In easy transit

From the modest yet elegant Siem Reap airport I find myself in the ultra modern transit area of Seoul’s Incheon airport. I collapse into a deep sleep on one of the wide, comfortable and cushioned benches designed to give transit travellers like me a much needed bed.

My dreams relay departure scenes:  My last embrace with Ming Pow. The 45 minute journey in Phalla’s little car to the airport through the crowded streets of Siem Reap. His emotional embrace seeing me off with love and gratitude.

I wake up after a few hours . $10 dollars for a coffee and bagel and not much of a smile in return to mine.

I have four or more hours until I take off again. I am not able to digest my departure and I already miss the world that I made my own in Cambodia. I am also eager to see my loved ones at home in Wales. I can’t wait to embrace Dan, to see my cousin and Michal, talk to my family in Greece.

The coffee does not really work here. I am back at my borrowed bed opening and shutting my eyes between spells of sleep, dream and thoughts. I am in transit from one place to another in mind, body and spirit.  

Transit is a place familiar to me. This might be the reason why I don’t recognise or I am not as severely impacted by some of the symptoms of jetlag in the same way that others are. I think I spent a chunk of my life in emotional jetlag recovering from Tom’s illness, death and loss in 2007. Some of you know about this.  The others and new readers are learning that I have experienced a devastating bereavement in my life in the death of my then boyfriend, Tom Woollam. His death in 2007 was preceded by six terrible months of gradual deterioration of his health.  Tom always wanted to travel far but probably in a lot more style than this (which was always a difference between us), but in his last couple of years he was limited in his travel and was eventually not allowed to fly. So at this moment I am contemplating the ease in which I am jumping on and off planes, and moving from one country to another. I am determined to do more of this.

I am healed and unscathed. I am no longer in mental and emotional transit and have not been for the past couple of years. I am grateful for my health. I healed really fast actually probably because of love.  I love and I am loved deeply by the most wonderful man in the world for all that I am and have been through in my life. I am loved by my family, Tom’s family and my precious friends. I am blessed and happy. And I am just  lucky and grateful.  So I am not one to forget Tom, what he has meant to me and what he had gone through. I know that as spirits fly and travel across the globe, dimensions and time his must have caught a glimpse of my adventure and shared my wordly joys and emotions. And probably he has had a good chuckle too. 

So this just seems a very easy place to be and the wait is negligible.  As hours pass, I am on my way home…Safe , happy  and with good luck.

The scent of departure

riverside view

Morning traffic-quiet

Candles and ice

Nia

I have found relief somewhere between dreams, angry spells in the dark hour before dawn and the oblivion of sleep. When I wake up it’s already 930, late morning by Cambodia’s standards. A text from Koosh greets me good morning.  He offers me some down time and a nice lunch at the new Golden Temple hotel. 

The sun is painfully bright for my sore eyes. But I have released my demons again. They have departed with the night. I notice significant differences in the daily landscape that has greeted me every morning for the past fortnight. Whilst the human traffic on the roads has really picked up, there are no cars and tuk tuks as the riverside roads are blocked off. The Festival has officially started. There are the occasional bicycles and mopeds sneaking in but overall this is a pedestrian’s paradise.

There is no way that you can tell the Khmer what to do.  How do you reprimand or guide a mild mannered and seemingly obedient child? There is no easy or apparent way. There is police everywhere but mopeds sneak in behind the officers. At roundabouts where traffic is still allowed the usual thing happens: cars, mopeds, bicycles turn right instead of following the ‘correct’ flow of traffic on the left and circling the roundabout. The mopeds, which can be the only family vehicle, sometimes carry up to four. I see a moped family:  the father driving, a little boy standing holding on to his shoulders, his little sister held onto the moped securely by the mother, who nearly hangs of it at the end.

This is a walking day for me.  I am not risking getting on a bicycle in the sleepless state I am in. It would not be practical anyway.  It is the day before the big Water Festival celebration and the streets are heaving. It’s time to blend in.   There are food and artisan product stalls everywhere. The closer I get to Golden temple hotel and to the centre the busier it gets. It is just 10 am in the morning. The races are starting at 3 in the afternoon.  There are various riverside VIP platforms set up for the governors, politicians, businessmen and celebrity visitors in Siem Reap for the celebrations. There are other smaller platforms but most of the crowd is taking its place at the riverside.

I enjoy the hustle and bustle but am grateful when I arrive at the quieter hotel location.  At the hotel I sit by the poolside, first I snooze in a hammock waiting for a massage I booked. Koosh joins me for a tea. It is nice to feel his sincere compassion. I have not spent much time with Koosh but (I hope he does not mind me saying) I can see he is a sensitive and reflective person but also a survivor. I appreciate his company today.

The next hour is an experience: during my energising jasmine oil massage different parts of my head tingle as the skilled masseuse squeezes the hidden tension out from the different nooks and crannies of my body. When I walk out I feel that the hours of sleep I lacked have been handed back to me. Koosh and I enjoy lunch at the hotel restaurant balcony. I am crazy about the ginger and fish Khmer dish. Ginger is one of my favourite ingredients to cook with and this dish recipe is coming with me to nourish many friends and family.

More wandering in the streets of Siem Reap is in place as the flocks of people become denser. There is loud music of all kinds at the VIP platforms, the roadside and small side streets. There are Khmer BBQs everywhere.  The human and moped traffic has gone beyond the definition of busy. This is what congestions means. People are hanging off the bridges cheering at the oncoming racing boats.  As we catch a couple of boat races , I witness the childlike enthusiasm of the Khmer when in celebration.

