Happy Holidays

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! I had quite the different experience over here in Cambodia trying to celebrate our American holidays in the land of Buddha, but did the very best I could to have a Merry Christmas.

Cambodians do not celebrate Christmas but that didn’t stop us PCVs from throwing celebrations of our own.  For Christmas day, two other PCVs, Miriam and Amy, came to my house to meet my family and we cooked them some American food for Christmas dinner.  Well, actually, Amy and Miriam cooked and I watched and tested the food.  It was delicious J.   They made chicken cutlets, mashed potatoes, and green beans with carmelized onions.  YUM!  After dinner, we set out a little Christmas tree that was sent by my mother from America (cut out of construction paper) and some gifts for the boys and my mom that Miriam and I wrapped in some magazine paper.  IT WAS AWESOME!!! The boys first Christmas and they had a ball.  I’ve included some photos below. 

At the moment I am getting ready to celebrate New Year’s Day on an island off of Sihanoukville with a bunch of other PCVs.  Khmer New Year is in April so they do not celebrate very big for the International New Year which is January 1.  It’s an interesting concept that for my family and the rest of this country, the calendar starts again, but the holiday of New Year isn’t for another 4 months.  Ahh, cross culture. 

I’ve been having some great travels lately so stay tuned for more stories and have a wonderful bunch of holidays!!

Xo-Amanda

Food and Running (not simultaneously)

It has been a pretty busy holiday for me so far! I began it with all of the other K6s celebrating Thanksgiving in Takeo town wrapping up our last part of training.  Some of the K5s cooked us a delicious Thanksgiving meal complete with turkey and mashed potatoes.  The best part of the whole meal was that there was not a grain of rice to be seen!  The photos show our Thanksgiving feast and also three other PCVs (Caitie, Amber, and Hayley) and me downing as much as possible.  

After returning from Siem Reap, I traveled up to Koh Kong for water festival, a big holiday in Cambodia.  Some other PCVs and our country director, Penny, and I spent some of the holiday on an island in the Gulf of Thailand.  Unfortunately I broke my camera and my ipod during this trip and so there is a spot for about a month where I don’t have any photos to show. 

After Thanksgiving I conquered the half marathon in Siem Reap.  My first half marathon and I ran the whole way! It was a great combination of hard and fun I decided that I’m going to run the half marathon in Sihanoukville in March.  Thank goodness the run was mostly in the shade, and it began after the sun rose and ended in the same spot with a great view of the temples. 

Another PCV, Amber let me borrow her iphone for the race so that I would have some music and a camera to capture the memories. Thanks Amber! Arnoldo and Laura join me in the photo above.

That’s a quick update for now, hope everyone has a great last few days according to the Mayans! See you on the other side. :P

xo-Amanda

Whispers and Stares

  It's always an event for me to leave my house.  Everywhere in Cambodia except for tourist stops like Phnom Penh and Sihanoukville, I am stared at while people whisper (or yell) "barang" (foreigner).  At first I didn't understand this whole "barang" business.  Khmer people will yell this out at me when I pass by on the street or at the market and it literally means "Frenchman," or  "foreigner". Because I actually am a barang (ish) and this is not how my culture behaves towards foreigners, I saw this as extremely rude.  "Why do they yell "foreigner" at me?" I remember asking my culture teacher, a native Khmer, one day, "from the side of the road! It doesn't make sense."  To which he, ever patient, tried to explain to me the attitude most Khmer held toward foreigners and that they didn't mean to be rude, that was an application I took by applying my own culture to this country.  
  Growing up in America, where all sorts of skin colors and languages can be found in any singular zip code, it's quite a culture shock to now live in a country where everybody looks the same.  While wandering Europe during my study abroad days, I might have been singled out as an American due to things like wearing a baseball cap or carrying a backpack with zippers instead of clasps - but here I stick out as a foreigner just by virtue of my European descent written all over my skin.
  I like to show my Khmer friends photos of my friends back home and they point and ask about where people are from.  Once I got enough language to explain religions we went back and they were astounded when I named four different religions in one photograph and shrugged about it.  "That's America" I said by way of explanation. One of my PCV friends here, JD (you might remember him from the brain shirt in one of my earliest posts) is African American, and Khmer are always astounded when they see a picture of him.  Where is he from? they ask me.  Sometimes I go the usual "America" route...sometimes I can't help myself and tell them that he's an African tribal chief-they accept that easier then me telling them he's American.  Later I'll text JD and we have the same conversation where he promises to come visit and wear a technicolor dream coat.  The looks on their faces when he speaks Khmer is priceless, but usually we tell them the truth-that he comes from Florida.  I don't think they believe us at the end. 
   The only people who seem oblivious to me and my obvious foreignness are my boan brohs.  In the innocence of children that surely the rest of the world can learn from, they accepted me as their big sister from day one.  I mentioned that they liked to tag along with me when I hutbraan through my village - part of it was to imitate me, but sometimes Soktchea comes with me on ordinary errands and listens closely to chatter while directing me where to go.  I think in his own way he is trying to protect me from whatever it is he thinks I need protecting from.  They ask where I've been and where I'm going, when I'll be back and if I missed them, and they assure me that they miss me when I'm gone as well.  What I did to earn this type of affection I'm not sure, all I know is that I got lucky to have them in my Khmer life.  
  My other encounters are not always so sugar coated.  Like I said, every venture is an event.  No matter where I go people stop and stare, some say "barang" or some yell, "HELLO".  I am swarmed when I stop at a roadside stand by Khmer people speaking broken English.  It might get worse if I speak Khmer because then they think I am a master of their language and their speech goes from slow English to rapid Khmer where I am left not knowing what I'm agreeing to and end up with an awkward smile on my face.

   When I meet Khmer people they usually stare, some smile and they are so surprised when they learn that I speak their language. Sometimes they talk around me and if I smile in the right spot they are shocked that I understand them.  Occasionally no one will pick up on it and then I feel like a spy and imagine covert operations where speaking Khmer might actually come in handy (except for the obvious 'everyday life').  I listen for plots to take over the world, or maybe even where they keep the secret stash of cake and cupcakes I have yet to discover in this country, never mind that I don't know any words that would be used regarding world conquest or even "oven".  When they do pick up on me listening in on their conversations it always shifts from what is important to them to me becoming the center of everyone's attention.  You understand? they'll ask me, and I say yes, a little bit.  Sometimes I watch a change come over their face as they try to recall what they've said but generally they just giggle and ask me questions.  "What's your name" and "how old are you?"  They ask me where I'm from and how long I've been in Cambodia, about my family and my job - they want to know how much money I make.  Often they ask me if I have a songsa (boyfriend).  Sometimes I say no and suddenly am introduced to brothers and sons - a parade of shy Khmer men staring at my face and telling me that they will marry me, aht banyaha (no problem).  Other times I say yes, that he's in America waiting for me and I imagine they picture a Brad-Pitt-like figure sitting in a mansion with furniture made of gold pining for my return.  They press for details and I give them various characteristics from friends back home, borrowing a job from one and the likeness of another in an attempt to make my American songsa a person that I might remember from description to description.  It doesn't matter, they ask me if I want a Khmer boyfriend anyway.

  Living in Cambodia does wonders for my ego: everywhere I go people tell me I'm sa-aht (beautiful).  They stare at my face and search my eyes, commenting on the color or the shape.  "Look," they say to each other, "beautiful," an application usually followed by a comparison between my light brown eyes and their inky dark ones.  I wonder briefly if their reaction would be different if my eyes were blue or green or maybe even nearly black like theirs and I always come to the conclusion that it wouldn't. 
  Every other person I meet will tell me that I have a Khmer face or a Khmer nose or Khmer eyes.  To this I smile, making those Khmer eyes they see more prominent meanwhile wondering where in the world my European ancestry is on my face.  I tell them thank you, that I think Khmer people are beautiful, and they just stare at me or shake their heads and smile.  Usually someone will reach out and touch my skin, running a hand down my arm and maybe back up again - a quick stroke of luck like I won't notice it's happening.  I know that they are confirming to themselves that my white skin feels the same as their Khmer dark skin, or maybe they do think a feel of my skin is good luck.  They peer at the blonde hair on my arms and touch my freckles, trying not to point and usually failing.  Khmer people generally think that I've won the genetic lottery what with my Khmer face and white skin and all.  Sometimes I try to explain to them that in my country, people pay a lot of money to darken their skin at the expense of their health and that Americans consider darker skin beautiful.  But I know that at the end of the day they will still purchase whitening soap or bleaching cream, and a quick touch of my arm will still be good luck.
  In such ways are my days or travels repetitive. I have gotten used to the constant yells of "HELLO" from Khmer children on the side of the road.  Sometimes I respond and sometimes I don't. But I still tire of the stares from each person who catches a glimpse of me and my sun-reflecting skin.  I think I could glow-in-the-dark and still the Khmer would insist on turning on a light so they could compare the different shades of our hands.
  I like to tell them about my family in America until they remind me of the classic well-meaning busybody, Mrs. Rachel Lynde, and ask more questions about my songsa than myself (um, I'm OBVIOUSLY more interesting, be aforementioned American songsa imagined or real).  One day I might shock them and insist that he's African or maybe from the Middle East.  At least their reactions will vary.
  Regardless of the contents of my days, my favorite part is always returning to the only Khmer males who have managed to capture my heart: Soktchea and Man Kheang and the sound of "Bong! Bong! Bong-oy!" as I meander back to the blue house I call my Khmer p'taya (home).

