Shifting Sands

Teaching in Cambodia was the best experience of my life.  I went there not only to help others, but also to help myself.  The world can be cruel, and it's easy to get caught up in the bitterness.  It's much harder to walk gently.  Cambodians do this with grace.  Living with them solidified many things which I already knew.  I hope I can carry these truths and demonstrate them more in my own life.

• Be kind and compassionate.
• Helping others helps yourself.
• Live in the moment.
• Don't worry about the future.
• You can't change the past, but you can only learn from it.
• Live simply.
• Find balance.
• Money does not create happiness.
• Celebrate the small things: an afternoon rain, a butterfly, a hug, sharing a mango with a friend...
• Trust your inner voice.
• Take risks.
• Do things others won't.

Now, it's time for me to move on.  I'm not sure what adventures lie ahead, but like a grain of sand, I will move with the ebb and flow of the tide and let the waters decide where I'll land next.

Go Bus Yourself!

The prospect of spending 5 hours on a public bus was so unappealing that I opted to pay extra for a minivan.  What's even worse about this decision is that minivans are notoriously dangerous, particularly on this stretch of road since it's so curvy.  I actually chose to put my life in peril and get to Phnom Penh an hour earlier. 

However, as things do in Cambodia, everything got screwed up.  The minivan never showed up, and when I went to ask the ticket agent about it, they stuck me on a public bus anyway, with no refund of course.  Irritated, I curled up in a ball on two seats while silently daring anyone to say anything to me.  Just try it!  I will raise my voice - in public - and unleash this loud, crabby American upon everyone.

The ride wasn't 5 hours.  It was 5 1/2 hours.  The bus driver stopped three times, so could stand around and chain smoke.  Then, the bus got a flat tire.  Finally, we reached the airport where I got out, weary and exhausted, and began searching for a guesthouse.  By this time it was 9 p.m.  I was tired, and just wanted to sleep for a few hours before heading to the airport at 6 a.m. for my flight.  The first guesthouse was $15.00.  I tried bargaining, explaining that it was late, and I would only be there for 9 hours.  Plus, the place was almost completely empty.  It got me nowhere.  They held firm.  I spouted, "Well, I'm just going to find a cheaper one!" and left in kind of a huff.  I checked out a couple more guesthouses which turned out to be even more expensive.  Damn!   I really didn't want to have to return to the first guesthouse with my tail between my legs.  My big, fat, cheap ego had been hurt, but I had to suck it up.  I went crawling back to the first place and overpaid.  True to their polite Cambodian nature, they acted like nothing had happened, and I hadn't just been totally rude.  I really should learn a thing or two about being pleasant to people, even when someone is a jerk, like me.

Freedom!

This is what I was dreaming about during the last month of school.  Beautiful ocean, soft sand, a cool breeze.  I had planned on updating my blog and adding tons of posts, but that would have interfered with my big plans of doing nothing.  Therefore, my daily schedule ended up like this:  Get up whenever I felt like it.  Drink a Fanta.  Walk along the beach.  Find a comfy chair.  Swim.  Read.  Stare at the sea.  Make tough decisions like:   Should I get a massage or a pedicure?  Should I eat Mexican or Italian? 

A motodop driver took me to Mohachai Guesthouse.  I bargained down to $2 from the original $5 the guy was asking for.  I use the same technique whether I've been to the town before or not.  I say, "I always pay $___ whenever I come here.  My guesthouse is very close.  It's just down the street."  This works about 95% of the time.  On the way, the driver said he liked practicing English with his customers, so we chatted.  I asked him where he learned English, and he said he went to university to study finance and planned to be a bank teller.  "Then why are you a moto driver?!" I asked.  He said bank tellers make $120 per month, and he makes more than that s a driver.  Since he works for the bus station association, and he speaks English, he is given the foreigners and always has enough work, even in the low season.  Plus, he continues to go to night school to improve his English.  Wow.

10 months of rice and vegetables. Rice.  Rice.  Rice!  No more rice for me, thank you please.  I'll take the pumpkin soup with sour cream and chives with a side of warm buttery garlic bread.  Oh, and I'll also have several pizzas, an enchilada, French fries, ice cream, and a smoothie.