I spend some time roaming on my own getting a couple of presents and books. I literally breathe in the colourful celebrations and festive noise like precious air. I can attempt to describe images , and sounds of this place , I could perhaps add a couple of  my really bad photos to accompany words but I still have not figured how to effectively describe scents and aromas. Stop and think how a scent makes a place or a person unique to you.  When in Sardinia I looked around to face landscapes that seemed so familiar to me but when I closed my eyes the disctinct aromas of the place were so uniquely Sardinian that a new memory and special place for this land was created in my heart. The same is happening today. Like an obsessed recorder of the scents of lands and places I store the ingredients of the Siem Reap concoction in a special place.

When I meet the boys (Phalla and Koosh) it is getting dark and the city has transformed into a massive fairground. The traffic and human congestion is alarming at parts. At times we don’t move for 10 minutes or more. This gives me more time to look around and spy on the place that I am about to depart from.

At one of the beautiful bridges of Pokambor avenue we pause as if in anticipation. There I meet Nia whose intelligence sparkles in her eyes. Nia chats in exceptionally good English. She is there with her mother for her festival and has just returned from a break in Vietnam. The boys are circling us excitedly as Nia is an exceptionally beautiful girl. It is quite funny to see this very human side of my two friends. As we talk, an explosion of fireworks begins from a boat in the middle of the river . It is six thirty in the afternoon, and one thirty in Greece. My grandmother’s funeral has just begun and by this strange coincidence I take the liberty to make the celebration of her life part of this year’s Water Festival in Cambodia.

Half an hour later the scent of fireworks is added to my night of departure.

The darkest moment

I wake up hot and bothered. I found out that my grandmother has died  three hours ago and I am in Cambodia.

This is my darkest moment.

I make no effort to open my eyelids. They are sealed with dried teardrops. I am angry.

I keep my eyes shut. I think about my grandmother: My hands are exactly the same shape as hers: an exact replica. Even the way I raise my left eyebrow is exactly the same. I think about her life and all she has been through.  I have talked about the crimes that nations commit against themselves and I have been challenged and troubled by accounts of history here. But my family, my grandmother, my father experienced the cruel civil war in the Greek mountains not long after Second World War. I can see my grandmother hanging from her leg, a thick rope holding her upside down beneath the walnut tree in the middle of the yard at the mountain house. Hanging desperately there for days, the rope cutting deeply into her calf and healing into her flesh; being questioned as to the whereabouts of my grand father.  I used to play on that same yard in the summers. She used to sit there, watch me and laugh whilst crochetting, ousting bad memories from my secure and happy playground. When at peace, she even sat them down to dinner around her table under the same walnut tree where they questioned her, those same people. They were family after all, that’s what civil war does to families. In the same yard she had said good bye to my ten year old father hiding behind the outdoor oven pushing him away into a forest to save his life. I hid from my brother behind that same outdoor oven when we played hide and seek. The  outdoor oven where we used baked non yeast bread and spread the butter she freshly churned on warm slices before taking a greedy bite.

I keep my eyes shut.

I see her walking down the cobbled street leading to her house, young, beautiful and proud with her long brown wavy hair (exactly like mine) falling on her shoulders: stubbornly walking away from her young husband because he is late for dinner and she was worried about him. They are young lovers and trouble has not started.

I see him handing her a bunch of field flowers telling her he’s late because he had to pick these up for her, grubbing her in his arms (the cheeky chap he was).  

I see her love, laugh, cry holding her dying newborn in her arms, whilst breastfeeding its surviving twin.

I see my father lost in the mountain forest: a boy crying alone thinking he will never see his family again. I imagine their reunion.

I see my father resting a hand on his father shoulder when all their modest fortune is gone, embezzled by a cunning relative. I see him carry  a saddle bag up the mountains , working to help the family.

I think about how he lodged with monks to go to school after disaster hit the family. Waking up at 4 every morning to chant with them, prepare their breakfast, and go to school, return to cook for them and collapse into sleep. Happy, loving and caring. Never bitter, always proud independent and empowered. No complaints, no major handouts or external assistance. 

This is the wonderful family I come from, with their humanity their faults but the strongest record of dignity , selflessness and self empowerment I have ever encountered. I am sure that there are many similar stories in Greece, here and all over the world but this is my father’s.  And I have not even started on my mother’s family tale: one of uprooting , refugees, poverty, Balkan wars and farmers battling the elements and the prejudice of their new homeland.

There are different continents, cultures, nations and historical events; but war, pain, torture, humanity, family, community, love , emotions and dignity are universal. And the knowledge and acknowledgement of your family’s roots, your countries historical contradictions and political turmoil can make you perceptive to experiences of other nations. I am not the naïve and ignorant descendent of people who have lived in luxury and comfort all their lives or who erased the past (not that I have anything against comfort, peace and indulgence. I am privileged and my child if I ever have one might be too).

I am not ignorant:  so today I am irrationally angry for the moments that I have been treated or viewed as an ignorant ‘rich’ westerner.  I don’t want to be understanding and insightful right now. I am irrationally angry at  people who have allowed themselves to be conditioned and reliant on handouts,  people that have not had the pride that my family had. Maybe it’s unfair because the conditions might have been better socially even at harsh times in Greece than they are for example here. But I told you this is my darkest moment, I will not apologise for its rawness and contradiction.

Eyes shut, on the eve of my departure, after the loss of my grandmother, I am haunted by my own demons and I am second guessing my presence here. My dad’s community did fine without anyone coming over to teach them or help them, did they not? Or maybe they did not because none of us is still there…They had no income making opportunities if they stayed at their village.

A moment of anger at myself for being here giving to people I don’t really know, helping myself grow and gather experiences has exploded and I am facing up to it.  I should be by my father, holding his hand, being his daughter, returning all the love and care that he has given me all these years. Being there for him at the moment he has lost his mother.

His voice three hours earlier was soothing. He knows my guilt, he has lived away from his parents , he does not mind . I know he does not.  And he had never felt sorry for himself or bitter at his lack of wealth when he was young. My dad sure misses me but he does not mind that I cannot be there now. But I am deep in darkness and, right now, I mind. I am angry at myself. For not being able to give love and support to my father right now.

