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.