This morning the World Food Programme is holding food distribution for the community. I woke to the sounds of dozens of motos and tuk tuks being driven into the campus. About a hundred people waited outside of the offices for Partners for Compassion. Huge bags or rice, jugs of oil and salt were being distributed to families who have been affected by the HIV/AIDS virus. Apparently, the WFP doesn't do programs like this specifically pertaining to HIV/AIDS anywhere else, and through Wat Opot has a unique opportunity to give this support children and families of HIV/AIDS patients. With all of the commotion outside, the kids were all taking haven in the volunteer quarters for their regular tornado through the coloring books, dolls and toys that we have. School is again cancelled today, still due to the tragedy of the Water Festival. However, the teachers from the schoolhouse are here and the kids have lessons throughout the afternoon. The little daredevils insisted I paint their faces as cats, dogs, pigs, frogs and other animals right before school. As the bell rang and they all burst out, I hope my artwork didn't frighten any WFP people.
As some of the younger ones were in class in the schoolhouse, I gave the 6-8 crowd a couple of jump ropes to entertain themselves. I had to settle some of them down so they could share, but we all played snake together and another game they showed me involving someone's shoe and a lot of jumping over the low swinging rope making propeller like circles on the ground. I got tired and thought I'd see what some of the teenage boys were up to. What I found was picture worthy. Wat Opot's campus is beautifully spotted with a few fish ponds, which have some catfish, tilapia and various other kinds of farmed fish. When the kids catch a big one, they receive payment for their catch and it'll be served for lunch! Recently, more than 30 or so little ducklings were purchased so the kids can have duck eggs (and maybe a nice roast once in a while) to save money on purchased goods at market. One of the tilapia ponds were drained to weed out and remove any fishies that may still be lingering in its waters to make room for the ducks. Of course, to teach responsibility and good work ethic--the kids get to do it! It was great watching 15 year old Vandy, 8 year old Tee and adorable 7 year old Suvanrith and about 10 others rolling around in nothing but their tighty whities in the mud, working to pick out small fish and weeds. It didn't seem as if they were working--boys are boys and all were rolling around throwing mud pies at each other. To wash off, they jumped off into another pond full of large catfish and more weeds. I love these kids.
That night after dinner, I was set to teach English once again, today to the older boys. I wasn't sure if a few days off of school had begun showing its ugly colors, but these guys did not want to learn any English. Throughout the lesson, it was difficult to get their attention and no one wanted to speak English. I know the older boys (15 and older) all speak English fairly well, I've seen them have long conversations with Wayne. However, I had very different challenges than I do with the younger children. Some know how to read English fairly well, also. I hope to come up with some exciting methods for the lessons.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
November 24
This morning I woke at 6 am to the sounds of 60 children playing marbles outside of my window. As predicted, school was cancelled. I'd heard at breakfast the teachers simply decided not to show up, some fearing relatives had been involved in the stampede, and others assuming their colleagues wouldn't show may have decided not to show. After breakfast I went back over to the bead room to work on a few pieces I left undone. As I put the keys into the lock, I encountered an unusual present left for me. A large frog had died and dried up near the door. The kids had a riot picking it up by its feet and throwing the crusty animal around to each other. One of the women who lives on campus finally got hold of it and threw it outside into the fish pond. It was curious how that thing even died how it did, it was as if it was freeze dried while it tried to jump. However, the boys were out almost as soon as they went in and I was left working with some of the smaller girls. Little Kunthea, who loves the bead room but loves making a mess almost as much as she dislikes making any jewelry was having a great time hiding everyones pliers. Whenever the kids make anything in the jewelry room, I'm always impressed. I assured each of them it was beautiful by saying "Wow, Sa-a" (Sa-a is beautiful in Khmer). Soon they were modeling their creations, and again I told them "Sa-a", however one suddenly lost some of that confidence and little Channy said 'no, ort sa-a' or 'not pretty'. Despite being the newest member of the Wat Opot community with her baby sister, Channy is usually one of the most extroverted and outgoing. The language barrier is the hardest thing in understanding a lot of these children, but I tried my best to reassure her "cha-saa"--yes, beautiful. I dont quite understand Khmer perception of beauty, maybe a couple more evenings watching television I will. But Channy's story is quite troublesome and could explain why she was so sad when I said that this afternoon.