My grandmother

On the 19th November my grandmother Vasiliki drew her last breath surrounded by her four children.On the other side of the world I was being showered with flowers and love by my students on my last teaching day in Cambodia. I cannot get back to Greece in time for her funeral...but I will honour her memory and celebrate her life here in the best way I can.

Is it a coincidence that I was telling Phalla and Koosh about her life just yesterday?

Luckily I have some credit on my Cambodian phone and manage to talk to my father and aunties. My lovely brother has sent me a message to let me know. It is late. I painfully miss my family. I weep into a deep sleep and dream of her, my lovely Nona, whose soul I will not help to usher to heaven at the beautiful ceremony planned for her on the high Greek mountain that has been her home for most of her life.

Safe passage.

Kalo taksidi Giagia.

On poverty and community empowerment

Poverty is not just defined by lack of money and security. It can be a state that people or groups of people are put in when they don’t have an opportunity to explore themselves, their potential and their future in the same manner that another group of people does.

So people can be defined as or feel poor when they don’t have the same opportunities as other groups that define themselves or they defined as privileged.  

I guess poverty is really felt and prominent when people can make comparisons with others. This can be caused by societal disparities and inherent contrast. Poverty and particularly feeling poor might be dangerous because it can prevent action,  limit creativity and innovation in communities. It can stop communities from supporting themselves, and lead them to rely on external support.

A community that can support itself and its members is empowered and is less likely to be antagonised by the ‘privileged’. And it might even be able to protect itself from the risk of and impacts of resource poverty. It may also be more succesful in creating opportunities for itself and its members. It can give its members the power and strength to avoid comparisons and dare. To take advantage of opportunities and assistance in a different manner. Assistance can come in monetary form but also importantly can be help with changing attitude. I think it is important to avoid creating dependent communities, to avoid supporting needy and ‘begging’ attitudes. In my view it is important to hand out  knowledge as well as help the cultivation of essential skills (particularly skills that can be transferred to members of communities we assist).

Poverty is hard for me to define. My parents both came from  poor but loving and happy families: I don’t attach the stigma that others do to ‘poverty’. They did suffer at times (particularly my father’s family) and for this reason they made sure that me and my brother were not deprived of basic commodities and education in life. I don’t think poverty is always synonymous with deprivation, despair and unhappiness. I want poverty that endangers the well being, health and safety of children and people eliminated. However, some of those that we would define poor seemed to have a better ‘quality of life’ in terms of family, connections and community engagement.  

The project and people I worked with are dignified and honourable. They support each other.  So the community support system is clearly effective. There were other groups of Cambodian people in  urban areas of Siem Reap who seemed to be in living in a much poorer and deprived state (facing immediate health risks and famine).

I have no conclusions or statements on poverty just thoughts to share. I have a lot to think about.

Village Schools 5: Sroh

In my first week I visited and participated in lessons at the two village schools at the Pagoda as well as the 5 schools that I have documented in separate blogs. Also on my first day here I spent time at Pok’s, Rom’s  and Sro’s schools (where I first introduced the clapping game). I am gutted that I have broken my promise and left Kun’s school out but Phalla really wants me to close my visit at Sro’s school. After all Kun’s school is too far, we are late and I promised to Sro’s children I will return. They are all waiting for me…

I am greeted with a dozen flower bunches. The students prance excitedly around me. This is the most tactile of the groups. Sroh’s warmth and humanity is reflected in their behaviour. I am  proudly watching Sroh teach:  I see all that he has learnt and puts into practice. I am amazed at my students’ capacity to learn, their thirst for knowledge and new skills. Sroh is an example of what they have all achieved in a very short time and how much they can absorb. He is a testament to their thirst for knowledge and as he stands there teaching he offiers me a glimpse of the bright future that awaits them.

We sing, we laugh, we hug… I leave…

Exit Neak Ru Lia. Until the next time.

I likes you too...

I am heartbroken as I finish my last lesson with the students. Today we start earlier but unfortunately Pok cannot make it. We play the clapping game and write down its rules. We finish our chapter and discuss what we have learnt.

Precious presents are passed to me: a couple of handmade bracelets, a photo to take with me, bananas and root vegetable, notes and hugs.  Have I committed the sin of becoming too attached? I am hoping that it is not too bad. I hold my tears in and say good bye to most of the teachers apart from Sroh who I am going to see later. The teachers have corrected their most common mistake of adding 's' to verbs and nouns when they should not. ' I likes you' , which made me giggle during the first few lessons, is replaced with ' I like you, I will miss you. We love you'.

But all I want to say is : ' I likes you too'.

I really don't know what to say anymore. This has been too short and I don't feel ready to leave the students yet. There is so much more to do and say...But  there are more people to come: this is just the beginning and somehow I know that they don't need anyone to stay. They know what they need and what to take to become stronger and independent in due course.

Phalla and the teachers at CCHA (missing Pok)

Angor Photo Festival

As you have figured I love roaming the streets of Siem Reap. I find out about the Angor Photo Festival after a visit to the John McDermott gallery on Pokambor Avevnue. The Angor Photo Festival alleges to be the unique in South East Asia. In its 6th year it has invited submissions of Asian photographers and offers them free photgraphic workshops with renowned photographers. Work of more than 110 photographers from 47 countries, is exhibited in different galleries and outdoor spaces. The work is curated by two well-known figures in photography, Yumi Goto and Antoine d’Agata,  with Françoise Callier, the Program Director of the Angkor Photo Festival. Unfortunately I will miss the presentation on the 15 Asian women photographers on Saturday but I catch some of the work today as I wander in the city streets. Here is a glimpse:



Outdoor exhibits



I catch some of the work exhibited at Hotel de La Paix, only the artist's name sounds Italian rather than Asian to me (Paolo Patrizi) . I also briefly meet Sasha Constable who is the exhibitions manager at the Hotel De La Paix. Hotel De La Paix also hosts an exhibition of KILT's jewllery, gratefully increasing their chances of transaction at this prestigious venue.

