, begging me to play with them.

So the report is that I’m learning to speak a new language. It feels good to be a little bit more fluent, a little more aware. I think this could help me in most relationships. Rather than focusing on how I can be understood, I need to try to understand. I can think of a list of people who would appreciate that (Love ya, Mama).

Top Two Comments of the Week

2010-03-11T04:44:00.000-08:00

#1: Two girls were writing notes in the back of a journal while we were talking about goals for our study tour. It read, “Miss Carlson’s goal is to find a husband in Cambodia.” Seriously? It’s coming from every direction now. Teachers at Sprague used to send the delivery guys into my classroom – now I’m the talk of ninth graders. Hilarious. I think. At least they used solid English.

#2: I am sweating like a banchi over here already. It really is bad, not that this is a shock for most. Well, my roommate said, “Most likely it’s because you have more surface area. You know, that’s why the dinosaurs are extinct.” So I hope I’m able to hold on a while longer.

Sihanoukville

2010-03-11T04:29:00.000-08:00

Alright guys, I want to make sure you know that I am okay… the reality of life here is setting in, but everything’s okay. Thank you for the support letters. By being here I’ve opened the door to perspectives I couldn’t have gained otherwise and circumstances I couldn’t have prepared for, and that’s part of the journey. It’s just that the philosophy of being strengthened by adversity and actually going through it are two different things, right? It’s not Hollywood… but sometimes I do think about what my life would look like as a movie, and try to select an appropriate soundtrack.

I want to tell you about our trip to Sihanoukville, because overall, it was great. We had a study tour for the secondary students, and the destination was a coastal town about three hours from here; four and a half hours with fruit stops, bathroom stops, coal stops, and pig crossings. We loaded up two buses with about seventy-five kids, eight teachers, four coolers, and enough excitement to fuel the round trip. The bus ride alone was an adventure – I thought the roads would be less chaotic outside the city, but instead there were just different obstacles. We were swerving around pigs, cows, water buffalo, carts with clay pots, bundles of sticks flying off motos, you name it. And I think someone in the production line played a cruel joke when they were building our bus – I'm sure that the horn was blowing in instead of out. SO LOUD. We were getting blasted the whole way there and the whole way back. It was like the game “Operation” – you can predict the buzz when you’re fishing for the funny bone, but when you hit the metal, you jump out of your skin. As we neared the beach, the road went through a small, rural tourist trap – a line of bungalows, hammocks, and bars selling seafood and cheap beer. It was very Jimmy Buffetesque. Once the engines shut down, I witnessed sheer joy. The kids barreled out of the buses and sprinted into the water, jumping the waves. The sand was white, the water was clear (and really warm), the jellyfish were attacking. Bliss turned to a state of panic as wide-eyed kids came running up to me, rubbing their arms, legs and necks. Some of them had red welts on their bodies. I was worried, but the other teachers were just laughing. I have deduced that the teachers here are tough love kind of people. Everyone was okay – nobody keeled over, and I even taught a couple kids how to swim. I ate two lobsters that a woman was selling. It’s a little different from Red Lobster – they just hand over the whole darn thing. I was spitting out eggs and waste and shell, but once I got to the meat, it was go-o-o-d stuff.

On our way back from the beach we stopped at a small school. The people in this community built their homes along the side of the road – wooden flats covered by tarps and palm leaves. Kids were riding their bikes and playing games, but they sprinted to the front of the school once we pulled over. They organized themselves in lines; most were without shoes or pants and were covered in dirt. Their eyes were curious. I immediately fell in love with a little girl, maybe two years old, who shied away from the group. She stood at a distance, unsure of us. Her hair was in two little ponytails on top of her head, the rest scattered. She gradually came closer to get a notebook, but she refused to crack a smile. I wondered what her little life was like beyond the snapshot. It was good for our kids to give, and I pray that it impacted them and made them grateful for what they have, though it seems like very little sometimes. Our students have pretty soft hearts.
The rest of the trip flew by. The kids searched the sky for constellations (I always stick to the big dipper), went fishing on the rocks near Snake Island (another name in Khmer), road the Banana boat (an inflatable tube pulled by a smoking motor and a gnarled ten foot rope), and had a party on the beach, packed with dancing, karaoke, and barbequed squid. They were in heaven, and I loved watching them experience so much joy. We ate breakfast at the market, and I relied on students to negotiate cheaper prices for jackfruit and coffee.
The best part of the trip came at an unexpected moment. I was picking up plates from the beach as the party was coming to an end, and one of my students came and stood next to me. We were looking at the sky, and she asked what it made me think about. I told her my mom left me a note that we would still get to look at the same moon every night – so I was thinking about that. She said she missed her mom, and continued to share her heart with me – her family story, her pain, her questions. It was a powerful moment. I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t have to.

