I am getting SO excited for my dad to arrive in Cambodia in TWO WEEKS! I can't believe that he will be here, and I'm counting the days now. It is going to be such a special time for me (and hopefully for him) as he joins me on this leg of the journey. Really, it will be kind of surreal to have him here, as he is usually sitting on the other end of a Skype session. I am happy to have my two worlds connect - for him to meet the people I talk about, to interact with the kids I love so much, and to experience all of the funny things that will happen simply by riding our bikes down the street. I'm really eager to share this part of my life with someone I'm so close to. And it's really important to mention that my dad is straight up hilarious and game for anything - really, one of my best friends - so we're gonna have a good time! The best running commentary ever. His visit couldn't come at a better time - the last couple months have been pretty challenging, but I also know it will be difficult to say goodbye. It will be nice to have some extra support. I don't know how I won the parent lottery, but I'm sure grateful.
The teachers are excited too - Thy, my close friend at the school, asked if he could take my dad fishing, and he also wants us to join his family for dinner in their home, which will be really special. I wanted to plan a trip to one of the villages, so we're going to the homeland of our security guard during a holiday in early December. We'll ride out on motos and eat some form of pig or fish and laugh. It's going to be great.
I'm also excited about another plan - Thanksgiving, Cambodia style! While you are watching football, we are going to be cleaning up after a staff dinner, too! I invited all of the teachers to my house for Thanksgiving since they are my family here. It will be a little different - I'm going to buy chickens from the vendor down the street since there aren't any frozen turkeys and I don't know how to catch a duck. But I will find potatoes and cranberry and do my best to make stuffing and pies and green bean casserole. This is a pretty big endeavor for me, since my role at Thanksgiving is usually manning the spinach dip and dessert table - but I'm going to give it the ol' college try, and either way, the teachers will say nice things. They may not mean them, but they will be kind. It's a safe crowd for my first Thanksgiving. If everything burns up or melts down, I can always make rice, boil some vegetables and call it a night.
Some great things to look forward to in the next month!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
My life as a very serious runner....
It has been a while since I have written anything – my mind is going ALL the time, but getting thoughts down seems to take some time. Between teaching at the school, working on assignments for grad school, and eating, I seem to run out of hours. I realized that one of my favorite aspects of this culture is the importance of eating – I just plain love food, and I commit time to the things I love. I learned a new Cambodian saying: “Don’t hide your stomach”, which is funny, but not something I want to necessarily embrace. SO, because I like to eat, I like to run. Well that’s what people say – “running”, but of course it’s jogging at a very average to slow pace. Regardless of terminology, Cambodians clearly don’t see many women running around the streets of Phnom Penh, so it is a daily adventure (well, every-other day-ly). I have been running during my lunch hour, which is clearly a bad idea because it is the hottest part of the day, but it’s the time that works. So every run starts with me saying hello to the motodope driver who is perched on his bike outside our gate and nodding when he points at the sun and shares a painful expression. I run down one of the long roads, which is pretty busy at noon, and trust that the cars, trucks, motos and bicycles will give me a few inches. This can be a scary stretch, because the idea of space isn’t a major concern, and most people seem to think that a gap of three inches is more than adequate for passing. I don’t know how safe you would feel standing three inches from a grizzly bear, but being at that proximity from a speeding Lexus or a cart stacked with rebar doesn’t feel very safe at that distance. I’m still standing, so the course is working out. The humor comes when I pass people. Now, I realize I resemble a baby giraffe when I jog, but come on. The old women standing on the sidewalks stare, then smile when I say hello. A few have tested the new move, then quickly stop. The children shout, “HEL-lo!” and ride their bikes in circles around me. The young guys mock me, running along the side of the road (also like baby giraffes), and a few have chanted “mouey, bpee, mouey, bpee” (“one-two-one-two”) – one tuk tuk driver even made the effort to use his fingers to count for me as he drove by with a goofy grin. Everyone else just points and laughs. A guy drives by with four tanks of propane, a dead pig, and 14 live chickens on his motorcycle, and nobody bats an eye… I run by, and people act like they are at a parade. Sometimes I get irritated, but I have to remember where I am and who I am. ‘Normal activity’ is really relative. I have been able to have some cool interactions – there are three little kids who run up to me every time they see me truckin’ down the street, and I do love that. The only things that really scare me are the stray dogs and gangs of tuk drivers on the corner. The dogs aren’t so threatening, I suppose – they are all pretty small – but none of them are trained, and they are pretty unpredictable. Some dart after me, and some just look like they are plotting an attack. All of the men who walk in the mornings carry long sticks. I think there is some proverb that says to walk softly (or speak softly – neither of which I do) and carry a big stick – I’m understanding why. So far, no bites, no rabies. I’m hoping to run the 10K at Angkor Wat in December. There is also a half-marathon, but let’s not get crazy – I threw the shot put in high school for a reason. It should be a lot of fun, and I will at least be with a group of runners and won’t have to face the ridicule of the “street.”