Kru-ah-saah (Family)

   By far my favorite part of my permanent site is my new host family.  You might recall my training host family with the Khmer quizzes and the new baby.  Wholly different, but equally awesome, I am having a blast getting to know the people who have opened their home to me for the next two  years.
    My immediate host family this time around is small, consisting of my host mother and my two boan brohs (little brothers).  Initially when Peace Corps asked us for input regarding sites and families, I had no preferences.  I was a little hesitant about living with small children because it's not something I'm used to. You, like me, may have heard horror stories regarding little terrors and temper tantrums.  Regardless, I told Peace Corps to send me where they will, trusting in my own patience and bicycle skills for escape.  Luckily I got a great family.
   The best thing about my host mom, other than her constant cheery nature and patience with my language, is her ability to cook amazing Khmer food.  I had thought during training that I didn't like Khmer food. Nope, I just didn't like my other family's cooking.  My host mom is an amazing cook.  She makes these dishes that are so delicious that I keep eating even after I'm full because they're just too good to go to waste.  Also, somewhere in the back of my head I'm thinking who knows what the next meal will taste like so might as well get as much of the good stuff as possible.  She never fails me though, every meal is as delicious as the last.  Which is awesome because my hungry escalates quickly from hangry to homicidal.  It's not a pretty sight.   Another great part is that she takes allowances for me wanting to eat American food and she has a really open mind to trying it.  After three weeks of rice all day, I asked her if I could try making myself some American food (I knew I was desperate then, because I'm not a cooking kind of girl).  She said that was fine and the next day I went and bought some bread, brought it home, and whipped out this great big jar of peanut butter that Supermom sent from America.  I proceeded to make a peanut butter sandwich (it's almost the extent of my abilities as a cook) and shared, of course.  Maak doesn't like bread though, and though she doesn't like peanut butter, she did try them together before making this statement.  Since then, I come home from the health center at lunch time and find a loaf of bread sitting on my peanut butter, waiting to be made into a delicious sandwich.  I nom on my pb while they eat rice and a veggie/meat concoction, no doubt delicious but definitely no peanut butter.  
   Remember when I started walking the distance to my house after being dropped off a million miles away by the bus from Phnom Penh and she rode to my rescue on my bike like a white night rides a noble steed?  Problem fixed. Maak's got connections at the stop, and so now when I go to the main rode, I can ride my bike and leave it at a local haang bai (road stand where they sell rice) until I return so that I have a way to get around that isn't my feet.  
  My host mom is great but I can't deny that my boan brohs are my favorite people in Cambodia.  Soktchea is 11 years old, and very quiet but very clever.  He speaks a little bit of English and busts this out at the most random times.  I'll be struggling to explain to my mom the difference between "no" and "know" and Soktchea will sit somewhere near, silent and apparently playing a game or reading a book when all of the sudden he'll spout, "the difference between negation and verbs" and I'm a little taken aback.  Sometimes when I'm out running I'll lose my sense of time and it starts to get dark.  When this happens usually I turn a corner and Soktchea is sitting on the road on his bike waiting to follow me home as if he is my bodyguard.
    Man Kheang is a whole different marble.  He is 6 and sometimes forgets that I don't speak Khmer, chattering to me (or maybe to himself) away in a stream of words I neither recognize nor understand.  He will climb on top of me or squeeze next to me in the hammock and just lay, giving me Khmer kisses and asking if I'm tired.  "Bong!Bong!Bong!Bong!" are his favorite words when I'm around - "bong" is short for "bong srai" which means "big sister" in Khmer, and this is the respectful way to address someone older than you.  He loves showing off for me, bringing me a small coloring book that he's completed, or displaying his vast knowledge of ninja moves.  Once I was riding my bike down the road and spotted him coming back from school.  He stopped when he saw me.  "Bong!" he yelled proudly as he placed his hands on his hips, "where are you going?" When  I answered that I was riding to a different village and would be back for dinner, he gave me the okay and I kept riding.  "That's my Bong" I heard him tell the kids walking next to him, "mine."
    I leave for weekends to Sihanoukville to run errands and my favorite part is coming back because they always welcome me with such open arms and big smiles it's kind of taken a piece of my heart. My host mom tells me that they miss me when I'm gone and are always asking where I'm at and when I'll be back.  There is really nothing in the world like coming home to two little Khmer smiles and mischievous grins.  It's truly a treat to be able to be their Bong.  Plus I'm getting really good at playing Power Ranger Ninja Warrior.  

    Man Kheang right now is learning to write himself and that puts us at about the same level for Khmer writing (kindergarten/1st grade).  He's also learning his ABCs while Soktchea continues his own English study.  I don't have a tutor at site yet and so Soktchea and Man Kheang have taken it upon themselves to teach me some Khmer.  This is especially great for my language skills.  Likely my fellow K6 compatriots are gathering phrases that include the ability to do things like locate their sites for return from medical visits to Phnom Penh or ask for fruit in their markets.  Myself, I know essential Khmer words such as "slingshot" (jup ja plee-um), "ninja" (jao), "to tickle" (jet graw lin), and "I win!" (ch'naya).  Try to contain your jealousy, it's the business of assimilation.  

  My day isn't complete until, as I head upstairs to my room about 8pm, I hear a high pitch voice in my direction.  "Sup-ban la-aw" (sweet dreams), says Man Kheang.  "Sup-ban la-aw" I reply, and can rest easily, knowing I will wake up to greet my three favorite Khmer family members and continue my ninja warrior training via the best 6 and 11 year old boan brohs an American girl can possibly have. 

xo-Amanda

top: my awesome little brothers, Mankean and Soktchea
bottom: my host mom

The First List

I have only been in Cambodia for three short (long) months and while I do recognize similarities between my life in America and my life in Cambodia (I still eat three meals a day), there are a few drastic differences ("meal" = "rice").  Who doesn't like life lessons? So for your enlightenment and my sanity I have made a list of:
 

10 things I have learned living in Cambodia (thus far)

1- The bogey monster of socks is real and lives in every country! I do laundry by hand and hang the clothes up myself, never losing sight of any items and I still end up with an odd number of socks.  WHAT?! How does that even happen?! What happened to that one other sock that has disappeared so you are forever left with an unmatched sock? The world may never know. 

2- Some things just aren't meant to be - like electricity.  The electricity is a tricky thing here, more often then not it's just not working.  And since it's rainy season the sky is always overcast and thus solar power chargers have no solar to draw power from.  Thank you Johannes Gutenberg yet again for the printed word. 

3- You don't learn a language through osmosis - at least I don't. People think that just being in my village and listening to Cambodians speak rapid-fire Khmer all day every day makes me fluent in three months. What it does is make me confused, gives me a headache, and trains me in the art of zoning out.  Learning a language is hard and takes a lot of work. Don't even get me started on the written script with its consonants and subscripts and two sets of vowels that all sound the same with no spaces between the words. I would give up my American candy stash to be able to speak to someone in English once a week for an hour. And in rice-land, that's saying something.

4- Bugs will find you, they will bite you, and they will go after aforementioned American candy stash.  Long before I started missing home, I waged war on ants and smaller ants and red ants, and then flying things that I can't name.  Cambodian insects are magical ninjas and have found a way to evade the Ziploc bag and teleport (or something like that) to the sugary sweetness that my mother's care packages bring.  Luckily for me (or whatever), I have grown used to this and usually just wipe them off and eat my candy anyway. 

5- Priorities change (see: brushing off bugs in favor of candy). I won't pretend like my favorite part of the day isn't playing power rangers ninja warrior with my boan brohs, or hide and seek around the single-room house where there's nowhere for me to hide.  Working in the ANC room at the health center, I get to meet Cambodian mothers who will do literally anything to ensure their children are healthy - even listen to a young barang with broken Khmer tell them about serving food they may be too poor to buy. I travel to Phnom Penh or Sihanoukville and wander the streets to locate that one sandwich shop, or spend three days pay* and two days worth of being sick for a chocolate shake. Yes, it's worth it. You try going on a rice diet for three months and we'll see how judgy you are over a shake.

