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