The first part of Occhuental Beach caters primarily to foreigners, but there is that invisible line that you suddenly cross, and it is clear you're on the Cambodian side of the beach.  There differences are obvious.  Suddenly, there are no more hordes of white people or menus written in English.  If that doesn't tip you off, then just look for the piles of inner tubes and life jackets.  Most Cambodians not only swim fully clothed, but they don't know how to swim.  This doesn't stop them from having a good time in the water though.  They jump in wearing jeans, long sleeve shirt, life jacket while clutching an inner tube. 

Another indication that you have "crossed over" is the dramatic increase in the number of women selling grilled lobster, shrimp, and octopus.  Not once did I see any foreigner eating this stuff, and the ladies only give a lazy attempt to bother to try to sell to the barangs.  Cambodians, on the other hand, eat this by the bucket load.  One man will purchase 6 lobsters and 12 shrimp at one time, and maybe get more later if that's not enough.  It sounds like a lot, but if you actually look at the creatures, there is very little meat on each one, and it's no wonder it takes so much to fill even a tiny Cambodian belly.

The people watching was fabulous.  Here's just some of interesting sights that I witnessed:

-Two Chinese men sitting on the beach, taking turns scrubbing each other's backs with sand.
-A naked baby wearing only a red and white Santa Clause coat, sitting on a moto.
-An old woman picking up fallen leaves off the sand.  One by one.  By hand.
-A two year old with a big grin shouting, "Hello barang!  Hello barang!" to me.
-Two young Cambodian boys playing a game of catch - with a live fish.

Yet another reason not to convert to Islam...

Vendors walk the beach day and night selling sunglasses, manicures, snacks, and plenty of crap nobody really needs.  Since it was the low season, every day the same vendors asked me if I wanted to purchase something.  They all had the same lines and made me pinky swear that I would only buy from them.  I made this promise to about a dozen people.  I usually don't buy stuff but was happy to chat with them.  They are only allowed to sit on the beach chairs if they are talking with a potential customer, and since I didn't have a lot going on, I didn't mind asking them questions.  Many of them are children, and I asked them about their families and lives. 

One night, I decided to buy a firework because that seemed to be the thing to do.  All up and down the beach, people were lighting them off, so why not join in?  I bought one rocket for 25 cents, and stood near the water, shooting beams of fire into the night air for about two minutes.  It was about as exciting as anything for a quarter can be, but I was satisfied knowing that I had participated in this must-do activity.

A teenage girl named Mali approached me every single day, and I looked forward to it because she was funny.  This was our first conversation.
"Madam, you buy bracelet?"
"No thanks."
"You want key chain?"
"No."
"Pedicure?"
"No."
She touches my legs and feels a weeks worth of stubble and cringes in horror.
"Oh!  Hairy leg!  I pull out hair for you."
"No thanks.  I have a razor.  I'll just use that."
She gets out her thread and starts using it in that special way, so it pulls the hairs out at the roots.
"I show you for free.  It better than razor.  It last long time."
"No.  Really.  I've seen this before.  I don't want it.  Oww!  That hurts."
"Then, you buy bracelet?"
"No."
"You have husband?  Boyfriend?"
"No.  How about you go find me a boyfriend, and then I'll buy a bracelet."
"O.K.  You buy bracelet first."
"No.  Find me a boyfriend first, and then I'll buy a bracelet."
She makes a big show of pouting.
"Why you not help me?"
"I'm trying to, but you have to find me a boyfriend."
More pouting.
"You know why you don't have boyfriend?  Because you have hairy leg!"
Well, she got me there.  I looked like Chewbacca in a bathing suit. 