Today I joined a 5K fundraiser at one of the international schools. The course was great – through back allies, along a pond of dried up water lilies, through a field (hopping cow pies) and along a strip of the main road. One section consisted of bricks, stones and smashed tiles. I am proud to announce that I won the women’s group with a time of 29:08. Very impressive, I know. I have never been first in any kind of footrace, and I don’t know how it could happen with that kind of pace, but anything is possible here. Obviously, there weren’t many people. It kind of reminded me of an episode of The Office – if you’ve seen it you’d laugh. The important thing is that I got a chocolate bar.
Today I joined a 5K fundraiser at one of the international schools. The course was great – through back allies, along a pond of dried up water lilies, through a field (hopping cow pies) and along a strip of the main road. One section consisted of bricks, stones and smashed tiles. I am proud to announce that I won the women’s group with a time of 29:08. Very impressive, I know. I have never been first in any kind of footrace, and I don’t know how it could happen with that kind of pace, but anything is possible here. Obviously, there weren’t many people. It kind of reminded me of an episode of The Office – if you’ve seen it you’d laugh. The important thing is that I got a chocolate bar.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Pchum Ben
Last weekend I joined one of my close friends, Chantou, and her family in the province to celebrate Pchum Ben, a special Buddhist holiday, also known as “Ancestor’s Day”. It was by far the best experience I have had here; for four days and three nights I was invited to be part of her extended family (really extended – I couldn’t count the number of aunts, uncles and cousins, but it was a party!). So many memories were created in a relatively short time, and by the end of the first day, I felt like I was part of the family. We left early Thursday morning with the rush of traffic, leaving the deserted city behind us. I bought a ten dollar helmet and rode the back of a moto (small, red, with a basket) for two and a half hours, putting my life in the hands of Chantou’s nephew… really, a Dumb and Dumber moment. It was a beautiful ride through the rice paddies, but six inches of seat isn’t much to work with. We met up with the rest of the family at the edge of the river and loaded our bags, bodies and motorcycles onto a narrow wooden boat. The riverside was vibrant with color – trees and water lilies floated on the surface of the Tonle Sap, and houses built high on stilts lined the banks. After crossing the river, we transferred our bags to a big ol tuk tuk – the tuk-wagon, I called it – which was driven by one of the uncles. This was our ride for the weekend – it carried us through the village, off roads, and up to the mountain… with a little pushing. It carried about twenty of us at that point, but we definitely tested its maximum capacity later.
The area was so green – trees and other plants grew along the road, tall palm trees stood in the distance, and small mountains were painted in the background. I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier… I’m small town, so I felt more at home there than in Phnom Penh. We drove through the small market and along the red dirt roads that took us to the home of Chantou’s mother and father. They are beautiful people – her mother is hilarious, full of stories and expression, and her father, very serious and observant, yet warm. They welcomed me with open arms, plenty of food, and a straw mat. I met the rest of the family as well – I couldn’t tell you their names, but they all took care of me, making sure I ate as much rice as I could stomach and didn’t go without a can of Angkor – “My country, my beer!” Molly, sit – Molly, eat rice –Molly, take a bath, take a rest, take a photo - Molly, we go now – Molly, dance! I was clearly the outsider, but never did I feel like it. It was oddly familiar and comfortable, which was a pretty cool feeling, considering I was in the company of virtual strangers.