6- Happiness depends on food. If you have been following my blog and can read English, you should be able to tell that my days begin and end with the thought of food. What am I going to eat today? Does it involve rice? and, how do I avoid rice? are all questions that I wake up with. Cambodians don't live to eat like we do in America, they eat to live. What a tragedy. Moving from the attitude towards food New Orleans has to the rice-laden culture of Cambodia might be the hardest thing I've ever experienced. And I'm a Cubs fan! Truly, if I've learned anything about myself thus far it's that the way to my heart is through my stomach.  Have you ever heard the term "hangry"? It's when you're irritable and angry just by virtue of being hungry. And then you eat a delicious falafel sandwich all stuffed with hummus and onions and maybe even fries and suddenly all is right in the world and you've just sponsored a Cambodian child with a cleft lip for a mere two cents a day. Congratulations, you have overcome hanger. 

7- Check your shoes. This applies in the literal sense and as a metaphor. Every day I go running but before I do, I turn my left running shoe upside down and knock out the toad that takes up residence there every night (I've named it "pleitchurn" ...it means "shoe" in Khmer - I'm very original). A few weeks ago I washed mold off of my favorite pair of sandals and put them in the sun to dry - only there is no sun because it's constantly raining and thus that was the end of those shoes (tear). The cork and leather flip flops I trudged home in that fateful dentist visit day have turned from brown to red on the main road of my village.  My shoes take me everywhere I want to go and that makes them my most valuable possession. Forrest Gump's mother said that you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes; where they've been and where they're going. In Cambodia you take your shoes off before entering a building so EVERYONE gets to see your shoes and your feet.  They really do say a lot about where you've been, and it's hard to know where you're going if you don't know where you've been.

8- Little things are just that: little. There are going to be big things to get upset about: the ridiculously intelligent precocious student who has to work in the rice fields instead of going to school to earn money for dinner, the corrupt police who halt the women's empowerment project you've been working on for six months, those kids in the next village over who aren't getting enough rice to eat. You can't let the little things get to you too. You'll go insane and end up back in America...where apparently all of the crazies reside (see: American politics).

9- Flexibility is key.  I'm not talking about being able to climb through Cambodian architecture with a small child to get into that room you accidentally locked yourself out of.  I'm talking about the mental capacity to be able to let the little things go and pick up a tease of an idea enough to make it into something good.  There is no shortage of excuses in the world.  When someone can swallow their excuse and keep on keeping on - that's someone you want on your team.  I know I'd want them on my team.

10- Most things in life can be accomplished while laying in a hammock (new verb: "hammocking").  I find I am mildly suspicious of anything or anyone who tries to imply otherwise. 

Life remains good.
Xo-Amanda 


*Ok, I'll admit it, I exaggerated for effect. It's probably more like a day and a half of pay. But still.

There's Water in the Air.

  I've mentioned a few times that it's rainy season in Cambodia right now and for most of the country that means constant overcast and generally rain a few times a day if not all day long.  Here there's a saying, "mayk jong plee-ung" or "the sky wants to rain" which I say a lot - when I'm not saying "it's raining".  There are a lot of things that change in a life so pervaded by rain.  You might be thinking, "wow, you have to put a raincoat on every time you go outside, big deal," but constant rain has a strange impact on parts of life I never would have suspected if I did not experience them for myself.  
     For one thing, it is always humid.  Humid, or muggy, or foggy, or whatever word there is to describe constant wetness in the air.  Life during rainy season is just damp .  There is really no other way to describe it.  The best way to I can think of to convey this is that I can feel it in the paper.  You know (or not) when there is dampness in the air or you have a sheet of paper that is damp but not wet - that's how all of my paper products feel.  I can feel it in the paper.  
  Another way the damp pervades life is in my clothes.  I hang my clothes up to dry and maybe sacrifice some precious candy to Buddha for a few minutes of golden sunlight shining on the line.  This rarely happens (ComeOn Buddha). More often than not, the clothes get moved to a line under protection of a roof or awning, and they sit there. For days. Until they drip dryish, and even when I pull them down I wouldn't describe them as "dry".  More like, "not wet".  So it goes. This doesn't apply to any of the dry-fit shirts my mother has sent me.  They actually dry in about a day even if it's raining - now that's magic if I ever saw it.  
  I have thrown away shoes that sat under my bed for two nights and grown mold (this actually made me cry...I'm not ashamed to say I love my shoes), my hair is never completely dry, and it seems my skin is forever enclosed in this kind of sweat/oil/rainy sheen that washing does not really get rid of.  
  A kind of funny way this wet air has entered my life, and the first time I laughed out loud about it was when I discovered that it invaded my envelopes.  All of the envelopes I have in my room have sealed themselves shut due to the moisture in the air activating the glue on the flap.  Ever resourceful, I have tried boiling water and then steaming them open to reuse them...but in case anyone receives letters bound by hopeless amounts of scotch tape- now you know why.  Memo to self: seal all future envelopes in air-tight ziploc bags or tupperware (and I never thought that would be something I would use a plastic bag for).
  It's just a way of life here - the rainy season has it's disadvantages just like it has advantages: I can bucket shower to my hearts content because there's so much water! I can drink tea, and instant coffee, and water with crystal light packets until I can drink no more.  Running in the rain is 10x better than running in the heat - I feel like I could run a marathon (not that I know what running a marathon feels like)!  And the rain brings breezes sometimes.  Even though it's hot here, it's a comfortable kind of hot where I don't have sweat running down my back as soon as I step away from the fan.  There are good things and bad things about the rain - I've just discovered a few. I'm not excited for rainy season to end because I know I haven't discovered them all.  

Stay dry!
xo-Amanda 

"Yes" to Everything You're Thinking

 The other day I finally told the medical officer that I had a wicked toothache and she brought me into Phnom Penh for a dental checkup.  Keep in mind that I am about a four hour bus ride from the city (approximately...in Khmer hours which means the time of the bus ride ranges from three to six...but generally I find four to be a nice round number for describing my trip in).  She tells me this on a Sunday morning so I have Sunday afternoon to prepare myself to ask my host mom for help in obtaining a bus ticket...and locating the bus stop.  I dutifully look up the words for "ticket" and "to need" - no worries, "toothache" and "dentist" have already been mastered oddly enough and for good reason apparently - and after gathering my basic-English-speaking boan broh (little brother) in case of emergency, I think I tell my host mom that I have a toothache and need to go to Phnom Penh to see the dentist the following day.  What I do know is that she understood that I had a toothache. What I am still unsure about is if she thinks I wanted to bike into Phnom Penh with an umbrella that she thinks she talked me out of doing (I know the oddest words in Khmer).  What matters is that the following morning at about 8am, I was on the crossroads of the main street waiting for a bus to stop on its way into the city with a bus ticket in my hand and my host mom by my side. Success! you might be thinking. Yes, young grasshopper, as did I. 

    Does anybody like trips to the dentist?  I personally have had the luxury of the same dentist throughout my entire life.  The same tooth doctor who watched me lose my baby teeth, try to glue paper clips to my teeth (in the third grade I thought braces were cool...yea, I was that girl), actually acquire braces, fill my cavities, and see me when I came home from college has watched me grow up.  Needless to say walking into a Khmer dentist office where I had to remove my shoes in favor of some white croc-like options was a little more than intimidating. Regardless of the country or culture, not being in the relative comfort of the dentist office I had grown up in, I wished I had looked up "Can I see your credentials?" in Khmer.

    The dentist office was very business-like but like I said, I am accustomed to only one dentist office and thus my view of them is pretty narrow. I was finished with my visit and waiting in the sitting room for the report to take back to the Peace Corps office - the waiting room had beverages available to patients which was very thoughtful but seeing as how they were drinks like apple juice (mostly sugar) and coffee (doesn't it stain teeth?) it seemed a little counterintuitive if you ask me - when all of the sudden I heard a scream come from the dentist rooms, followed subsequently by loud sobbing.  I promptly looked around to see if anyone else in the waiting room was disturbed by this turn of events or if this was a common occurrence in Khmer dentist offices, not entirely sure which I was hoping to discover.  Luckily (well...it's a matter of opinion), I was not the only one whose eyes turned to saucers which leads me to believe that generally children don't scream in the offices of Khmer dentists.  I mean think about it - Asian eyes into saucers equals something unusual going on.