It was so nice to get away from the classroom and spend time with kids in their element.

My Easy Road

2010-03-04T08:45:00.000-08:00

I think writing that life is hard right now was enough for me to really examine my environment… so I’m immediately feeling a dose of shame. I miss home and the people I love, but this morning’s ride to work and my time at the school slapped me out of self-pity. I needed a shift in perspective, which is really easy to find here if I look beyond my nose. I watched a woman, old and thin, sweeping trash along the median of the street. A scarf protected her face and her sandals blended into the pavement. Other women were lifting baskets of vegetables onto their heads, and there were a couple of men pulling carts full of bottles and cans down the road. It hit me that I could return to my home at point in time… my cozy home on the river in the mountains. I could go anywhere, really – there are so many options for me. But this is life for these people. They have no choice. They survive by enduring long, hot, exhausting days on concrete. Many of the parents of my students are vendors. They cook chicken over coals on the sidewalk every day, hoping to make enough money to feed their own families. I learned that one of our teachers works as a security guard at the school as well. He returns every night for a six hour shift, rests between six and seven in the morning, and starts his day again with the school bell at 7:25. Many of my students aren’t able to see their parents either – but they are ten, eleven, twelve years old. Mothers and fathers have passed away due to sickness, and some kids have been abandoned. I received a letter today from a girl who said she wants to be more grateful for what she has, but so often she dreams of living with her family. A family of five girls lives on a rooftop. I don’t know hard.
So I will pray for a grateful heart - one that realizes that even though I'm beyond what is comfortable for me, I'm blessed beyond measure.

A Chip in My Rose Colored Glasses

2010-03-03T08:55:00.000-08:00

I’m told it happens to everyone - and I think I hit a wall the day after I pledged undying love for Cambodia and cheap bicycles. At some point everyone wakes up to a ce that isn't as enchanting as it was upon arrival. Of course it looks exactly the same, but suddenly sucking black exhaust from a truck packing pigs isn’t as much fun. By nature I’m pretty positive, and I don’t like to spend too much time dwelling on the stuff that can run me into the ground… but I want to be honest with the real experience and full range of emotions here. That being said, last week was rough. I have a clearer mind and a better disposition now, but there were definitely a few days spent moping, pouting, and questioning the purpose of life (I know, dramatic). I felt pretty detached from everything around me. I knew it was bad when I was irritated by smiling six year olds latched onto my leg and started dreaming of Russia or anywhere else in the world that had ice.
It started with a couple sleepless nights. I’ve been trying to brave the evening heat without an air conditioner, like my roommate, but I just have to give up the ideals of the Swiss powerhouse. She is tough as nails and has been here for ten years - I guess she can filter the particles that drift through the window when our neighbors burn their garbage and handle 90 degrees at two in the morning. I have decided to tip my hat and turn on the AC.
I think the greatest challenge right now is finding a way to be connected to people. I thrive on relationships, but those take longer to build here. As loving as the students and teachers are, many barriers still exist. There’s a difference between being welcome and being “in,” and try as I might to fit the mold of a Cambodian, it’s never gonna happen - especially if all I can say in Khmer is water and mango. I have to work harder and give more on a relational level. I went on a trip to the coast with the secondary students, which was a really fun time, but actually quite lonely. I’ve traveled alone a lot, but somehow being the person on the outskirts of a large group is much lonelier. I roomed with three other teachers, none of whom speak English. They were great and tried to include me, which I definitely appreciated. I sat on the floor and ate fruit with them while they listened to Khmer love ballads, but you know, there’s something kind of special about engaging in a conversation rather than observing one without subtitles. At one point during dinner with the rest of the teachers, one said, “Molly, so quiet?” I laughed. I don’t hear that often. It’s one big fat test of my security (or insecurity) – I have to trust that the people around me will be kind with their words. You know that feeling you have when everyone is laughing at a joke, and you don't get it? That's my life. I was worried at one point - one of my roommates was laughing about something, and all I could pull out was my name… I guess she was telling them about the number of times I hit my head on the doorway to the bathroom. Pretty funny.
This time is hard – I miss my family, I miss meeting friends for coffee and having deep conversations. I feel overwhelmed by the amount of work that is required to see change, and I question what my contribution will really be to the school and the lives of the kids. Seven months is a blink - two months have already flown by, and I'm still wrapping my head around things. But a new friend here said that my life in Cambodia is now beginning - when it no longer feels like a holiday. I think this is the time when my real motives will be exposed, as well as other characteristics – patience, perseverance, compassion (or lack thereof). Expectations versus the real world. I failed the first test, clearly. But I’ll give it another go and try to maintain a healthy perspective when I start sweating at 6:00 AM. Here’s to more life lessons!