The work that seems to be displayed at the Angor festival is not necessarily placed in Asia. After all photographers are restless to travel further from home.  And Asian photographers I guess want to see the rest of the world. So I also marvel at image of European starlings and cuban images narriating day to day life stories! There is also an interesting exhibition on life and disability and some local perspectives. Much of it documents hardship and poverty-mainly in black and white output.

I could definitely see Mr Green's Cambodia photos exhibited here. There is nothing comparable to his work on display. I think that the warmth, positivity and authenticity of Dan Green's work is missing. It would add a different and positive perspective to the documentation of this area's Khmer people.  For the next one, good luck convincing them you are Asian Dan (but you do have Italian blood!).  I reckon they should invite you to exhibit anyway.

If you want to know more about the festival there is a blog:

http://www.photographyforchange.net/festivalhome.html

Random observations 2

More pyjama sightings
The images speak for themselves.


At the bank



At a boat blessing ceremony

Qung Yo or 60 Road Market
One of the places that I have visited a  couple of times with Phalla is the Qung Yo Market and fair ground. If you want to see where the locals gather in Siem Reap after 6 every evening head to Qung Yo Market. It is a daily feast of local food, delicacies and a permanent funfair that entertains all ages. The market and funfair spreads around the main roundabout leading to the Angor Wat temples entry. There are mainly food stalls but there are also other goodies of  practical use to locals rather than tourists (clothes, hats, shoes). There are carpets laid out by the riverside and behind food stalls for the locals to spread on, enjoy their food and each others' company. My favourite thing here is the food: particularly the deep fried prawns and rice cakes. Sitting on a carpet and enjoying a 'light' evening meal is so familiar and comfortable to me. I love the fact that this is the locals' area. And they are all so welcoming to me being really discreet in their amazement to see me join their humble crowd.

Clearly, the Cambodian are fun loving people and enjoy socialising every night of the week.  Phalla loves this place for another reason. There is a row  stalls with his favourite game ; the ballon darts game. The aim of the game is to pop as many ballons as possible with the wonky darts you get. It is not that hard to get the balloons and we always leave with sweets or a drink. It is really worth a game just to see the sheer and sincere enthusiasm on Phalla's face.

Build up to the Water Festival
This morning I observe even more people in the streets of Siem Reap. There are continuous processions of monks and nuns, playing music and collecting donations. Boat blessings ceremonies are followed by loud music and celebrations even in the early morning. More countryside people are camping by the river. Close to Matt's bar there are local trade and food stalls up already. It is getting busier by the minute. I am intrigued and happy that I am not going to miss out on the Water Festival after all. It seems that I am in for a treat on Saturday, my last day in Siem Reap.

Adrian: off the road and the beaten track

I am tired but restless tonight. Each day has been melting into the other and time has been flowing slowly connecting experiences, emotions, images, thoughts and people. It feels like I have lived in Siem Reap for a long long time. I am attached to my friends.  I feel connected to the locals. They no longer treat me as a sighting. I have adapted so well that they don’t chase me up to offer me tuk tuk lifts or sell me things in the same frequency. I don’t feel, and perhaps this is why I don’t seem, lost. Tonight, I have done the maths and I realise am leaving on Saturday, in just one and a half days. My departure is impending.

I jump on a green bicycle today and head to Matt’s Chilli bar. Matt is a friendly Aussie who runs a bar along the river 10 minutes away from my hostel on the bike. I was attracted to the bar by its beautiful outdoor riverside area with a swing. A few nights ago Matt joined me for a chat as I was enjoying an quiet evening on the swing. Inside the bar I met Annie, Tammy and Eda. Annie has lived in Cmabodia for 10 years and runs a language school and Tammy and Eda work here as English teachers. Annie I have not written much about but I do hope she keeps in touch with me because she is just so interesting.  Tonight I am back to leave Annie my ….marmite jar. Here I said it: I admit I am aaddicted to Marmite and brought it along with me. In my defense this is because some internet forum entries had convinced me that Marmite, which is high in vitamin B, is an effective mosquito repellent (when eaten and not applied to the skin). Soon I find that DEET is the only effective mosquito repellent for me. Annie is gagging for marmite so I think it best to pass the wonderful substance from one marmite junky to another.

But Annie is not around tonight, the bar is heaving  and is unrecognisable. It is mainly a group of 30 jolly men that fill the bar with laughter. They are not aggressive and drunk, just full of energy.

I almost regret getting a beer and sitting at my favourite spot , when about ten of them  come and sit at a table next to me. Have I become a recluse, a hermit and a snob of western crowds? As I observe them swiftly, I think ‘What an odd ensemble on different nationalities and ages?’.   The one closest to me introduces himself and starts chatting away.

Adrian and the boys are an ‘off road bikers’ group. The got together in Phnom Penh and biked around the country through to Siem Reap. Most of them don’t know each other. They book similar journeys at least once a year and travel through countries for 2 -3 or more weeks. There is a Welsh lad who waives excitedly when he hears I live in Cardiff. I mainly chat to Adrian about their journey. He comes to life when he talks about traveling through the countryside and the jungle not following roads and tracks, camping and sleeping in monasteries where they are welcomed by monks. He has crossed Cambodia in just over a week and will continue traveling around the rest of it for the remaining time. Tonight is their night of luxury.

I enjoy meeting people who introduce me to new ways of viewing the world. Traveling off road on a motorbike offers a different perspective and gives you much freedom from conventional routes. I would still prefer cycling through and I joke with Adrian about the group's environmental impact.

Adrian also tells me about visiting Ghana in the same manner. On that journey the group planned to stop at different schools and charities and do some hands on work. The groups are diverse in professions, skills and crafts. Some of the plumbers and electricians were deified in Africa and did essential work to schools and hospitals when they passed through.