     The best part of this story (yea, it gets better) is the day afterwards when I headed back to site. A little bit of background: the buses go from Phnom Penh to other major cities - the major city in my province is Sihanoukville via National Road 4.  To get off at any stop along the road you have to tell the bus driver where you want to get off. Here's the kicker: you have to know where that stop is and where it is in Khmer . OUTRAGEOUS!  Keep in mind that my site is not on the main road, it is about 5-6km down a dirt road off of National Road 4. I know what you're thinking, "silly Amanda, she doesn't know what that stop/crossroads/little-road-to-her-village is called". And you know what, "yes" to everything you're thinking. I didn't know what that stop was called (I still don't), I didn't know how far it was from Phnom Penh (I have always been an "approximately" kind of girl), and I have a terrible sense of direction. SO. I'm standing at the bus station with two other PCVs, one of whom lives in my province and knows his way around.  He sees my panic and attempts to teach me one of the two names for my stop (I butcher the name and then write it in English phonetics on my palm) and then realizing the hopelessness of the situation, tries to tell the bus driver himself where I am to be getting off.  Yes, I do think he has descended from the heavens to help me so and no, I'm sorry to say I didn't kidnap him to go with me to ensure my arrival at my site.  I boarded the bus with confidence in my ability to have adventures and promptly took out my ipod for the drive.  About four hours in I started to watch the road, thinking that I might recognize my stop. Of course, the setting sun and speeding bus were not great aids but I think I've dealt with worse.  Hoping beyond hope that the bus driver wouldn't be driving too fast when I finally spotted my stop while at the same time attempting to read every single road sign that we passed, even the ones in Khmer (no, I can't read Khmer), I sat on the edge of my seat clutching my backpack in one hand and my phone in the other possibly unconsciously thinking that one would aid me.  I'm positive I at least gave the other passengers a good story to tell that night at dinner.  Hey, I win where I can. 

    When in the blink of an eye I spotted the road leading to my village, I stumbled up the bus to ask the bus driver why he didn't stop only to stammer out in atrocious Khmer what was left on my sweaty palm from 5 hours earlier.  I can't say I'm sad that he forgot my destination in favor of paying attention to the roads for five hours - I've learned to pick my battles here on the scariest roads on the PLANET.  Anyway, he pulled over while I weaved to the back of the bus to get my backpack and then hurry back to the front to get off, muttering "akoon" (thank you) while thinking, "shit" and "it's getting dark".  The bus attendant gestured to the empty road behind us. "Bei kilomait" he said, and I turned to peer through the dimming light.  Three kilometers back to my stop, no big deal.  I thanked him, hiked up my pants which had magically grown longer in the two seconds since I had exited the bus, and began my trek homeward.

      A couple hundred minutes later I arrived at my stop and turned onto the dirt road that led to dinner and my bed.  Roughly six kilometers stood between me, clean clothes, some rice, and bed and I felt renewed at the thought of my Khmer home.  I took out my phone and dialed the local tuk tuk driver who did not answer, so I did what anyone does when they are at a loss for what to do: I called my (host) mom.  "Ja, Bong" I said to my host mother, "Knyom mao win, howee-nung nou plow" - I am coming back, and on the road.  She responded in some Khmer that I didn't understand, and asked me (I think) if I wanted a tuk tuk.  I told her that I had tried and had no luck (I think), to which she asked me about every other form of transportation (I think).  I want a tuk tuk, I said to her (I think), no, I can't ride a moto, haha yes I can gi-kong (ride a bike) or hutbraan (run), but I just want a tuk tuk (I'm pretty sure).  I heard a lot of Khmer on the other line, but, well, her Khmer doesn't sound like my Khmer and even on the best days I think that instead of asking her where I can find bread I am asking how to defeat vampires in Khmer...at least that's what her facial expressions lead to me to believe.  After about 4.15 minutes of this and a lot of laughter she hangs up, while I continue to walk towards my destination.  I had started to walk not sure if anything would happen - and I'm not very good at waiting.  Picture this: me in my yellow raincoat with a black backpack on my back and a small purse attached to my front with one earbud in and a phone in my hand while I hold both pant legs out of the mud, flip-flops flinging red mud all over my backside anyway.  By "road" I mean a sort of red clay that is slightly damp due to it being the wet season, and the sun setting faster and faster as I walk (briskly, or so I think to myself) in between the rice paddies.  It's muggy and foggy but the mosquitos haven't discovered me yet as the dim light turns to darkness.  I have walked about 1 km when the next best thing happens: it starts to rain.  And by rain I mean downpour, because it's the rainy season and Cambodian rain apparently goes big or doesn't go at all.  My earbud has fallen out of my ear and my pants are now more than a little muddy but have turned red in any case.  What this should teach you, as it taught me that fateful evening in the middle-of-nowhere Cambodia, is that it can always get worse.  Motos and tourys pass by and ask if I want a ride and I am struck suddenly with a memory of being very small in some sort of sports arena with my dad.  In my mind's eye I see him about twenty years younger crouch down to eye level with my little self (I'm wearing a puffy pink winter coat in this memory by the way) and he tells me, again it seems and in a very dad-like voice, that I am not to talk to or go with strangers and only hold his hand.  I chuckled at the thought of my father now, on the opposite side of the world telling me to avoid climbing into a van full of Khmer strangers in the dark.  

    At this point I am about 2km into the walk, continuing bravely but thinking sadly about the lost tuk tuk or my host family sitting and waiting for me to arrive, my host mother mistaking my Khmer "I need a tuk tuk" for "I want to walk home thankyouverymuch see-you-in-three-hours-don't-wait-up" when all of the sudden a moto light coming in the opposite direction stops and I faintly see my host mother awkwardly riding my bicycle towards me.  The moto belonged to an uncle (or uncle-like figure) on the police force, friend of my host mom, and she laughed as she handed me my bicycle helmet and took my backpack from me.  She climbed onto the moto to ride back with him while I rode back in front of them led by the light on the moto.  (It wasn't until I started riding that I discovered that I didn't have a bike light but like I said, picking my battles).  As I neared my house I saw that there were two cars in front waiting for my arrival with the lights on high as well as two more motos with men, and the house alight in the dark.  What was that about a village raising a child?  Because that night I'm pretty sure I proved that it takes a Cambodian village to locate an American.  That, or my host mom had a party and they were all just waiting for her to get back - in which case she and her friend left the party to come get me.  And THAT, my friends, taught me the even more important lesson that it always gets better.  

    I made it home, welcomed eagerly by my boan brohs, bucket showered, ate rice, and went to sleep.  The next day I sewed the pants I had been wearing (and ripped on my bicycle ride) into capris, and every single person that I met asked me about my toothache.  My escapade is still the talk of the town.  Thus instead of a blog about teaching Khmer children the importance of nutrition or installing a toilet into a poor home, you get a story about a bus ride. All of this for a toothache.  "Yes," to everything you're thinking. 

I'M ALIVE!

   I feel as though it's been a while! I am finally at my permanent site and getting to know the place where I will spend the next two years of my life.  Everything happened so quickly so I will attempt to replay my life of the last two weeks.  
  About 14 days ago I moved back to Takeo Town for the swearing-in ceremony that made me an official Peace Corps Volunteer (before then I was officially a Peace Corps Trainee).  I received my site placement - more on that in the next paragraph - and then traveled up to Phnom Penh for one last night of celebration before leaving my fellow K6s and traveling to permanent site.  
  Ah the blessed day when I finally got word of where I am going to be.  It was much anticipated and we had a little party for it with lots of clapping and yelling.  My site is in the province of Kampong Som in southwest Cambodia.  I live in a very small village outside of the provincial town - so small that as I keep telling K6, I have yet to find English, internet, or Buddha.  I say this because I haven't met anyone who speaks English yet beyond a few simple words, there is no internet in my village, and it is largely Muslim unlike most of Cambodia.  I am able to post this because I've made a trip into my provincial town in order to run some errands and meet other PCVs in my province.  
  My first day at site, after meeting my family, I fell asleep. Because what does someone who has just moved to the middle of nowhere Cambodia with a family she doesn't know or easily communicate with do? I couldn't tell you, I missed it because I was sleeping.
  I did go to work the next day though.  Lucky for me I live super close to the health center where I will be working and my health center director must have been expecting me.  He took me into the provincial town to meet others in the health department and helped me purchase a fan (thank goodness) which my host mother asked him to do for me.  The upside of Cambodian markets is that you pay for everything in cash and everything is cheap relative to the US...the downside of Cambodian markets is that you get what you pay for.  Remember how I keep saying that Cambodia is sick hot?   A working fan would have been worth the trip. I discovered soon after plugging in my fan that it did not work and another trip to the provincial town was in order. What I am wondering now is how many fans I have to go through until I get one that gives me some air flow.  Ah Cambodian heat, what a cruel teacher you are. 
    I'm still learning Khmer and doing my best, though I find that when I try to speak it generally leads to a lot of laughter and even more confusion, if that's possible.  On Wednesday, my Health Center Director told me to come back to the center at 4pm, for what I thought would be a village visit...I ended up at a wedding...or a funeral (more on that later), I'm still not sure which one it was.  All I can do is laugh and try to keep learning.