Sucking It Up

During the last couple weeks of my life in Mongkol Borei, I was busy making preparations for leaving my home there and beginning my summer vacation.  I went to the Capitol Bus station intending to buy a bus ticket on 7/13.  When I got to the front desk, I told the owner that I wanted to go to Phnom Penh.  He said," tomorrow?"  I laughed and explained that I wanted to leave on 7/24.  He looked confused, scratched his head, and started flipping through his handwritten notebook.  I could clearly see that he had already written the dates and bus times, and the pages were empty.  He said, "No bus."  What?  There must be a bus on that day.  I know that several buses leave every day for Phnom Penh.  What's the problem?  So I said, "O.K, how about 7/25?"  He continued shaking his head.  What the heck is going on here?  This should not be so difficult.  After some thought, he declared, "Three days."  Three days?  What the hell does that mean?  Ooohhhhh...duh!  He wants me to buy the ticket 3 days in advance.  I am way too early.  Another stupid barang blunder.  You would think that I would be used to the intricacies of travel in Cambodia, but again, I made a silly error.  Who would even think of buying a bus ticket 8 days in advance?  Now, that would just be crazy. 

                     
For the most part, travelling is great.  I get to visit exotic places, see extraordinary things, and take part in new experiences.  Yet, there are some aspects that just suck.  For example, how come I never get on a bus and think, "Wow, these people smell great!  And what is that other aroma?  It must be some delicious meal they have brought along for the trip!  And they all look so interesting.  I can't wait to talk to them.  And what a treat.  There is a baby in front of me who is not potty trained.  Yes!  I'm so glad this bus trip is going to be 8 hours long."  This is never the case.  Never.

I usually travel long distances by public bus because it is cheap, and so am I.  The bus is always overcrowded.  It's either insanely hot or cold.  Cell phones are ringing, and everyone feels the need to have really long, loud conversations.  And why oh why do the bus drivers invariably feel the need to blast music or movies at top volume?  My standard method of dealing with these wearisome hours are spent either: reading, staring out the window, or reclining my seat that extra two inches in order to lie comatose while hoping we don't careen down a hill in a fiery burst of flames.
                           
I was extremely happy to arrive in Phnom Penh where I ate pizza and spent the night at my Longlin, my favorite guesthouse, before making the 5 hour journey to the beach the following morning.

Luckily, the bus from Phnom Penh to Sihanoukville had about 10 empty seats, and as the only barang, I was able to accomplish one of my usual tricks.  I boarded the bus quickly, took up two seats for myself, curled up into a ball, and pretended to be asleep.  This plan is often successful in inhibiting any other passengers from attempting to sit next to me.  First of all, I'm a barang, and they assume I don't speak any Khmer.  Secondly, I'm "sleeping," and it's easier to just sit next to someone who is sitting up and not already hogging two seats.

Holy @%&*!

One day I was sitting at the office table with Kim, and I made a very important request.  "Kim, teach me a Khmer swear word."  By this time, Kim had spent enough time with me and was fairly used to my inappropriate topics of discussion.  However, I could tell that she was still a little uncomfortable and it took her a moment to give me an answer.  She said, "k'ball doo."  "What's that mean?" I asked.  "It mean you are stubborn."  OK, not exactly what I was looking for, so I pressed on and asked for another.  She said, "H'look no."  Again, I asked the meaning, and she said, "It mean you are impolite person."  Obviously, this what not going anywhere.  I didn't want to learn how to tell someone they were a jerk.  I wanted to be vulgar and offensive.

 

At this point Chanda, another teacher, had sat down at the table and was playing with her phone.  I told Kim that in English, our swear words usually deal with body parts such as asshole or dick.  Suddenly, Chanda got very stiff and a stricken look appeared on her face.  She continued messing with her phone, and it was obvious she was pretending that she wasn't listening to any of this.  Then, I decided to ask Kim about a word which I've found to be universal.  "How do you say Fuck you?" 

 

Apparently, this was even a bit much for Kim because she squirmed in her seat, and there was this long pause.  She looked to Chanda for assistance, but Chanda stood up and bolted.  I continued pressuring Kim to give me an answer.  I knew she knew the word, but was having a hard time actually getting it out of her mouth.  Finally, she said, "kyo meechow k'doo."  I made her repeat it several times, so I could write it down correctly and pronounce it right.  I think she was relieved when the bell rang, and she was able to flee from her unladylike friend and our crude conversation.

