Peace Corps: Creating Global Citizens

A couple months ago I posted my thoughts on how the Peace Corps experience changes and challenges every volunteer, and it received a fair amount of responses, including not-so-flattering reviews and criticisms.

One commentator (whose comment no longer appears) took umbrage with this particular passage of mine:

You will be the biggest product of your Peace Corps work. You will change. And you will bring that change back with you.

(The full post can be found at http://mylifewithrice.blogspot.com/2013/05/an-open-letter.html.)

Since I can no longer access the original comment, my memory’s paraphrase shall have to suffice:

This post demonstrates exactly what is wrong with the Peace Corps, and the author even admits it! It’s all about the person’s own benefits, and not about helping others at all.

Peace Corps has three main goals, and I suppose the latter two could be viewed as self-serving as they focus on cultural exchange. That viewpoint, though, I believe is vastly cynical due to its shortsighted nature. 

I recently participated with other K5s (the 5th generation of volunteers in Cambodia) in our Close of Service Conference, where I was touched by the final remarks of our Country Director, Penny Fields. Penny was serving as a volunteer in Gabon when the Gulf War broke out. As she told us, her thoughts upon hearing of the war were of the people in her village: What if it had been here? Her political leanings and voting record have been perpetually guided by that moment of viewing the world from another country’s citizens’ perspective.

So maybe it’s true; maybe Peace Corps is a cultural exchange program and not a development one. But to claim that it’s selfish and won’t help those in other countries is ignorant of the development work done directly or indirectly by Returned Peace Corps Volunteers because of those ‘self-serving’ results.

Here are some ways that my time in Cambodia has affected me and will continue to do so in how I vote and for what I advocate and how I work: 

* I have a very hands on experience with my food here. Most vegetables in my village are grown locally, and the fruit I get from the trees in the yard. Meat is bought fresh and eaten that day. I know our eggs are fresh, because we’ll take them straight from our ducks’ roost. We don’t have a fridge and our ice supply isn’t reliable. Meals are prepared and eaten in quick succession. Apart from the occasional stomach mishap, I’m healthier here in large part to the composition of my diet. I won’t be looking at supermarkets and preservatives and importation the same way upon returning to the States.

* My province houses several different factories belonging to international companies. Many of my students will drop out of school if they have the opportunity to get a job at one of these factories. Last year, workers were fired upon during a strike for better wages. This week, two factories around Phnom Penh collapsed, killing and injuring workers. There’s been a long-term protest outside a Phnom Penh factory because large, well-known multinational companies are refusing to pay wages due. The average factory worker earns a decent salary by Cambodian standards. Ask me in a few years how I’m voting in regards to outsourcing.

* Lately, I’ve been a frequent recipient of the Cambodian health care system. Health care here is unbelievably cheap by American standards, but the quality is usually in doubt. Health insurance is either incredibly rare or nonexistent. Families will go into debt for emergency care. My host mother has foregone receiving medical attention for a long ailing stomach condition and even getting a pair of glasses because of the expense. My future earnings will be going in part to international medical outreaches and my effort toward making sure Americans aren’t also having to forgo needed care because of the cost. In conversation with my host aunt about America’s wealth gap, she expressed surprise that a country with citizens still struggling to meet basic needs is advising others on poverty policy. I’ve taken that to heart.

These are just three brief ways among several in which my notions have been challenged by living abroad and viewing life from a small village in rural Cambodia. These changes will affect how I view domestic and foreign policy for the rest of my life. I’m bringing those changes home with me, and they’ll be sent right back out in the form of my votes and activism. I’d wager that in the long run Returned Peace Corps Volunteers have multiplied the affect of their service on the host country nationals’ lives through their actions post-service.

I’d love to hear from others about their own countries of service and how they’ve changed as global citizens because of their time there. How were you a product of Peace Corps service?

This past year I undertook two projects through Water Charity’s initiative Appropriate Projects. Appropriate Projects provides funding through current Peace Corps Volunteers for water, sanitation, and public health projects. With grants of $500 each from individual donations through Water Charity, my village constructed a water tank and distribution system at the high school as well as a bathroom at the health center. The experiences were entirely different.

The school director was excited to have a way to funnel money into the school, but the logistics of the grant were left to me to needle out. I was responsible for setting up meetings, finding a translator, pushing to get all of the details, and sitting and waiting patiently while they did work they were supposed to have done before the meeting. And even though I repeatedly stressed that Appropriate Projects demands that the project be completed within two months of receiving the funds, the director has continuously delayed and prioritized other projects. Then, in the most recent meeting, he discovered he was $53 shy of the total cost and asked if I would donate from my personal funds (i.e. volunteer stipend). 