  Sometimes I revel in the simplicity of life here, other times I ache for home - not for creature comforts so much as the luxury of little things like having my parents near.  Even in the middle of nowhere I have no doubt that my mother could procure a working fan better than I.  While I can play soccer with my boan brohs here, I find myself hit in the most random of moments with flashes of daydreams of having a beer with my brother or wandering Chicago with my sister.  How much life was more complex in the States and yet how much easier, when friends and family are but a text away, a few hours drive at the most. 
  I go days without hearing English besides the words I speak to myself.  I could go weeks if I stayed in my village, but necessity and the need to keep my sanity will drive me to my provincial town I think.  It's been about 2 months and already I can feel my English waning as Khmer takes over my brain.  Not only that but Arabic is prevalent in my town and as soon as I get a hold on this national language I think I will attempt a little basic Arabic so that I can at the very least communicate a hello and goodbye.  So many languages rolling around my head is completely exhausting! Do you have any idea how much glucose the brain uses up when learning a new language?! Mine may be slightly overdrawn, but I haven't talked to anyone in English in a while (well, a week or so...but it seems like an hour and forever at the same time) and so the best I can do is guess.  I blank on English words, destroy my long-learned grammar, and replace English words with Khmer words without noticing until it's too late.  Whenever I realize this, I fear that this expensive brain I have sitting on my neck is turning to mush.  
  The biggest difference between my American life and my Cambodian life is the movement.  Both cultures keep on keeping on, but while American life moves at more of a jackrabbit pace, Cambodian life moves akin to that of the tortoise.  Regardless, it has moved long before I arrived and will continue moving long after I leave.  I only hope to build a person or two while I'm here and have faith that they will keep building people..and in good health! 

I hope you can forgive me my lost English
xo-Amanda

The Naked Chickens

It's high time you meet some of my fellow K6ers...and maybe for me to explain a little how the Peace Corps tree works.  Welcome to the Naked Chickens!
  Peace Corps was founded in 1961 under President Kennedy who, the way we heard it anyway, basically asked some students at Michigan if they would go abroad to assist developing nations if he started the program.  Enthusiastic about the idea, the students responded with a resounding "Let's do it" and Kennedy was elected the November after - probably not as a direct result of this little pep rally...but still.  Peace Corps was established the following January and less than two months later, in March of 1961, the first Peace Corps Volunteers were headed to either Colombia or Ghana (there's dispute among the programs about which was first...Peace Corps drama)
  An apolitical government agency (sounds oxymoronish, I know), the way Peace Corps works is by being invited by a specific developing nation for a specific reason. For example, the Ministry of Education in Cambodia asked Peace Corps for English teachers back in the early 90s.  Peace Corps promptly sent over a team to assess the safety situation and found that it was not safe enough for Volunteers to work, nevertheless they signed a contract promising help when it was able to be done.  They kept sending teams to find out when and if Volunteers could make it here safely, and in 2005 the first English Teacher and Teacher Training group arrived in Phnom Penh, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to take on the Cambodian wilderness.  That group is known as Kampuchea 1, or K1.  Side note: "Kampuchea" is what Cambodians or the Khmer call, "Cambodia".  It's their name for their country.  As you can probably guess, K2 is the group of ETTTs that arrived a year later, and on and on.  After the success of the ETTTs, the Ministry of Health had some sort of conversation with the Ministry of Education in Cambodia, and asked Peace Corps for some Community Health Education Volunteers (CHE).  Hence, beginning with K4, CHE volunteers began to arrive in Phnom Penh and go through the training that I am going through now before swearing-in for 2 years of glorious heat and rice (not necessarily in the same situation). Like I said, my group is K6 and thus I am in the third group of CHE volunteers in the country.  This means that my program is still very new.  I expect more education will be learned at site among my community rather than in training but at least I will have some basic knowledge.  
  When we head to our permanent sites at the end of this week, we will be assigned to a community (referred to as "our site") and a health center where the work will start.  CHEs focus mainly on five topics to cover in our two years regarding community education.  Those topics include nutrition, maternal and infant health, sexual reproductive health, non-communicable diseases, and pre-natal care.  Once I get to my site I will be able to assess both what the community wants (in terms of healthcare education) and what the community needs.  Hopefully I will be able to assess correctly and begin projects that will benefit the community.  The overall goal is education and sustainable education at that.  My site will be my Khmer home for the next two years! No worries though Mom, you and I both know that home is where the heart is and mine is forever in the Midwest...and New Orleans...and Denver... 

  Here in training, we (the CHEs in Tramkak) are divided into language groups whom we have language with for 4 hours every day except for Sundays.  Then we all come together for technical training.  My group, beginning on the first day, was dubbed "The Naked Chickens" - by yours truly, naturally.  The name came to us because the first chickens we saw running around Cambodia were naked.  A lot of chickens have no feathers...because they're about to be eaten.  Nevertheless, the name has stuck and we take pride in identifying ourselves as such - we even have a battle cry! And there's talk of a handshake or even T-shirts. Speculation...maybe, but one can always hope. A photo of my wonderful language mates is posted below. Are we not the most beautiful, intelligent-looking Peace Corps trainees or what?! (don't answer that...because I already know that your answer is a resounding "ABSOLUTELY!" and our ego can only go so big.)  This photo was taken during a visit to a "Gru-Khmer", a traditional Khmer healer.  From left to right: Tysor, Sally, Savin (our teacher-incredible man), JD, Neal, me, and Rich. 

  Wednesday is my last night with my training host family and I heard a rumor from Lena that we're having bananas and maybe beef with our rice! - Just kidding, my family is pretty well educated and my diet, though rice is the staple now, includes lots of Khmer veggies and lean meat.
  Postscript: I'd like to say THANK YOU!!!! to everyone back home for all of the love and support before I left and continued love since I left. To my family and friends, if I haven't responded to you yet, know that your emails, Facebook posts, messages, tweets, texts, and mail are so incredibly appreciated and you have no idea how much they mean to me. Especially in this transition period where I am still trying to move into this country, your messages can really turn my day around. Thank you thank you thank you. If you ever find yourself across the earth and in need of communication, be sure that I will be returning the favor :).


Lots of love from Cambodia
xo-Amanda

Amanda Arand: Woman of Letters

  It's my last week in Tramkak and I am sad to say I have grown accustomed to my little village these past few weeks and will miss it when I am gone. Early next week my group moves back to Takeo Town, and participates in Swear-In - as Peace Corps Volunteers. Then we move to our permanent sites to start making a difference!
  We have been making the most of our time together as Trainees and also in southern Cambodia. Last Sunday, K6 traveled down to Kep to swim a little on the beach and we stopped at a resort to eat American food. Crepes and cereal and bacon, o my! I have never been so happy, and my body has never been so mad at me as after that breakfast...but it was so worth it.
  Lena has had her baby as well! About two weeks ago (sorry for the delay in updates) I woke up to go running, and found the entire household awake and distracted. "What's going on?" I asked Dany, and she told me that Lena was going to have her baby! She was not acting like I would expect a pregnant woman about to give birth to act-there was no shouting and mostly she just looked tired. However, I have never been about to give birth, or around any women about to give birth and only have Hollywood as a reference so I probably shouldn't make any assumptions. The family drove to Takeo Town to the hospital there and stayed for about 3 days during which Lena had a beautiful baby girl, Malia! She and Lena haven't left the house since they came back, but she is growing and does not cry very much. Khmer and American practices and traditions regarding babies differ greatly and the biggest thing that I have noticed is that Lena is always completely covered with clothing. She wears long sleeve shirts, usually sarongs (Khmer version of a bathrobe...that can be worn outdoors and in public as a skirt), always a hat - like a winter hat that I would wear in the snow - and in the first week, gloves. The reason for this is that the Khmer believe that mothers who give birth lose a lot of heat in the days following childbirth and so should always be kept hot. In the generations before, "roasting" was a common practice in which the mother was kept over an open fire for at least a week. An open fire! Like, charcoals and wood and fire under a bed! Imagine my facial expression!
  Lena was not roasted, but she is awfully covered up and in this heat I do not know how she does it. I will post a photo of Malia when I am able. She is absolutely adorable and I kept telling the family this. After about 10 days, Mao, the father, was telling me that in Khmer culture, they never say that a baby is beautiful - they say she is ugly no matter what. This is because they believe that the spirits will get jealous if you think a baby is beautiful and then the baby will get sick and die. Thanks Mao! After almost two weeks of that being the only thing I would say to the baby or about her, he decides to inform me that it is wrong. But no problem, he told me, since I am a foreigner it's ok. Good thing Khmer spirits don't understand bad Khmer with atrocious English accents or my whole village might need the healer.
  Recently my host brother-in-law's parents came over to see the new baby and after dinner and small Khmer talk with me, his father decided that I looked more Khmer than American due to my hair and eyes (I've been getting this a lot lately). Then he proceeded to tell me that he had another son, whom I could marry if I wanted. My family may not have running water when the rain ceases, and survive on bowls of rice, but they are nothing if not accommodating: quizzing me on Khmer, finding me a husband...my future here in Cambodia is all set!

