Winter has arrived

     It's Sunday morning, and we are wearing socks and sweatshirts and fleece. Every morning for the past few days, the temperature has been 3-4 degrees colder than the day before. Until this week, the average morning temperature was about 80 degrees. When it hit 74, I put on socks. Today, it's 68 and I have goosebumps.

     Of course, if we woke up in Vermont on the last day of October to 68 degrees, we would throw open the windows and run outside barefoot to marvel at the heat, because everything is relative. We were here last year at this same time and I have no memory of it being this cool, though it has been pointed out to me that perhaps our thermostats were still set to "Vermont."  Here, 68 feels downright chilly - though in a perfectly delightful way. Assuming the trends of the last few days continue, the day will warm up nicely and we will be as happy as ever in T-shirts, shorts, and sandals, at least until the sun sets at 6pm and the temperature drops again.

     At this moment, Steve is in our living room watching game three of the World Series while I sit on the balcony (as always) drinking coffee, checking email, and listening to monks chanting at the pagoda down the street. Jaz is still sleeping. Sovann woke up and did his usual morning disappearing act - I suspect he goes out for something to eat and often looking for work if he doesn't already have something lined up. Someday I really should write about the life of a tuktuk driver; it's been pretty interesting to see it from his perspective.

     Last night we went out for a quick cheap dinner and had what we tend to think of as a Khmertastic experience. Jaz was eager to try a a little local place that's been recently renovated because they had what looked like actual couches for seating - and if there's one thing she misses, it's a couch. So off we went to give it a try.

     The new decor was pretty interesting - the walls are painted a deep lavender and there are an impressive number of fake flowers and greenery woven together and dangling from the ceiling. A large flat-screen TV was playing a Khmer program - in the usual style, it was quite melodramatic, involving tears, lovers being torn apart, an idealized Cambodian countryside background with absolutely no garbage, and as an added touch, a long scene involving a lovely young woman vomiting blood and collapsing. The other nice touch were the three clocks on the wall: the clocks were similar sizes but different styles, and each marked with a different place and time. "Phnom Penh: 7:25." "Paris 1:25." "New York: 6:10." Well, the New York clock was off by a bit, but it was a lovely effort. The other wall decor included animal pictures that looked like they might have been ripped from an old calendar, arranged in a row at the top of the wall, snug against the 15-foot ceilings. (At least I think they were animal pictures - at that height, they were quite difficult to see.)

     But the most interesting thing was the ordering. The waitress put two menus on the table, and only after a few minutes did we realize that they were two completely different menus (both marked "Lunch") rather than two of the same menu. After passing them around a bit and feeling pleased about the prices (almost every dish was 8000 Riel, or $2), we made our decisions and waved the waitress back to take our order. I ordered first. "No have." Oh, OK. Tried again, pointing at my second choice. "No have." Really? Eventually, she took the menu from me and scanned through it, pointing out "Have" for about three items out of 20. Well, now that my choices were narrowed down, I chose from the "have" menu, as did everyone else. Within a few minutes, two of the four of us were informed, "No more have" and allowed to choose again. Food eventually arrived, though two of the dishes were nothing we had ordered, one was the worst example I've ever seen of a traditional Khmer dish called loklak, and Jaz's sophisticated palate found the rice to be substandard. Well, we consoled ourselves, at least it was a cheap meal.

     Except that the bill came to $15, which made no sense. Thanks to having our ever-helpful housemate and translator, we were able to get an explanation: "The menu has the wrong price." We laughed (as one does here), paid the bill, and vowed not to return. Jaz and I mourned the changes, as the place previously had the best iced coffee and cashew chicken dish in town. I would trade knowing the current time in Paris anytime for that iced coffee...

     By contrast, we've had some excellent meals this week - steak and pork-stuffed squid at "Mr. Grill", fried spicy duck with lemongrass cooked for us right in our own kitchen, and various noodle and rice dishes here and there. Now and then Steve creates delicious stir-fries from fresh local ingredients and whatever is left over from the previous day's lunch, and when we need a taste of home, we make nachos or a good old peanut butter & jelly sandwich.