The weekend was packed with memories. They danced and sang karaoke all night for two nights, cranking power for lights and four huge speakers from a small greasy generator. I joined, of course, and earned the favor of the ladies across the street, who imitated my moves the next morning when I visited them for coffee. We toured the village and surrounding area, winding through fields and mountains, dodging cows and water buffalo. Kids rode shirtless on bikes, and women walked cattle along the roads. Many parties were in full swing in front of houses and at the pagodas – music, dancing, and shouts as we drove by. We went to the pagoda on Friday morning. Chantou’s family prepared food to take to the monks – rice and curry and fruits and meat – and they dressed in their traditional formal clothes, the women in long silk skirts and white beaded tops, and the men in silk shirts and pants. Later in the day, we visited the temple of their ancestors, the place where they put the bones of family members who have passed away. They offered wrapped gifts, burned incense and prayed inside the temple, then four young monks sat with the family. An elder sprinkled water on the family members with the leaves of a branch… and then we drank orange Fanta. Obviously, I didn’t understand everything that was happening, but I felt honored to sit with them and witness it nonetheless. From there we jumped the fence of a local school and strung a rope between two poles for a game of volleyball. We had to share the court with three cows, which I later learned are the same breed as those used for bull riding, so it was necessary to mark the eNORmous cowpies with plastic bottles. The cows got a little restless when we got into our second game – they kept moving in on our territory, so the guys chased them off with sticks. It kept them at bay until one got feisty and turned on us. He started grunting, then lowered his head and went after Chakrey (cousin). Really went after him – at a much faster speed than I would have anticipated from a cow. So Chakrey took off, and the chase was on… the cow left him to run down Chantou’s daughter, who started screaming and sprinting, and after she jumped into a tree for safety, it charged after me. I don’t ever remember being quite so scared, to be honest. So with all the speed I had (which isn’t much, of course), I ran for the steps of the school and the protection of a pillar, everyone joining me in my half-scream-half-laugh. More scream. “You have red shirt – it’s like Espain! Ha ha!” We all stayed in our safety zones until the mad cow got hit with enough rocks from Chakrey and left. We called the game, and rode four to a moto back to camp. Hilarious. We laughed about it for the rest of the weekend. So many moments to lock away – we climbed the rocks of a waterfall with the district governor and his bodyguards, hiked the backside of the mountain, then bought boiled eggs for the tuk ride home. We stopped for coconut on the way back – a cousin and the tuk driver shimmied up the trees and threw about thirty of them down while we waited below with axes and straws for immediate consumption. Really, such unique experiences. Maybe the most authentic was bathing in a sarong from a well… a little uncomfortable at first, but… when in Rome! I also gained a real appreciation for my mattress after sleeping on the wooden floor for three nights. I slept with Chantou’s daughters on the covered porch – we shared a mat and a mosquito net.
My favorite moments came at unexpected times. Just sitting on the floor, listening to Chantou and her family share stories and laugh. I dozed in and out, as I couldn’t understand what was being said, but there was so much love. I enjoyed sharing meals with them, of course, and as always, they loved that I ate their food. Before we left, each of the families sat with the grandfather and received a blessing from him. He extended a blessing to me as well, holding my hands in his. He wished me health and success and love, and I thanked him with more sincerity than he probably knows. It was special. We returned to the city – by tuk wagon, boat, and moto – stopping at the homes of every aunt, uncle and cousin who couldn’t make it to the reunion. We caravanned back to Phnom Penh, one car, one tuk tuk, and five motorcycles. I knew I was in with the fam when we stopped at a roadside rest area and they ordered me lunch - rice, boiled egg, and fried frogs wrapped in lettuce. I really feel this experience was the result of developing a special relationship with Chantou over time. I was able to experience real life, real traditions, real family interactions. And I was able to really enjoy it, knowing that I would be able to share similar moments with my own family soon. I feel like every experience here helps me appreciate life more.
The area was so green – trees and other plants grew along the road, tall palm trees stood in the distance, and small mountains were painted in the background. I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier… I’m small town, so I felt more at home there than in Phnom Penh. We drove through the small market and along the red dirt roads that took us to the home of Chantou’s mother and father. They are beautiful people – her mother is hilarious, full of stories and expression, and her father, very serious and observant, yet warm. They welcomed me with open arms, plenty of food, and a straw mat. I met the rest of the family as well – I couldn’t tell you their names, but they all took care of me, making sure I ate as much rice as I could stomach and didn’t go without a can of Angkor – “My country, my beer!” Molly, sit – Molly, eat rice –Molly, take a bath, take a rest, take a photo - Molly, we go now – Molly, dance! I was clearly the outsider, but never did I feel like it. It was oddly familiar and comfortable, which was a pretty cool feeling, considering I was in the company of virtual strangers.
The weekend was packed with memories. They danced and sang karaoke all night for two nights, cranking power for lights and four huge speakers from a small greasy generator. I joined, of course, and earned the favor of the ladies across the street, who imitated my moves the next morning when I visited them for coffee. We toured the village and surrounding area, winding through fields and mountains, dodging cows and water buffalo. Kids rode shirtless on bikes, and women walked cattle along the roads. Many parties were in full swing in front of houses and at the pagodas – music, dancing, and shouts as we drove by. We went to the pagoda on Friday morning. Chantou’s family prepared food to take to the monks – rice and curry and fruits and meat – and they dressed in their traditional formal clothes, the women in long silk skirts and white beaded tops, and the men in silk shirts and pants. Later in the day, we visited the temple of their ancestors, the place where they put the bones of family members who have passed away. They offered wrapped gifts, burned incense and prayed inside the temple, then four young monks sat with the family. An elder sprinkled water on the family members with the leaves of a branch… and then we drank orange Fanta. Obviously, I didn’t understand everything that was happening, but I felt honored to sit with them and witness it nonetheless. From there we jumped the fence of a local school and strung a rope between two poles for a game of volleyball. We had to share the court with three cows, which I later learned are the same breed as those used for bull riding, so it was necessary to mark the eNORmous cowpies with plastic bottles. The cows got a little restless when we got into our second game – they kept moving in on our territory, so the guys chased them off with sticks. It kept them at bay until one got feisty and turned on us. He started grunting, then lowered his head and went after Chakrey (cousin). Really went after him – at a much faster speed than I would have anticipated from a cow. So Chakrey took off, and the chase was on… the cow left him to run down Chantou’s daughter, who started screaming and sprinting, and after she jumped into a tree for safety, it charged after me. I don’t ever remember being quite so scared, to be honest. So with all the speed I had (which isn’t much, of course), I ran for the steps of the school and the protection of a pillar, everyone joining me in my half-scream-half-laugh. More scream. “You have red shirt – it’s like Espain! Ha ha!” We all stayed in our safety zones until the mad cow got hit with enough rocks from Chakrey and left. We called the game, and rode four to a moto back to camp. Hilarious. We laughed about it for the rest of the weekend. So many moments to lock away – we climbed the rocks of a waterfall with the district governor and his bodyguards, hiked the backside of the mountain, then bought boiled eggs for the tuk ride home. We stopped for coconut on the way back – a cousin and the tuk driver shimmied up the trees and threw about thirty of them down while we waited below with axes and straws for immediate consumption. Really, such unique experiences. Maybe the most authentic was bathing in a sarong from a well… a little uncomfortable at first, but… when in Rome! I also gained a real appreciation for my mattress after sleeping on the wooden floor for three nights. I slept with Chantou’s daughters on the covered porch – we shared a mat and a mosquito net.