After dinner was again another lesson in English, which wasn't initiated by me today. As I finished dinner the children, especially by 7 year old cutie Tai-Meng were pleading with me "Anglais, Anglais?" I gathered some more children than yesterday, and many came equipped with their own notepads and pens. I began with today's date and the children were able to read the words easily. I tried to touch on an exercise by counting the numbers 1 to 10 as well as writing the words out in English. Again, some of the children learn faster than others. Its unlike any teaching I've ever tried to do--some 6 year olds write and read better than an 8 year old. But here, that 8 year old bad been living on the streets and had never attended school since last year. I realized today it would be a very difficult teaching experience. Their confidence levels in their work is also very different. Some were eager to call to me during the lesson to see their papers, while others hovered over their work as I walked by. Soon it was medicine time and the kids excitedly took their papers to Wayne to show off their work.
Tonight was no different than usual, however some of the excitement got out of hand. As the nightly shoe soccer game was going on (I hide my sandals behind the big doors now) one of the older teenage boys scraped his foot on the gravel outside. A huge flap of skins was now hanging off of the ball of his foot and everyone headed over to the hospice to prepare for stitching. Two of the other volunteers are trained in medicine and Wayne himself is a nurse, so he is in good hands. The hospice is usually a scary place at night, and most kids--and I'm sure volunteers, too-- are afraid of it. The hospice is not in operation right now, but when it was, it was the place where some of the children watched their parents die slow and painful deaths of AIDS and other diseases. It's said that the hospice is haunted, and there have been some creepy things that have happened at Wat Opot over the years. There are photos taken at night with orbs and flashes of light in the shot that are seemingly unexplained, and there have been accounts from past volunteers about strange feelings, sounds, things breaking, etc. Creepy weird stuff. This is my second week, and I hope I won't have any encounters of a paranormal kind. However tonight, instead of being greeted with a ghost the boy received a benediction when the nurse realized he did not need stitches (and we have no anesthetics!!) instead just bandaging the wound and he was on his way. The wound was washed with alcohol first, and it was funny to watch him muster every ounce of energy in his bones to not scream in front of the other boys. In the end, he saved face and when asked if anything hurt, he simply shook his head and limped back to his room where I assumed he'd cry into his pillow the entire night. Ouch.
Right before this happened, the older boys asked me if I could teach them some English during class as well. Apparently, the other volunteer would make time to teach lessons to the older ones on grammar and assign reading. I didn't know this, and told them to come to the schoolhouse tomorrow evening so we can see where they need help. I love teaching the little ones, too which means I now have to find a time to squeeze in lessons for both and research some lessons for older groups.
After dinner was again another lesson in English, which wasn't initiated by me today. As I finished dinner the children, especially by 7 year old cutie Tai-Meng were pleading with me "Anglais, Anglais?" I gathered some more children than yesterday, and many came equipped with their own notepads and pens. I began with today's date and the children were able to read the words easily. I tried to touch on an exercise by counting the numbers 1 to 10 as well as writing the words out in English. Again, some of the children learn faster than others. Its unlike any teaching I've ever tried to do--some 6 year olds write and read better than an 8 year old. But here, that 8 year old bad been living on the streets and had never attended school since last year. I realized today it would be a very difficult teaching experience. Their confidence levels in their work is also very different. Some were eager to call to me during the lesson to see their papers, while others hovered over their work as I walked by. Soon it was medicine time and the kids excitedly took their papers to Wayne to show off their work.
