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).
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
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
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
bottom: my host mom
Saturday, October 13, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
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
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
Thursday, October 4, 2012
"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.
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.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
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
Monday, September 3, 2012
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
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
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