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.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
"Changes" Revision
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
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.
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.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Extended Family
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.
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.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Invisible
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)
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
#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.
#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.
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