Jum-Reap-Leah!

On the morning I left, many students showed up, in their uniforms even.  I didn't know that a such a formal goodbye had been planned.  The students were allowed to give me one last individual goodbye hug.  My heart broke into pieces.  How could I leave?  These were my children.  This is a picture of me and Sophara.  He was the 2nd grade boy with the big crush.  During the last week of school, one of the teachers must have told him I was leaving because he gave me a note that said, "Kerri, I'm sad.  I love Kerri.  Love Sophara."  He lso drew a picture of us.  I was holding a suitcase, and we both had sad faces.

I tried to be strong and hold back my tears in order to comfort them. 

Kim brought her mother and Seyhak to say goodbye too.  I got to hold and kiss my special Godson one more time.  This was the first time that Kim's mother had been in my apartment, so she took a look around and seemed especially impressed by the kitchen.  "Very modern!" she exclaimed.  Seyhak liked my computer.  His eyes were completely transfixed on the screen which displayed the FaceBook page.  (Some things are truly universal.)  He also likes watching ceiling fans go around just like all other babies.

SreyInh and Chanrong gave me a framed picture of all the students in my Teacher Training Class and wrote "We love Kerri" on the bottom.  Chanrong was wearing one of my favorite shirts which contained a typical oddly worded phrase in English.  It says, "Picture and the face much lighter so that all you are really focusing."  I always get a good laugh out of this not only because of the grammar, but the content is funny too.  It's basically saying, "Look at my face, not my chest."

Laum gave Cynthia and I a going away present too.  He gave her a tube of red lipstick and me a tube of glittery pink lip gloss.  I thought, "Ahhh, he knows what we like to wear."  I would never have expected him to notice such a thing.  (Although, I have strong suspicions that Roam helped pick them out too.) 

The students lined up along the path with girls on the right and boys on the left.  As I walked away, they clapped, and I waved and blew kisses.

Good bye my darling 1st graders!

Then, it was really time to leave. 

Nine friends accompanied me to the bus station.  It was completely unexpected and once again showed me how special these people are.  Getting on that bus was one of the hardest things I have ever done.  I took one last look at them and climbed aboard.  Then, I wept as we drove through the village, knowing that I was leaving my second home.  I said silent goodbyes to all my favorite street vendors, restaurants, pagodas, rice paddies, palm trees, stray dogs, and the path to my school.  Everyone stared at this strange barang on the bus and wondered why she was crying.

The Blossoming Lotus

Laum created an agenda for the closing ceremony day which included a staff meeting at 8:00 a.m. and the ceremony was to begin at 9:10.  Naturally, that's not what happened.  at 7:30, they began testing the 8 enormous speakers which had been set up for the occasion, and this caused a power outage for a while.  There was no staff meeting.  I wandered around what appeared to be general chaos and decided my best option was to retire to my bedroom until I was summoned.  Laum called me at 8:30 and said, "Kerri, we are waiting." 

Shockingly, everyone not only arrived on time, but they were early, so we began the ceremony.  Even Gogo had already taken up his place upon the stage in front of us and right next to Mr. E. Long, the Governor of the Province.  A bunch of local dignitaries sat on the opposite side of the stage and spent most of the time playing on their phones.  A small army of soldiers milled around the gate to make sure that the Governor was not attacked by a cow or something.

Four of our girls performed a traditional Khmer dance to welcome the guests.  Then, the speeches began.  Out of the eight, Cynthia's was the best.  She thanked everyone for their kindness and generosity.  She included a lovely analogy by saying, "Hans planted a seed that blossomed into a beautiful lotus, and the students are the jewels that surround the lotus."  She concluded by expressing upon the student their responsibility to take their knowledge and use it to help improve Cambodia.  The other speeches were incredibly boring.  The Governor spoke for 30 minutes in a monotone, not once looking up from his notes (which he had been furiously writing during all the other speeches.)  Thank God they didn't bother to translate that into English too.  The students were getting restless, and so were Cynthia and I, so we amused ourselves by crafting a speech for Gogo.  It went something like this:  "Good morning everyone.  Thank you for letting me live at your school.  I really like it here because you drop food on the floor during breakfast and lunch.  The pork and chicken are fabulous, but I must admit the boiled fish makes me vomit on Cynthia's bed.  I'd like to give a special thanks to our kind neighbor.  Sorry about the chicken incident.  I couldn't help myself, and I can't make any promises that it won't happen again. 