I Love Cambodia

2010-02-22T05:20:00.000-08:00

I just bought a bike, which has given me a new life. It’s a beauty. I can see where they welded pieces together under the thin layer of spray paint, but it gives it a little character. Really, I’m going places now... I think I could outride my tuk tuk during rush hour. I don’t know whether or not it’s safer than a moto – I still have to throw myself into the middle of traffic to get anywhere. I had to do some serious bargaining with the guy at the bike shop. Actually, I’m a liar – Beate did. There were about ten shops lined up on the same street, so I went shop hopping with my friend from Holland – she speaks Khmer and is a mean negotiator. I’m not – I’m too soft. You may think finding a bicycle seems easy, but keep in mind I’m a giant in the land of five footers. I wish I could have taken snapshots of the test rides – my knees hit the handlebars, and of course most of the “new” bikes don’t go in a straight line. I ended up with a sweet ride for thirty-three bucks – the biggest bike in the country. It has a new basket on the front, a light, a bell that will rust in three weeks, and a lock that I can’t operate. I dig it. I bought some blue and orange contact paper so I can dress it up a little. I almost lost my mangoes (which I bought from a guy on a motorcycle) today when I hit a pothole, but I’ll learn how to navigate the side streets in no time. I don’t think I can ride it to work – I would be a sweaty mess by the time I got there – but I have an open door to this part of the city. I feel an odd sense of freedom with such a simple purchase.
I made another investment at a place I consider the miracle shop. Even in the U.S., finding shoes for my feet was impossible (“Your Feets Too Big” – Lucas, you know what I’m talkin about). You can imagine that a size twelve shoe in Cambodia is close to a four letter word, BUT there is a shoe store that makes shoes, boots, sandals, you name it, for next to nothing – custom fit! I chose the sandals I liked, then they traced around both feet on a piece of paper (my brother asked if they had paper that big - funnyman). The beauty of this process is that both shoes will fit my feet, since my right foot is over a size bigger than my left. I love Cambodia.

Teacher or Student?

2010-02-22T05:19:00.000-08:00

I am definitely embracing both roles, and the kids at my school don’t know that their roles as teacher and student are a bit blurry too. We’re all doing our fair share of learning and teaching daily. I have taught the students that there is a big difference between food and foot, edition and addiction – which in the end might keep one from sticking his foot in his mouth or acquiring a second bad habit. Not that I can actually model those things. I’m definitely learning how to be more humble, though – I have a new instructor who is teaching me Khmer vocabulary. He is nine. He sits with me during lunch and we go over the same words every day because I can’t remember any of them. I’m nervous because tomorrow he’ll expect me to know mango, water and car. It’s pretty hilarious – if you have seen Pink Panther with Steve Martin, you’d understand how the interaction goes. “I wooood lach to buy an amburegeare.” Well, my little buddy says “water – tduk”, and I say “tuk”, and he says, “no, tduk” (louder) and I say “tuke” – he says, “TDUK!” (frustration mounting, big eyes), and I give up and drink the water. We repeat the process with mango. It’s exhausting, really. So I know how my students feel when I make them repeat “huge” and “human” over and over again (those words are impossible, for the record – “shuge” and “shuman” every time… I can’t even say them correctly anymore). The kids give a lot - it’s clear that they are not always comfortable or capable, but they put themselves out there anyway. So I’m trying to learn from them and doing the same – I ask how to say new words at the risk of being laughed at… almost every time. Communication is complicated enough when two people speak the same language – imagine communication problems eight hours a day. I’m grateful for a sense of humor, or I would go crazy. There’s still time, I suppose – it’s early  .