The health center, though, sought me out after hearing about the project at the school. They were proactive in arranging a meeting and came prepared. They thoroughly explained the need for the bathroom and outlined responses for each of Appropriate Project’s submission requirements. The construction began immediately after receipt of the funds (the purchase and delivery of the raw materials being pre-arranged), and the project was completed in less than three weeks. And when the project cost exceeded the grant amount, they simply reached into the center’s funds to supplement. 

The difference in these experiences, I believe, is that the project manager at the health center is my host aunt. She’s the same woman who arm wrestled me and my best friend, Jessie. The same woman who has insisted on paying to take me to airport when I leave. The one who told me that the only present she wants from America is phone calls from me. The one who whispered urgently to other guests to eat all the American food Jessie and I had prepared, even if they didn’t like it, to make me feel comfortable. Our relationship transformed me from a foreign money source into a human being - her niece - and that transformation made all the difference in our collaboration for the benefit of the community.

The links for the completed health center project:

http://appropriateprojects.com/node/1447

http://appropriateprojects.com/node/1578

The link for the high school project:

http://appropriateprojects.com/node/1331

(posted May 15, 2013)

Countryside Class: Help Us Build a New Classroom

I’ve been working very closely with this organization for the past several months, and I strongly believe in its mission and the individuals who are carrying it out. Please consider making a small donation.

How to Do Khmer New Year

#1. Make an offering of your favorite foods and treats at your house. At the moment the New Year begins (this year it was around 2:15 am), say your prayers and place and incense stick.

#2. Just take a load off and relax.

#3. Drink and eat more than your normal share of sugar and just go wild.

#4. Hang out with your family: eat, drink, make music, and be merry.

#5. Liven up your afternoons with a bit of gambling.

#6.  Dance with your family.

#7. Dance with strangers.

#8. Ask the monks to bless you and your family for the coming year.

#9. Join together with your family and pray for your ancestors.

#10. Karaoke.

The Day's Reflection - 30 April 2013

My school breaks for lunch from 11 am until 2 pm four days a week (the other two school days, school doesn’t resume after lunch, unless it’s a designated student labor day). On Tuesdays, my only class is from 2 pm until 4 pm, and it’s my favorite class, kids who are excited to learn and to learn from me. 

As 1:15 approached and I began to consider prepping to go to school, the thunder began to roll in. By 1:30 that thunder had increased in volume and frequency and the lightning was visible. By 1:45 we were all in a torrential downpour that lasted until 3 pm. 

In the States I never really considered the impact of weather as simple as rain. Sure, we got snow days or icy road days or fog delays, but rain days?  In the States, grab an umbrella and make a break for the nearest cover.

Here, though, that nearest cover doesn’t really exist. Most of the students commute a few (up to around 7) kilometers by bicycle, and many make the trek by motorbike. That journey becomes treacherous with slick roads and decreased visibility, plus there’s the ingrained fear of lightning strikes. Even if they all could make it to school, it’s fairly impossible to conduct class with rain pounding on a tin roof. 

There are simple things in the States that I never before considered as a privilege, and holding class and commuting during rain is one of them.

I’ve begun trying to speak to the baby in English, and most of the time she can figure out my meaning but when she can’t, she pauses, looks me in the eye, nods slowly, and continues about her business. It makes me laugh every time because that’s my exact response when I don’t understand what’s being asked of me in Khmer.

The Day's Reflection - 28 April 2013

My school slows to a start in October and faces holidays and exams in February closely followed by more exams in March after which it doesn’t usually resume till the end of April or the beginning of May. Final exams are in the beginning to mid of June. So, essentially, the most productive teaching months are November, December, and January.

Well, this year, I was sick during December and January so my school attendance was spotty and my teaching mojo less than adequate. So now that school is in its last months (which are really weeks), I’m looking back and feeling regret at my contribution as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the English Teaching sector. 

Today helped ease those regrets. 

Yes, a goal of my service here is to provide technical assistance as requested by the host country’s government. But there are two more goals, and those goals are focused on cultural exchange. Today helped enforce and reminded me to appreciate that the greatest product of my work with Peace Corps is the relationship I have with my host family.

As my time in Svay Rieng is coming to an end, I had planned to make the most of it by taking my bike out every day to visit people and places and take a lot of pictures. Well, as soon as that plan formed, I ended up with stitches in my knee cap and am still not cleared to ride my bike again. So I’ve been spending a lot of time at the house, which, while bringing me to feelings of restlessness, has also forged an even deeper relationship with my amazing family here. 