At the conclusion, the 9th graders received their diploma, and the top two students at each grade level also received a special certificate and gift (3 notebooks, pencils, and an eraser.)  After the ceremony, there was a feast and some of the students performed a play for entertainment.  I sat at a table with 3 of the 11th grade girls from my Teacher Training class, Hans, Rob, Cynthia, and a couple 9th graders.  Hans found out that Thida, one of the 9th graders wanted to be a lawyer, so he began this really long lecture about the type of law she should practice.  Being the polite Cambodian girl, she stopped eating and listened politely.  My 3 girls and I were watching this take place and giggling.  I decided to put an end to this and said, "Hans, I'm sorry to interrupt, but can you take a picture of me and Sareoun?"  He did, ad then I said, "Now, quit talking this girl's ear off, and let her eat."  At that, my three girls about fell over in hysterics.  They love to see a woman speak her mind so freely.

Some of the 9th grade girls and Chanrong invited us to come into a classroom, so they could sing us a couple songs.  During, "Let it Go," I started crying.  Hans said to me, "Will you stop already?"  But, he has tears in his eyes too.  When they began singing "My Heart Will Go On," (the theme song from Titanic), we all joined in and belted out, "Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on.  Once more, you open the door, and you're here in my heart, and my heart will go on and on." 

These words sum up my feelings about everyone I came to know and love in Cambodia. 

I was given a multitude of present and hugs from students, parents, teachers, and people I didn't even know.  It was really touching.  Socheata told me that he had a gift for me and tried to explain it with his limited English.  He was motioning to his pants.  I said, "Pants?"  He said, "No," and showed me they were shorter.  I said, "Shorts?"  No, that wasn't right either.  He said, "They are not second hand.  I hope you like it."  I was wondering how he managed to find me a pair of pants that would actually fit my big barang butt in Mongkol Borei.  When I opened his gift later, I burst out laughing.  Along with a pair of sunglasses, and a couple other items, there was a pair of blue panties!  Now, I understood why he told me they weren't secondhand.  (It ended up being the perfect presents because the ten pair of panties that I brought with me were raggedy and forming holes.  Also, the next day, I somehow lost my sunglasses.) 

I couldn't wait to tease him about this, and luckily I found him standing around a bunch of the other teachers, so I tucked them in my bra and ran over there.  I exclaimed, "Socheata, I want to thank you so much for your gift.  I love them!"  Then, I whipped them out of my bra and displayed them for everyone to see.  Socheata was sheepish, but he laughed along with it.  His wife seemed even more embarrassed, and she explained that she had picked them out, and they were really from her.  I chose to ignore this and continued to razz Socheata.  (Over the course of the year, I had been joking around with Socheata that I wanted to be his girlfriend, but I couldn't because his wife would punch me if she found out.  This would always make him blush, especially when there were other people around.  He would protest and say that we were only friends, and I would say, "Ot-day, K'nyom chong dee-ut.  Som?"  (No, I want more.  Please?)

Open

On the weekend before I left, I was doing laundry, and the kids have learned that means I'm up, and Cha Kerri's is open for business.

I was standing in my bathroom in bra and panties, washing my face when I heard, "Cha.  Gooroop?"  I turned to find Makara with 6 other children, staring at me.  They didn't care that I was half naked.  They just wanted to color.

Imperfect Match

Mr. Bean joined us for lunch that day.  Luam told me that his girlfriend was SreyInh.  This was new gossip, and I couldn't wait to tease her.   She is one of my high school students and had not mentioned this very important information to me.  I was surprised that she would consider Bean.  He's a great guy, but not a traditional boy from Mongkol Borei that picture with SreyInh. 