Tonight was no different than usual, however some of the excitement got out of hand. As the nightly shoe soccer game was going on (I hide my sandals behind the big doors now) one of the older teenage boys scraped his foot on the gravel outside. A huge flap of skins was now hanging off of the ball of his foot and everyone headed over to the hospice to prepare for stitching. Two of the other volunteers are trained in medicine and Wayne himself is a nurse, so he is in good hands. The hospice is usually a scary place at night, and most kids--and I'm sure volunteers, too-- are afraid of it. The hospice is not in operation right now, but when it was, it was the place where some of the children watched their parents die slow and painful deaths of AIDS and other diseases. It's said that the hospice is haunted, and there have been some creepy things that have happened at Wat Opot over the years. There are photos taken at night with orbs and flashes of light in the shot that are seemingly unexplained, and there have been accounts from past volunteers about strange feelings, sounds, things breaking, etc. Creepy weird stuff. This is my second week, and I hope I won't have any encounters of a paranormal kind. However tonight, instead of being greeted with a ghost the boy received a benediction when the nurse realized he did not need stitches (and we have no anesthetics!!) instead just bandaging the wound and he was on his way. The wound was washed with alcohol first, and it was funny to watch him muster every ounce of energy in his bones to not scream in front of the other boys. In the end, he saved face and when asked if anything hurt, he simply shook his head and limped back to his room where I assumed he'd cry into his pillow the entire night. Ouch.
Right before this happened, the older boys asked me if I could teach them some English during class as well. Apparently, the other volunteer would make time to teach lessons to the older ones on grammar and assign reading. I didn't know this, and told them to come to the schoolhouse tomorrow evening so we can see where they need help. I love teaching the little ones, too which means I now have to find a time to squeeze in lessons for both and research some lessons for older groups.
November 23
Today I woke up to the worst news I've had on my entire trip. The director of Study Abroad and Exchanges called my cell phone at about 6 am asking me my whereabouts and if I was ok. Confused, I assured him I had arrived at Wat Opot yesterday. Sadly a tragedy happened in Phnom Penh last night during the conclusion of the Water Festival. A stampede occured and hundreds were killed, many more injured. Immediately my heart sank, only the night before, another volunteer and myself had been foolishly stuck in the middle of a huge crowd where people were being dragged out, unclear if they were dead or alive. The stampede happened on the same bridge we had crossed the afternoon only the day before. People were coming from the very carnival we had wiggled out through the crowd of people. I got up from bed and stepped outside, where one of the older boys told me about what happened. With any tragedy, there were many sides of the story. All the boys had different accounts of what caused the stampede--police officers dousing those crossing the bridge with water, overwhelming crowds pushing each other causing the deadly rush, the bridge swaying caused panic among people crossing, etc. Each account was highly plausible; we saw the police corruption, we know how overwhelming the crowds are, we felt the bridge swaying heavily over the Tonle Basaac. At breakfast, Wayne told us 3 locals from the community had been victims of the tragedy--and the wat behind us was holding the funeral. It made sense--at around 11 pm last night the wat began playing traditional music, but I didn't make anything of it, wats are occasionally used as functions for parties and other celebrations in the community, in addition to the Water Festival holiday. Several of those around the community had warned us not to go to the festival, but as first time visitors to Cambodia we couldn't resist. After being there this weekend, it was eerie to see how many children and young people had been victims. We'd pointed out how many young Khmer had been at the festival--its known that many travel from all of the provinces to attend. On the news many of the victims had been teenagers and young children.
