While in the village one morning over Khmer New Year, a man lounging on the side of the road said, “Good morning, sir!” as we went by. His pronunciation was much clearer than any other local person we have ever heard, and we joked that he must have been practicing that phrase for years, just waiting for a foreigner to show up so he could use it.
Imagine our surprise when a little later in the morning he approached us and said, quite clearly, “Can you spare any change? I’m totally broke.” I did a double-take, and my first response was, “Where did you learn English???”
In California, it turns out. He and his family were Cambodian refugees who arrived in California in 1982 when he was just a little kid. He grew up there, dropped out of school, and got in trouble. “Three strikes, man. They deported me. Seven years ago. It’s really rough.” I’m guessing that neither nor his parents ever did what they needed to do to make him a citizen, so when he screwed up too many times, he was outta there. (See more info about deportation of Cambodian refugees at Wikipedia , this newspaper article and this report.) So this guy, who spoke no Khmer and probably lacked some socially-acceptable basic life skills, found himself in a small village in Cambodia, a country he hadn’t been in for over 20 years, if ever – he may have been born in a Thai refugee camp.
It was so strangely disorienting to look at this obviously Khmer guy and listen to him speak English in his inner-city American accent. He went on for a few minutes about how we should contact a guy in San Luis Obispo who worked at the Conservation Corps – perhaps this was one of the stops during his misguided youth where they tried to help him turn his life around, without success, apparently. In retrospect, I wish I had talked to him a bit longer, but his mission was clear – he was looking for some money. I gave him a couple of dollars’ worth of riel. And 20 minutes later, he approached us again down the road. “Can you spare a quarter or something. I’m really broke.” I reminded him that he had already asked us once – ”I know.” – and we had already given him money – “I know. I spent it already.” I declined to give him any more.
I wondered how often he got to talk to other native English speakers. I wondered how he gets by day-to-day. I wondered if he had been part of a Cambodian gang in California – his tattoos would suggest that he was. I wondered if he had ever really had a decent chance in life. I wondered a lot of things.
6 comments:
Wow! I can't imagine this. Talk about a displaced person! I wonder how often this happens to refugees.
This is a fascinating slice of life that I had not imagined you would encounter. I have always wondered about those unfortunate souls who are deported after being refugees here. Thanks for giving me a glimpse--and I hope you can learn more and keep on updating us.
I did not think that being a citizen was a determinng factor in whether or not someone is deported? My impression was that deportable offenses can be the cause of denying someone citizenship, however. Kind of a chicken-or-egg thing. Still trying to figure that out.
Good English speakers are sparse in Siem Reap, so the guy should easily find a decent job with a little effort. He really has an advantage over the average tourguides, so why not using it?
Peter- I think the problem is that he's not in Siem Reap, he's in a tiny village on the Battambang/Pursat border, and he doesn't really speak much Khmer. Apparently his tattoos make it difficult for him in Khmer society, and people know he was a criminal in the U.S. so he's not well accepted. Also, he has a very strong "inner-city" accent, which could also put off some English speakers. I think the guy is kinda screwed overall...
Had a similar experience in PP; my friend's job is helping Khmer who have been forcibly deported from the only home they've ever known overseas to acclimate to their new home in Cambodia.
The guy I met was from central California where he drove trucks for a living...
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