Luckily, I got the opportunity to ambush SreyInh with my newfound knowledge when Sophert invited me to visit a "Family School" in our village where SreyInh works one hour a day as a teacher.  I pounced on her with no mercy,. "Guess who I hung out with today?"  Who?  "Your boyfriend!  The one you haven't told me about."  She slapped her hands on her face and cried, "Oh my God.  I'm going to die!  He's not my boyfriend."  I said, "Well, he thinks you are.  He told me you're getting married."  She said, "No, he's like my brother.  I don't love him."  I laughed and advised, "Well, you better tell him that." 

Career Day

Cynthia arranged a Career day for the 7th, 8th, and 9th grade students.  This fulfilled several goals.  The students were exposed to jobs that they might possibly want in the future.  They got to see three great Cambodian role models.  And it hopefully impressed upon them the importance of learning English which will open up many job opportunities for them in their future.  The man to Laum's right is from a Crisis Center that helps victims of trafficking, abuse, and violence.  Although, they were given a time limit of 15-20 minutes.  He spoke for 40 minutes which was way too long for a group of teenagers, and it made us run way overtime.  Cynthia stood in front of him at one point and pointed to her watch, but he ignored her and continued blabbing away.  Clearly, he was not used to speaking in front of young people.  The next man is Dr. Chan, one of the doctors who has helped me in the past.  On the end, is Mr. Bean.  He's an old friend of Laum; they grew up in Battambang together.  Now, he works as a tuk-tuk driver and trainer of drivers in Siem Reap, particularly at Angkor Wat.  He makes a very good living doing that.  He was the best speaker because he was funny, and the kids thought he was cool because he has tattoos and earrings.  I could tell that he is used to entertaining foreigners and knows how to use humor cleverly.  Afterwards, he confessed that he was so nervous to speak in front of such a large group, and his heart was pounding the whole time. 

The students were well behaved and some of the girls asked questions.  Bean made a joke and asked why none of the boys asked a question.  The truth is that they tend to be lazy and less motivated than the girls, but I didn't say that.  I just did the Indian head roll instead. 

Bong-S'ray

Sophert is my Cambodian sister.  She is 39, the same age as me, and we have a lo in common.  The first time I went to her house, she was so embarrassed that she refused to allow me to see inside of it.  Now that I have known her for 10 months, it's different.  I can show up unannounced, and she welcomes me inside and always offers to prepare a meal as is the custom for guests.  The first time I went inside, I was shocked.  It was an absolute hovel.  She kept muttering, "Dirty hou.  dirty hou," in dismay, but I told her it was just fine and not to worry. 

I've been in a lot of homes in my village, but this was one of the worst.  Her house isn't built on stilts, and she lives on the bottom floor.  Every time it floods, her entire house is filled with water for weeks or months.  Last October, she had to move to the top floor and live with Bop until the water receded.  The linoleum on the floor has rotted away completely, her furniture is ruined, and it was filthy.  Chickens walked in and out, pecking among the trash for a bit of rice.  I hated to see a fellow teacher living such a wretched existence. 

When I first met Sophert, she told me her dream was that she could save enough money to buy a small house near her father's home.  She wants to plant vegetables and fruit trees.  So far, she has managed to save up $3,500 of the $10,000 that it will cost to buy the land and build a house.

Sophert's life has always been difficult.  She was born in 1974.  One year later, on April 17th, Pol Pot's regime marched into Phnom Penh and began a bloody war that lasted for 5 years.  No one knows for sure how many people the Khmer Rouge killed during the genocide, but researchers estimate somewhere between 1 and 3 million people.  Farmers were displaced, and many were forced into labor camps.   Teachers, doctors, bankers, politicians, artists, university students, business owners, and anyone with any education was immediately executed.  It is much easier to spread propaganda among the uneducated.  One of their mottos was, "To keep you is no benefit.  To destroy you is no loss." 

