What a long, strange trip.

My health center staff

   About three months ago I returned to the United States of America (YAY!) from that stint in Cambodia known as my Peace Corps service. The end of my service was kind of a whirlwind, stuck between dreaming of my impending return home and preemptively missing everything in my Khmer life. My host family and I together were unsure how to treat the situation. They asked me when I would be coming back to Cambodia and I told them that first I had to get a job and save some money. Then my host mom asked if I would come back for Sokchea's wedding.  "When will you be getting married?"I asked him." O bong," he responded, "yoo! yoo! (not for a very long time)."

My Supermom came to visit and meet my host family which was really awesome and we had a blast. Check out my moms below:

(adorbs)

and my beautiful family!

(adorbs x5)

After Cambodia we visited Thailand and then Hong Kong before making our way back to Chicago and home.
And what a trip it was.

At the Grand Palace, Bangkok - Mom said, "He's a big guy!"

Hong Kong 

In the days following my return, between jet lag and consuming as much food as I could physically hold(ish), I met up with some friends and became reacquainted with my own culture and the life I had left behind. As always, lessons were learned and in the time I have spend back I have learned a few things that I would like to share below.

I am really very awkward. 
  I have always been really awkward but now I can blame it on my two years abroad (for a little while more, at least). When I went to Cambodia "out of place" just did not capture the sentiment felt by me and many of my cohorts as we stumbled along trying to learn not only a new language but a new culture and way of life. Individuality is not celebrated across the world the same way that it is acknowledged, even praised, here.
  Before coming home, as a preparation of sorts, I gathered with the other K6s for a conference we called "close of service" during which we were told all about returning to America and reassimilation into our home culture: there would be many things we noticed right off the bat (the English language everywhere, incredible amounts of waste, FOOD) and many questions we might get frustrated with ("So...what was it like?" or "Tell me about Cambodia"). As it turns out, I am not so affected by things that other people say or do, but I find I am very aware of myself - how much food I am leaving on my plate, my own garbage can at the end of the week, words and what they mean when I say them. Let me tell you, the food is a literal shock to the system (mentally and physically), but there were other shocks to my system that I think only other female PCVs in Cambodia or another conservative host country might notice, like all of the skin that is bared during summer (when I arrived home), or even having male friends. The pace of America is, understandably so, a little quicker than that of Cambodia and the question that I get asked more often than anything is, "Do you have a job yet?" It's so American! 
   And "American" is what we tell ourselves that we miss for those two years while we are across the planet, it is "American" that is the excuse when a cultural faux pas occurs and we shrug and think "It's because I'm American." But it isn't "being American" that we miss, it's being ourselves and no one caring because that's just who we are. I did try to blend in (and have you seen the photos? Not easy) when I was in the 'Bode and for a foreigner with no idea what she was doing, I can only say that I tried my best. The difficulty arises in our definition of "blending in" because in America, this means "standing out." That, as it turns out, I can do.

  So here I am, back in America. I have been introduced to some things I have missed occurring while away (the Cronut, Snapchat, those weird high waisted shorts girls keep wearing), and some things I have simply missed (refrigeration, climate control, bacon).  At the same time, I can't help thinking in Khmer sometimes (it's just easier), resting in a Khmer squat, or wishing I could walk down the road and get some pumpkin for $.50...and then give it to my host mom to cook because we all know what happens when I am allowed near knives (see: attempting to cut pumpkin post). The things that make me so "American" set me apart when I was in Cambodia and the things that I got used to in Cambodia make me stand out here.  Ah truly, some things never change.

I just use "quirky" now, instead of "awkward."

People want to know and people want to help.
   I have noticed more, since I have been back, that oftentimes people want to get involved with something bigger than themselves in order to give their lives purpose. Usually "something bigger" actually means something smaller. I did a lot of "big things" when I was in the Peace Corps - working at the health center, the science project, the library - but the "big things" that I love to remember, that I can't stop talking about, that I have so many photos of! are the "little things" that happened.  My host family is by far my absolute favorite part of my experience in Cambodia, and both of my little host brothers are and will be affected by that library that I helped to fill with books. During the pilot of the science project at Evan's site, more than one student stayed after that class to ask me questions about continuing on, where to get information, one even quizzed me on how to keep learning organic chemistry! I got to work with the most extraordinary women at the health center, learn about their lives and their patients' lives, and became friends with people who far outweigh me in the "life experience" category. Those personal friendships and relationships formed, even acquaintances with students who professed a love of learning, are what has affected me the most.

