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.