Never a Dull Moment

2010-02-08T07:51:00.000-08:00

This week kind of exploded – some work and play that was familiar, and other activity that was completely new to me. First of all, I’m wearing many hats at the school, which has already opened the door to some unique opportunities. The most exciting event was an education reception I attended at the residence of the British Ambassador. The gathering was designed to promote institutions of education in the UK and build relationships between international schools in Asia and Great Britain. Of course, I don’t play a significant role in that scheme… I just stumbled upon an invitation. I had no idea what I was doing among ministers of education and university presidents, but there I was with my messenger bag and harmonica (just in case). My tuk tuk driver dropped me off and left me in the hands of the guards… at that point I was kind of wishing he would accompany me. I thought I would fare better at an engagement hosted by masters of the English language – but their accents and speed of delivery still got the better of me. I kind of felt like Bridget Jones. His home had an open entry of white marble steps framed with small palms – quite a contrast to the dirty streets on the other side of the wall. A large pool was flush with the lower level patio and a canopy of trees. There was a mad exchange of business cards and a lot of men in suits talking about how important they were. I knew just how important I was, so I stood quietly between the dish of party nuts and the fan. At first I felt uncomfortable, but realized that I had nobody to impress, so I decided to just enjoy the moment. I drank the ambassador’s wine, examined his landscape portraits of Manchester and Yorkshire, ate more cashews and watched the Cambodian ballet dancers. I took a self-guided tour of the first floor and snuck upstairs to the bathroom. I kind of got a kick out of that – easily amused. As everyone got in their cars to leave, I jumped on the back of a mototaxi and headed to the grocery store for some salsa. It was a good night.

On more familiar ground… I played basketball with a group of women who meet every Tuesday at a local school. It was so much fun. Most of the women are from Germany, a couple from Holland, and one from Japan - she was a go-getter, but kept bouncing off me like a pinball. The rules and style of play were a little different – we didn’t really enforce little things like traveling five or six steps or collisions at half court. There were very unique shots and holes in the backboard, but regardless of skill, they found so much joy in playing. It was refreshing to run around and laugh. I just enjoyed meeting some new people and am excited to go back tomorrow. I’ve unofficially been named coach, and they decided it would be beneficial to have ten minutes of training every week before we play. I don’t think any of them have played organized basketball, so it will be fun. I love sports – I love that a ball and a hoop or a net can connect people.

The other new thing I’m working on is our school website. I’ve never even considered how information gets on the internet – I guess I just assumed that ideas and products and facts appear as I need them… like there’s a web genie or something. But because I’m the English speaker of the group, I’m now responsible for consulting with web designers/builders and organizing/writing/maintaining our site, which is actually a lot of work. Stuff like this quickly reveals strengths and weaknesses. I’m great at coming up with ideas, thinking about possibilities, and talking it through. That’s where my skill set ends, if you can call those skills. It will be a good learning experience for me, however, and it’s good for me to be the one that must do it… there’s nobody else to save me or finish for me.

I'll have to write later about our trip to my friend's village in the province. I put some pictures above. The people there certainly impacted my heart, and it was nice to get away from the city and see a different kind of life. I swam with the kids and cows, visited the library my friend built at the local school, played with the kids, and participated in a pretty serious volleyball competition. All of these experiences are changing my heart in so many ways. I'm so grateful for the opportunities I've had already - they make me excited to start a new day and see what happens next.