I am the luckiest girl I know of.
   It's hard, when seeing friends back in the States who kept in touch, to express my thanks adequately for all of their messages, emails, snail mail, phone calls, tweets, and thoughts that I received when I was there.  Probably only other PCVs will understand when I say that it meant more to me than they could ever know. How often I read, reread, and then reread over and over again every word and how much it helped when I was homesick and when I was not. It is not a great big deal to send an email for you in the Land of Electronics, but for me the effect lasted...well..roughly two years, if I had to estimate. To everyone who kept in touch - THANK YOU! thank you thank you, more than you will ever know.
  Between the Superparents, my brothers and sisters, friends and other family in America, and my friends, Khmer family, staff and other Volunteers in Cambodia, I have more connections and help than I know what to do with. Lucky! That's me.


Actually - a few weeks ago while eating dinner with my family, my aunt asked me what the most important thing I learned was (what a question!). Truthfully, I told her that if I learned anything in my years abroad, and in my time since, it is that I know nothing.

*   *   *

   One of our jobs as PCVs is to share our culture with our host country in addition to learning theirs. I know I have done my job when my host mom calls and after asking if I am happy and eating rice (and how can I be full if I am not eating rice?!), she gets down to business. "Do you have a job yet?" she asks.

Mission accomplished.

xo
Amanda

"Too Many Books To Read"

Library success!

A few months ago I took on the task to bring a great library to the secondary school near my village and with mounds of help, just before the school year ended, the library was finished and filled with books.  I couldn't be happier with the results.  

The library is located in a room set aside at the school for books.  It held a small display shelf and a desk, littered with paper and dust.  Before I began this project the school director showed me the room.  He and my tutor who helped connect me with the school agreed, "The books are the most important part." I wholeheartedly agree, but I thought that maybe we could do something about fixing up the room as well.  I had asked where the students would sit (oftentimes, Khmer people will lay out a rice mat and have meetings and hang out on the floor, it's pretty normal).  “What about some tiles on the floor?” I asked.  Another teacher got my attention, “Can we repaint the room?” he asked me, and I nodded.  We were on our way.

With the help of students, staff, and the Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ, I was able to purchase for the school computers, printers, bookshelves, pens, notebooks, and books.  We also added some benches to the outside, tiled the floor, painted the walls and windows, and installed not only electricity and a light, but a fan in the room as well!!! 

Check out the new and improved Library of *insert school name here* (cannot insert school name for security purposes, Peace Corps tells me).

When the room was finished and supplies purchased, the school director informed me that it was time for a blessing ceremony.  In Cambodia, when new buildings are built or refinished or dedicated, the monks must perform a blessing.  Since my brother and sister were coming to visit two weeks later, I asked him if we could wait for them to arrive.  He agreed. We waited and planned.

While completing the project we also accounted for sporting equipment, so that the library would be available to all students regardless of their interests.  During this process, a family donated some logs by which were made two goals placed in the front of the school.  I was told soon after that because the school had goals, instead of shoes to mark the place, the Muslim boys were heading to the school after class hours to play soccer with the Khmer boys.  New friendships were forming, and it was something the community agreed was a good thing.

One day, while planning for my brother and sister to arrive (they spent a night in my village) my host mom asked me what they would eat.  She suggested curry because, she said, it was the only thing she knew that people could eat with either bread (for foreigners) or rice (for Khmer).  I told her that was a fine idea.  Later than day I went to visit with the school director to answer some questions.  He said that after the ceremony we would have something to eat and what did my siblings like to eat? Did they like curry (because curry can be eaten with both bread and rice)? I assured him that they did. 

On my way home I thought, Curry, where has all of this curry been for the last two years? I’ve never gotten curry!

They arrived, as did the ceremony day.