My favorite moments came at unexpected times. Just sitting on the floor, listening to Chantou and her family share stories and laugh. I dozed in and out, as I couldn’t understand what was being said, but there was so much love. I enjoyed sharing meals with them, of course, and as always, they loved that I ate their food. Before we left, each of the families sat with the grandfather and received a blessing from him. He extended a blessing to me as well, holding my hands in his. He wished me health and success and love, and I thanked him with more sincerity than he probably knows. It was special. We returned to the city – by tuk wagon, boat, and moto – stopping at the homes of every aunt, uncle and cousin who couldn’t make it to the reunion. We caravanned back to Phnom Penh, one car, one tuk tuk, and five motorcycles. I knew I was in with the fam when we stopped at a roadside rest area and they ordered me lunch - rice, boiled egg, and fried frogs wrapped in lettuce. I really feel this experience was the result of developing a special relationship with Chantou over time. I was able to experience real life, real traditions, real family interactions. And I was able to really enjoy it, knowing that I would be able to share similar moments with my own family soon. I feel like every experience here helps me appreciate life more.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
The Commute
People say every day is an adventure, and really, this is so true here. Yesterday afternoon the black clouds rolled in, and it started pouring. By my four o’clock class, the hall was flooded and I had to wade through floating plastic cups to get to the English room. At five, water was creeping up to the lip of the ledge, so I unplugged the cords on the floor, put the keyboard on one of the desks, cleared the bottom shelf of books and threw the padlock on the door, hoping for the best. The front of the schoolyard was a small pool of swirling basketballs and blue garbage bags, and kids were huddled under the overhang on the steps, squealing and throwing things into the small reservoir. I guess the kids considered this a special time – the student bathrooms were covered in water, so they were allowed to use the toilet next to the office. Simple joys. I thought it was pretty fun, myself - this was a new thing for me. I wrapped my computer in a black trash bag and stuffed it into my backpack then climbed on my bike. The streets were already teeming with water, washing trash from the sidewalks. The sides of the road drop off, so everyone was competing for the small strip of higher ground in the middle - most streets didn’t even offer that. Potholes dot the area, which make for rough "blind" riding... six inches of water, then a foot and a half - no way to know when you're goin down! The best strategy was to follow the tires an SUV – they blaze a pretty good trail. I didn’t expect to jump the wakes of cars, but I guess anything goes. Water was up to my shins while pedaling – a lot of work! It rained most of the night, and I kept thinking about the state of our school. I headed out this morning, and the traffic was nuts – everyone trying to find a dry route to their destination. Well, I don’t know the city well enough to change my course, so I just started swimming. What I really could have used was my sweet little kayak! I walked my bike through knee-deep water, laughing with my fellow waders. “No problem,” two guys said. I was better off than some - my long legs make for a miserable bus trip, but they put me at an advantage for these conditions, and for one of the first times, I was grateful to be a giant in Asia. One poor little guy barely kept his handlebars above the water. Sticks kept getting caught in my spokes and I cursed the big jeeps that moved through the streets like barges, throwing waves into the basket of my bike. I finally made it to the school, which looked like an ant colony rebuilding its nest. Everyone was in repair mode, bailing water from halls and classrooms with dustpans and buckets. They didn’t complain, didn’t worry – just went to work. I spent the morning in a puddle, sweeping water over the lip of the door with my sandals while the kids worked. My pants dried out by lunch, and now it’s sunny and hot – really, no problem.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Literacy 101
I am currently taking a graduate course online and was given an assignment that caused me to reflect on what I’m doing here – I still stop and ask myself that question a lot. We were to read the short story, “Thank You, M’am” by Langston Hughes and respond to a quote of our choice from the text. Now, if you don’t want to engage in my little assignment, no problem, but I do think you should find the short story and read it (or re-read it). I’ll also mention briefly that I get marked down on APA criteria and other details all the time, so easy on me, English teachers – enough red marks already.