Adrian who is down to earth and approachable seem to run a large and profitable business. He is really modest about it.  I am suddenly very tired and the rest of the group wants to head the noisy pub street near the old market. I really want to stop them from going there but then who am I am to interfere with people’s choice? I am somehow convinced that they will not last long there.  

VIllage Schools 4: Pok

Pok is witty and funny. His sense of humour (even in broken English) translates to all cultures and languages. The first time he teases me during the lesson I am taken aback. I am sincerely pleased that he is comfortable enough to be like this. There is not an ounce of disrespect in these young people, who usually really fear their teachers. Our friendly banter develops into an entertaining act for the rest of the students during each lesson. I am also impressed with Pok's connection with nature. He is a farmer in touch with his surroundings and the earth he cultivates. In some ways he is one of the most authentic and sincere environmentalists in the manner he connects to and describes his favourite places, his love of the sunrise in the open space of the rice paddies at; his respect of his livestock and what it offers him. He is one of the few of my students that is not dazzled by the lights of the Siem Reap ‘ metropolis’ but considers the countryside and surrounding nature his favourite place in the world.

Today I am honoured to be taking part in his class. His in the school furthest away from Siem Reap and the Pagoda. It takes us about an hour to get there. His students are representative of the area's population. They seem to be the deep countryside people who are perhaps most detached from the metropolis' ‘ civilisation’. His two classes merge into one: he usually delivers a two hour lesson. Once again we are surrounded and observed by parents and locals. But there are more villagers joining in and observing here than in other schools. And some of them squat down to listen and participate in the lesson despite the fact that they are in their fourties and fifties. During this longer lesson we get the opportunity to practice the last and current lesson a lot more. We play more games and actively learn during the lesson. After all and despite the emphasis we have collectively decided to put on revision and homework, it is often true that the students do not have much time to study in their free time. They work at the rice fields, some of them who are lucky might get the chance to go to state school and they also need to have enough time to support their family during the daytime.

This is a truly interactive session, that involves all of us in an equal and seamless manner. This young man is a conductor, who manages to sound clearer despite his thick countryside accent when he teaches. Phalla also joins in and he leaves the class with a clear message on the importance of studying hard when you can. And perhaps most significantly the importance of hoping and dreaming of a better place for yourself and your community. ‘ One of you might be a teacher, or even a doctor one day’ he says, ‘ you have to believe it and work hard’. To me this is what this is all about: giving these students the oppportunity and skills to learn, to want to learn and to want more for themselves and their community. In a way it is about empowering them to dare and showing them how a combination of work, courage and external support can eventually release them from dependence on external help. How it can release them from the fear of a bleak future, dependence and limited opportunities.

Fernando and Ines

I am becoming a permanent 'feature' of the restaurant, an adopted resident that that facilitates communications, gives directions and has sometimes brief other times longer encounters with people passing through. Today a man in his late forties sits on the table in front of me and to the left admiring the slow flow of people, the passing monks and children. I don’t recall how we start talking. Fernando is a pilot based in Singapore. He trains pilots to fly the massive Boeing 747 aircraft that carried me to Korea. He is here for a three day flying visit with Ines his niece , an airhostess, that stopped over in Singapore. When Ines walks out of the massage parlour above the restaurant the resemblance. Ines is …energy and light. We connect instantly in the limited time we get to talk to each other and discuss Cambodian culture and particularly our observaions on women. She has been here only for 3 days but I find her extremely insightful and perceptive. Her antenna is definitely tuned in.

Fernando and Ines become my Puerto Rican connection in Cambodia. We have a discussion about their family’s history and how Fernando’s family including Ines’ mother, left Puerto Rico for Cuba and later departed for the land of abundance and endless possibilities. It is nice to hear their Puerto Rican accent softening American English words. I feel an affinity to these two and it is so easy to be around them. I am sad to see them go but they have to catch a plane back to Singapore. As my mother rightly says:  ‘the more friends you make the more homes you have in this world’. I think I have two more added to my list.

Festival traffic

Every morning I enjoy strong dark coffee sweetened by condensed milk with my breakfast. I have grown so used to this ‘sweet’ morning habit that I knowI will not be able to shake it off on my return  UK. The traffic and commotion on our quiet part of the riverside has picked up in preparation of the Water festival. There are Khmer people camping under the trees, sleeping in hammocks and guarding their skilfully decorated boats. Today is a bright day and I am quietly contemplating a wander, just a walk to take it all in.

In the past few days the restaurant of my hostel has become busier and has welcomed a multinational clientele passing by as they walk along the riverside admiring the increasing numbers of boats which seem to be increasing by the hour. A token of various nationalities stop for dinner, lunch, a drink.  Dutch, American, German. A French couple stops by for breakfast every morning. They only want to talk to each other and have a routine of finishing their breakfast and taking off on bicycles they rent from the hostel. I meet Lucien the Belgian (volunteer) communications officer of Krousar Thmey a charity set up to help Cambodian deprived children. The charity currently has an exhibition on the water and it significance in Cambodian culture. There was also a memorable and loud group of fifteen or so Italians enjoyed dinner here a couple of nights or so ago. They talked about food throughout the whole meal, comparing the Khmer to their regional delicacies and planning what they will eat next. This is oddly familiar to me and Mr Green who never seizes to be amazed at my ability to talk about food, recipes and creative flavours for hours particularly during meals. It is clear that the approaching water festival has attracted more visitors to Siem Reap or perhaps if they have already been here it has definitely brought them to this side of town.  Siem Reap together with the rest of Cambodia is getting ready for the water festival. There seems to a sloe climax to the celebrations and I am getting excited in anticipation.