Grilled frog stuffed with pork...

   On my list of things to do this week:

• Learn three new Khmer words every day and actually remember them 
• Take my computer in to see if the keyboard can be fixed (wish me luck)
• Spend some time every day in the hammock with my book (I'm getting pretty good at this)
• Maintain newfound healthy perspective on "work"
• Hide the Pledge before the housekeeper comes so she won't use it on the windows any more
• Buy marshmallows so as to be prepared the next time the neighbors start burning the trash 

    

What's on your list this week?

    

Please enjoy this little glimpse into Cambodian current events.

I present you with some headlines and police reports from the local newspaper. 

 Spirits blamed as girls faint in Cambodia

Teachers of 10 teenage girls who collapsed one after another at their rural Cambodian school blamed the mysterious ailment on angry spirits on Saturday.

The girls, aged between 14 and 18, were treated in hospital after fainting but doctors could not ascertain why the youngsters were struck down, said Ruos Lim Chhee, head of the high school in Pnov, northern Cambodia.

He said that all of the girls were found to be healthy, with no signs of food poisoning, although two were a little low on glucose.

"We are afraid we are under a spell because we didn't offer any traditional dancing and music to the spirits on the opening day this year," he said.

"But we have just offered fruits, boiled chickens and wine to the spirits today, and we hope the students will get better and the spirits will take care of us."

Mil Khim, a teacher who witnessed the string of incidents on Thursday, said one of his students started to complain of chest pains early in the morning and then suffered convulsions before falling unconscious.

"The strange phenomenon lasted only a few hours, as eight seventh graders and two from eighth and ninth grade fainted subsequently," he said.

Cambodians in rural areas often believe supernatural forces are behind unexplained events.

"We think that perhaps the spirits are angry because the doctors, teachers and even police found no trace of poison or physical weakness," said district governor, Pech Sophea.

© 2010 AFP

From the Phnom Penh Post Police Blotter:

Chicken farmer pays for not watching his back 
A 21-year-old man was arrested last week after stabbing a man in the back during the Pchum Ben festival in Kandal province’s Ang Snuol district, police said. They said the victim had punched the suspect, a chicken farmer, as the latter was showing the ladies his dance moves. Enraged, the suspect reportedly grabbed a knife and stabbed the man in the back. The victim was immediately sent to hospital with “serious wounds”, and the suspect fled the scene. However, he was later arrested and sent to the provincial court. 

Man threatens to raze house for lack of food
Police have arrested a 42-year-old man in Kandal province’s Ang Snuol district who threatened to set fire to his own house because his wife hadn’t cooked rice for him. After the woman returned home from work, she apparently did not begin cooking fast enough for her husband, who became incensed and threatened to set the house on fire. A neighbour immediately called police. Officials said they had educated the man. 

Possessed man takes power drill to own neck
A 28-year-old man suspected of being possessed by ghosts killed himself by taking a drill to his neck in Phnom Penh’s Sen Sok district on Thursday. The victim’s mother said that her son had been possessed “for nearly two years” and that at times he acted “crazy”, destroying furniture in his house. She said that on the day he died he held her in a tearful embrace before he went off and killed himself with the drill. A witness said the man drilled his throat and cut his neck until he died. 

Drunken man assaults wife for not listening
Police arrested a 44-year-old man accused of breaking his wife’s leg in a drunken domestic quarrel in Battambang province on Friday. The man was said to have been extremely drunk when he returned to his house, were he picked a fight with his wife, accusing her of never listening to him. The wife locked herself in the kitchen, but the husband managed to break down the door and snap one of her legs. 

Death Stems From Mistaken Identity
A 20-year-old factory employee is dead after he was assaulted by a group of “gangsters” in Phnom Penh’s Daun Penh district Saturday, according to police. Police said the man was talking on the phone on the street when the gangsters pounced. The man was sent to hospital but died after he arrived. Police eventually arrested one of the suspects, who told police his group had confused the victim for a rival gangster. Police then surmised that the man died of “gangster confusion”. 

