#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.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
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!
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!
Monday, February 22, 2010
I Love Cambodia
I just bought a bike, which has given me a new life. It’s a beauty. I can see where they welded pieces together under the thin layer of spray paint, but it gives it a little character. Really, I’m going places now... I think I could outride my tuk tuk during rush hour. I don’t know whether or not it’s safer than a moto – I still have to throw myself into the middle of traffic to get anywhere. I had to do some serious bargaining with the guy at the bike shop. Actually, I’m a liar – Beate did. There were about ten shops lined up on the same street, so I went shop hopping with my friend from Holland – she speaks Khmer and is a mean negotiator. I’m not – I’m too soft. You may think finding a bicycle seems easy, but keep in mind I’m a giant in the land of five footers. I wish I could have taken snapshots of the test rides – my knees hit the handlebars, and of course most of the “new” bikes don’t go in a straight line. I ended up with a sweet ride for thirty-three bucks – the biggest bike in the country. It has a new basket on the front, a light, a bell that will rust in three weeks, and a lock that I can’t operate. I dig it. I bought some blue and orange contact paper so I can dress it up a little. I almost lost my mangoes (which I bought from a guy on a motorcycle) today when I hit a pothole, but I’ll learn how to navigate the side streets in no time. I don’t think I can ride it to work – I would be a sweaty mess by the time I got there – but I have an open door to this part of the city. I feel an odd sense of freedom with such a simple purchase.
I made another investment at a place I consider the miracle shop. Even in the U.S., finding shoes for my feet was impossible (“Your Feets Too Big” – Lucas, you know what I’m talkin about). You can imagine that a size twelve shoe in Cambodia is close to a four letter word, BUT there is a shoe store that makes shoes, boots, sandals, you name it, for next to nothing – custom fit! I chose the sandals I liked, then they traced around both feet on a piece of paper (my brother asked if they had paper that big - funnyman). The beauty of this process is that both shoes will fit my feet, since my right foot is over a size bigger than my left. I love Cambodia.
I made another investment at a place I consider the miracle shop. Even in the U.S., finding shoes for my feet was impossible (“Your Feets Too Big” – Lucas, you know what I’m talkin about). You can imagine that a size twelve shoe in Cambodia is close to a four letter word, BUT there is a shoe store that makes shoes, boots, sandals, you name it, for next to nothing – custom fit! I chose the sandals I liked, then they traced around both feet on a piece of paper (my brother asked if they had paper that big - funnyman). The beauty of this process is that both shoes will fit my feet, since my right foot is over a size bigger than my left. I love Cambodia.
Teacher or Student?
I am definitely embracing both roles, and the kids at my school don’t know that their roles as teacher and student are a bit blurry too. We’re all doing our fair share of learning and teaching daily. I have taught the students that there is a big difference between food and foot, edition and addiction – which in the end might keep one from sticking his foot in his mouth or acquiring a second bad habit. Not that I can actually model those things. I’m definitely learning how to be more humble, though – I have a new instructor who is teaching me Khmer vocabulary. He is nine. He sits with me during lunch and we go over the same words every day because I can’t remember any of them. I’m nervous because tomorrow he’ll expect me to know mango, water and car. It’s pretty hilarious – if you have seen Pink Panther with Steve Martin, you’d understand how the interaction goes. “I wooood lach to buy an amburegeare.” Well, my little buddy says “water – tduk”, and I say “tuk”, and he says, “no, tduk” (louder) and I say “tuke” – he says, “TDUK!” (frustration mounting, big eyes), and I give up and drink the water. We repeat the process with mango. It’s exhausting, really. So I know how my students feel when I make them repeat “huge” and “human” over and over again (those words are impossible, for the record – “shuge” and “shuman” every time… I can’t even say them correctly anymore). The kids give a lot - it’s clear that they are not always comfortable or capable, but they put themselves out there anyway. So I’m trying to learn from them and doing the same – I ask how to say new words at the risk of being laughed at… almost every time. Communication is complicated enough when two people speak the same language – imagine communication problems eight hours a day. I’m grateful for a sense of humor, or I would go crazy. There’s still time, I suppose – it’s early .