The children were all aware of the tragedy, the local television stations were showing footage of the bridge and video of last night where hundreds of people were packed and crowded on the bridge. It was unusual to see the children all mesmerized on the television set, watching people crying and screaming piled on top of each other on this bridge. The news footage showed lifeless bodies being dragged out of the pile of corpses. The victims were laid in bags with faces exposed on the streets near the site where families can claim their loved ones. Hospitals in Phnom Penh listed names and pictures of victims outside where relatives can identify those lost. I was troubled because a lot of the children are not entirely orphaned--they have families and relatives who are still alive, but are under care here because of their illnesses and no one can support them. With over 330 killed, it was easy to imagine why so many of the kids were somber and unable to blink while watching the television. We may receive word if any loved ones were lost, but it would be some time before that would happen. For the festival, some of the older boys had gone with their families in Phnom Penh to celebrate, and last night when the news hit several of the caretakers were in a frenzy. Thankfully, we received word that although all three were at the festival, none were involved in the stampede and were safe. Soon it was lunchtime and the kids moved to the cafeteria. We discussed some of the latest news that had come from the tragedy, which now the Prime Minister was offering reparations to the families who lost loved ones in the stampede--$2,500 US to each victim.
The children resumed their regular play, and I was glad the dark air around the Water Festival tragedy had subsided. After dinner it was time for English class. I'd asked the previous volunteer what kind of lessons she had been giving the children--the alphabet, sounds of the alphabet, consonants and vowels, and pronunciation. There were so many resources and books in the schoolhouse library that I could use as well, many donated from the states. I grouped the children up in one classroom from ages 5 to 10. I began with today's date, and the children copy onto paper. Many know how to write the English alphabet, while other had a harder time. I drew and acted out some faces to show emotions happy, sad, angry and scared as well as helped pronounce the words. Everyone did really well, and I was glad they had a mild understanding of the alphabet and pronunciation. I got some advice from Wayne, who hopes to put up a computer lab in the schoolhouse, that there are internet resources available for language instruction and he suggests teaching computer classes to some of the older children.
That night after medicine, the children watched more footage of the stampede. There also began a telethon to collect donations from viewers to raise funds for the victims. They weren't as engrossed in the news--some of the older boys began playing soccer with the shoes outside again and the girls had an enormous string of rubber band and were playing a game doing cartwheels into the band. The compensation had raised to about $3,000 per victim but we were expecting the death toll to rise as more people were found in the river below, and at hospitals. It was reported no foreigners had been on the bridge, but the news had hit back home and my family was worried--Facebook is a dangerous thing, you post one status about your excitement for Water Festival and everyone's nervous. I assumed the kids wouldn't have school tomorrow either, as funerals and other plans were being made, so I was going to have my hands full.
The children were all aware of the tragedy, the local television stations were showing footage of the bridge and video of last night where hundreds of people were packed and crowded on the bridge. It was unusual to see the children all mesmerized on the television set, watching people crying and screaming piled on top of each other on this bridge. The news footage showed lifeless bodies being dragged out of the pile of corpses. The victims were laid in bags with faces exposed on the streets near the site where families can claim their loved ones. Hospitals in Phnom Penh listed names and pictures of victims outside where relatives can identify those lost. I was troubled because a lot of the children are not entirely orphaned--they have families and relatives who are still alive, but are under care here because of their illnesses and no one can support them. With over 330 killed, it was easy to imagine why so many of the kids were somber and unable to blink while watching the television. We may receive word if any loved ones were lost, but it would be some time before that would happen. For the festival, some of the older boys had gone with their families in Phnom Penh to celebrate, and last night when the news hit several of the caretakers were in a frenzy. Thankfully, we received word that although all three were at the festival, none were involved in the stampede and were safe. Soon it was lunchtime and the kids moved to the cafeteria. We discussed some of the latest news that had come from the tragedy, which now the Prime Minister was offering reparations to the families who lost loved ones in the stampede--$2,500 US to each victim.
The children resumed their regular play, and I was glad the dark air around the Water Festival tragedy had subsided. After dinner it was time for English class. I'd asked the previous volunteer what kind of lessons she had been giving the children--the alphabet, sounds of the alphabet, consonants and vowels, and pronunciation. There were so many resources and books in the schoolhouse library that I could use as well, many donated from the states. I grouped the children up in one classroom from ages 5 to 10. I began with today's date, and the children copy onto paper. Many know how to write the English alphabet, while other had a harder time. I drew and acted out some faces to show emotions happy, sad, angry and scared as well as helped pronounce the words. Everyone did really well, and I was glad they had a mild understanding of the alphabet and pronunciation. I got some advice from Wayne, who hopes to put up a computer lab in the schoolhouse, that there are internet resources available for language instruction and he suggests teaching computer classes to some of the older children.
