Teacher Moments

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

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

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?

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

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

#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

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

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

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!