So here’s a list of just a few of the moments today that made me reflect and smile about how my life has been changed by these people:

* The baby coming to me in frequent intervals to give me a hug or put her head on my lap or kiss my cheek or just smile at me

* My sister and I teasing each other about who is the stupidest

* My family planning what wedding present to send to my friend Kelsey who has sent a few care packages for my family

* Sprawling out on the floor with my niece, nephew, and mom as we wrote thank you notes to Dave and Kelsey for the new clothes they sent for the kids

* My mother telling me not to repay the $1.25 that I had to borrow for a taxi to town yesterday

* My father letting me know that he cut down some mangoes for me to eat; my mother apologizing for forgetting to have me take pictures of my father in the tree and telling me that in a couple days he’ll climb it again and that I can take a picture to show to my parents in America and tell them that my Khmer father loves me so much that he became a monkey to get me my favorite fruit

* My nephew calling me to lay in the hammock with him where he, the baby, and I practiced our letters and numbers in Khmer and English

* Teaching the baby to say ‘I love you!’

The Day's Reflection - 22 April 2013

Today I’m waiting for the doctor to call. When he swung by my house on Friday, he told me that he’d stop by again on Monday and that maybe I’d get my stitches out and be cleared to ride my bike. Well, today is Monday. But I don’t know what time he’ll come. Or if it’ll be just another quick cleaning at my house. Or if he’ll take me to town to the clinic. Or maybe he won’t call and won’t come. I don’t know.

If I were in the States, this waiting and the unknown would bother me. Here, though, I’m too ashamed to even consider being bothered. 

First, the doctor has done everything for me for free: xray, debridement, stitches, antibiotic, a ride to my house, and a house call. He says that because I am a volunteer who has come to help his country, he wants to do something to help me. I have failed in my attempts to express how grateful I am to him. 

I recognize what a privilege I have being an American right now. I have the privilege of being able to follow through with the doctor’s orders to rest and not have to work to live. I have the privilege of the extra care my family is giving me since they recognize I am out of my element. I have the privilege of special care from the medical staff (being bumped to the front of the line ahead of people in much worse condition than me, being given a ride home from the clinic, being provided home visits, etc). 

But, mostly, being sick and/or hurt while living with survivors of genocide is drastically perspective shifting. Keeping my barely-injured knee elevated while my mother tells stories of life in the Khmer Rouge and my father stretches out his leg scarred from the war…well, I can’t really express what that does to one’s paradigm of pain and health and life moving on.

The Day's Reflection - 10 April 2013

I’ve never been in charge of my own kitchen. My family was more for take out or pre-made meals from the grocery store since all of us worked and had various other commitments. I went from there to a college with a great meal plan. Even during my semester in DC I didn’t do much cooking since my poor unpaid-intern self didn’t have money to spring for kitchen essentials, so I lived on cereal, raw fruits/vegetables, salads, pasta, and baked potatoes. From college, I entered the Peace Corps and have been living with a host family who has taken care of cooking for me. 

Next year, though, I’ll be moving from my village and my family in Svay Rieng and living alone and cooking alone in Kandal Province. Ergo, I have an urgent need to learn to cook. 

My sister has been gracious enough to provide me with cooking lessons, and she laughingly bemoans not having taught me sooner since I could have been helping pick up some slack in the household. 

Tonight we made fried eggplant with pork, and it was sublimely delicious. I really appreciate learning in this environment, but I worry that some of my newly acquired cooking skills won’t transfer well. For example, I’m pretty sure that in the States I won’t have to fend off aggressive ducks while chopping meat.

With each dish I learn, I get more and more excited to become a more independent person. However, I will miss cooking and bantering with my sister and holding the baby and letting her stir so she’ll stop crying. I dislike that my concept of independence is associated with separation from caretakers, and I’m becoming more and more attached to strong familial bonds that shape living situations in Cambodia.

The Day's Reflection - 9 April 2013

While I was growing up, my parents always enforced a Sunday afternoon nap. My brother and I hated it. I would always sneak from my room to his, being careful to sidestep the squeak in front of my parents’ door, and we would make a metropolis for his Matchbox cars in the folds of a crumpled blanket. 

Well, I’ve changed my tune. Not only do I love my Sunday afternoon naps now, but I also love my Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday afternoon naps. In fact, the whole country of Cambodia adores them. The heat is so unbearable during the noon time (and also to account for travel time by foot, bike, or motorbike) that my school breaks for a 3 hour lunch break (11am - 2pm). 

Because I opted out of buying a fan for my bedroom and I’m tired of sweating through my mattress (it reaches temperatures around 120 degrees in there in the afternoon), I now take my naps downstairs. Communal napping has become one of my favorite aspects of Khmer culture.

Today, I lay, curled up on the wooden couch that my family bought with my rent money about a year into my stay here. My father sprawled across our low-laying ‘bed,’ my sister and brother-in-law and their baby lay on their mattress in the corner where they all shared the same long pillow, and my nephew cuddled with my mother on the cool ceramic tile floor.