“The woman said, “You ought to by my son. I would teach you right from wrong. Least I
can do right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?””
This quote is simple, but carries a lot of weight. The woman sees the boy’s need for love and guidance. Even in her harsh tone, deep concern and compassion is expressed. She is aware, however, that she cannot fulfill the role of a parent or lifelong mentor – it is not her responsibility, nor her place to bear it. Despite the unspoken boundaries that exist, this woman seizes the opportunity to do what she can to take care of the boy and teach him a lesson that will last – a moral lesson, yes, but also a lesson on grace and love. She cannot save him from the pain or neglect in his life, but she can offer her heart and wisdom, a bar of soap, and a cup of cocoa.
This quote speaks to me on a personal level and certainly resonates with me as an educator. I have had many students in my classroom who remind me of this boy. They have walked through the door with dirt in the folds of their necks, soiled clothes, and black teeth. My natural desire is to take these children home and provide a safe, clean, loving environment, but, like the woman, I recognize that it is not my place to do so. What I can offer is a safe, clean, loving environment for part of their day. I can challenge them to grow and give them tools to be successful. If I have one hour a day, then let me use it well. If I have one year to show children that they are valuable and capable, that is my “right now.” The woman saw the needs of the boy and offered what she could at that moment. This quote allows me to see the significance of every small opportunity to give and to teach. It reminds me of the words spoken by Theodore Roosevelt: “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”
Right now I am living and teaching in Cambodia – I cannot walk down the street without seeing extreme poverty. I know the change I would like to see. There is an endless list of things I “ought to” do or things that “ought to” be, but I cannot take on that responsibility. So, today I will help my students develop a second language, a skill that could give them more options in the future. I will teach them to think in a new way. I will laugh with them and enforce the consequences of copying homework or hitting (there was, in fact, a lot of love in the reprimand of Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones), and I will eat lunch or play volleyball with them in an effort to build trust and strengthen relationships. It doesn’t seem like much and won't solve all the problems, but it’s my bar of soap.
“The woman said, “You ought to by my son. I would teach you right from wrong. Least I
can do right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?””
This quote is simple, but carries a lot of weight. The woman sees the boy’s need for love and guidance. Even in her harsh tone, deep concern and compassion is expressed. She is aware, however, that she cannot fulfill the role of a parent or lifelong mentor – it is not her responsibility, nor her place to bear it. Despite the unspoken boundaries that exist, this woman seizes the opportunity to do what she can to take care of the boy and teach him a lesson that will last – a moral lesson, yes, but also a lesson on grace and love. She cannot save him from the pain or neglect in his life, but she can offer her heart and wisdom, a bar of soap, and a cup of cocoa.
This quote speaks to me on a personal level and certainly resonates with me as an educator. I have had many students in my classroom who remind me of this boy. They have walked through the door with dirt in the folds of their necks, soiled clothes, and black teeth. My natural desire is to take these children home and provide a safe, clean, loving environment, but, like the woman, I recognize that it is not my place to do so. What I can offer is a safe, clean, loving environment for part of their day. I can challenge them to grow and give them tools to be successful. If I have one hour a day, then let me use it well. If I have one year to show children that they are valuable and capable, that is my “right now.” The woman saw the needs of the boy and offered what she could at that moment. This quote allows me to see the significance of every small opportunity to give and to teach. It reminds me of the words spoken by Theodore Roosevelt: “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”
Right now I am living and teaching in Cambodia – I cannot walk down the street without seeing extreme poverty. I know the change I would like to see. There is an endless list of things I “ought to” do or things that “ought to” be, but I cannot take on that responsibility. So, today I will help my students develop a second language, a skill that could give them more options in the future. I will teach them to think in a new way. I will laugh with them and enforce the consequences of copying homework or hitting (there was, in fact, a lot of love in the reprimand of Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones), and I will eat lunch or play volleyball with them in an effort to build trust and strengthen relationships. It doesn’t seem like much and won't solve all the problems, but it’s my bar of soap.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Back in the Saddle… Or on the Tuk Tuk Anyway
I’m back in Cambodia after a beautiful month and a half at home… breathing fresh, COOL mountain air, eating dinner with my parents, dancing with the most handsome guy I know, and pretending I was part of the Eastern coaching staff. Now back to sweating by sunrise, navigating busy streets and eating the tropical fruit in season (cannot pronounce it, nor can I spell). I was greeted at the airport by my good friend and three teachers from Goldstone – all smiling and waving. There were lots of hugs when I arrived at the school, a quick glimpse at pictures and new books, then back to the routine. A weird transition – very familiar and still very foreign. I wasn’t worried at all this time – just sad to leave home. It has been easy to get back into the swing of things – I know where to go, I know how to give the same poor directions in poorly spoken Khmer, and I know which foods to avoid (not many, of course) - but it’s kind of wild to hop across cultures so quickly. Saturday I was in an air-conditioned car and Monday afternoon I was swerving around cabbage trucks on the back of a motorcycle.