A few weeks after, I was wrapping things up with my tutor and he told me about a student who was so inspired by the dedication of the Sisters that she wrote a poem. In it, she describes the things that the new library holds, including “more books than I can read” as well as changes made to the room and other purchases.  She, like many of her students and teachers, can see the promise books hold for her future and is excited to get it started. 

Xo

Amanda

Special thanks to the Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ for donating the money, 
Ms. Ali Bickel for donating so many books, Mrs. Debbie for support and good librarian vibes,  Dad and Mom for wit and help, and about a hundred other people for various amounts of support and positive energy.

The Science Project Complete!

    In August of last year I blogged about the Science Project, a project fellow PCV Evan Cobb and I came up with.  The purpose of the Science Project is to bring science experiments and science education to classrooms throughout Cambodia who do not have the resources or wherewithal to obtain it.  While Evan slaved away fixing up the lab all shiny and new for the kids and science teachers, I worked on the putting the book together with PCV Rich Durnan, and expert on the computer.

The room before and during renovation.

Our science book! Woooo!

I am so happy and proud to say that our little Science Project is a huge success.

    How can I make such claims? Well, a few months ago I traveled to Evan's site to pilot the class for the kids. They were super excited, he told me.  After a snafu or two, I arrived at his site and his school to find that the entire first class was waiting for me and ready to perform experiments.  An added bonus? The science teachers from his school were also ready.  They were sitting in the room with the kids wanting to hear what I had to say, and to observe these experiments we had spoken so often about.

    I had made a few posters the night before so we hung them on the walls and got down to business.  Since I was only able to see two classes (the 12th graders), Evan and I decided to try and tackle three separate subjects/experiments, each at about 20 minutes long allowing for a short explanation and questions at the end.  The first experiment we did was a rocket on (a la volcano) involving the use of, you guessed it, baking soda and vinegar.  I wrote the chemical reaction on the board and attempted to draw the chemicals by way of a short explanation.  A great part of this story is that the chemistry teacher came over and corrected my drawing.  I was ecstatic.  "Please," I said to him in Khmer, "continue."  The purpose of this project wasn't for me to teach the kids, it was for Evan and me to introduce them to the subjects and for the teachers and students themselves to take over and use it at their own pleasure.  But he wasn't interested, he wanted to see what I had to offer.

    Usually this experiment is done with a film canister (at least that's the way I did it, way back when), but those are difficult to find in Cambodia (and the rest of the world...thank you digital cameras) so we were flexible with a medicine bottle that had a snap-off lid (for a good how-to of the experiment, see here).  I showed the kids how to do it once, by wetting baking soda, padding it into the top, and filling the canister with vinegar.  Then I capped the bottle, turned it over, and stepped back expectantly.  There was a small hiccup and a fizz - I had filled the vinegar with the wrong amount of vinegar, and after cleaning the materials up, stepped back for the kids to have a try.  See below:

And they trial-and-error-ed it until the last one we had time for, when the bottle flew up like a rocket! Reactions were perfect and I think I literally clapped my hands together in excitement.  But no time to dwell, the 20 minutes were up!

   For the next science exposure, Evan and I chose to use a microscope and show the kids mitosis.  I tried to give them a brief overview of what they were going to see but mitosis is pretty complicated to explain in a short period of time via a foreign language.  So using the posters I had made the night before, I showed them the stages and we set the microscope up.  They "ooh'd" and "ahhh'd" and once more: success.

   The third experiment involved two glass bottles that were the same size but one was filled with water and the other empty.  They were set up on a ramp made of books and the students guessed which would roll faster and farther.  Behind the experiment we told them a little bit about friction and why the bottles traveled like they did.

   Thus ended our first class and we were pretty happy that it went well.  The second class was even better because the science teachers ended up practically taking over! Incredible to see, and happy that my work in that classroom was basically done.  Not only that, but after the class, a few of the students came up to me to ask about getting more information on studying science! If that doesn't signal success, I'm not sure what does.

   We have passed the books to other Volunteers and last week Evan traveled to the site of another Volunteer in order to give a presentation.  Spread the science around, I say.

Now onto the next province.

xo
Amanda

*all photos were taking by Evan Cobb

**check out our project featured on the Peace Corps Cambodia Webpage.

***or here on Facebook!

****to any other PCV who wants to check out the book and *!*use it at their school*!*, contact me for a pdf.  Spread it around!