Long-haired Pupils Shorn By Police
On Tuesday morning the police in Battambang province called two seventh-grade students aged 15 and 16 at Netr Yang High School who were standing in front the police station to come in and cut their hair, which police said was too long. The police said they could not stand seeing students looking so bad. Teachers said they did not dare say anything to the students even though they also disapproved of their hair length because they were afraid they would be attacked by the students and that they might be forced to jump out of the classroom through the window. 

Police hope to reform ‘gangster’ students
Police in Kandal province’s Kien Svay district on Monday arrested eight “gangsters” accused of terrorising their village. Some of the gangsters had been accused by neighbours of indulging in “bad moral conduct”, and police said that although they “did not commit any crime or kill anyone”, they had “always threatened and scared residents”. Police said they had given “advice and education” to the group before releasing them, in the hope that they would prove themselves capable of reform “because they are students”. 

Finding equilibrium.

     Ongoing keyboard problems have kept me from writing. All efforts so far to fix the problem have been fruitless, and the external keyboard I bought to plug into the laptop is the soft silicone kind and doesn't work so well either. So every email or other bit of typing I do is extraordinarily slow and laborious.

     I suppose it's a metaphor for so many other things here. Things are rarely as simple or straightforward as I think they ought to be, for a whole variety of reasons. Language problems, cultural gaps, a breakdown of some sort of equipment: something always makes everything more complicated than expected. My fast-talking, multi-tasking, list-making, agenda-focused thought processes are brought to a grinding halt over and over again - and then there's nothing to do but recalibrate my expectations, adjust my course, roll with the punches, sit back and wait, and/or fly by the seat of my pants.

     And so I am learning to slow down. Which, come to think of it, is part of why I wanted to be here: to slow my life down. I find it more difficult than I anticipated, but I'm learning. I've tried to make sure I get some hammock time every day, and I find that lying there looking at the sky and doing absolutely nothing is quite lovely. I'm learning to sometimes say "I'm busy right now" when someone calls and wants to come over, because people want to come over quite often.

     The weeks go by quickly. Things at the clinic are crazy most of the time, but I'm beginning to find my groove.  I find myself beginning to recognize a word or two when listening to people speak Khmer. The ride to work on my bicycle is so routine now that I listen to my iPod on the way to keep things interesting. The floods have receded and we've had a few days without rain. Jaz's friend with the broken arm is still lying on the floor of his house with bamboo and rags tied around his arm. Three Hours Laundry now takes more like 18 hours since they've been getting new customers but still have only one washer and one dryer. I think the housekeeper used Pledge on the windows again this week. We got our first electric bill, and now we know how much it costs to make all that ice. I discovered that the bill for our internet comes via a text message on my cell phone. We buy bread most mornings from the lady who comes on her bicycle with the basket of warm baguettes, and we buy hot banana fritters from another lady who fries them up on the side of the road down at the corner. The sunflowers I planted in a pot are coming up nicely.

     That about sums things up. I suppose we're finding more things to be routine, and it's interesting to note how comforting that can be. Not that there's any lack of novelty, but we seem to be finding more equilibrium. 

Shots taken from my bike on Saturday morning

 Sorry - keyboard problems mean I can't write anything, but I hope pictures really are worth a thousand words...

  

 

We have a bit of a flooding problem

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a photo of houses along the river 

and evidence of the garbage problem there.

This week, they have a more serious problem with flooding.

The houses shown below are normally 8-10 feet or so above the water, but not now.

The recent heavy rains have caused lots of flooding around town.

We are thankful that we're not that close to the river, and that we're on the second floor.

More adventures in Battambang

     Forgive me if I repeat myself. Sometimes I can't remember whether I've mentioned something here already, and frankly, I'm too lazy to go back and re-read the previous posts. So please forgive me if I repeat myself...