  As an off-topic digression and with absolutely no connection to anything in my blog other than my history obsession, my "This Day in History" app has informed me that today (29 August) is the birthday of Oliver Wendell Holmes, American physician and man of letters. "Man of letters"?! What a way to be remembered to the world! I would like to hereafter be known as, "Amanda Arand, woman of letters" due to my witty and entertaining blog posts, not to mention I have many digital e-books and my room smells of sticky rice and hoarded candy. More descriptive phrases to come, all suggestions of good taste invited!

My Language Proficiency Exam is Saturday - wish me luck!
xo-Amanda

Once you get past the heat here in Cambodia, well...you still feel really hot.

  Training continues for me and the rest of K6 CHE here in Tramkak, Takeo.  We have been busy working with some local high school students on our first community project, as well as preparing for our LPI - the language proficiency exam that must be passed in order to continue working in Cambodia as a PCV.  The community project is more interesting though. 
   For the last few weeks K6 CHE has been learning about utilizing different tools to educate communities on basic health issues such as I mentioned before: washing hands after using the bathroom, using a toilet if possible, covering food after it is prepared before it is eaten and things of that nature.  Last week and this week we were able to firsthand talk to some of the members of the community in direct line of any changes we might be able to make: the teenagers.  Groups of us met with members of an English class (thank goodness they spoke English and can translate- my Khmer is pathetic at best).  We were able to complete certain avenues of getting to know our community such as mapping the village and finding out where a majority of people congregated.  In addition we discovered their daily activities and when would be the best time for education or outreach.  Most importantly, we asked the students what they though was the biggest problem in Angtasorm (the village I live in) that they would like to see resolved.  The students were incredible.  They took to this project as if their grades depended upon it (they don't get grades in this class) and helped us out so much.  At the end of numerous sessions, we were informed that one of the biggest issues they wanted help with was the trash.
  I do not think I have explained the garbage situation yet in Cambodia so for a moment I will take a tangent.  There is no waste disposal situation in Cambodia.  This, combined with the fact that cheap plastic has recently been discovered by the Khmer, leads to an enormous trash problem everywhere.  The students we are working with knowing this too; that the problem is one for their generation.  Their parents did not have to deal with all of the plastic on the ground. There are no public trash cans just as there are no public toilets.  The world is their trash can and it is very obvious upon first sight of the country.  What is even worse than the trash is that to get rid of it, each household burns their own trash.  If you have put two and two together yet, you have noted that Cambodians (population of Cambodia is  approx 14 million) burn a lot of plastic.  This is bad. The air is gross and the ground is littered...in litter. (Stay tuned for my marathon announcement).  It literally hurts my heart not to be able to recycle especially in a place that so desperately needs it (and if my rice rant has told you anything about the nutrition here in Cambodia, you'll recognize that my poor heart can't take much more stress...or sugar).  As I try to locate a silver lining, I am doing my best not to purchase anything that involves lots of plastic, and keeping track of my own trash disposal including the amount of garbage I personally am capable of.  The results are, quite frankly, astonishing.  
 Back to the students: 
  They are dears, and probably some of the brightest and most educated students in rural-ish Cambodia.  And they have asked us to help them with the trash problem. A few ideas populate our activity such as making posters for health centers, surveying the population on their knowledge of the relationship between trash and health, and just plain cleaning up.  For the moment we are leading trash clean-ups but will have to plan for long term or sustainable disposal soon.  This is more difficult than you might think.  For example, a suggestion was made that we might get public garbage cans for the market so that trash would not be littered all over the earth.  However since there is no waste disposal, the trash cans would fill up and then continue to overflow until someone set fire to the trash, and then where would we be?! Right back to square one.  Setting up a recycling or garbage system for the whole country is a little beyond scope of Peace Corps resources and management but, for the record, I'm taking suggestions.

  Contrary to my constant blogging, we don't have the luxury of a lot of free time, but I have heard that will come later.  In an attempt to stay true to my American lifestyle (and thanks to supermom for sending my running shoes) I have begun to train for the half marathon at Angkor Wat in December.  Soon after arriving, and feeling desperate for some physical activity, I heard about the half marathon from a couple of PCVs who have taken part in it in years past.  A lot of PCVs take part and we all have a little Peace Corps get together up north.  Apparently it's pretty sweet and the run actually goes through the temples.  Running 13.1 miles through ancient history in one of the colder months of Cambodia's year? Sign me up (read: athletic ancient history nerd coming through)!  I'm just beginning my "training" now and the Khmer are nothing if not confused about my jogging through the village.  They have no concept of exercise - guess what I'll be introducing?! The adaptation might not be pretty but I will be sure to keep you updated on my progress.  Thus far I can report with firm knowledge that jogging in Cambodian heat is a heck of a teacher on sweating.  To hell with Dengue and Malaria- the only thing I'm worried about is dehydration!  Well...that and diabetes from the insane amount of sugar and msg in Khmer cuisine.  As of right now my goal is to finish the race - be it on my feet or on my knees. More information can be found through the link posted below and yes, I am currently accepting applications for super fans. Face paint and hand decorated clothing is a must, boring people need not apply.   

Angkor Wat International Half Marathon

 In related news my sister Diana, avid runner that she is and at least 100% more runner-ambitious than I, has decided to run her fourth Chicago marathon in honor of Carter William Gloff, son of dear family friends of ours who was taken too soon last year.  To all fellow Niners who recognize the impact Mr. Gloff had not only on our school, but on our lives, I ask you to take a moment and be thankful for what you are given each and every day.  Please visit Diana's webpage (posted below), and support her run and Carter's memory if you can.  Regardless of monetary support, please spread the word.  Sincerest thanks for any and all help.

Diana's Marathon Run in honor of Carter William Gloff

 I anxiously await my runner's high...as I sweat a lake on National Hwy 3.
xo - Amanda


 
above: students work with us to map their village and plan a clean-up

You can't choose your Khmer family...they are chosen for you by Sipane.