Real Life

2010-01-28T06:51:00.000-08:00

I’ve finally settled into some kind of routine and am learning what the daily grind will look like here. This experience is unlike any other – I’m a more permanent fixture. I’m still just a passerby in the grand scheme of things, but I love that I will get to see the heart of Phnom Penh - not just landmarks and popular attractions, but the men and women who will live and die here. So real life has begun; the commute, long hours of work, working out, and establishing relationships at home, work and church.
Days are pretty long, but time moves quickly. I wake up to roosters, a cup of coffee, a shot of Pepto, and my Bible. It is the only way to maintain harmony in mind, stomach and spirit. The commute to school is pretty painless – we drive along the canal, past sidewalk noodle shops, and through the morning rush of motos. People stand in the streets between traffic lanes (which are not at all defined) selling newspapers and bread. It is the only time I am cool during the day, so I love it. The return trip takes twice as long, and I inhale five times as much exhaust. My first class starts at 7:30, and the last one ends at 5:00, but we still manage to get a good game of volleyball going on the concrete after the bell rings. I absolutely love the kids. They are very humble, pure-hearted, and eager to learn. Teaching EFL is an exercise in patience on both ends, but we definitely laugh a lot during class. I admire their ability to focus in the heat, adolescent stench, and noise that exists. Today there were some geckos racing on the walls of the classroom and I was the only one phased by it. At nights I find a way to work out. There aren’t any lights on the track, and it still gets dark pretty early , so I’ve been doing Billy’s Boot Camp and yoga dvd’s on the roof of the villa. I don’t have weights, so I use two bricks for dumbbells. Pretty funny. And do have to say, it’s a whole lot cooler doing yoga on a rooftop in Cambodia than in a living room in Sacramento. I heard that there are some open gym times at a school near our neighborhood, so I’m excited to check that out.
I’ve definitely been enjoying the time with colleagues and my new church family. Conversations can be a lot of work, but it is fun to learn how to communicate. Any attempt I make at Khmer is appreciated, even if it sounds ridiculous. I love interacting with the other teachers at school - they like to practice their English, and I just like to talk. Church services are beautiful to me, but any message, announcement or lesson requires more time for translation. I was asked to teach a lesson last weekend, and I discovered that speaking with a translator is a true talent… that I have not cultivated. It is pretty humbling – I start laughing at myself, then have to wait and see if anyone else thinks I’m funny. It seems they have a different sense of humor.  I feel very welcome, however. The second Sunday I was here, a woman invited me to her home for lunch. She prepared everything and wouldn’t let me lift a finger. A man at the school is the same way – he serves me (a lot of) lunch every day. I realized that communication has so many layers – I want to express gratitude for his heart to take care of me and appreciation for the food, but tell him that I don’t want him to work so hard on my behalf and that I’m not accustomed to eating an army’s supply of rice at one sitting. Through these interactions I’m learning different languages of love, and it’s refreshing. I’m eager to hear the stories of their lives, which I know will unfold over time.

Rooftop Reflections

2010-01-23T08:48:00.000-08:00

Everything has been new for me here – new food, new modes of transportation, a new school with hundreds of new smiles – but the thing I’ve been thinking about lately are the new people I’ve met over the last couple weeks. There have been both brief encounters with random people and introductions to individuals with whom I hope to build deep friendships. The people of this country are wonderful, and I will spend more time talking about their love and certainly their resilience, but right now I’m really blown away by the number of foreigners who are woven into the fabric of Phnom Penh; some tourists, but so many who are living and working here long term with schools, businesses or NGOs. This truly is an international city, and I suppose my surprise that I’m not the only six foot white woman is only a sign of my ignorance. It’s a funny shift of perspective – I thought I was taking such a huge leap of faith in coming here, but I have quickly learned that I’m one of thousands. I sit on the roof of our villa at night and can’t believe that I’m here... but when I seek common excitement from people at the market, it’s like they respond with this nonchalant shrug that says, ‘What’s the big deal? So there are three monks and eighteen tons of sugarcane balanced on a motorcycle and a woman walking through traffic with a huge silver bowl of dried fish on her head. We're in Cambodia. Get over it.' But it’s still fascinating to me – how did everyone end up here?
Every person I meet has a story unique to his or her life. My roommate is one of the most inspiring people I’ve met. She is originally from Switzerland and has lived here for ten years, serving the Sihanouk Center of HOPE as a surgeon. She works tirelessly, making house calls at night and waking up early to tend to patients on her days off. So selfless – I have much to learn from her about service, perseverance, and especially faith. The family I live with uprooted in April and will be here for the next three years. I also have a new friend who is such a strong woman – she was born in a province in the Philippines, was raised in Russia, worked in the medical field for a year in Afghanistan, and has been at the hospital here for four years. Just today I met a man from Camaroon who is here studying and working for a couple years. In fact, he was playing soccer on a team with representatives from every continent. It was very cool to watch – it was like one of those Nike commercials … “Sports transcend language and culture, uniting the world. Just do it.” I guess there’s simply a calling, dream, vision, escape, wild hair – whatever you label it. It helps me feel closer to God in a lot of ways – it reminds me that He is orchestrating this master plan that is much bigger than me.
I don’t know who I’ll meet tomorrow or what events will take place, but I get excited about the possibilities. I hope to pull lessons from the lives of these people and enjoy sharing in the journey.