I drifted off to the sounds of my nephew slapping his thigh against the floor as he bounced his leg up and down and the sounds of my niece talking to the mermaid sticker in the palm of her hand.

I love having found that sleeping doesn’t need to be a lonely endeavor. 

The Day's Reflection - 7 April 2013

This day was full of travel. I boarded a bus in Battambang Province in the morning and didn’t arrive home in Svay Rieng Province until evening. 11 hours of sitting in my own pools of sweat does not make me a particularly pleasant person - I even chastised a complete stranger for taking too long in the Sokimex gas station (the aircon wasn’t working on the Capitol bus from Battambang to Phnom Penh and then I had to sit in the van at Olympic Market for over an hour waiting for them to get enough passengers).

As I’m nearing my special leave to the States for a month, I’ve been contemplating how I’ll adjust back and trying to appreciate the fullness of what I’ve been experiencing here in Cambodia. As I sat in the touri (van) on my way from Phnom Penh to Svay Rieng, something that has become a common experience which I undertake without thought or appreciation, I tried to take note of what was around me:

I noted the 24 people fitted into a 15 passenger van (actually a bit more roomy than my typical ride), the baby who looked to be a mere month old who cried not even once during the 4 hours it was in the van, the young couple who shared the passenger seat, the adolescent boy who was too put off by the ‘barang’ to sit next to me, the driver who I trust enough to hand my bags (which housed my computer and passport) to and walk away in search of market food and not even check to see if they made it safely into the vehicle, the mass of people buying bread in bulk at our obligatory bakery stop out of the city to bring back to the rural province where the bread just isn’t as delicious, the man who crawled out of the window at the ferry because it’s too much of a hassle to climb from the back to the door, the young boy who begged at the vans, cars, and buses as we waited to board the ferry and who was happy to get an empty pop can, the police officer who took a 50 center (2000 riel) bribe to let us cut in line to board the ferry, and the passengers would talk to each other about me but not to me and who would ask the driver and a woman from my village questions about my life even though they knew I could understand and speak their language.

Won’t life in the States be boring and monotonous compared to this? Moreover, for a country with supposedly good infrastructure, why am I going to have to rent a car when I go back to visit? Why can’t I just catch a ride from a passing van or bus like I do here?

Excerpt from My Volunteer Reporting Form

The question: What challenges have you faced in your project or in other areas of your Peace Corps experience?

This year has been particularly challenging. I’ve struggled with the work at the school (teaching as well as other projects), with my relationships with HCNs, and with personal anxiety.

Coteaching relationships are hard enough, but they’re made harder when sites are selected based on which schools are willing to take us and not on which schools want us for specific purposes. My school and counterparts seem to view me as an interesting addition, someone to take part of their work load and be a beneficial line on their CVs. They want me to teach when they don’t want to come, grade the tests so they don’t have to, and give them interesting anecdotes to share about working with the foreigner girl. (I do have good relationships with several teachers at the school and there are many positive experiences there, but I want to emphasize here some the negatives and how those difficulties have been affecting me.) No one has interest in extra work; no one wants to prepare outside resources, to meet with me outside of class to develop lesson plans, to change their teaching habits in the long term. We both show up each day and follow the EFC by rote. And a lot of that is my fault. I’m not good at confrontation, at pointing out flaws. And I’m too easily paralyzed by the extent of interwoven problems in the Cambodian education system. I find respite in the class I teach alone; it’s in that environment that I can try new things and treat the students differently from the norm. Those are the students who are learning and improving and excited to come to class. So I’ve taken those ideas and methods and tried to implement them in my other classes and show them to my coteachers. They aren’t taken. Either the teachers aren’t interested enough to spend the time to understand my idea or they don’t care enough to implement it when I’m not in the class. I feel like any changes in behavior are meant solely to appease me.

I’m also struggling with the director and the school system in general. Yesterday I sat down with the director to discuss how we could apply for a grant to improve the reading room. He wanted to tell me what the project required and leave it at that. I tried to explain the plethora of details that went into the proposal, but he wasn’t interested in that sort of preparation work. He showed me a number, saying ‘This is the amount we need to do the project. I don’t care how you do the proposal, just get this amount.’ This reaction harkens back to the mini-IST we had in which our directors and counterparts participated and we had time for us to discuss action plans for our service. Every idea proposed by my director involved the receipt of funds from my ‘rich’ American friends and family. He even wanted me to build a road. I don’t know how to be here under a teaching framework when it’s not my teaching that the school wants from me. I’m not fulfilling anyone’s expectations for my time here, not even my own.