   It's time to introduce you to my Khmer-family, the hosts who have had the blessing of my taking one of their rooms for the past month.  The Saos! 
   I will begin with the power of the house: the mom.  My host dad struts around thinking that he is the king of the roost but I think that everyone in the house and probably outside of the house knows who makes all of the real decisions around here.  I am barely able to communicate with them and I know who the boss is.  My host mom (name: Bo.  "mom" in Khmer sounds like "maak"...I actually don't call her anything...and haven't thought until now about how I NEVER have had to address her) is a lean (and I mean TINY) mean (not by a longshot) Asian mom machine.  She was appropriately mom-worried when I was sick and is trying to understand why I eat so little rice (a bowl is not enough) and why I am so bad at cooking.  Generally she just hands me things to chop but I notice she keeps a good eye on me and the cleaver in my hand.  Good thinking, Bo.  A tailor at the market, she sews shirts and skirts and pants and virtually anything that anyone wants she can make.  I found this amusing in that my real/biological/American mom is also talented with the needle and thread and have tried to convey this to my host mom.  I showed her a shirt that Mom-back-home made me and she said it would fetch about $6 at the market.  Go Mom! That's a high-class fashion item in Cambodia.
    My host dad is quite the character.  Sao Sareth THINKS he knows English, which is actually worse then not knowing English at all.  He also seems to think that every time he sees me it's an opportunity to give me a quiz on my Khmer.  When I walk inside the gate or sitting at dinner he'll point to a random object and say "what" or "in Khmer", to which my usual response is a blank stare or "I don't know" in English.  Once I said "I don't understand" in Khmer back to him, and he responded, "you understand! What?!" in English.  Sorry paak, I haven't learned "bird bath" in Khmer yet, still working on "Where is the bathroom?" What he doesn't seem to understand is that life is a quiz when you live in Cambodia and don't speak Khmer.  Have I mentioned yet how I need to learn how to bargain for food?
   I have a host brother, whom I like to call Kenny-he told me that was his English name (but not to his face...I never actually call anyone by their name) who studies at the university in Phnom Penh and I have only met him once when he came home for a weekend.  He's pretty typically Cambodian: skinny, small, dark, and laughs at me when I speak his language.  I have found out that I am JUST under a year older than him - his birthday is 17th January 1990.  Damned by two days!
   My host sisters are Lena and Dany - and I'm 97.4% that those are their real names! Lena is married to my host brother-in-law Mao who is an English teacher and likes to speak to me in English.  They both live at the house with her parents and poor Lena is heavy preggers - as in she is ready to pop.  I have tried to imagine the look on my parents' faces if I ever got married and then asked them if my lucky groom and I could move in with them.  I never get past the thought of me being married though - too much laughter abounds.
   Lena is 21 years old and Mao is 25.  She works at a cosmetics store in the market across from Bo's tailor shop.  The two of them (mom and daughter) must get along WONDERFULLY.
    Dany is the youngest and from what I gather she is about 18 and just taking the exam that Khmer children take to graduate from high school. She also lives in Phnom Penh and goes to university...apparently they can enroll in university here without taking the graduating exam from high school. Go Dany. She speaks a little bit of English and likes to practice with me when she is home, which is not often. She's also a quizzer of Khmer, like her dad.  Dany and I have had very long, very simple, conversations about how she wants to be a doctor in Cambodia and how I have also considered that option in America.  It's interesting to think of the differences in both our education and practice in the two different countries.  For example, it will take Dany 10 years to become a licensed physician, during which she will work on the weekdays and go to school on the weekends.  In addition, though there are scholarships available in Cambodia, student loans are virtually non-existent therefore if one wants higher education they have to rely on their parents to pay for it.  Americans are pretty unique in that we commend those who pull themselves up by their boot straps from hardship whereas if a Khmer were to be independent in the American sense it would be looked on as curious and almost wrong - like what is wrong with the person that their family kicked them out and they deserved having to survive on their own.
   The family has two dogs, a white one and a black one.  Their names are "Doggy Black", and "Doggy White".  Very original, I know.  There is also a rooster that likes to begin crowing at about 4am right outside my window, and a bunch of chickens that like to run away from it.  
   I really only see my host mom and Lena at dinner because they are always working.  However I have the pleasure of eating with my host dad and brother-in-law for lunch as well.  They bring food which Bo and Lena have prepared at the market home to where the three of us eat.  Nothing says "family" like a Khmer quiz in between spoonfuls of rice and English lessons.  
   Khmer meals are a good deal different from American meals, and not just because of the rice consumption.  My family has a table so we don't sit on rice mats, but everyone gets their own bowl of rice to eat and then in the middle of that table are the dishes that get eaten with the rice.  Khmer eat with spoons and sometimes forks but the forks really just serve to shovel food onto the spoon.  Knives are not necessary for any of the meals.  What I found extremely interesting is that they don't have drinks while eating meals.  None.  No water or pop or hot Asian tea.  I want to learn Khmer faster solely for the purpose of asking anyone if they are thirsty during dinner.  Anyway, like I said the dishes that go along with rice are in the middle of the table and everyone helps themselves to whatever they want whenever they want as the meal goes on.  It's very unlike American meals where you load up your plate and then work on the food you have in front of you. In Cambodia, you take a spoonful of what you want, eat it with rice, and then go back for more spoonfuls.  I don't suppose I've written yet about the relationship between me and germs, and sharing those germs, huh.   Most dishes are soup-like, but sometimes there will be a plate of chicken pieces or fish.  I have to watch out for bones though, the fish look like they're caught, killed, then roasted and plated.  It's easy to stay away from meat when you're worried about breaking your teeth on bones and looking into eyes in your soup.  In addition, Khmer meals last about 10 minutes during which everyone just fills up their mouths and bellies and conversation is kept to a minimum.  Khmer eat as though they are never going to see food again.  It's a little earth-shattering and more than a little heartbreaking considering what this country has been through and how poor it is.  My family are lucky though and seem to be doing quite well.  We have running water and electricity! And let me tell you that is not easy to come by in Cambodia for the most part.
    My host family calls me "AhmndAh" or more recently "MnnUH" which makes for interesting shouts and references.  Every day they make sure I am awake by 6:30am because as Mao puts it, "if you sleep in it means you are sick".  They often comment on how little rice I eat and I expect they'll be locating a Khmer husband for me before the next month is up.  At the very least my hidden cooking talents will be showcased and luckily for me it's hard to mess up steamed rice when you have a rice cooker.  Good thing I can clean dishes, although this whole "laundry-by-hand" thing could end up being a dealbreaker. What can I say? I'm very impatient for clean clothes and water is more fun to play in.  I haven't turned any white clothes pink or light blue yet...which is more than I can say for my time abroad in Greece.  O the wonders of growing up.
   Everything I write is in good fun though, I feel very lucky to have landed the host family I did and am taking great pleasure in learning Khmer culture from this "typical" Khmer family.  I wish I could convey to them the service they are doing me! It's hard to be in a new place with new people but I can't imagine welcoming a girl from the other side of the world who doesn't speak my language into my home, cooking for her and trying to communicate about basic life.  Needless to say I think the Saos are akin to angels. They are doing their best as I am doing mine.  
   This is a fabulous time to give a big HI to my own Mom and Dad (whom I like to refer to as "supermom" and "superman" ... it has thrown my host family for a loop) and a shout-out to my favorite siblings: Joe, Diana, Thomas, and Laura (and I can say that now because I have Khmer siblings).  Missing you on the other side of the world!  Here, there's a saying that when you cough (*coughcough*) it means someone must be missing you.  I cough a lot due to the dust and rice here...so I'm betting it's you 6 missing on me so hard.  :D 


I am ever thankful for my family-you guys are amazing.
Here's hoping my Khmer husband knows how to cook Western food!
xo-Amanda

   From the left: Lena, Dany, me, Ken Behind us: Bo and Sareth

WASH

  I'll bet minds are being boggled wondering what I am actually supposed to be doing here in Cambodia in terms of Peace Corps and the reason I was chosen for this mission and flown cross the world.  And no, it's not wholly due to my sparkling charm and irreplaceable wit.  As much as it may seem, my time isn't taken up with rice eating and traversing across southeast Asia.  What I am doing right now is Khmer language acquisition and CHE technical training.  I would like to get out there to my actual site in the far reaches of rural Cambodia, but I also do not want to be unprepared so that ineffectiveness follows.  My talents (natural and American-acquired), without the correct training, will come to nothing here and I will end up being useless. That's why I am here in Tramkak for about 4 more weeks.
   CHE volunteers are one of many groups in Cambodia interesting in improving the health of the Khmer people.  Peace Corps volunteers in particular focus on a few main regions of interest: maternal and infant health, nutrition, and communicable diseases.  We are not here to treat these maladies, but rather for the education of the people.  For instance, one of the things we will be spreading the word about is that breastfeeding is good for mothers and infants for up to two years after birth.  Khmer mothers feed children rice soup as soon as possible.  Nutrition plays a bit part in our technical training because it is such a problem here in Cambodia.  Not only does their diet revolve around rice, but as the staple, they believe that it is really good for them in large quantities.
     Nutrition is one of the most visible problems in Cambodia and one only needs to view Cambodians to see this. Cambodians as a whole are generally smaller in stature than Americans or Europeans, but it's not the stereotypical "skinny Asian" that we might see on campus or at work. Cambodians are just small. My group has had many discussions about this regarding sports. One thing that I noticed at our first soccer game was that the Cambodians had great skills but no body behind the skills. The would not be able to compete with European football players simply because they are too small to be competitive. This problem begins, literally, in the womb. Khmer mothers are slowly (with our help and help from others) learning about pre-natal care. Previously we have learned that about a month before giving birth, pregnant Khmer women would stop eating as much so that their birth would be easier. The child therefore is deprived of nutrients very early. They are often not breastfed, and wealthy families believe that formula is better than breast milk. As early as possible the children are fed rice-soup (rice and water) and from there as they grow up the diet generally consists of rice and anything else their mother prepares for them. A big problem is that mothers prepare what their mothers prepared...and the food groups, while known to the children, are not known to the mothers and fathers and therefore a generation passes before a change is made. Parents also think, "well it worked for me so it will work for my kids" not understanding the cycle that persists.
      One of the programs here that we are learning about now is WASH, or Washing and Sanitation Hygiene.  A large problem in Cambodia is sanitation and clean drinking water.  Let me tell you the root of the problem: toilets.  I am not going to post a photo of what I see on a regular basis here, but it can be summed up for you in one word: shit.  When people here need to poop or pee, they do so-on the side of the road. Or in the market. Or next to the table they are eating at.  You think I'm pulling your arm hair - I'm not.  Not everyone here has a toilet for various reasons.  Some because it's too expensive, some because they've never had one and they're still alive, some because it's too hard to clean, or pump out.  Whatever the reason, 100% of the population does not have toilets.  This presents a whole slew of problems that I'm sure Americans can only wince at, the largest of which, here, is contamination of drinking water.  Therefore, we assess sites and villages without toilets and proper hand washing education, and attempt to rectify the situation through education.  It's hard to go into details but basically I am presently learning about the problem, about the solution, and about how to educate Cambodians in a respectful and correct manner.
   Yesterday I was able to go out with a group in my first village survey to talk to some Khmer about habits they already have, and knowledge they would like to acquire. Speaking a little bit of my own rusty Khmer and mostly through a translator, my group discovered that the people living in the village are more worried about Dengue than diarrhea and do not always utilize hand washing or proper food washing. Sometimes the women who prepare the food simply don't have time, they told us, or do not know the correct way to cover food. Since there is no refrigeration the food has to be prepared right before it is eaten or else it sits out for hours. This sounds appalling to an American ear, but washing hands is not prevalent here...and neither is soap (no worries, my mom is sending a bounty of hand sanitizer for me...THANKS MOM!).
 I hope I've explained these things ok...I'm still learning about a lot of it myself!