Top: Evan with the students

Bottom: Me with the other class

Languages

     I am now held in the firm belief that communication is the root of life as we know it.  How I never considered that life could not continue without communication while studying the very social human species all through college is completely beyond me.  I guess I could just say that I was conducting a firsthand experiment and have just now had ample time to explore the relationship of people and subsequent relationships along with their language use. 

     Growing up and being a native English speaker in a world that increasingly uses English to communicate internationally, I am in a unique position – one where, living in America, speaking a language other than English is more of a hobby or “thing to know” rather than a necessity for life, job security, or survival.  Outside of America, this is not so much a fact as an illusion and lucky me, I am now living outside of America.  Here in Cambodia, and other parts of the world, children are taught to speak English and languages other than the native language beginning in primary school. 

     Sokchea has been learning the English language since far before I came to live in the room upstairs.  In primary school he started learning, and now, at 13 years old, he still goes to English lessons (he is learning how to type, too).  Sometimes he asks me what words mean but more often than not, I am asking him.  Recently I tried to explain to my host mom the half-marathon in Siem Reap.  “Knyom tao Siem Reap sumraap roat hutbraan,” I will say to her, I am going to Siem Reap to run.  She doesn’t understand.  I run outside on the road, why would I have to go all the way to Siem Reap to do the same thing I can do on the road outside?  “Sokchea,” I ask, “race, ta meich?” how do you say, “race”? and he will ask me to spell it – and then give a translation which I repeat and attempt (usually failing) to commit it to memory for its use later.

     My host mom told my visiting program manager that Sokchea was first in his English class and she attributed his great language skills to my help.  It had nothing to do with me, let me tell you, that boy is crazy smart.

     He also knows that to rise in his world, speaking English is necessary.  For Sokchea to continue on to higher education, speaking English is necessary.  For most jobs in cities where he would hope to earn a decent paycheck and support his family, speaking English is necessary.  To even use many programs on the computer, reading English is necessary. 

     Just a few nights ago my host mom was putting on some sweet smelling lotion.  Ka-oab I said, having recently learned the difference between the Khmer word for something that smells good that you will eat and something that smells good that you will not eat.  My host mom smiled. Ka-oab? She asked me and I thought for a moment, “fragrant,” I responded.  She tried to pronounce it and Sockchea said, “good smell, Bong?” I nodded, “trau” correct. 

     Man Kheang randomly interjects, “Ch’guy-Ahnglay-dog” … “Chmaw-Ahnglay-cat” … “Laan-Ahnglay-car,” saying the Khmer word, “English” and then the English word that he has learned. 

“IPad Ahnglay IPad,” Man walks around saying, chuckling at his little joke. 

     Some words just make sense-the kind of words you learn and learn to translate and say, why didn’t we do something like that? For example, when asking someone for the check in Khmer, you say gut loy, literally think of money.  How cool is that?  And the word “cool” is one of my favorites: it sounds like low-ey which is very similar to the word for “Money” (loy) and so when the kids say something is low-ey, I always imagine them saying “money” like, Bong, this spiderman costume is money! Ha. The word may is also one of my favorites, because it means “boss” and also “mother” – proving that Khmer people have gotten more than one thing straight while composing their language.

     Then there are the Khmer words which are decidedly English, just with a different location for the accent mark.  For example: “internet,” “computer,” “magazine,” and of course “beer,” are all words that have been adopted from the English language and are very easy to translate here; just put the accent at the end of the word and Cambodian people who do not speak English will understand what you are saying. 

     One afternoon a few months ago, Man Kheang came up to my room and asked me to teach him how to write his name in English.  I carefully wrote out his name for him in my best handwriting, and he painstakingly copied it just below on the same page.  As he held it up proudly to show me, I thought at that moment that I understood why teachers choose their careers and stay in the classroom long after their students leave.  In front of me sat a pleased little Khmer boy who had just written his name in my language, grinning like a madman at his accomplishment.  

And I, for one, had never been so proud.

xo-Amanda

Camp GLOW

Greetings!