After the Vietnamese liberated the country, there was a terrible famine because no rice had been planted, and many more people starved.  Then, Hun Sen gained leadership of the county, and has vowed to maintain his stronghold until he dies.  (And we all know how well that has worked out for the average citizen.)  The only reason Sophert is alive today is because she was the daughter of a poor subsistence farmer.  She eventually managed to get some education, but it was the bare minimum

When she reached her early 30's, her parents decided she should get married.  It was an arranged marriage.  She hardly knew the guy.  He was from another town, and her parents set up the whole thing.  It was a disaster.  He treated her poorly, verbally abused her, yelled at her, and any self-esteem she once had completely dissolved.  It lasted a mere four years.  When Sophert told me all this, I couldn't help but be struck by all the similarities between her failed marriage and mine.  However, my husband didn't leave me; I kicked his ass out.  So, there was Sophert.  Alone.  A single mother.  That's when she began to work so much.  I asked what happened to her husband.  She said they got a divorce, and he became a monk.  I found that infuriating!  How could he leave his family and then declare himself on the path to enlightenment by putting on an orange robe? 

Sophert showed me her wedding photo album.  The first few pages contained pictures with the husband cut out.  I started laughing, and Sophert looked at my shyly and said, "I get mad."  I told her she was awesome and I approved. 

The rest of the album contained really awkward photos like this.  I said, "Sophert, these are the saddest wedding pictures I've ever seen."  She said, "I only just know him that day."  Damn.  This was messed up.  The worst part of our whole conversation was when she confessed that she still loved him.  That killed me.  I understand though.  This was not only her first boyfriend, but her husband, the one and only man she's ever slept with, and they had a child together.  She said she would probably never make love to another man again.  And she probably won't.  She's a divorced woman in Mongkol Borei.  That's "damaged goods" out here in the paddies.

Currently, Sophert has 5 jobs.  She works full time at our school, teaches one class at a state school in the evenings, tutors some of the high school students on the weekends, washes people's laundry, and is a house cleaner.  I worry about her because it's obvious that she is depressed and exhausted. 

It seems to have gotten worse lately.  Recently, she called Cynthia and told her that someone was trying to poison her.  It was weird.  We couldn't figure out if she was going crazy, or if it was some weird Cambodian thing.  Finally, Sophert said that she had a dream that some men tried to rape her by giving her a drug.  She was convinced that someone didn't like her and sent a ghost to haunt her and couldn't stop worrying about it.  (So yes, it turned out to be a weird Cambodian thing.)  Anyway, they went to the pagoda, and a monk gave them a really long blessing and dumped holy water on their heads for about 10 minutes.  The monk declared Sophert ghost-free, and they left.   

Camboian Fashion

Thida is wearing the typical attire for a Cambodian lady.  She has two shirts, a sweater, gloves, pants, socks, and flip-flops.  The only thing missing is a wool hat.  It's 95 degrees, but they want to protect their skin and keep it "light."  Thida always asks me, "Kerri, aren't you hot?"  She is afraid my skin will get brown.  I am constantly reprimanded by the women for not covering my arms.  I shamelessly walk around and allow the sun to color the pigment of my skin.  Oh, the horror.

One day I was looking for some skin lotion at the market, but all those were imports and three times the price of the local lotions.  Khmer skin lotions are always "whitening creams."  When I bought some of this lotion, the vendor laughed at me and pointed to my arms.  Then, she leaned over and told the woman next to her, so they could both enjoy the amusing fact that a barang wanted whitening lotion.  I'm seem to provide this kind of amusement so often. 

Reptile vs. Amphibian

No winner in this battle.

Partying with 7th Graders

As the school year came to a close, I decided that we needed to have a party in my 7A class.   Everyone brought something to share: food, drinks, music, dancing, etc.

The students created a buffet table for: watermelon, rambutan, mangosteens, durian, cookies, and soda. 

We played Butt Balloon (yes, I did just make up that term).  There are two team, and each team member must sit on a balloon until it breaks.  The first team done is the winner.  This is always a big hit.  It's fun.  Try it at home.  Fun fact: the word for balloon in Khmer is bpang pow.  I like this word since it sounds fitting.

