I Miss Your Face like Hell

In July I mark my seventh year of having lived in Cambodia, and I find myself looking back on this journey and the people who have been with me along the road of my life so far.

A year from now we'll all be gone
All our friends will move away
And they're going to better places
But our friends will be gone away

I received my invitation to Peace Corps Cambodia the day I graduated from college. Already I was at a crossroads in my life, with friends graduating and moving and considering my own next home, knowing only that it would not be back in Indiana. A few weeks before my flight, Jessie, Steph, and I attended a concert in Millennium Park where I first heard The Head and The Heart play Rivers and Roads. The refrain echoed on and on with tears welling in my eyes, standing next to two amazing people and thinking of all the others in my life and how we were spreading not just across the nation but across the world…. Rivers and roads….rivers and roads till I reach you….

Sitting alone in OHare and waiting for my flight, I put that same song on repeat as I read through letters from friends filled with words of love and well-wishing and the promises not to drift apart. Life is not static, though, and goodbyes are inevitable. With hope and hard work those goodbyes are not eternal, but, even when they are, the people on our journeys are an integral part of shaping the path ahead of us. Sometimes our paths converge again, and I rejoice when they do, but I know that my loved ones have their own paths to follow to their own better places. And this is the path I must take.

Nothing is as it has been
And I miss your face like Hell
And I guess it's just as well
But I miss your face like Hell

You all are living your own best lives, and I am so proud and in awe of each and every one of you: whether raising the next generation of fabulous individuals, serving in your dream job, and/or still figuring yourself and your path out. Whether you know it or not – whether you intend to or not - all of you are changing the world around you for the better. With the world seeming to crumble around us, my heart is lightened being reminded of those of you in my life and knowing that goodness and love prevails in people.

It is just as well. But, god, I miss your face like hell.

Been talking 'bout the way things change
And my family lives in a different state
And if you don't know what to make of this
Then we will not relate
So if you don't know what to make of this
Then we will not relate

While I was preparing to leave for what should have been just two years of service with Peace Corps, my mom commented that she felt like she was saying goodbye forever and that I would not return.

I know you sometimes feel I abandoned you – sometimes I feel that way myself – but please know that I left a piece of my heart with you and there it will remain.

Rivers and roads can create a chasm of loneliness. Whether it’s remembering those on the path behind us or saying goodbye to someone taking a different fork ahead of us, whether that person is family or friend, distance is a tangible ache.

Rivers and roads
Rivers and roads
Rivers 'til I reach you

But over rivers and roads, I’m also converging paths with new people. Even more, I’m learning to love and learn across the rivers and roads of culture and language and I hope creating a bridge for others to do the same.

We cannot explore new roads without first leaving our current ones and crossing those rivers to new adventures and new people to know and to love.

Rivers and roads
Oh rivers and roads
Oh rivers 'til I reach you

I’ve been so privileged to live in a world where rivers and roads are not eternal barriers as technology connects us all. I’m sorry to everyone with whom I have not maintained a strong enough bridge through time and space. Know that you are missed.

Rivers and roads
Rivers and roads
Rivers 'til I reach you

Our Trip to Vannak's

For last year’s Pchum Ben Festival, I and the other Svay Rieng Peace Corps Volunteers ventured by bike to our friend Vannak’s house where we spent the day playing with puppies and piglets and riding water buffalo. (You can read my previous post about this trip here: http://mylifewithrice.blogspot.com/2013/05/this-is-my-friend-vannak-man-not-water.html)

For this year’s Pchum Ben Festival, I and 12 others again visited Vannak and his family, but this time we hit up his in-laws in Pursat Province. In Cambodian culture, once married, the newlyweds will often move in with the bride’s family, so Vannak’s house isn’t with his own family in Svay Rieng where he grew up but in Pursat Province with his wife’s extended family.



Vannak’s wife and her family cooking up a feast for all the guests.



Vannak and his son.

Since Vannak’s house is in an extremely remote village outside of the provincial town, the plan was for him to come in with his District’s ra’mourk (a motorbike pulling a flat trailer) that runs in the morning to allow villagers to get to the major market in the town. Alas, we were foiled by rainy season with pouring, incessant rain from early morning until almost 11. Since the ra’mourk wouldn’t be able to get through in those conditions, we had to find our own transportation. Vannak got us in touch with a neighbor who had taken his motorbike into town, and he helped us find a van to fit all of us. The van-finding, though, was done with protest, since he assured us that nothing larger than a tuk tuk (essentially a motorbike-drawn carriage) would be able to pass on the roads. Frugality prevailed and we ignored his advice, renting a van to take us to Vannak’s house.