Ever since reading Somaly Mam’s The Road of Lost Innocence, I’ve been really struggling with some aspects of life and culture here. I don’t know how to act around teachers who coyly admit to frequenting karaoke bars for the wonderful ‘service’ and ‘company.’ I don’t know how to act around my director who regularly participates in the culture of bribery. I don’t know how to act around my brother-in-law who frequently drinks until he vomits the entirety of the following morning. I don’t know how to act around my male family members who think that married men are still entitled to be with multiple women. I don’t know what to do when I see a man taking advantage of a drunken girl and the response is that she shouldn’t have been drinking around men. I feel lost here. I feel like I’m sitting on the sidelines and observing tragedy.

A lot of the above have been contributing to feelings of helplessness and powerlessness that have been overwhelming me lately. As much as I love my host family and how they care for me, I have no control or responsibility for my own life. I don’t go to the market, cook, or clean. Every aspect of my day is prepared for me. I’m an extremely overgrown child. Since I don’t have control over the society I’m in, I need to find a way to take some control over myself.

I’ve started contemplating action plans to begin to approach proactively some of these challenges, so I hope things will begin to change and that I’ll feel more at ease soon.

(posted March 21, 2013)

Breaking ground on the new bathroom at the health center in my village.

My aunt and uncle proudly showing off the new bathroom at the health center. Thanks to the anonymous donor who funded the entire project through Appropriate Projects, Water Charity!

(posted February 22, 2013)

Thinking of Joining the Peace Corps??

Dear Person Contemplating Joining Peace Corps,

I imagine that you’re at a transition point in your life. Perhaps you’ve just graduated, perhaps you’re going through a career change, perhaps you have an itch for something more that can’t be scratched. Whatever the reason, here you are: contemplating joining Peace Corps.

But should you? Is it right for you?

Honestly, you might not know that until you’ve arrived. You can research by reading books and official publications or by talking with current/returned volunteers, but everything you read and hear will probably tell you the same thing: every person’s experience is different. Your Peace Corps life will be uniquely shaped by your country, program, and site. 

I’d like to think, though, that there are a few things that are universal throughout the Peace Corps world, and those things tend all to revolve around how you yourself will change - for the better and for the worse - because of your time in Peace Corps.*

Sambath, his niece, a few of the girls from the school, and I went swimming in the river behind the house. Probably not the best decision health-wise, but we had a blast, and I got to start teaching the three young girls how to swim.

What I Will Miss about Svay Rieng

1. The way my host dad lights up and yells, ‘You’re back already!’ whenever I get home (even if it’s just back from a day trip to the town). 

2. The way the baby stands at the bottom of the steps and screams my name until I come to get her.

3. The way my favorite students see me across the school yard and wave so enthusiastically.

4. The way any student will take off his/her hat as they pass me (even if I’m in grubby, sweaty shorts and tshirt on a bike ride).

5. The way my dogs come to greet me on the road after I get back from a trip, the way they jump on me so happily that I can barely finish the walk to the gate.

6. The way my sister and brother-in-law teach ‘bad’ things to the baby (i.e. ‘I’m gonna kill you!’ and the Khmer equivalent of flipping the bird) and laugh hysterically when she performs them.

7. The way my host mom makes me french fries for dinner whenever she thinks I’m sad or sick or lonely.

8. The way the baby will take everything off the coffee table and put it in my lap, methodically saying, ‘This belongs to Aunt…’ with every object.

9. The way Mayoneth, my good friend at the school and a Khmer Literature teacher, whispers and giggles with me in the school office.

10. The way the stars look from my window, so bright without air or light pollution.

11. The way I have to walk so gingerly to the bathroom for fear of stepping on one of the plethora of chicks that freely wander the yard.

12. Watching my dad scale the wall in my room to make an offering at our spirit house.

13. Fruit fresh from our trees: coconuts, mangoes, bananas, jackfruit, sugar palm.

14. The noises my brother and dad make to call the chickens and cows.

15. The way the baby hugs me gingerly when I’m not feeling well.

(posted February 14, 2013)

This is my friend Vannak (the man, not the water buffalo). Vannak is a tuk tuk driver in Phnom Penh, where he normally waits for customers at the hotel frequented by Peace Corps volunteers. Over the past year Vannak and I have become very good friends ever since bonding over coming from the same province, Svay Rieng (the most underrated province in all of Cambodia). Vannak has been living in Phnom Penh for the past 8 years, the first 3 as a factory worker, and claims to love his life in Phnom Penh more than Svay Rieng, despite being far from his family, because he says rice farming just isn’t the life he wants. I understand that, especially after seeing the permanent damage rice harvesting has done to his hands, but I am surprised to hear him claim to be so happy in Phnom Penh. Because, here’s the thing: Vannak is homeless. He sleeps every night in his tuk tuk, stores his clothes under the seat, and showers in the river. 