Village Schools 3: Srey lin

Sreylin is very nervous when we arrive at her school. Soon we laugh her nerves off. We go through her lesson plan, then meet some members of her family. Her school is at the heart the Preh Dak village where she and Phalla are from. It is  built on the land of her house and is the village school closest to the Pagoda. Preh Dak is an ordered and beautiful village houses (huts) with rows of Cambodian houses on stilts.

Sreylin apologises for the dunk smell, which I had not really noticed until that point. The school is next to the open stable where her two buffalos rest. One of them is badly injured so she has to collect grass for him every morning from the fields to feed him. I can see that his injury upsets her very much. There are not many vets here so she hopes that the buffalo gets better and can walk again. But she fears that this might not happen.

As the village school is easily accessible the class is very busy, despite the earlier rain and muddy roads. Sreylin is one of the most methodical teachers. She is very nervous but actually her English is a lot better when she teaches rather when she is taught. She comfortably steps up to the challenge of teaching. Some people are simply tuned to be teachers and she seems to be one. I am so proud to watch her as she incorporates a spelling game in the lesson, homework check and a couple of songs. She also seems to have taken on board lesson planning, teaching tips and much of what we have learned and practiced. Towards the end of the lesson things get tougher for Sreylin as her whole family and some villagers have gathered around the class to watch her. It must be unnerving and we are all getting tired.

My day ends with some time with Srey lin and her family. Phalla plays translator but in reality not many words are spoken. Like the aspara dancers we perform this scene of interaction with gentle body movements and meaningful glances so that nothing gets lost.  I watch Sreylin’s mother quietly admiring her daughter. And that just that fills me with joy.

This grass roots community project is growing its own teachers. It is giving its own young people the opportunity to develop skills through practice, training and our small contributions, assistance, training. An opportunity that some of them might not have otherwise had. The project also gives the community the opportunity to marvel at its own strength and potential. I came here persuaded but as time goes by I grow more and more convinced that this is the way that skills should grow, from the roots like nature intended.

Thorny politics and tabús

In Cambodia there are some different accounts of the Khmer Rouge events than the one widely recorded. This has been described to me as ‘an uninformed viewer’s’ perspective but then in reality it is an oral account of the events from some of the local people’s subjective perspective.  If even in Cambodia, you might want to prepare to challenge your western pro democracy beliefs (as Lucy very well describes the way most of us have grown up). I had to carefully manage the feelings that some of the discussions evoked, be insightful and open minded.

One of the biggest challenges has been to see people idolise the Khmer Rouge and reminisce in its egalitarian principles. I deliberately did not read about modern Cambodian history in much detail but was aware of the main events, key political figures and observations as recorded by foreign historians. The events are very complicated. But I was, perhaps naively, baffled by some people’s affinity to the Khmer Rouge. Even more surprising is that some of these people are in their thirties or younger. Young adults who have no memory of the era and who interpret the facts as relayed to them by their family and close circles. Or perhaps this is not surprising at all.

It has not been easy to digest, particularly as I then came across some other people like Sopiah who had a different informed opinion through working at the Cambodian history documentation office. To understand this internal national conflict, this contradiction, you have to remind yourself that history does not seem to be taught at Cambodian schools and current teenagers are the first generation to which English is widely taught. This gives them future access to international accounts of the events for the first time. As many people tell me here Cambodians have not had access to a lot of the information internationally available because of language and education barriers. Annie, an informed English Language teacher, who has lived in Cambodia for ten years, also believes that the Cambodian reaction I observe is a national coping mechanism. Having gone through bereavement and grief myself I can relate to this and fully understand the analogy.

The Khmer Rouge era is a thorny subject, almost a tabù. Some people tell you that the killings have not happened whilst facing the victims’ skeleton shrines. I would have to dedicate a few months if not years to the subject to really look into it and be in a position to challenge oral history and accounts.

There is something else to bear in mind. I say what I about to say mustering all the understanding and objectivity I can find within me: historical events are subjective accounts to a certain extent and are experienced differently by individuals and their families. They have a different impact and consequences on different groups and individuals.  Historical interpretations can be fabricated and powerful media or international politicians can legitimise one account over another.

I have to remind myself about the Greek civil war and how it tore my father’s family apart. It was a time that uncles nearly killed nephews in the dark forests or if you want to name people kill my own 10 year old father. Atrocities committed in the name of a leader of a political ideology never impress me. And what angers me sometimes is that nations can be acting out a scenario created by masterful puppeteers, in international political and economic growth ploys a lot bigger than their national reality or concerns.

We can all pick a side in historical events but does this make our choice right?  And is it not a lot easier to do this when you are detached from this event as it does not take place in your country? It is easier to condemn other people’s mistakes or actions than your own.

So whilst I am instinctively averted by the Khmer Rouge events and the evidence I can see, I have no intention to impose my views on anyone. I also think I need to do a bit more research to be informed.

I have reaffirmed one thing today: I will continue to judge people by their actions and not their statements and political opinions.  Look at some of the self righteous westerners and their states condemning and taking positions in the media yet subversively intervening in historical events and committing silent atrocities through their continuing colonialist behaviour in the name of capitalism and self interst.

Sopanha's place

The cook and I

At Sopanha's

Sopanha and Koosh

Siem Riep can definitely offer culinary indulgence. There are many classy restaurants with delightful dishes, amazing decor and excellent service. But the standard of food is usually excellent in smaller and reasonable places and avant guarde restaurants. Apart from the rare occassion, I have preferred to savour the home cooked dishes of road side cafes and particularly of small, family run restaurants. One of the best restaurants I have dined at in Siem Riep is Arun Restaurant where Ming Pow nourishes her visitors. This is the restaurant behind which my room was placed.