The neighbor acted as our driver’s guide, leading us down increasingly poor dirt roads, until we reached a canal running between two narrow paths. We ventured down the first path, stopping short where the road narrowed too much. The second path yielded no more success. So we piled out of the van, thanking our driver for his effort and commitment to the cause, and we walked the remaining two kilometers. Vannak’s village is so entirely remote, that we walked over a kilometer without seeing a single dwelling. His village is what I always envisioned I would live in during my time with Peace Corps, the no electricity, no paved roads, no school buildings type village.



Making the trek on foot after our van could not pass.



Vannak’s back yard.

Upon arriving at the home, we greeted everyone in the formal Cambodian manner of placing our palms together, fingers up, and bowing slightly. We chatted with Vannak, and he showed us around the area a bit, taking special note of river where we immediately went swimming while lunch was being cooked. I’m fairly sure we were the first foreigners most of the children had ever interacted with, so we were quite the wary fascination for them, and we had a large crowd examining us during (and after) our swim.



Enjoying the peaceful calm on the river bank before jumping right in.



Tysor’s flock of children.



Me, trying to bond with Vannak’s kid.

Lunch blended seemlessly into hours of socialization. We all chatted together, goofed off, and made new friends. Eventually, the music came out and the dance party started. Thankfully, we got the older ladies of the house to bust a move with us, which is atypical for Cambodian parties, and everyone seemed to get a kick out of it.



Willia and Oum gettin’ down.

Long before we were ready to say goodbye, it came time to leave. The only form of transportation available in the village was a plow modified to run on the road and trailing a large board. We all squeezed on, saying our goodbyes and accepting invitations to return at the next holiday. Two of the guys followed us on a motorbike to ensure our safe return, which ended up being a lifesaver as one of the plow’s tires blew and the motorbike was able to go borrow a tire from a neighboring village (they also proved extremely helpful as retrievers of our shoes and sunglasses that the rough bumps took flying).



Our ‘car’ for the trip back to town.

The strength of Peace Corps comes in the relationships you form. Because of our friendship with Vannak, we were able to meet people and have an experience that otherwise never could have happened. We we able to gain perspective and connections and empathy for a community we otherwise never would have known existed. We didn’t make any difference in anyone’s lives (except maybe provide some amusing tales), but we changed our own lives. It’s hard to live the same way after you’ve been in a village where you had to go to the neighbor’s house because your friend’s house didn’t have a bathroom, where your seemingly easy request for dancing music resulted in a concerted effort to find a music player and car batteries with which to play it, where an obviously poor family found enough meat to add to the vegetables you brought because you didn’t consider that they would feel rude not to provide you with meat for lunch. We’ll never forget our trip to Vannak’s.

We wandered the garden in front of the Royal Palace, searching for the small tables marked by incense sticks. Finally, we stopped and asked a roadside cart seller: 'Do you know where we can find a fortune teller?' Serendipitously, we randomly asked a son of a fortune teller, who immediately explained that they all had gone in for the night but called his mother to ask her to meet us.

We waited at the food cart, loaded with Khmer snacks such as bird eggs, crickets, and tarantulas. My nerves jittered. I had asked to go to a fortune teller not to reveal a great mystery or solve a pressing problem; I simply wanted to experience something so imbedded in Cambodia's culture. But what if it turned out to be something other than what I expected? What if it turned out to be real?

The son got the call that she was ready, and he led us back to the house where the fortune tellers stayed. A woman was waiting for us, and she immediately inquired of Sambath what my language ability was. He assured her that she should be able to communicate directly with me but that he was able to translate if needed (it was needed).

She lay a rug on a small card table, smoothed it out carefully, and spritzed it with a layer of perfume. She then lit an incense stick, held it between her palms, and gave a short, silent prayer. We were ready to start.

Traditionally, fortune tellers in Cambodia are used for two main categories of questions: love and business. I was there to ask about my love life.

She passed me a deck of cards and asked me to shuffle it. Both she and Sambath chuckled at my Western shuffling technique and asked me to do it Asian-style, at which I am wholly unskilled, but I gave it my best attempts. Then it was time to cut the deck. I reached for it, naturally, with my right hand, and, since I touched the cards, we had to start over. So again I shuffled and again I cut the deck (properly with my left hand this time).