     We had a five-day weekend because of the Pchum Ben holiday. We used our time off well, spending some time around the house doing very little or only exactly what we wanted, and going off on a weekend adventure by boat to Battambang province. Every day involved social gatherings of some sort - Richard, the doctor from the clinic came over one day to work and have lunch. Voleak, our 17-year-old volunteer translator from the clinic, came to visit one afternoon as well. She provided even more insight into the Cambodian high school experience, like how much you have to pay the teacher if you want to make a change in your classes or cheat on an exam. ($10 and $5 respectively, and it's the teacher who offers the opportunity and price.) Several of the children from our Khmer "family" at Seven Candles came one morning to eat toast and watch TV and work on our papier mache project again. 


     We went to visit Jaz's friend Boromey in the hospital a couple of times after he had a motorbike accident. I'm so worried about what will happen to him. He's a 19-year old high school student who lives with his sister and has worked as a waiter for $30/month while going to school. He hopes to go to university someday and become a lawyer, but right now he has a broken arm and a broken jaw, and no medical treatment. He stayed in a private clinic (aka "hospital") for two days, where they X-rayed him, stitched up his face, gave him an IV of glucose water and put his broken arm in a splint. Then he went home, because he couldn't afford the surgery to fix his arm. My mission on Monday was to visit him at home and figure out what the whole story is. His sister had called in a Khmer "doctor" who appeared to have wrapped Boromey's arm in what looked like a bamboo placement tied with strips of cloth. I would have thought that arm needed surgery, but thanks to the magic of the internet, I photographed his X-ray, emailed it to Richard, who forwarded it to a hotshot orthopod in London. The opinion was that he could heal well enough if it was properly immobilized long enough. The more immediate concern is his broken jaw, which means he can't chew, and the kid only weighs about 100 pounds to start. I brought him liquid vitamins and protein powder, and I'm glad he at least has family to take care of him while he tries to heal.


     And we think our healthcare system is in bad shape...

     Other adventures during this holiday included our boat trip to Battambang, which should have taken five hours but instead took twelve. Our 2:00 arrival time became 9:00, and it gets very, very dark at about 6:15. The boat broke down completely on two occasions, leaving us drifting in circles on the lake and requiring the boat man to strip to his underwear, jump in the water, remove the propeller, and perform a variety of small miracles with the aid of a hammer and a wrench. Imagine the pressure on a Khmer man in his wet underwear, working feverishly on mechanical problems while being stared at by a captive audience of foreigners with nothing else to do... Poor guy. 

     We had to stop a time a two so he could clear out the propeller when it became choked up with water hyacinth. But most interestingly, we got lost quite a bit, which may seem odd until you understand the route. We had to cross a large section of open lake and then navigate what can best be described as a complete labyrinth of waterways before getting to the river for the last part of our journey. This maze is ever-changing and there are areas of open water and sections where you must travel through a narrow channel with the tops of flooded trees whipping the boat on the both sides. There are floating villages, but I'm not sure they remain in the same place throughout the year, so they don't make good landmarks. And there are acres and acres of floating plants that drift and shift and gather into impenetrable tangles and require constant decision-making about which way to go to best avoid them. (Fellow Vermonters, imagine your most complicated corn maze, and multiply the complexity and the stakes by 10.)

     It's not like our boat man was unwilling to ask directions along the way - several times he stopped to ask locals about the best route, but some of the directions were not clear enough and we ended up going more than an hour out of way and having to backtrack. The mood for some on the boat was grim, and some of us were just thankful that we had brought plenty of snacks and beer. Steve and I felt bad only because Sovann was waiting for us at the boat dock in Battambang city, having driven an hour from his family's home to pick us up. Despite all the other difficulties, we had almost perfect cell phone reception, so there were many calls and texts back and forth all afternoon and evening. We told Sovann to go back home and that we would stay in the city overnight, but he wouldn't leave without us. I suppose that being a tuktuk driver by trade, he is accustomed to long periods of waiting. Jaz was back home with his family, waiting and hoping and texting regularly about our status. 