That night after medicine, the children watched more footage of the stampede. There also began a telethon to collect donations from viewers to raise funds for the victims. They weren't as engrossed in the news--some of the older boys began playing soccer with the shoes outside again and the girls had an enormous string of rubber band and were playing a game doing cartwheels into the band. The compensation had raised to about $3,000 per victim but we were expecting the death toll to rise as more people were found in the river below, and at hospitals. It was reported no foreigners had been on the bridge, but the news had hit back home and my family was worried--Facebook is a dangerous thing, you post one status about your excitement for Water Festival and everyone's nervous. I assumed the kids wouldn't have school tomorrow either, as funerals and other plans were being made, so I was going to have my hands full.
November 22
Today is Monday and the start of another week at Wat Opot. I slept so soundly all this weekend, as the construction of the high rise condos across the street from us had ceased for the Water Festival. We headed to Lucky Supermarket to pick up some goodies for our days at Wat Opot and also some breakfast. Next door was the Lucky Burger and Cafe where I bought a latte and a Portuguese tart for under $4. I felt so spoiled in this moment, having every American supermarket item at my fingertips, the option of picking up the American newspapers, getting a latte and pastry, shopping for discount designer clothes--all luxuries I could have at home. I really have been deprived, but its been a good feeling.
We called a tuk tuk around noon to take us out to Takeo. There was not as much traffic this early, thankfully as congestion out to the provinces would have been a nightmare. We are both still a little shaken from last nights events and we're glad to be out of Phnom Penh for a while. When we got to the orphanage, the little ones were so excited to see us. They all ran aboard the tuk tuk and helped carry our backpacks to the volunteer house. It was pretty sad to see how they all were asking for the volunteer that left. All day they were asking where she had gone, and if she was still in Phnom Penh. I struggled in Khmer to tell them she left to America and will be back in January, but they dont understand the geography of where America is and where in relation to Cambodia. Because I love geography, I'll be sure to point out the difference on a map.
We gave little Kunthea another bath today, and the scabs have stopped weeping. She is in much better spirits and isn't wearing the kroma as often as before. I'd only been gone two days, but I really missed these kids so much. It was so cute how they shouted our names and were completely freaking out that we were back. No one was in school today, as it was the last day of the Water Festival. That night after dinner, the kids--always inventing new things to do, had a dance party inside of the cafeteria area, which has an enormous entertainment system and karaoke. Some one put the same CD of Khmer pop music playing on the bus when I'd first arrived at Wat Opot, and the kids all had their own unique ways of dancing and expressing themselves. It was adorable to see the little ones wiggling around and holding hands. Then it was time for medicine and all the little ones walked over to the dormitories, grabbed their snacks and crowded around the tv (tu ra tus in Khmer) for an hour before bed. The dormitory has a huge bright light outside of it at night, which often beckons some large lizards, crickets, frogs and other bugs from the grasses and ponds around the building. My little adventurers have invented a game in which they grab the largest of the crickets and frogs and putting them down the volunteers' shirts and in our hair. Its all in good fun, the kids know we dislike them and they don't mean to insult us--but its terribly frightening. As a good tactic with children, never let them see your fear. The first time 8 year old Tee put a cricket on my shoulder, I mustered every inclination to shriek and run away; instead picking the little bug off and setting him on the ground. I was pretty proud of myself, and hoped I'd have the same courage when it was my turn to feel the misfortune of having a baby frog down my blouse as another volunteer had tonight.