Over the Pchum Ben Festival, Vannak was able to visit his family in Svay Rieng, and he invited me and the other Riengers to come visit. His family exuded hospitality, and that day will go down as one of my favorite during my Peace Corps service.

Knowing that my Cambodian goal was to ride a water buffalo, Vannak arranged to have his neighbor bring her most docile buffalo (freshly cleaned) for me and the others. We were forced fed delicious food in abundance, allowed freedom to play with animals and small children alike, shown the rice fields and fish pond,  and invited back for Khmer New Year. 

One other thing of note: I had always placed great weight in friendships on the depth of our conversation, but life in Cambodia has entirely altered the value I place on my friendships. Since Vannak doesn’t speak any English, we get by in my extremely limited Khmer. But it works. It works because of the mutual effort we put into communicating and the kindness we extend to each other in place of being frustrated by miscommunication. Maybe language isn’t as important as I had thought.

My dream fulfilled!

On Tuesdays I get to teach my favorite class: 10A. It’s the only class that I get to teach regularly without a co-teacher, so I’m able to do weird things with the students and have a completely casual relationship with them without having to worry about my co-teaching relationship. 

Today, we studied prepositions of place: in, on, above, below, beside, outside, between. As usual, I gave them visual representations of each preposition on the chalkboard and then worked with them to produce the proper Khmer translation. To reinforce the lesson, we played a game (an EXTREMELY rare occurrence in Cambodian classrooms) akin to follow the leader. They simply had to follow my command, which included a preposition of place. (Put your pen above your head. Put your book under your desk. Put your shoe beside your desk.) They were starting to catch on, so I yelled, ‘Stand outside the classroom!’ and made a beeline for the door. I stood outside and glanced in, noticing that they were all still seated and glancing at each other nervously. I popped my head inside and repeated the command. I watched as the first student understood and a smile broke out and he sprinted to the door, closely followed by the others. After I sent them back inside, the bell rang for the break time.

Normally, breaks are spent with me at the desk, writing in the class book or studying Khmer. Today, the students had another idea. Some of them had lyrics from their private class, and they pleasantly demanded that I sing them. So I belted out Take Me to Your Heart, followed by Oun Sarang Bong. Feeling a bit parched, I walked out to pick up a water bottle from the nearest stall. On the way back, I passed one of my other grade 10 classes who were currently on break with one of my coteachers. They called me inside for a brief chat, and I noticed from the chalkboard that they were also studying the preposition lesson. I knew this, because those same diagrams that I use to teach that lesson, that I had used in class with this coteacher the previous week, were on the board. For perhaps the first time, I felt as if my being here and working with these teachers might make some sort of difference – one infinitesimally small – but difference all the same.

After the break, I finished the book’s lesson with about twenty minutes to spare, so I decided to indulge in a cultural exchange moment and teach them about the upcoming Thanksgiving celebrations all across the United States. I explained how it was one of our major holidays, that we met with the majority of our extended family, and that we ate till we were full then rested and then ate more. I taught them the form, ‘This year I am thankful for…’ and called on a few students to tell me what they are thankful for this year. They all said, ‘This year I am thankful for my teacher.’ (I’d be more flattered if there weren’t such a culture of copying answers here.) I asked if they have a holiday similar to Thanksgiving in Cambodia. They don’t. I asked when they tell their families what they’re thankful for. Never. So their homework was to go home and tell their families what happened this year to make them thankful. I really hope this is one assignment they actually do…

(posted November 25, 2012)

Keep My Eyes to Serve, My Hands to Learn

I’ve spent a lot of time this past week considering this lyric from Mumford & Sons new album, Babel: ‘Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn (‘Below My Feet’).’ In my mind - and dreadful singing along - I kept wanting to switch the lines to read ‘Keep my hands to serve, my eyes to learn.’ But that misses the point that several sources have been trying to teach me over the past year, a point that I think can be summed up neatly by John Green:

‘The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention (‘The Fault in Our Stars’).’

This past year in Cambodia I’ve come to recognize that, for the most part, Peace Corps is made up of two types of people: the people who come to change things and the people who come to be changed. I fall into the latter category.

Perhaps my proclivity for passivity is based in a fear of doing (read: a fear of failure), but I don’t think so. I think we can get so caught up in doing that we fail to consider the meaning and impact of those actions. Beyond that, though, I think the simple action of observation is an underrated act of service. We want so much to provide a tangible service that we forget that listening and watching and learning are just as - if not more than - important.

Over the past few days, I’ve fallen into one (of many) slumps during my Peace Corps service in Cambodia. I’m wracked with the futility of my actions here and doubt that anything I do will carry on after I’m gone or if it will even remain a vague wisp of a memory. But that’s a fixation on my longing to make a mark on this world. Why can’t I be more intent on letting the world make its mark on me?

Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn.


(posted October 19, 2012)

Khmer Conversation #6

Visitor: Hey.... Did you know there's a foreigner in your kitchen??

(posted October 10, 2012)

Just One Small Thing

The other day I had the pleasure of attending an embassy meet-and-greet with Hillary Clinton. As we were waiting for her to arrive, I began chatting with a couple guys from USAID. 

I didn’t catch the one’s country of origin (but from the accent, I surmise he comes from French-speaking Africa). After he learned that we were Peace Corps volunteers, his face lit up and he began this story:

When he was a teenager, a PCV was placed in his village. The volunteer taught science classes at the local high school as well as taught the students to play sports such as basketball and baseball. Because of the PCV’s influence, this man was able to attend university on a basketball scholarship, and, because of the PCV’s passion for teaching biology and chemistry, this man pursued a degree in the sciences. He now has a lucrative position in a US government agency working in the agriculture field. He attributes his success to the support and encouragement he received from this volunteer years ago.

The volunteer probably doesn’t know what a lasting impact he made on this man. The volunteer might even have a cynical perception of the impact of his time there. But at least I can learn from the testimony of this man: We as PCVs don’t change the world. But just one small thing can change someone’s life. 

(posted July 16, 2012)

A Fat American in Cambodia

Something I wrote up for a diversity presentation to the new round of PCVs here in Cambodia:

Share one negative experience in Cambodia related to your specific social identity, and how you dealt with it.

When I landed in Phnom Penh for the start of my Peace Corps experience, I weighed around 215 pounds. Being so obviously different from the others in my group (and especially from the Khmer perception of what Americans look like) has been difficult. From tuk tuk drivers charging more if I rode to strangers openly discussing my size under the assumption that I don’t speak Khmer (and even if they knew that I do), I have received seemingly unending attention garnered by being physically different from those in the majority. Such attention has forced me to be constantly aware of the perceptions and reality of my body. While my exterior front of happiness is maintained, having constant negative – and even neutral – attention drawn to my personal insecurities can be entirely draining on me emotionally and psychologically. Being larger is difficult even in America, so my weight and frame have always been two of my biggest insecurities, but in Cambodia those internal frustrations are dragged into open scrutiny. I am forced almost daily to face what people think of me because of how I look and, in turn, how I think of me because of it. During training, while still struggling to adjust to the food, language, and, well, everything involved in such a transition, my host family thought it would be fun to put me on the rice scale. I had to choke back tears as they went to tell our neighbors the big number which had apparently been a huge point of curiosity for everyone. As I started to lose weight during training, my family made my weigh-ins weekly and I found that everyone in our small village was apprised of my current weight. To have something so personal, private, and, personally, for me, a point of shame made so thoroughly public was – and still is – difficult and embarrassing for me. Since I’m more of an internalizer and because it takes a lot for me to show open frustration or anger, I was able to take to my rice scale meetings with joy (at least outwardly). I put on a smile and jumped up enthusiastically for my weighing. I never let my family see me cry nor let them know how much it bothered me. Honestly, though, I wish I had. Learning Khmer is a PCVs greatest weapon and defense. At that point in training, though, I simply didn’t have the ability to discuss why something like that would bother me or how I would rather they handle themselves with me.

Share one positive experience in Cambodia related to your specific social identity.

I guess that’s my transition into how my social identity has resulted into positive experiences in Cambodia, how having a decent handle on the language has allowed me to take control of what I had formerly been a passive recipient of.  Even a year into my time in my community, I still get comments about my size. With passing strangers, I tend either to ignore them or agree with sarcastic enthusiasm (Why, yes, good sir! I DO weigh 200 kilos!). With people who live or work in my community, however, I try to take those comments as opportunities to introduce aspects of American diversity. We talk about how in America I’m used to seeing people of all different body types and styles. We talk about what forms our perception of beauty and about different ways of discussing it and the meaning behind the words. Some of my favorite cross-cultural conversations have arisen from people calling me fat. An example: For the second time I came home from a market shopping excursion with a pair of underwear that simply would not fit my luscious posterior. As before, I gave the offending pair to my host sister. She laughed and told me that I should just realize that my butt was too big for Cambodia. I sang a few lines of “I like big butts” and told her that some men in America thought butts like mine were very beautiful so I wouldn’t have a problem finding a husband. She thought the song was horrendous. I chuckled and countered that I had seen the padded underwear that ladies wore to parties. So, obviously, Khmer people must like big butts, too. She told me, Sure, we can want big butts, but we would NEVER talk about it. Can you imagine going up to your Khmer teacher and telling him that he has a big butt?? I said, No, absolutely not. I would never do that because his butt is miniscule. That man is tiny! At this point our cultural exchange dissolved into inappropriate giggles because she told me to ask him what else is tiny. Point being I’ve really come to enjoy some of the banter and discussions that can come from a simple comment about my weight. With some people I just joke around about it, with others we discuss diet differences between America and Cambodia, and with others we end up in much larger conversations about social differences and I get to show off my tattoo and cartilage piercing and joke that I’m a gangster. I mean, I know it sounds weird, but having to have such conversations and defend myself and think about my body and my body image on a regular basis has actually increased my personal confidence. When I first arrived here such comments deeply shamed and embarrassed me. Now… I don’t know. I guess I’m used to it? I guess faking confidence about how I look among people has kind of proved that old adage about ‘fake it till you make it’ true. I’m fat?? So what? You’re unhealthily skinny!