     The last 3 hours or so were a bit more tense and less interesting because once it got dark, there was little to see along the way. The boat man had two lights on the front of his boat, which he would switch on for a few seconds then back off for a while, but the Cambodian countryside is dark. I suppose the biggest danger was not to us but to all the night-time fishermen who might be in our path setting fish traps, but we managed not to hit anyone. (I think.)


     When we finally arrived, it was clear that Steve needed a bed and a shower more than he needed to balance on the back of an overcrowded motorbike to ride for an hour in the dark, but I couldn't think of a better way to end such an interesting day. So Steve got a $12 room in Battambang city and I climbed on the moto with Sovann for a wild ride - not because he's a wild driver (at least not when I'm riding with him) but because particularly after seeing the results of Boromey's accident, I was overwhelmed with the potential for injury. I felt far too vulnerable on the bike, hurdling through the dark on bumpy roads with no seat belt or airbags. I confessed to Sovann that I was riding with my eyes closed, but by the end of the ride, I was far more relaxed and only wishing I could see in the dark to enjoy the passing scenery. 


     Steve caught up with us the next morning. Staying with Sovann's family, even briefly, was a thoroughly foreign and interesting experience. They live in a traditional wooden house with chickens and ducks and a cow in the yard. I'm not sure I ever figured out exactly who lives there, but it seems to be both of his parents and at least one brother, two sisters, and a nephew - none of whom speak any English. I was offered a mat on the floor complete with some pillows and a blanket and what looked to be a fresh new mosquito just out of the package. Jaz and Sovann had their own corner of the same room, and everyone else slept scattered around the house - which is really just two rooms upstairs with space under the house which is the dining room/living area. The kitchen is in a separate palm-leaf building, and the outhouse is further behind that. 

The place to shower and bathe is quite near the living space and consists of several huge ceramic urns of rainwater and river water out in the open air. I was there long enough to bite the bullet and bathe Khmer-style. 
     Here's how it's done: remove clothes and put on a sarong. Stand next to the large urn of water, scoop water with a cup and pour all over oneself. Lather up with shampoo/soap as needed. Nod politely at various family members who nonchalantly wander by on their way to do other things. Make a statement to one's daughter: "This is bizarre!" Consider her response: "They don't think so, so don't worry about it." Lather, rinse, repeat. Wish for some kind of guarantee from the universe that the sarong will NOT fall off exposing one's large, white, American body. Thank the universe when it doesn't. Wrap dry sarong over wet sarong and remove wet layer from underneath. Gather up all one's dignity and walk past various family members and visiting neighbors to go upstairs and get dressed. Close the door to the stairs to preserve privacy, but realize halfway through getting dressed that the window is open to the road outside and decide not to care that one may have provided entertainment for the whole village. Vow to blog about this experience, despite certainty that this can never be captured in words.

     The rest of the time in the countryside was spent lounging on hammocks, visiting the family's orange grove down the road, admiring Sovann's father's magic tattoos, smiling and nodding at people who came to stare at the foreigners, playing "ball" with a 3-year-old boy by kicking an empty oil can around the yard, and wondering how we might get home. We came home by "taxi" which meant a half-hour motorbike ride to a town where one could hire a 1992 Camry and driver - either pay $8 each and wait around for enough customers to fill the car, or pay $40 to hire the whole car for the 2.5-hour ride right to our doorstep. Guess which option we chose...? Lazy spendthift barangs that we are, with more money than time.... As if we had an appointment to rush home for.

     Coming home meant it was time for a real shower and some clean clothes, and a party at Seven Candles to celebrate all the drivers and volunteers who spent time putting together packages of school supplies and uniforms and distributing them at the schools. The guest house truly feels like our second home here, and I always enjoy spending time there.

     All in all, the weekend was a great adventure. The only problem was that I found myself thinking about "work" on Sunday night and dreading Monday morning. I'm going to have to give that state of affairs some serious thought.

If only I could write.

     I have dozens of unwritten blog posts in my head. They appear to be trapped there, unable to escape. The silent string of narrative unfurls in my head throughout the day, but I can't really talk about it, let alone write about it. On occasion, my head stops spinning and goes relatively blank; then I find myself able to sit and stare into space for a few minutes, thinking of nothing but the sounds around me.