I have a new home for this stint – I loaded my bags and bike (which hasn’t been stolen yet) onto the tuk and moved in one trip. It’s a simple life here. I’m now only five minutes from the school by bicycle and next to a small market where they sell seatbelts, baguettes and bananas. The house is linked to four others behind a big red gate on the edge of a quaint little pond. The water looks nice in the morning - the reflection of the sun glows while water lilies (and Styrofoam) float by. The pond is better observed from the window, however, because it is really the dumpsite for the waste in our area. I don’t know who thought building on the sewage system was a good idea, but here sits our cozy home. And it is cozy – my roommate is one of the warmest individuals I have met. She loves the Lord, loves ice cream, and loves me enough to welcome this wanderer with outstretched arms. I feel very much at home already. She is a teacher at a nearby international school, so we immediately began late night collaboration sessions. Her heart is huge, and I think she will teach me a lot in a short time. Our first challenge is to rid the kitchen of rats – a unifying task. A two-inch gap under the door to the back of the house and droppings in the bread basket indicated that we were sharing our space with dirty friends… but when I saw a little bugger scampering behind the fridge this morning, our efforts to exterminate increased. Asking for a rat trap in charades is one of the more amusing experiences I’ve had at a grocery store, but I was able to walk away with “rat glue,” which looks a lot like burnt taffy and has already proven effective. Gross. Pretending I don’t hear the squeaks right now so I don’t have to pull clean-up duty. Our other housemate is a very mature sophomore whose parents are missionaries on the outskirts of Cambodia. She is staying in the city to attend high school - she has already lived in Cambodia nine years, so she knows the ropes. The three of us make up an odd little family, but I think we will all benefit in some way. I have gained a mentor, and I can possibly impart some wisdom on my new little sister, though she seems more sophisticated than me in many ways.
It’s important to mention that this leg of my journey will be shortened a little, and that I’ll be heading home no later than December. I’ve learned so much about my personal priorities by being away from the people who are most important to me… then being with them again. Things have become pretty simple: I need to be home. I need those relationships. And, well, I need to see if I can have one more dance. So I will be here to start the year with the students and staff, train the person who will take over my position, then return to Washington. I have shared plans and tears with the teachers here, and though it is difficult to think of goodbye, they understand how much I cherish relationships and are supportive. They were the ones who taught me more about the importance of family and community, after all. I will treasure the time I have here in this season and hopefully offer something of value before I leave. So here we go again!!
I have a new home for this stint – I loaded my bags and bike (which hasn’t been stolen yet) onto the tuk and moved in one trip. It’s a simple life here. I’m now only five minutes from the school by bicycle and next to a small market where they sell seatbelts, baguettes and bananas. The house is linked to four others behind a big red gate on the edge of a quaint little pond. The water looks nice in the morning - the reflection of the sun glows while water lilies (and Styrofoam) float by. The pond is better observed from the window, however, because it is really the dumpsite for the waste in our area. I don’t know who thought building on the sewage system was a good idea, but here sits our cozy home. And it is cozy – my roommate is one of the warmest individuals I have met. She loves the Lord, loves ice cream, and loves me enough to welcome this wanderer with outstretched arms. I feel very much at home already. She is a teacher at a nearby international school, so we immediately began late night collaboration sessions. Her heart is huge, and I think she will teach me a lot in a short time. Our first challenge is to rid the kitchen of rats – a unifying task. A two-inch gap under the door to the back of the house and droppings in the bread basket indicated that we were sharing our space with dirty friends… but when I saw a little bugger scampering behind the fridge this morning, our efforts to exterminate increased. Asking for a rat trap in charades is one of the more amusing experiences I’ve had at a grocery store, but I was able to walk away with “rat glue,” which looks a lot like burnt taffy and has already proven effective. Gross. Pretending I don’t hear the squeaks right now so I don’t have to pull clean-up duty. Our other housemate is a very mature sophomore whose parents are missionaries on the outskirts of Cambodia. She is staying in the city to attend high school - she has already lived in Cambodia nine years, so she knows the ropes. The three of us make up an odd little family, but I think we will all benefit in some way. I have gained a mentor, and I can possibly impart some wisdom on my new little sister, though she seems more sophisticated than me in many ways.