After a little hiatus I am back! With the last project of my service about to begin.  I am talking about Camp GLOW.  

You may recall me posting earlier* (a little less than a year ago) about the Camp GLOW I and some other PCVs put on in Kampot Town (for a refresher, check out this video** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpoEIMT-NwA&feature=youtu.be) which was the first one Kampot PCVs had brought to Kampot Province.  Now we are on the verge of the second Kampot Camp GLOW! 

Camp GLOW is a stellar example of the legacy of Peace Corps service. The first such camp was established by Peace Corps Volunteers in Romania 15 years ago. Since 1995, Volunteers in 60 countries have established similar programs to promote the empowerment of women.  The concept has been adapted and developed since originally conceived, with one group of Volunteers passing along the lessons learned to the next group of Volunteers who serve as counselors and mentors.

The girls had a terrific time last year and this year we are looking forward to putting on an even better camp! 

In order to complete this dream, we need some help! We are trying to raise money for the camp in time to have it at the end of May. Every little bit helps! Please donate if you can, or pass the link on if you can't.  
To donate or check on our progress, click here*: https://donate.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=14-303-015
THANK YOU!!!!

xo-Amanda


*check out June 2013 for my post about our hugely successful Kampot Camp GLOW 2013!

**sorry! my link button isn't working! please work with me here, and copy and past the URL. THANKS!

Libraries and Books

I have an addiction.

   It's plagued me since childhood and I think it's time to tell the world that I can't stop and I can't give it up.  There have been enablers throughout the disease: my parents, my friends, even the occasional librarian.  At an early age my parents cut off financial support for my addiction but the encouragement did not wane.  Through the years it's been my route to friends and clubs, boring those who didn't share my interest and leading me to rare fellow addicts who, like me, cannot get enough of our high.  My affliction is this: I am addicted to the written word.

   My love affair with books began as soon as I  became literate, likely the reason I have such terrible eyesight.  I would read past bedtime under the covers with a flashlight (Sorry Mom, thought now I am sure you already knew) and by the third grade I was allowed to take out three books instead of the standard two from the school library.  Ah, books.  Just the thought of good literature puts a smile on my face and relaxation in my bones.  I am convinced that the human race is not doomed as long as my favorite authors circle the world in a cycle of publishing, lending, and pirating.  Even now, when I have confessed my sins of constant reading, sometimes to the neglect of homework or dinner, to share my passion of books makes me want to have a conversation instead of this one-sided blog - just to see what everyone is reading!

  And in honor of books, because everyone should have as much assess to the written word as possible, and also because the school director at my site asked me for some help, I have started a Library/Meeting Room Project to finish off my service (YAY!). 

   The project started as a library project.  After meeting with the school director he showed me a room with a pitiful stand of books that the students are able to read and asked if there was anything I could do.  There was.  As part of the project, we are remodeling a room at the school: adding tiles to the floor, paint to the walls, tables and bookshelves along with benches and tables, and then filling the whole place with BOOKS!
   The project also has a sporting aspect because some kids just aren't into books, but that doesn't mean they can't utilize the space! So instead of checking out books, students more interested in soccer can check out soccer balls and other equipment from the room and use it as well.  One of the coolest parts of this project (I think) is that the kids are going to have some input as to what reading material gets purchased for their library.  Because they are going to be the ones using it, so why shouldn't they determine what goes in it?!

To check out my status, see how awesome this project is, donate, or spread the word, check out the link below:

O but wait! The link is already disabled because the incredible Ancilla Sisters Domini have funded the whole project! A special thank you to the Sisters for being so generous, willing, and able to help some kids get some books.  An additional special thank you to Superdad for his help and support, and Ali Bickel who donated too many books for me to be able to bring back to Cambodia!

Let's get this project started!

And may you always have good reading material on hand (email me for suggestions)
xo-Amanda

Surface Assumptions

   Back home in the States, one of the most common questions I get (got?) was about my ethnicity.  Almost directly after asking for my name, I get asked a lot about my heritage.  Amused, I almost always ask the person to guess because I am interested in what other people think I look like (based solely on the fact that I get asked this question a lot).  Without fail, most people guess a combination of things and usually that combination includes an Asian guess.  Commonly included have been Japanese, Chinese, Filipina, and even Eskimo (they were serious).  After a lifetime of responses I have concluded that no one in America can tell the difference between Asians.  Just kidding. But seriously. 