Another great place is Sopanha's on 12D Mondul Svay Dangkom. Sopanha is a lively and passionate man. His English is impressively good as is his knowledge of Cambodian's history (at least this is the impression he gives me). As well as running a small restaurant he is a tourist guide. Sopanha’s family suffered the consequences of recent historical events in Cambodia. His is a different perspective: he used to work with the office of national documentation (apologies for the most likely incorrect term), so he has seen evidence of the killings that took place during the Khmer Rouge regime. Combined with his family experience he is one of the people who perhaps as a Cambodian is better placed to give you an accurate introduction to the historic events that took place in Cambodia at the end of the seventies. So I would visit him or contact him to take you around places if you ever find yourself in Siem Reap.

This unpretentious small restaurant can be found opposite the11^th January High school and offers me a fantastic  traditional lemongrass soup. The food is cooked by Sopanha’s wife. He has 7 women running this place with him. Some are daughters, some are nieces.  There are a couple of boys running out to school in a rush. As I am waiting for Phalla I indudge in Sopanha's company.  We talk excitedly.

As Phalla’s ‘hello kitty’ car (there is a massive hello kitty sticker in the middle of the back window), stops to meet me outside Sopieh’s, the torrential rain gets heavier. It is welcome and refreshing on this muggy day. It has actually been raining every day since the beginning of this week but usually in the late afternoon or at night. In these conditions, Phalla’s little car transforms into a mini 4x4 as we turn into muddy dirt tracks with large pools of water.  Water gets into the engine and I pray we make it to our destination. But I should have no fear, there are numerous lucky charms blessed by the monks adorning the CCHA vehicle. In any case Phalla keeps crossing the water pools fearlessly and despite the smoke coming from the engine! Somehow it all works and  we get to the Pagoda school in time.

Female Solidarity

There is much I don’t have time to write about. I hear, see, think and note so many things here. Cambodia is a contradiction: beautiful, stubborn emerging and performing a balancing act on the tight rope that is its future. I have begun to see ‘her’ for who ‘she’ is and to love ‘her’ for that.

Cambodia is feminine. There is no doubt about this. Koosh makes this observation in one of our discussions (in the few instances that we have met, me and Koosh have beautiful poetic discussions like ancient philosophers). Women are indeed the backbone of Cambodian society. With their composed manner they steer , guide and lead inconspicuously.

There is something else I notice about the women here. They seem comfortable in their skin and content with themselves. One of the differences between our western and this (the Cambodian) society is the authentic and unpretentious female solidarity I observe in day to day life. There is absence of spiteful antagonism and envy. Women don’t measure themselves against each other here but they take account of their collective strength.

I think at times that women in the West are becoming more masculine by the day. Feminism, empowerment, liberation and equal rights in employment and society are gifts that previous generations have given us. But are we misinterpreting and misusing it today? What are we struggling to prove?  Like boys I see women competing against each other. They have entered a world of mud wrestling, a fight to prove their worth, struggle for their physical attractiveness usually discontent with what they see and not being thankful for their most beautiful features. Someone is waving a carrot in front of their nose. They fight for status, strive to be ‘male’ and a female at the same time (to have a career, to reproduce, to be the best lover, to be the best looking one). They envy. They waste energy and time.  And I don’t think that they even realise this half the time. All this has saddened me deeply as an observation.  I will not lie to you: at times it has had a devastating impact on my life. I am comfortable in my skin and don’t have time for such exhausting and energy draining interactions.

Here I have not encountered yet sly flattery: women mean their compliments to each other and admire each other quietly and respectfully. They support each other and don’t use one another to progress their agendas and objectives stepping over each other. They are not threatened by each other.

As I chat with Chandra and her sister at Bel’s house, I feel this connection. There is a different sisterhood and solidarity between us, in the same way that there is between me and Ming Pow , the girls and women of the guest house I am staying at, in the same manner that I have this with my three female teachers and the women I encounter at shops, in the market, at roadside cafes in the countryside. Perhaps this is a naïve observation and a sweeping generalisation ( which I generally hate to make!); perhaps I have spoken too soon but perhaps my instinct is correct. This is my subjective view, the realisation has hit me quite hard from the first few days of my stay here, I have quitely digested and pondered on it and I feel quite certain about it.  

Village Schools 2: Rom

In my first week I also visited four schools but I spent most of my timesworking with Phalla on other CCHA matters. I must stay that working at the schools with the teachers is one of the highlights of my work here. I am so pleased I am at a  village school again this evening.

Rom is a tall young man by Cambodian standard; a gentle giant with an endearing smile that makes you calm and serene. He is one of the teachers most reluctant to speak English but this is not because his knowledge suffers.

When I arrive at his school Rom is buzzing around me with energy. ‘Teacher, pronounce this for me please’ he asks, and we go through the words that he will teach today. Today we teach the sound of the long ‘I’ like in ‘ripe’. We also get the opportunity to practise sounds of consonants, like 'v', 'f' and 'd', which they all struggle with.

I am impressed by the respect this man commands with his gentle manner. I am impressed by how much love he transfers through his teaching. During the second lesson I get an unexpected present. Phalla joins in and I see him in action for the first time. Phalla is gifted, truly gifted. The class comes to life when he stands up skilfully combining the new lesson with old ones. ‘Rip’ and example for a short ‘I’, ‘ripe’ an example for the long ‘i’.

We finish after 7 but we are so energised. So we play the clapping game. The joyful laughter of the children fills the vast countryside surrounding the school. Gradually the people in nearby dwellings gather around us and applaud excitedly, willing us to continue. But again the children have to make their way home. It’s nearly eight.

As I sit in the car I am truly exhausted today. Phalla chats away and I just listen to the sound of his voice. I notice how much teaching centres, calms and energises Phalla. It a need that he has to satisfy rather than a job for him. Teaching is part of his nature. I ponder, Phalla narrates another story, the stars peak out,  locals wave on their bicycles, another day passes.  