It’s important to mention that this leg of my journey will be shortened a little, and that I’ll be heading home no later than December. I’ve learned so much about my personal priorities by being away from the people who are most important to me… then being with them again. Things have become pretty simple: I need to be home. I need those relationships. And, well, I need to see if I can have one more dance. So I will be here to start the year with the students and staff, train the person who will take over my position, then return to Washington. I have shared plans and tears with the teachers here, and though it is difficult to think of goodbye, they understand how much I cherish relationships and are supportive. They were the ones who taught me more about the importance of family and community, after all. I will treasure the time I have here in this season and hopefully offer something of value before I leave. So here we go again!!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
A Few Thoughts...
As the end of my first stint in Cambodia is drawing to a close, I have had some time to really reflect on all that has happened during the last seven months. I want to spend more time processing the events, relationships and lessons before I’m thrust into the tailspin of trips and reunions that wait at home, but of course there’s always too much happening to sit and think. Maybe that’s what thirty hour flights are for.
It will be impossible to adequately explain the impact this experience has had on my heart and mind, but I suppose that’s the nature of experience – you have to live something to fully understand the significance. So I don’t expect my experience to change others, but I am no doubt changed myself… changed by the people, changed by the culture, changed by the images of poverty and beauty both, and changed by my own personal wrestling match during the last year.
I anticipated some things – I knew I would meet interesting people, eat wacky food, and work through various challenges. There was no way to know what those things would look like, however, until I came face to face with them in the context of life. That has been the fun part – interesting, hilarious, frustrating, scary – and fun. I didn’t expect to gain a best friend from Holland in Cambodia. I think I’ve learned more Dutch than Khmer. I didn’t expect to spend every lunch hour eating like royalty – really, how many hot lunch programs are serving fresh shrimp, beef and pork (OR blood, liver, baby frogs and chicken feet)? There’s no way I could have predicted that I would develop such deep love for the teachers at the school. I knew I would give my heart away to the students, but my deepest connection has been with the staff – men and women who serve tirelessly and who have taken care of me. They have become my family here. And their love hasn’t been reserved for me alone - five or six teachers sent gifts for my mom and dad with the message that they love them. They have so little, but they simply want to give. It’s special.
I also thought I would use Phnom Penh as a platform to do more traveling – I figured I would be checking out a new city or country every chance I had… Thailand, Vietnam, Laos. I think I actually left the city a total of three times in seven months, including a school study tour with 75 kids. I haven’t had wild adventures in the jungle or toured Southeast Asia yet. Rather, I have shared meals with families in their homes, celebrated holidays with the teachers at the school, and played volleyball with the students after school. I believe that has been the most valuable investment of time. The teachers don’t vacation. They were at the school every day of their two week holiday. Most of them have never crossed the border of Vietnam, only five hours away. So though I would like to do more traveling next year, I don’t regret my ties to this place. I may not have seen the post popular tourist attractions in Bangkok or Ho Chi Minh City – or even Phnom Penh for that matter – but I’ve eaten Khmer noodles and grilled fish with my friends, hitched rides on the backs of their motors, and laughed over and over at dumb inside jokes about soup, language, and being single. Those things are far more meaningful than my picture of Angkor Wat.
Living in Cambodia has helped me understand many things on a deeper level. Teaching at an non-profit school in a third world country seems like a noble endeavor, but in Phnom Penh, I’m one of hundreds. That’s why everyone is there. Almost every expat is working for some organization – everyone there has left family and the comforts of home to help the people of Cambodia. There’s no applause once you arrive – they hand you a shovel and tell you to roll up your sleeves; “Glad you took the plunge, now let’s go.” It’s good – I like that. It forces people to check their motives. It is a needy place – you can’t volunteer with the notion that the world is going to stop and honor your love for humanity… it’s the expectation. At the same time, it’s very possible to live a very comfortable life, somewhat isolated from the country. People can still go to their offices and coffee shops, jazz clubs and pools, having very little interaction with the real lives of those in poverty, with the typical life in Cambodia. We can do the same thing anywhere – stick to our community without venturing out to a different population or group. It’s easy to do, because it’s so comfortable. But, wow – I would have missed out on many rich experiences if I had stayed in the walls of expatriate land.
Often I was more of an observer than a participant – the foreign fly on the wall – but I have realized the value of presence. Just being there – sitting on the steps while the guys play chess, slicing meat while the women talk and prepare food, listening to the staff meeting with no translation. The conversation or event may not have had the same significance to me on a cognitive level, but I was able to communicate that I was invested, that I cared. That’s important. Ironically, the lesson of presence was equally powerful in my absence. Sharing meals with people here clearly meant that I wasn’t sitting at the dinner table with my family or friends, and that has been hard. I haven’t been the friend I would like to be – the one someone can call at three in the morning or be there for life’s trials. I have kept thinking about the quote by Theodore Roosevelt - “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” So now I’m almost home (staging for twelve hours in Korea) and I will do what I can, where I will be. I can’t wait for every second of precious time. I know it will disappear all too quickly, but I just want to stay focused on the moment – I realize that’s all I really have. I’m leaving Cambodia in a really good place (mentally, spiritually – physically, kind of… small infection that is forcing me to hobble through the airport, but ok), and I have a lot to return to. Thanks for sharing this leg of the journey with me. Now I’m ready to go home for a while.