She dealt the cards out in a asterisk shape, turning only select cards face up, based on those cards, she made a statement about me which was quite accurate. She continued the process, pulling out more cards and making statements while asking clarification questions. I was permitted to probe and ask follow ups which resulted in various patterns of card dealing.

She told me that I have the potential to be a rich person and that I will soon encounter a type of promotion in my career. With sadness, though, after I pulled the King of Clubs three times in a row, she told me that in the next month I would encounter tragedy, and she implored me to pray to whatever god I pray to. When I told her I didn't hold to a religion, she suggested I turn back to Christianity or come back to her the next day to allow her to pray on my behalf. She said that in the next year I would have great success in my love life, so I inquired about my current boyfriend. She asked his birth year and declared that it shouldn't be because two dragons should not be together. He would hold me back from future riches. She apologized when she found out that my translator was my boyfriend, but she said she was only speaking the truth. She suggested that he go to her for a ceremony to make himself older by at least six months so that we would be different signs.

After about 20 minutes of various card drawing patterns and a two-person read in which Sambath's and my compatibility was tested (it again revealed his need to be at least a year older than me, but his own personal read was much better than mine, he drawing the hearts and me the clubs), we thanked her for her time, paid, and respectfully made our exit.

I won't make the return trip she requested to pray my upcoming tragedy away and Sambath won't perform a ceremony to add six months to his age, but that night's walk home from the riverside was a bit more quiet than usual. I understand why people would spend a small part of their salary each month to ask about what's coming, to get advice, and to have help to do anything and everything possible to make the future the best it could be.

Today I made my way to Svay Rieng, taking a very familiar path for the first time in two months. This time, though, I had a unique insight via the only other foreigner (a Chinese man making his way to Vietnam) in the van. Through his experience, his eyes, I was able to project how far I’ve come in this country in the past two years. I think it’s a testament to how much the human body and spirit can adjust.

He was irritated by the wait time at the market and bewildered by the imprecise answers to ‘How much longer?’ ‘When we have enough customers’ was an impractical and indefinite as a structure for business. The stop at the bakery absolutely confounded him. That the ride should be a leisurely pursuit and not an efficient rush was bothersome. He gazed through the windows at Neak Loeung with awe, pity, and disgust at the conditions, beggars, and brazenness of the sellers. And all of this he had to do without communicating with the driver or other passengers (myself excepted since he had some English ability).

I sort of miss experiencing everything so freshly and so internally. I miss the challenge of throwing everything against my Western paradigms, trying to bring my expectations crashing down. I know there are still those walls, but they don’t seem so high, so insurmountable anymore.

I’ve been back in Cambodia 8 days and in my new apartment for 3. Just as when I went back to visit the States, the readjustment was quite smooth. Reverse Culture Shock seems to have been too busy to bother with me.

Tonight, though, I had my first bad day in a while, and I was surprised by how I longed for the comforts of the West to be my reprieve. I left work thoroughly exhausted, not having quite conquered jet lag and having sat in front of a computer for 10 hours. I left in what had appeared to be the tail end of a monsoon-season storm. I was fooled.

I arrived at my apartment, soaked and shivering, and had to drudge patiently through the 4 different locked gates to get inside. Those proverbial ‘little things,’ the molehills of everyday annoyance, were magnified. I found myself inwardly cursing the traffic, the weather, and whoever has permanently parked their motorbike in the tiny alleyway to my stairs. I then proceeded to lose my keys for 30 minutes (they were still in the exterior lock) and cut myself on a can of pasta sauce.

All I wanted was to dry off, wrap myself in my comforter, and indulge in hot chocolate and a ready-to-eat meal. But my sarang inevitably always has ants in it, my comforter is back in the States leaving me with the blanket that came with the apartment, and meals are made from scratch and clean up must be immediate. Thankfully, I was at least able to hit 1 out of 4 with some hot chocolate packets I had shoved into my suitcase as an afterthought.

Post-shower, post-dinner, and post-calming down, I started to consider my situation. While in the States, I had longed to be back in Cambodia, so why is my inward reaction to stress to desire to be in the States? Or at least to have the comforts of the States? So I’m working on it. These types of associations die hard. Slowly but surely, I’m working on challenging and changing what I deem a comfort or reward activity. Instead of ice cream, why not a tuk-a-luk from the corner vendor; instead of a burger, why not Cow Climbs the Mountain or ban-chaio; instead of escaping into a couch, why not escaping to the countryside?

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?

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 - 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 - 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)

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)

Khmer Conversation #6

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

(posted October 10, 2012)

Jabe and I Got Khmer Married

(posted August 25, 2012)