Share one way you have been an ally for one or more fellow PCVs in regards to diversity issues.

Everyone has different coping methods and is affected by comments directed at their personal diversity in different ways. The way we reach out to be an ally for a fellow PCV, though, is usually an extension of how we cope personally. For me, I cope by laughing at the sheer absurdity of some of the comments and situations and by realizing that the culture is different and that they words they say here may not come with the same intent as those same words spoken by a Westerner. I also find catharsis in talking with other volunteers or with my support system from home or through writing in my journal or blog. So when I reach out to my fellow volunteers, I tend to offer a forum for them to discuss what happened and how they’re feeling in whatever way and to whatever extent they feel comfortable. If that person chooses to take some sort of action as a result of the incident, I’m there with guns blazing (figuratively, of course – that’s banned in the Handbook). I do have the immense pleasure of living in Svay Rieng Province, which includes the amazing Latoya here; geographically, we’re all pretty close to each other, and we make an effort to all get together every month or so at the very least. Because we can see each other regularly, we’ve formed a fair support network among each other and are able to ally together in any way necessary. And Lonely Planet said Svay Rieng isn’t worth a visit… Psh!

(posted July 22, 2012)

Jabe and I Got Khmer Married

(posted August 25, 2012)

Lesson Learned #4 (Part 1 and Part 2, A Defense)

In class, if you don’t know the answer, make one up. With confidence.

Which is why Class 10F now thinks that the District of Columbia was named after Columbia, the man who bartered the compromise between Virginia and Maryland for the location of the capital. 

Somehow Columbus also got thrown into that conversation… He did sail from Spain, right??

*                         *                                *                             *                             *                                  *

After my previous post about my classroom antics, specifically about my predilection for fudging facts about history and geography, I had a few comments from a couple actual teachers (I believe somewhere in the States). I went to respond to each of them in private, but neither maintains an ask or submission section, so I decided to respond publicly.

The comments my glib post engendered: 

Absolutely not.  You do NOT make up an answer.  You make it an opportunity to show how to look something up, say you’ll come back to that question later, or offer a challenge for them to find the answer!

Agreeing with NOT making it up. I have a Parking Lot cork board in my classroom, where we park questions that I can’t answer right away. Sometimes I look the answer up, sometimes a student does. Once we have the answer, I tack it up with the question and tell the class. Students need to see that teachers are still learning, too.

My response:

You’re absolutely right, ladies. There should be the opportunity for classroom learning and research to probe intellectual curiosity and the desire/ability to seek out additional information. However, I don’t live/teach in an environment that allows for such things. I teach English as a Foreign Language in a high school in rural Cambodia. My students don’t have access to research books or free internet in the community let alone in the classroom or on the school grounds. My classrooms don’t even have window panes or electricity. I would love to encourage my students to pursue learning past the lesson, but the Ministry of Education mandates that we complete the required national curriculum, and with teacher/student absences and liberal holiday-taking, we’re constantly in a rush to finish everything. So one lesson can very rarely ever extend to another day. Beyond that, I’m not a history teacher; I’m an English teacher. I want my students to improve their English skills, which they do by listening to my stories and asking follow up questions. I’m not concerned that I made up the date of the Louisiana Purchase today with my 11th graders. I’m thrilled that they had the excitement to figure out how to ask me in English about the Statue of Liberty and how that conversation - one which they were able to understand and in which they could participate - evolved into a discussion of Manifest Destiny. The facts aren’t important to me, not really. It doesn’t really affect their lives what the “Columbia” in Washington D.C. means. But when we talk about what liberty means and how even in a land of freedom there is still discrimination, those thoughts on culture and human nature can affect them.

That all said, I perused each of your blogs. You seem like lovely ladies and amazing, dedicated teachers. Just try not to be so harsh on an untrained teacher trying to make the best learning experience she can for her students in the situation they’ve been placed.  

(posted May 28 and 29, 2012)