     If I could write, I might write about Steve's birthday - our first dinner party! Thanks to the friends and neighbors who brought the cake and the rice and the spring rolls and the bowls and the chairs and the tables, we managed to have 20 people over for dinner and cake. Steve and I agreed that there wasn't much of a better way to celebrate. Our friend Yeum was so excited by his first birthday party invitation ever that he showed up early with gel in his hair, ready to help set up. All the Khmers indulged in their favorite birthday activity: smearing frosting on other people's faces. Adults and kids alike wore glow-in-the-dark bracelets and played with balloons.

     I could write about the bizarre adventure of having hired a housekeeper - how we feel so weird and guilty about it, yet somehow we console ourselves with the thought that supporting the local economy and giving a woman a bit of earning power offsets all the weirdness. I could write about how we've had to introduce the concept of different cleaning supplies for different purposes - and gently redirect Chanla when furniture polish is being sprayed on the windows. I could write about how this lovely young woman comes once a week and stays hours longer than we agreed upon (until I forcibly wrestle the mop from her hands and tell she MUST go home now!) and brings her adorable 4-year-old daughter who wreaks havoc throughout the house.

Chanla's daughter Srey Nean, after tearing the house apart

     I could write about my job - hell, I could write quite a few posts about my job. I could tell you about the scarcity of resources and the children with swollen bellies, the challenges of constant staff changes and of using 22-year-old Khmer boys as translators for a patient population of primarily women and children, the incredibly draining challenge of figuring out my role and how the organization works, and the dawning realization that NGOs in Cambodia can be just as dysfunctional as organizations back home, and probably more so.

     I could write about the complex relationship between Jaz and her ex-boyfriend Sovann and our family in general. He's practically living here in our extra room, calling us mum and dad, and occasionally having long talks with me in the evening. He provides yet another glimpse into some aspects of Khmer culture, and proves that I still have a special place in my heart for emotionally dysfunctional young men.

Interesting body language

     I could write about my Sunday adventure, when I went to Battambang with our friend Rethy and spent the day with his mother and eight of his siblings and their respective wives and children, the vast majority of whom do not speak English. The two littlest babies never got over their stranger anxiety and cried every time I accidentally made eye contact with them. We went to the pagoda for a ceremony, where I was the only foreigner and was whisked from place to place to participate in various rituals. The beer began flowing by 10:30 am, and after a few of those, I took a lovely nap in the hammock surrounded by the pleasant sound of a family of 30 people laughing, talking, eating and drinking.  

The monk with the dragon tattoo

     I could write about the packs of dogs in our neighborhood and the fascinating relationships they appear to have with each other - though they appear to have no real relationships with humans. Dogs and cats here never approach for any kind of human attention; they eye you warily or ignore you completely, but rarely allow any contact. I feel like Jane Goodall sometimes, trying to observe their comings and goings and make sense out of their complex social behavior.

     I could write about the strange, strange state of mind I find myself in as I question everything. Why are we here? If I came here to "help," what does that really mean? What do I want to give and receive? How does one create meaningful relationships with people in the absence of shared language and culture? What are my expectations? Why do I feel as though I'm on a ship tossing in a storm and I can't keep my balance?

     I think I once said that part of what I love about being here is that I’m not expected to be the one with all the answers anymore; I’m allowed to be the one with all the questions. I can assure you that I have no shortage of questions, and it's not always so comfortable. It's an amazing opportunity for introspection, if you like that sort of thing, which I sometimes do, but I'm frustrated by my inability to articulate the inner processes that are taking up so much of my mental energy. 

     So I could write more about all of those things, but I'm sure none of it is as interesting to you as it is to me, so I'll spare you the details.

     (By the way, I continue to savor every email or contact from home, so don't be shy about writing. Thanks to our Skype number, we've had some phone calls with my parents and the kids, which has been great. We're looking forward to visits from fellow Vermonters in December and February, and would like to remind everyone that the invitation to come visit is open to all!)