A loving commune-Khmer Independent Life Team (KILT)

I meet Bel through Koosh at the Golden Temple Hostel one morning. Bel is the director and man behind KILT,  a commune of people suffering with physical disability, mainly cause by landmine explosions, polio and somtimes other diseases.  KILT's aim is to improve the quality of life, work opportunities, and social integration of Khmer (Cambodians) with disabilities through vocational training, education and work in a sustainable manner.  

On Tuesday morning Bel opens the doors of his home to me. He picks me up on a bike. Bel lost a leg in a landmine explosion at the age of seven. He walks and moves proudly in a manner that does not draw attention to his physical disability. I hardly notice it as he drives me on the motobike through the backstreet neighbourhoods of Siem Reap. In fact I feel safer than I did on my ride to the Kulen mountain.

KILT had 30 members at one stage. They all lived together in a large house supporting each other, making jewellery and musical instrunments, participating in community projects and endavours and giving musical performances! The commune membership is down to 9 members at the moment. The floods of the monsoons season in Cambodia have caused the commune to relocate twice, partly causing people to disperse. The other reason is that if KILT does not always make enough money to support everyone. So they have to pursue their own endeavours.

As I enter the humble abode of Bel, I am greeted by his beautiful wife Chandra. She suffers from polio related disability but it is impossible to make this out. Their 2 month daughter sleeps serenly in a hammock. A few other members of the commune are in the house.

The main income for KILT is through the making and sale of jewellery. I see some beautiful pieces made from reused material, coconut and Cambodian stones. KILT is also a group of musicians. Bel and I get down to business. I have been very impressed by the sound of the Cambodian instrunment 'tro'. That day I have my first private tro lesson. Bel has been practising the tro for  a year. I think I have a long way to go. But I keep trying!

I am impressed by Bel. He comes across as a persuasive young businessman. For all it's gentility and goodness Cambodian society is prejudiced against people with disability. They are not treated as employable. Bel and KILT introduces another way of doing things. They are not the only project. There are hundreds if not more of similar charities and projects. But what impresses me about this one is that is is run by the people it benefits, it does not create dependent members but offers them a skill and alternative lifestyle and is led by quite a respectable young man.

As I leave KILT with a tro in my backpack, determined to learn how to play it, I hope that KILT grows stronger and stronger.

For more information on KILT:

http://kilt.weebly.com/index.html

Village Schools: Sopiep

There is not one teacher or child that I am more fond of than another but I think it is good to give you a brief glimpse of our work  villages schools in this last week of mine in Cambodia. Every day after the teaching at the Pagoda and having my time with each teacher, I join in a lesson at a village school: to help, to observe, to advise, to play.

On Monday I am with Sopiep , one of the three female teachers. Sopiep is gentle and stern at the same ime. She exudes maturity but when she laughs she chuckles like a happy child. Today it rains heavily at intervals in impressive downpours. So many students have not travelled to the school. This is one of the schools that is remote and when the weather is bad attendance suffers. Sopiep is slightly embarassed but soon she relaxes as we jest.

There are five cheerful girls in our first class. Today we learn the sound 'ch' as in  the word 'child'.  We look for words in Khmer that help the girls understand and reproduce the sound. The name of teacher Chaya (another of my teacher students) is the most obvious and easy one to remember. So we practice, we learn , we laugh. 

There are two classes each afternoon between 5-7 at each school. At 6 we exchange one small class for another for the last hour of teaching. It is now really dark and Sopiep is keen to let the children travel back home. Some of them have to go a long way on foot in the dark.

'Thank you teacher. Good night and good luck for you .See you tomorrow', they chant in harmony.

Maybe not tomorrow, but 'see you soon'. And I intend to keep this promise.

Back at the Pagoda School: Cambodian Child and Hope Association (CCHA)

I have missed my students and on Monday morning I wake up really eager to see them. I have revision notes and plans for more interactive exercises and conversations. I see my role here as one of a discrete teacher that can perhaps inspire and sustain hope. I also contribute to the training the students on the delivery of a new curriculum.  Most importantly I spend a lot of time with the young teachers under a tree going through their lesson plans, advising them on improving lesson planning according to their needs, answering their questions and discussing engagement of the students. I am very fond of these young teachers and I really savour the time I spend with them individually. I learn so much from them.  My contribution is just piece added to CCHA puzzle – the picture is already outlined. But I am hoping that in my company Phalla has had a chance to take a breath , a step back and make out this picture . Marvel at its sight in relief.

When Phalla meets me he clearly has a lot on his mind. Running a project that requires so much devotion and effort cannot be easy but Phalla perseveres. The SAFE Foundation has given him essential support and he is hoping that more volunteers will follow to help the project. He tells me how the CCHA relies on donations for basic supplies such as notebooks, pens and new books.

Like many projects of its kind, CCHA has no guaranteed and constant funding. As I have said there are many worthy causes and charities in Cambodia, but the village schools of CCHA are tucked away in the countryside and don’t benefit from the donations of passing tourists. My humble opinion is that is important not to turn the schools and sites to tourist sites for the sake of raising some additional funds. This could disturb this peaceful community and its grassroots project. Our impact here should be minimal.

So Phalla with the invaluable help of the SAFE Foundation and friends is trying his best. Kourash’s role in progressing this project has also been and remains pivotal, as person who lives in Siem Reap and has worked really closely with Phalla he has a proximity to the project that others cannot enjoy or offer at the moment. I think CCHA has done really well up to now.  I hope to inspire and encourage the young teachers, to help and empower Phalla. I hope that people with the right skills, experience and attitude can come  help in the future.

Here is a link if you want out more about the CCHA, I think it’s worth a read:

http://www.causes.com/causes/333190-cambodian-child-and-hope-association-ccaha-poor-children-orphans-school-cambodia/about?m=3ff0bfda

And as always here is a reminder of how to find out more about SAFE, their good work and how you can help:

http://thesafefoundation.co.uk/index.php/about/

http://thesafefoundation.co.uk/index.php/projects/siam-reap-cambodia/