Four girls performed a dance choreographed just for me, based on a Khmer music video they like.  I was touched by their thoughtfulness.

The Beginning of the End

Laum announced at our last faculty luncheon that Bop was leaving school a week early to work in Thailand as a waitress.  Both Cynthia and I were in shock.  Bop didn't tell us because this decision made her sad, and she knew it would have the same effect on us.  Out of all my wonderful friends, she is the most sweet, caring, and kind.  and that is huge because all of my friends are like this.  When Cynthia lay dying in the squalid hospital in Mongkol Borei, she was the one who stayed at her bedside for two night, cleaned out bowls of vomit and helped Cynthia get to the communal toilet.  Not many people would do that. 

I will miss Bop, but I'm glad she will have the opportunity to have some fun, enjoy a big city in another country, and hopefully gain a broader perspective on things.  She will work as a waitress at an American Grill 6 days a week.   She will earn $300 per month which is really good by Cambodian standards. 

On her last night, we all had dinner together, said our goodbyes, and tried not to cry.

The Last Lunch

Cynthia and I went out to eat one last time before I left.  I ordered watergreens, one of my favorites, and she ordered roasted fish with veggies.  She at most of it but left the head for Gogo to eat.  I teased her about not eating the fish cheeks which are supposed to be the best part of the fish; however, she refused.  I decided that I haven't eaten enough revolting food in this country, so I attempted to find the fish cheek.  After poking around for a while, I kept hitting hard pieces that seemed like gills, so devised plan B: eat the eyeball.  Plucking the eyeball out of the face was the easy part.  It became more difficult as I was staring into the fish's eyeball, so I popped it in my mouth before I could think about it too much. The texture was tender and kind of melted in my mouth, but the taste was horribly fishy.  There was this hard, crunchy part which was obviously the outer part of the eyeball.  It was like trying to chew a piece of plastic, so I ended up spitting out that part because it was really grossing me out. 

"Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick"

There have been moments when my classes get rowdy, and cranky schoolmarm makes an appearance.  For one thing, the seating arrangements are a big source of the problem.  The other teachers assigned them, and they all do the same thing.  They section the students by ability, so all the high level students are sitting together.  Also, the students are seated according to gender.  This is a recipe for disaster for a couple reasons.  The low level students become one big blob of laziness since there is no one sitting next to them to raise the bar.  Plus, there is no reason the boys should be allowed to sit next to their buddies with the opportunity to screw around.  However, I am a roaming teacher, so it's not my place to make these changes. 

Anyway, the teachers all have these big sticks (from trees) in their classes.  I thought they were kind of weird and old-fashioned until I picked one up and wielded the power for myself.  Now, I whack that thing all over the place.  Say, a student is drawing absently on his desk or playing with a toy when he should be listening to me because I am way more important than a yo-yo.  I just reach over and tap his desk with it.  Sometimes, I hit the board with it for extra emphasis.  Other times, I just carry it around and point at stuff. 

One day, my class was getting too loud, and after repeated attempts at silencing them, I finally said, "We're not doing this anymore!"  "You are going to write the word, quiet, 20 times in your notebook."  One boy whined, "Aww, man!"  Now, wherever did he pick up that that expression?

Traffic Jam in Mongkol Borei

Hey buddy!  Mooooove it!

Average School Day

There are some scenes here that are so normal in Cambodia but would be viewed as inappropriate in other countries. 

For instance, students walking around with butcher knives and machetes would require assistance from a police S.W.A.T. team in the United States.

Plastic bags over children's heads might be considered dangerous elsewhere.  Here, the bags make a handy hat when it rains. 

smART

"Every child is an artist.  The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up."  - Pablo Picasso

Art is an important and often overlooked aspect of the learning experience.  Sometimes, I allow my 1st and 2nd graders an entire class day to simply draw and color pictures.  When they see my crayon box and cut-up half sheets of white paper, they squeal with delight, ''Cha!  Goo-roop!"  They draw images from their imagination or copy pictures from books.  Art of any kind is not only educational, but it allows to express themselves and their thoughts in forms other than speaking or writing.