Extreme Eating, Extreme Jogging

2010-01-18T07:03:00.000-08:00

Extreme Eating / Extreme Jogging

Being new to the city and culture, both special celebrations and common activities are fascinating to me. I was able to attend a Cambodian wedding this weekend, which was a suprise as my longest standing relationship here had been established for the duration of one week. It was a Christian wedding, so it didn't follow all of the traditions, but it was a new experience for me nonetheless. The woman was from the US and the man was from Cambodia - so moving to see them meld two cultures, two completely different lives. All of the guests were dressed in their finest attire, especially the women, who wore intricately beaded tops in vibrant colors. I was told more than once that black and white were only worn to funerals - never weddings - so I suppose I will need to get a new dress at some point. They do overlook the mistakes of foreigners - again, very gracious and forgiving. A woman took me under her wing and taught me the dances, most of which were done as a large group. It was beautiful to watch thirty people move as one body. And then there was me, ever so graceful! I tried to control my long ol' limbs as I imitated a swimming fish and the motion of plucking flower petals, but I will be quite content never seeing the footage. The spread was incredible - fish loaves wrapped in banana leaves, fish balls, ground pork with many spices, curry, and an entire river swimmer dropped in the middle of the table. I haven't said no to a single dish, and I wasn't about to pass up these delicacies ... which had it's own set of consequences. Extreme consequences.

I’m also sure jogging, with such a moderate level of intensity, has never been named extreme – but I imagine that’s because it is typically done in quiet neighborhoods, along winding country roads, or on treadmills. I went for a run Saturday morning – which, of course for me has never really been an actual run – and it was a lot like being in a video game. Dodge the moto, jump the pothole, run around the tuk tuk, step over the burning pile of trash and swerve through the market. I made my way to a small track behind a government school, and avoided eye contact with the guards. I think I’m supposed to have an id card, but my housemate said I’m white enough to get through. I hate birds, but I decided that I must make my peace with the chickens so I can continue to share their space. The children here attend school on Saturdays, so the area was still very busy. There were some men lining the grass for soccer boundaries – they were taking great care with a paint roller. I’m enjoying simple experiences like these the most… just watching daily life happen as I try to fit into it somehow.

A Warm Welcome

2010-01-14T06:01:00.000-08:00

I made it to Phnom Penh - what a wild ride! I was first greeted by midnight temperatures of 80 degrees, then two hundred smiling faces. In less than a week I have fallen in love with the people of Cambodia. They are gentle, kind, and very forgiving - I'm grateful for that, as it's clear that I'm going to be confused for a long time. I butcher names, forget every word I'm taught, and fumble for the correct amount of change at the market... but they smile, repeat, repeat, and wait.

I visited the school for the first time last Saturday. The kids were gathered in the schoolyard with four or five handcrafted signs - they were jumping and smiling, and they immediately threw their arms around me. I've been there a week now, and every morning I'm greeted the same way. Big hearts. I have a hard time communicating with the primary students, so they run around me in swarms, giggling and asking questions that I can't answer. The older students are a lot of fun - I play basketball and volleyball with the guys during breaks, and the ninth grade girls want to talk about boys from America and Korea. The staff is wonderful - they are so giving and do everything they can to make me feel comfortable. One woman bought me a HUGE coffee mug - she said it fits me. Hilarious. I'm learning how to communicate with the Khmer teachers - right now we smile a lot. I think I was part of a staff meeting the other day, but it was hard to tell. The language barrier is a problem at times, but it actually simplifies communication - it's very clear when someone is talking to me, and they fill me in when I need to know something. Easy. Extra details aren't necessary. I went on a field trip today - no idea where we went, but they said get on the bus and I did.

The teachers work extremely hard - most teach at the government school for part of the day as well, making around thirty dollars a month. It certainly makes me appreciate what I have. I started teaching on Wednesday - it is clear that this is going to be a big job.
The school itself is a house - the main entrance is open for staff, students,and a coffee pot, and the classes take place in rooms the size of bedrooms. In the English classroom I have two fans, 25 students every hour, and an ample supply of bug spray. It will be a legitimate sauna when the temperatures increase... I'm a little nervous for March. I didn't know what to expect, but the building serves its purpose for now. I imagine we will have to find a new building as the school continues to expand.
My commute to school is crazy; Phnom Penh is not a big city, but there's a lot going on. So far, I have to rely on a tuk tuk. My driver is loyal and absolutely fearless. He faces oncoming traffic, dodges melon carts and keeps up with the other motos. The wise financial decision for transportation is to buy a moto, or moped, and sell it for the same price in the end... but at this point I'm convinced that would be certain death. It appears there is no system with traffic, but it's just hidden in chaos. There is a system, and I need to learn.

There is a lot to learn here. I'm hoping to simply be a student for a while - a student of the school, the people and the culture.

This Is REAL

2009-11-22T09:12:00.000-08:00

All of the pieces are coming together, and the plans to travel to Cambodia are taking shape. I will be leaving in January. Here we go!!