   One of the best things about America (and there are ever so many), in my opinion, is the diversity. 

Earlier I had said that barang meant “foreigner.”  I was actually kind of wrong about that; directly translated, barang means “Frenchman,” but Khmer people use it as a general term for “Western-looking person.”  When people call me a barang, I say “No, I’m American,” because if I am going to be referred to as a foreigner with a nationality, it is going to be as the kind of nationality I have, thankyouverymuch. 

   When I first arrived in Cambodia I was so offended when people said this to me, and considered it extremely rude.  I think this is largely because something like this is entirely unacceptable in America (we call it “racism”).  But in a homogeneous society where everyone looks very similar (i.e. has the same stature, generally the same face shape, eye color, hair color, etc), it’s easy to spot “outsiders”: they are simply anyone who does not look like everyone else in the country.  Growing up in the States, no matter where you are from, though likely more so in cities, exposure to different types of cultures is inevitable, and along with those cultures comes diversity in faces, skin color, language, food, and other aspects of daily life.  Moving to Cambodia was a shock in the sense that instead of walking outside and encountering 7 different types of people in a 5 minute walk down the street to 4 different choices of food types, I encounter one culture, one food type, and one face type on a daily basis (what I wouldn’t do for some Mexican or Greek food right now, trust me.)

   In the beginning, when I didn’t speak a lot of Khmer, I couldn’t understand what was being said to me after the initial surprised look upon seeing my face.  Now I know that mostly what Khmer people say to me upon meeting me is moak doyk Khmer, or something like, “Khmer face.”  It happens All. The. Time. 

   It’s an interesting experience because not only am I not Khmer, I have no Asian ancestry that I know of, nor does anyone in my family ever get this kind of response (in America).  However, Khmer people think that I look Khmer or Chinese, and Thai people think I look Thai. This generally leaves me in an awkward place; I am not Khmer, and do not speak fluent, correct Khmer, but I am not wholly a barang (in Khmer eyes) because I have a nationals’ face but barang skin.  Sometimes though, I am mistaken for a Khmer person and often blend in.  I am quite literally stuck between two worlds.  

Let me recount some interesting (but not singular) instances:

   I was at Amber’s house in Kampong Chhnang working on the ANC Project, and I met her host mom who immediately commented on my Khmer-looking face (Shocker).  Later that day, during the evening meal, she gestured to my hands and told me I had Khmer hands because clearly I worked with them.  Then she gestured to Amber’s hands and told me her hands were American because clearly she did not work with them. 

   She made me laugh but she also revealed what she thought about Americans: mainly that we don’t work like Khmer people do.  Granted, manual labor has never been one of my after-school or summer jobs, and I don’t work over a stove all day (or ever) like a lot of Khmer women, but I like to think that I and my brethren work very hard.  Also, I wondered, what is it that we’re doing here? Vacationing?

   When Diana visited we were in Thailand for a few days and during the last day we went to see a golden Buddha.  While there, a Thai man commented to Diana and I that we had the same face (we get told that we look alike A LOT).  We nodded, as we generally do.  Then he proceeded to tell me that I had a Thai face.  

Really?  Did Diana? No.

How does that even work?

The same thing happened at my site.  When my host mom and grandmother met Diana they told me that we looked a lot alike but that I had a Khmer face and Diana did not.  Great, because that makes complete sense. 

   Having been asked a lot about my heritage in America, and having been told that I look Khmer and Thai and Chinese in this part of the world, I have come to realize that the questions are asked (or stated) with different intentions.  In America it’s more a curiosity; a question designed to pinpoint a facial feature, perhaps.  My ethnically ambiguous face doesn’t stand out in a place where diversity is the rule rather than the exception.  It’s interesting (beauty does that to people) but in the sense that it’s a small-talk conversation topic and not much more.  In Asia, Khmer people telling me that I look Chinese means something else entirely.  Khmer people telling me I look Khmer when they learn I am from America means something else as well.  It’s not simple curiosity here in a place where everyone has the same face; it means something.  And not being from here, I don’t exactly know what that something is. 