As Korean pop music videos played on the tv and we lay the kids down in their beds, it was so easy to see how similar these kids are to kids back home. It made absolutely no difference where they came from, what their stories are--they love the same things kids their age would love back home, they play the same games, and share the same curiosities, sense of humor, rebellion and wit--if not more brilliantly than kids in the states. Tomorrow I plan to teach English all alone for the first time and I want to make the lessons enjoyable--if not I wont be able to catch up with these kids.
We called a tuk tuk around noon to take us out to Takeo. There was not as much traffic this early, thankfully as congestion out to the provinces would have been a nightmare. We are both still a little shaken from last nights events and we're glad to be out of Phnom Penh for a while. When we got to the orphanage, the little ones were so excited to see us. They all ran aboard the tuk tuk and helped carry our backpacks to the volunteer house. It was pretty sad to see how they all were asking for the volunteer that left. All day they were asking where she had gone, and if she was still in Phnom Penh. I struggled in Khmer to tell them she left to America and will be back in January, but they dont understand the geography of where America is and where in relation to Cambodia. Because I love geography, I'll be sure to point out the difference on a map.
We gave little Kunthea another bath today, and the scabs have stopped weeping. She is in much better spirits and isn't wearing the kroma as often as before. I'd only been gone two days, but I really missed these kids so much. It was so cute how they shouted our names and were completely freaking out that we were back. No one was in school today, as it was the last day of the Water Festival. That night after dinner, the kids--always inventing new things to do, had a dance party inside of the cafeteria area, which has an enormous entertainment system and karaoke. Some one put the same CD of Khmer pop music playing on the bus when I'd first arrived at Wat Opot, and the kids all had their own unique ways of dancing and expressing themselves. It was adorable to see the little ones wiggling around and holding hands. Then it was time for medicine and all the little ones walked over to the dormitories, grabbed their snacks and crowded around the tv (tu ra tus in Khmer) for an hour before bed. The dormitory has a huge bright light outside of it at night, which often beckons some large lizards, crickets, frogs and other bugs from the grasses and ponds around the building. My little adventurers have invented a game in which they grab the largest of the crickets and frogs and putting them down the volunteers' shirts and in our hair. Its all in good fun, the kids know we dislike them and they don't mean to insult us--but its terribly frightening. As a good tactic with children, never let them see your fear. The first time 8 year old Tee put a cricket on my shoulder, I mustered every inclination to shriek and run away; instead picking the little bug off and setting him on the ground. I was pretty proud of myself, and hoped I'd have the same courage when it was my turn to feel the misfortune of having a baby frog down my blouse as another volunteer had tonight.
As Korean pop music videos played on the tv and we lay the kids down in their beds, it was so easy to see how similar these kids are to kids back home. It made absolutely no difference where they came from, what their stories are--they love the same things kids their age would love back home, they play the same games, and share the same curiosities, sense of humor, rebellion and wit--if not more brilliantly than kids in the states. Tomorrow I plan to teach English all alone for the first time and I want to make the lessons enjoyable--if not I wont be able to catch up with these kids.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
November 21
This Sunday morning I woke and brunched in preparation for another day out exploring Phnom Penh in its Water Festival glory before trekking out to Takeo to Wat Opot. I've become accustomed to seeing the various kinds of beggars in Phnom Penh and the goods or services that one can show off to westerners for a few riel. This morning at brunch, a blind man came to the entryway of the restaurant led by a small boy. He stopped right at the entry and pulled out a small flute and began playing. The restaurant was scarcely occupied, we were one of two other groups there. About 2 minutes into the man's song, the waitress walked over and handed the man a note, I couldn't see how much. The man stopped mid-note and quickly put the money in his pocket. Shortly after, the Italian tourist group behind us sent one of its patrons to make an offering to the man and he also scurried to put the note in his pocket. After this, he put his flute back in its container and walked away with the boy. I hadn't given any contribution, and realized it was funny he had not finished his song just yet but took his money and walked away.