Monday, February 8, 2010
Never a Dull Moment
This week kind of exploded – some work and play that was familiar, and other activity that was completely new to me. First of all, I’m wearing many hats at the school, which has already opened the door to some unique opportunities. The most exciting event was an education reception I attended at the residence of the British Ambassador. The gathering was designed to promote institutions of education in the UK and build relationships between international schools in Asia and Great Britain. Of course, I don’t play a significant role in that scheme… I just stumbled upon an invitation. I had no idea what I was doing among ministers of education and university presidents, but there I was with my messenger bag and harmonica (just in case). My tuk tuk driver dropped me off and left me in the hands of the guards… at that point I was kind of wishing he would accompany me. I thought I would fare better at an engagement hosted by masters of the English language – but their accents and speed of delivery still got the better of me. I kind of felt like Bridget Jones. His home had an open entry of white marble steps framed with small palms – quite a contrast to the dirty streets on the other side of the wall. A large pool was flush with the lower level patio and a canopy of trees. There was a mad exchange of business cards and a lot of men in suits talking about how important they were. I knew just how important I was, so I stood quietly between the dish of party nuts and the fan. At first I felt uncomfortable, but realized that I had nobody to impress, so I decided to just enjoy the moment. I drank the ambassador’s wine, examined his landscape portraits of Manchester and Yorkshire, ate more cashews and watched the Cambodian ballet dancers. I took a self-guided tour of the first floor and snuck upstairs to the bathroom. I kind of got a kick out of that – easily amused. As everyone got in their cars to leave, I jumped on the back of a mototaxi and headed to the grocery store for some salsa. It was a good night.
On more familiar ground… I played basketball with a group of women who meet every Tuesday at a local school. It was so much fun. Most of the women are from Germany, a couple from Holland, and one from Japan - she was a go-getter, but kept bouncing off me like a pinball. The rules and style of play were a little different – we didn’t really enforce little things like traveling five or six steps or collisions at half court. There were very unique shots and holes in the backboard, but regardless of skill, they found so much joy in playing. It was refreshing to run around and laugh. I just enjoyed meeting some new people and am excited to go back tomorrow. I’ve unofficially been named coach, and they decided it would be beneficial to have ten minutes of training every week before we play. I don’t think any of them have played organized basketball, so it will be fun. I love sports – I love that a ball and a hoop or a net can connect people.
The other new thing I’m working on is our school website. I’ve never even considered how information gets on the internet – I guess I just assumed that ideas and products and facts appear as I need them… like there’s a web genie or something. But because I’m the English speaker of the group, I’m now responsible for consulting with web designers/builders and organizing/writing/maintaining our site, which is actually a lot of work. Stuff like this quickly reveals strengths and weaknesses. I’m great at coming up with ideas, thinking about possibilities, and talking it through. That’s where my skill set ends, if you can call those skills. It will be a good learning experience for me, however, and it’s good for me to be the one that must do it… there’s nobody else to save me or finish for me.
I'll have to write later about our trip to my friend's village in the province. I put some pictures above. The people there certainly impacted my heart, and it was nice to get away from the city and see a different kind of life. I swam with the kids and cows, visited the library my friend built at the local school, played with the kids, and participated in a pretty serious volleyball competition. All of these experiences are changing my heart in so many ways. I'm so grateful for the opportunities I've had already - they make me excited to start a new day and see what happens next.
On more familiar ground… I played basketball with a group of women who meet every Tuesday at a local school. It was so much fun. Most of the women are from Germany, a couple from Holland, and one from Japan - she was a go-getter, but kept bouncing off me like a pinball. The rules and style of play were a little different – we didn’t really enforce little things like traveling five or six steps or collisions at half court. There were very unique shots and holes in the backboard, but regardless of skill, they found so much joy in playing. It was refreshing to run around and laugh. I just enjoyed meeting some new people and am excited to go back tomorrow. I’ve unofficially been named coach, and they decided it would be beneficial to have ten minutes of training every week before we play. I don’t think any of them have played organized basketball, so it will be fun. I love sports – I love that a ball and a hoop or a net can connect people.
The other new thing I’m working on is our school website. I’ve never even considered how information gets on the internet – I guess I just assumed that ideas and products and facts appear as I need them… like there’s a web genie or something. But because I’m the English speaker of the group, I’m now responsible for consulting with web designers/builders and organizing/writing/maintaining our site, which is actually a lot of work. Stuff like this quickly reveals strengths and weaknesses. I’m great at coming up with ideas, thinking about possibilities, and talking it through. That’s where my skill set ends, if you can call those skills. It will be a good learning experience for me, however, and it’s good for me to be the one that must do it… there’s nobody else to save me or finish for me.
I'll have to write later about our trip to my friend's village in the province. I put some pictures above. The people there certainly impacted my heart, and it was nice to get away from the city and see a different kind of life. I swam with the kids and cows, visited the library my friend built at the local school, played with the kids, and participated in a pretty serious volleyball competition. All of these experiences are changing my heart in so many ways. I'm so grateful for the opportunities I've had already - they make me excited to start a new day and see what happens next.
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