   On my toury ride from Kampong Chhnang, I met a Khmer lady who (Shocked again!) exclaimed immediately upon looking at my face that I had such a Khmer face.  I nodded and told her that I get that a lot.  She asked me where I was from and I responded that the States was my place of origin.  She paused before telling me that I didn’t look American, I looked Chinese and Khmer, more Chinese than Khmer though.  “No, I’m American,” I said to her, to which she responded, “Kom jooh” (I don’t believe you).   This was new.  I considered her for a moment before asking her what, exactly, did Americans look like?  In a voice that clearly confirmed my status as an imposter, she told me that first and foremost, Americans were beautiful.

I pretended not to be insulted.

   Then I filed that tidbit away in my memory for when someone back home had a pity party.  Now now, I could reason with them, a source in Cambodia has told me that you are beautiful, and other such stuff.

She went on to describe Reese Witherspoon and other such celebrities that may have descended from the Vikings, all of them with eyes as blue as the ocean and flowing golden hair – generally towering over the rest of the population with an impressive Thor-like build. 

   I was at first a little concerned.  When I imagine home, “home” being the United States of America, which I have traveled and lived in many different cities in different parts of the country, I never imagine one type of face or body type.  Usually a few different friends and family come to mind and with them, every different eye color, hair color, body type, skin color, language and religion I can possibly envision.  Americans have the reputation of huge egos and maybe getting fat, yeah yeah, but typical “blonde hair, blue eyes” was the best she could come up with?  How disappointing.  It was at that point that I realized just how much of a difference there is between “looks” at home and “looks” in Cambodia.  In America, “beauty” has a rather broad definition and is focused a lot on the body – the media and whatnot are forever commenting on “thin” this person “fit” and “healthy,” or “overweight” such and such.  In Cambodia, people comment a lot on faces.  There are the “fat” and “skinny” identifying words or whatever but people don’t really go on about my “fat” body; they love talking about my face. 

   During another random incident, I was in the health center of my village, sitting in the ANC room with some of the midwives when a woman came in and sat down next to me, speaking rapid Khmer to the staff.  They spoke for a few minutes, she left, came back, and sat back down.  After another minute or so, she looked at me, did a double take, and exclaimed, “Ah! Barang doych Koray!” or something of the sort, pointing out that I was a foreigner and then telling me that I looked Korean.  I told her I was American.  After that, the midwives studied me, trying to decide if I looked Korean or not.  I got a 50% “yes” on that question.

Well that was new too. -Ish.

   Flying from Phnom Penh to Beijing, I sat next to this adorable older Chinese couple.  They both had US passports, which I noticed – as did a lady who sat behind us.  This lady thought that they were my grandparents and probably that we were going to see my ancestral home or something.  I thought this was hilarious (I played along – have you learned nothing about me yet?).  Actually, (I talked to them a bit) they were US citizens, but had lived in a few different places around the world and spoke better Khmer than English.  We proceeded our conversation in Khmer and via my terrible Khmer, the grandmother taught me a few words in Mandarin - of which I remember exactly one.  That was pretty cool.  Anyway, the lady thought that I was their grandchild, of Chinese descent, whereas the couple knew I was not Chinese, and because I was speaking rather rapid English to the lady behind us, thought that I knew her instead.  What a tangled web we weave, am I right?

   On the flight from Shanghai to Beijing I sat next to two American ladies conversing in French.  Not thirty minutes into the flight, one of them turned to me and asked, “What’s ‘Mickey Mouse’ in Chinese?”

   At that moment I was suddenly hit with two simultaneous thoughts.  The first thought was an immediate worry that the face I see in the mirror (at least once a week) is not the face that the rest of the world sees, a notion which (despite endless inquiries about the ethnic ambiguity of my face throughout my life) had never occurred to me before.  The second thought was that “Mickey Mouse” in Mandarin was the sort of common knowledge that everyone should know-akin to knowing that Paris is the capital of France or that Michelangelo painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel-an example of something prime missing from my childhood education (and if this was the case, then what else had I missed; the story of Father Christmas in Swedish? the origins of the Easter Bunny?!).