  In completely unrelated news, I've survived my own first Cambodian sickness and have lived to tell about it.  One of the only bad things about growing older, in my opinion, is that your mom isn't on hand to take care of you when you get sick (she's pretty much all I want when I'm sick).  Imagine getting sick with your mom 7000 miles away...that's an additional 7000 reasons I wanted my mommy!

 Happy hand-washing back home!
 xo-Amanda

Rice on Rice on Rice...under Rice next to Rice beside the Rice bowl full of Rice

It is time to talk about everyone's (well every person I know except for me) favorite topic: food! O the food. Were I still in Europe I am sure I would be able to post ravishing photos of bakeries and tavernas while describing elegant pastries and sumptuous feasts of meat and ale.  HOWEVER, I am in a rice country that is not your typical Asian culture (...although I have never lived in another Asian culture so I'm not entirely sure that is a valid comment). Let me explain.
   I have rice for breakfast, and rice for lunch, and rice for dinner.  Is this a surprise? No.  What is a surprise is how much rice is ingrained in the Khmer culture.  The word for "rice" is pronounced like the English "bye"...and "to eat" is "hope bye"...as in "eat rice" when translated literally.  The bowls? - literally "the receptacle that holds rice".  The spoon that serves rice? - "the rice spoon".  The food - and I mean ANY other food that you are eating - "food with rice".  How do I put this more aptly? ...the word for "happy", literally "happiness" in Khmer is "sup-bye" - or "something - rice". RICE. IS. SYNONYMOUS. WITH. HAPPINESS. "Is this a joke?" you might be thinking, "is Amanda pulling my toes?" No, my air-conditioned friend with a widely varied diet, it is not a joke.  I have eaten nothing but rice. I am thoroughly convinced that I will die of rice consumption here in Cambodia. That or on the terrifying roads.
   What is even more outrageous is that the Khmer think that rice solves any and all problems.  I say I am hungry? They give me rice.  I say I am full: first they tell me that I don't eat enough...and then I get rice.  I say I am feeling sick, they give me rice.  If I were to say I wanted to lose weight (a girl in my group tried to explain this to the Khmer) they would tell me to eat MORE rice.  And they don't eat good brown rice; all of it in every single meal is sticky, white, all-sugar, no-good-for-you rice. They feed the babies rice soup. They feed the dogs and cats rice.  The idea of rice and its relationship (or lack thereof) to nutrition just boggles my mind.   Also I wonder if they couldn't figure out some chocolate ice cream rice deal.  Come on Khmer, let's put this rice obsession to some good use.
  Something else that is interesting here is that if you go into any restaurant, there are no menus.  You can buy the same thing at every place. Are you wondering what it is? Let me give you a hint: it means "happiness" in Khmer. That's right, you got it, it's RICE. You can get rice with pork, rice with chicken, rice with beef, or rice with vegetables.  If you're lucky and hit a place with noodles, you can get ramen on your rice too. Those are the breakfast options, the lunch options, and the dinner options.  What I wouldn't give for my dad's filet right now.  (Dad, are you reading?  Google "vacuum sealed" and "overnight to Cambodia")
   In addition to eating these wonderful, wholesome, nutritious rice meals that I have already gotten enough of, I also get to help cook them.  For many different reasons that I will attempt to explain later, I sometimes help my host mom and sister out in the kitchen preparing the food (not very well, I might add...they've significantly slowed on asking for my help with food).  On one of my first nights here, she brought a chicken in that had been de-feathered, and began to chop it up to add to the soup (that part of the meal that is the non-rice...known as "food not rice").  When I say she chopped it up for the soup...I mean she took a cleaver, chopped the chicken up into chicken blocks - bones, organs, joints, ligaments, fat, eyeballs, everything - and dropped it in the pot. Do you know what was left after she was finished putting everything in the soup? THE BEAK. She turned around to see my eyeballs popping out of my head and chuckled a little bit, muttering in Khmer.  And they wonder why I don't partake in the soup-like dishes anymore.  I don't think they've caught on though, they seem to think I like rice more and more every meal.  I really need to learn how to bargain for fruit.
   Fruit! One of the greatest discoveries on the first day in Takeo was the discovery of bananas.  The bananas here - and all of the fruit, for that matter - are not genetically enhanced American bananas, they are the smallest, most stunted, easily ripened bananas.  Each one is about as big as my pointer finger and a little fatter than a good hot dog. The word for "banana" sounds like "jake", which is also ridiculously easy to remember.  I eat about three which may equal one banana at home.
    And glory day, last night I had an orange!...and it was green!!! I feel as though I don't know my place in this world anymore what with it turning upside down producing oranges that are green.  Imagine the time I had trying to explain to my host family - who know no English except colors apparently - that in my country the fruit we were eating was both called an "orange" and was the color orange, but in Cambodia it seems they are green!  Of all the discoveries to make, mine leaves my faith in fruits more than a little shattered.  What's next -  pink blackberries?! Green blueberries?!?! If only I could find berries of any kind! 

Bon appetit!
  xo-Amanda

Rice for breakfast, rice for lunch, rice for dinner.

I feel as though I am back on the bookfield! I wake up at the crack of dawn to a rooster, take a cold bucket shower, hightail it out of my hq to a breakfast spot where I meet the kids who live around me, and then after a good breakfast we bike to our lessons and begin an intense day of studying Khmer language and culture. For any non-bookperson reading this; I'm on a tight schedule that helps keep me focused on my day.        

   My bed is covered in a mosquito net soaked in Permethrin to aid in my fight against the Dengue fever and other mosquito transmitted diseases.  It's like my very own personal fort, and I didn't have to use my only blanket to build it! As you can see from the bathroom photo, squat toilets are the norm along with bucket showers and no sinks. 

 You might be thinking, "bucket shower? That sounds awful." But when I wake up sweating in the Cambodian heat and then hang out it in all day, throwing a bucket of cold water over my head three times a day is EXACTLY what I want - and I get to call it a "shower" :).  The hardest thing to get used to is taking care of hygiene business every day with no sink.     
   Early in the week, my host brother-in-law asked me if I wanted some coconut milk. I said, "sure" and got my phone and some money thinking we were going to the market. NOPE! He got a long stick with a hook at the end called a "t'ra biet" in Khmer, told me to follow him to the top of the roof, and picked a coconut right off of the tree next to the house! After it had fallen he took a long machete-looking knife with a handle and proceeded to take off the top and the bottom and keep chopping until we got a hole in the top.  We went through 5 empty coconuts - because, as Mao put it, "the moon drank the milk" - before finding two full of water, with which we put straws in and had a refreshing drink.     

   My days are full here.  After a breakfast of rice and some sort of fried meat, I meet with a small group for language study for about 4 hours.  We break for lunch of rice and "sum-lan" (any food that goes along with rice) before getting back together for culture study for another 4-5 hours. At the end of culture study I either head to the high school to play a game of soccer, or to a guesthouse down the street from my house to use the internet and get some Khmer iced coffee.  We like to refer to it as our "Khmer Starbucks". Anywhere from 6-7o'clock I head back to my host family's house to help the prepare dinner (rice with anything) which we eat around 8pm.  In my free time I am trying to remember Khmer and how to pronounce the words correctly.     
   Tomorrow we are heading back into Takeo for what is called a "hub site" day.  There we get to see and train with the ETTTs (English Teacher and Teacher Training) as well as access some luggage and go through safety.  If only we had more rain!


 Lia howee! ("goodbye" in Khmer)
 xo-Amanda