It will be impossible to adequately explain the impact this experience has had on my heart and mind, but I suppose that’s the nature of experience – you have to live something to fully understand the significance. So I don’t expect my experience to change others, but I am no doubt changed myself… changed by the people, changed by the culture, changed by the images of poverty and beauty both, and changed by my own personal wrestling match during the last year.
I anticipated some things – I knew I would meet interesting people, eat wacky food, and work through various challenges. There was no way to know what those things would look like, however, until I came face to face with them in the context of life. That has been the fun part – interesting, hilarious, frustrating, scary – and fun. I didn’t expect to gain a best friend from Holland in Cambodia. I think I’ve learned more Dutch than Khmer. I didn’t expect to spend every lunch hour eating like royalty – really, how many hot lunch programs are serving fresh shrimp, beef and pork (OR blood, liver, baby frogs and chicken feet)? There’s no way I could have predicted that I would develop such deep love for the teachers at the school. I knew I would give my heart away to the students, but my deepest connection has been with the staff – men and women who serve tirelessly and who have taken care of me. They have become my family here. And their love hasn’t been reserved for me alone - five or six teachers sent gifts for my mom and dad with the message that they love them. They have so little, but they simply want to give. It’s special.
I also thought I would use Phnom Penh as a platform to do more traveling – I figured I would be checking out a new city or country every chance I had… Thailand, Vietnam, Laos. I think I actually left the city a total of three times in seven months, including a school study tour with 75 kids. I haven’t had wild adventures in the jungle or toured Southeast Asia yet. Rather, I have shared meals with families in their homes, celebrated holidays with the teachers at the school, and played volleyball with the students after school. I believe that has been the most valuable investment of time. The teachers don’t vacation. They were at the school every day of their two week holiday. Most of them have never crossed the border of Vietnam, only five hours away. So though I would like to do more traveling next year, I don’t regret my ties to this place. I may not have seen the post popular tourist attractions in Bangkok or Ho Chi Minh City – or even Phnom Penh for that matter – but I’ve eaten Khmer noodles and grilled fish with my friends, hitched rides on the backs of their motors, and laughed over and over at dumb inside jokes about soup, language, and being single. Those things are far more meaningful than my picture of Angkor Wat.
Living in Cambodia has helped me understand many things on a deeper level. Teaching at an non-profit school in a third world country seems like a noble endeavor, but in Phnom Penh, I’m one of hundreds. That’s why everyone is there. Almost every expat is working for some organization – everyone there has left family and the comforts of home to help the people of Cambodia. There’s no applause once you arrive – they hand you a shovel and tell you to roll up your sleeves; “Glad you took the plunge, now let’s go.” It’s good – I like that. It forces people to check their motives. It is a needy place – you can’t volunteer with the notion that the world is going to stop and honor your love for humanity… it’s the expectation. At the same time, it’s very possible to live a very comfortable life, somewhat isolated from the country. People can still go to their offices and coffee shops, jazz clubs and pools, having very little interaction with the real lives of those in poverty, with the typical life in Cambodia. We can do the same thing anywhere – stick to our community without venturing out to a different population or group. It’s easy to do, because it’s so comfortable. But, wow – I would have missed out on many rich experiences if I had stayed in the walls of expatriate land.
Often I was more of an observer than a participant – the foreign fly on the wall – but I have realized the value of presence. Just being there – sitting on the steps while the guys play chess, slicing meat while the women talk and prepare food, listening to the staff meeting with no translation. The conversation or event may not have had the same significance to me on a cognitive level, but I was able to communicate that I was invested, that I cared. That’s important. Ironically, the lesson of presence was equally powerful in my absence. Sharing meals with people here clearly meant that I wasn’t sitting at the dinner table with my family or friends, and that has been hard. I haven’t been the friend I would like to be – the one someone can call at three in the morning or be there for life’s trials. I have kept thinking about the quote by Theodore Roosevelt - “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” So now I’m almost home (staging for twelve hours in Korea) and I will do what I can, where I will be. I can’t wait for every second of precious time. I know it will disappear all too quickly, but I just want to stay focused on the moment – I realize that’s all I really have. I’m leaving Cambodia in a really good place (mentally, spiritually – physically, kind of… small infection that is forcing me to hobble through the airport, but ok), and I have a lot to return to. Thanks for sharing this leg of the journey with me. Now I’m ready to go home for a while.
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