“I don’t know” I said to her.

She didn’t even pause, “Is it *insert-Mandarin-sounding-word-here*?”

The look on my face was blanker than a Khmer person’s when I speak English. “I don’t know” I repeated. 

She gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me and turned back to her friend. 

   I have never met anyone in all of my travels who would not willingly translate a small word or phrase if they were asked and spoke both languages and was offended that she thought that I would not share information like that if I had known it.  What was I supposed to do? I really don’t know anything in Mandarin except for “hello” and thank you”, both of which I may or may not mispronounce unintentionally at every opportunity.  People aren’t just mean like that, and despite the fact that we were in China, she was surrounded by people from the tour group.  Not only that, I’m not Chinese.  Wonder of wonders that she should meet someone on an airplane surrounded by a tour group who, like her, doesn’t speak Mandarin. 

   It wasn’t until she gave me that look that it dawned on me that she thought there was Chinese in me and by default of my Chinese-looking face, I must speak Mandarin. 

   Thus the lessons.  What all of this has taught me is nothing about my looks and everything about assumptions.  People assume so many things based on my looks; that I’m Khmer, that I’m a Japanese/Eskimo combination, that I speak Mandarin.  It was funny in the beginning, and I play around with it when I get the chance, but mostly, when these things happen (and boy do they happen) I get a little twinge of homesickness, and I think of “home” the US, where I do get the question of my ancestry a lot.  It’s just curiosity though, and whoever asks it is asking with interest how my face was assembled – which backgrounds came together to make me.  The idea of questioning whether or not I am American is never even an idea. 

   The truth of it is that it doesn’t matter what my ethnicity is.  I had thought about owning up to it on this blog, but after composing a small paragraph, I read it over and thought to myself, who cares?  It’s not important.  You know what’s important? -Health messages that I attempt to pass on to my village, encouraging basic and continuing education, spreading knowledge of my own country to these people and their culture to my own.  The whole point of this blog post is that it boils down to two questions: Why does it matter if I look Khmer or if I don’t? Would my message mean less if I were Khmer? 

And I think that is a huge reason Peace Corps is important.  To spread the idea that the message, the knowledge, the learning is what is important, not the vehicle that is used to spread it. 

But if you ask me where I am from, I am still going to say “America,” and if you ask me about my heritage, I am still going to ask you to guess first.  After all, I might as well have some fun with my face, and get a story out of it. 

xo-Amanda

PD Hearth

The weekend after my birthday, I traveled east to Kampong Cham to help out Caitie with a project she was running at her site: PD Hearth (Positive Deviance/Hearth).

PD Hearth is a project that focuses mainly on nutrition education.  It is a three day workshop for Village Health Volunteers during which they learn about nutrition, followed by 10 days in the village weighing children and feeding them healthy meals - like enriched borbor (a rice porridge with lots of veggies and meat in it as opposed to a plain white rice porridge with nothing but water and rice in it).

Caitie planned out all of the sessions and arranged for trainers to come and help.  I accompanied the Volunteers to a village and oversaw initial weighing session and a surveying of what mothers feed their children - the kids are weighed at the beginning and at the end, to see if they gain any healthy weight during over the course of the project.

The room is all set up and ready for the VHVs!

Trainers: a midwife from Caitie's health center and two RHAC reps.

An exercise, planning out a village and identifying locations. 

Gotta figure out which children are underweight and why!

The first weighing session in the village.

Caitie takes the lead during a session on the three food groups. (There are three in Cambodia.)

Day two: surveying parents of underweight kids to get to the bottom of the problem!

More exercises

On the last day, we made enriched borbor as a group - delicious!

On the second day in, Caitie got sick with what looked suspiciously like amoebic dysentery to me (it wasn't), and I did my best to be extra helpful.  It didn't matter - she was so organized that virtually nothing happened. Actually, there really were no hiccups in the plan.  She is that good! 

After the doubting thoughts I had about this journey on my birthday, it was great to head to Caitie's site and contribute to a project that seemed like a real success.  Cheers to learning and having some fun while we're at it, and here's to health education improving lives in Cambodia as well as all across the globe. 

xo-Amanda