The afternoon of boutique shopping was less congested than yesterday's hunt at the mall, but I was still disappointed at the lack of sizes in many of the shops. It seemed that even if I found anything cheap from H&M it may not even fit. I didn't give up hope, since many of the boutiques were closed for the Water Festival. We'd heard of a huge market and festival near the waterfront near the casinos. This area is notorious since only several years ago it was the site of one of Phnom Penh's biggest slum areas. The land was bulldozed and thousands of people were evacuated and relocated to other areas. Now the land is being commercially developed and is the site of festivals, conventions and other commerce that would encourage tourism to the casino and waterfront area. Seeing this land one could not imagine it one was a slum. Stalls for international brands like Revlon, L'Oreal, Pepsi Cola and others ran promotional events and gave free samples. Some stalls had games and contests for people. All of the major beers of southeast Asia, Angkor, Lao, Singha, Leo, Angkor were there selling beers at a fraction of the retail price and giving out free merchandise. Some cigarette companies also had stalls, with Khmer women dolled up in skimpy costumes giving out free cigarettes.
After sampling beers and grabbing free hats, we crossed a pedestrian bridge to an island of sorts where more markets and a carnival were taking place. Below were children playing in the river, taking naked dives and swimming through reeds as if oblivious to the thousands of people that could see them. There was a ferris wheel set up, and I was a little disappointed it had not been working. Nonetheless, there was a small roller coaster going and I was so eager to hop on. Its not uncommon for people to try to skip in line (theres never a queue in a public restroom, in a shop, fast food, etc.) but it was comical to see the huge crowd of people at the entrance of the roller coaster, all too afraid to go up and board. When the next group could get on the coaster, everyone refused and we simply jumped on. It was $2! I was a bit surprised, and did not feel like I got my money's worth. Riding in a dinosaur in circles just getting whiplash when I've already had too many beers is not an experience to write home about. After the dizzying kiddie ride, we walked some more and discovered a complex of buildings, all designed exactly the same from the exterior. The buildings looked like a shopping center, except there was no place for retail signage at the entrances. Each had a letter from A to Z and all looked unoccupied. We assumed they were unfinished office complexes or perhaps had some affiliation with the casinos across the small bridge.
Seeing nothing else to do on this island, we walked back over the bridge to the Phnom Penh side of things. We were bored and tired of walking in the hot sun just drinking beers and looking at things we would not buy, so we decided to go into Phnom Penh's most posh casino, NagaWorld. Despite a name that likens the latest Japanese cartoon craze, Nagaworld is a mega hotel casino complex that must have about 50 stories. Inside its lobby is an enormous koi pond, chandeliers and as we entered noticed about a 20 foot Christmas tree being decorated by casino employees with giant glass ornaments and garland. It also has a reputation for excluding Khmer people. The casino is not Cambodian owned, and a lot of the signs throughout were in English, Chinese, Korean or Vietnamese. The other volunteer traveling with me is of Chinese descent and commented on seeing very many Chinese people in the casino, hearing a lot of the gamblers speaking Chinese.
As a 20 year old, visibly not legal and walking into a casino in a tank blouse wearing fake Ray bans and holding a 40 cent can of Sing-ha beer, I was clearly not in a position to gamble nor give any business to Nagaworld. However I was never stopped or asked any questions, because westerners are always welcome. I knew my getup was ridiculous, but I pretended to have some intention of gambling so I played $1 in slots and came up dry. Oh well. My other traveler won about $2 and courageously asked for her earnings. One of the short skirted attendants came over and forked over under $1.50 in riel. When we inquired why we were short changed, we were told the exchange rate is 3,000 riel to the dollar, instead of the standard 4,000. Factor in some casino tricky work and you get short changed. Interestingly, the language barrier was pretty thin and two women who speak English got lost in translation. The explanation came in Mandarin, which it seems everyone speaks here.
After losing $1 and drinking too much cheap beer, it was time for dinner. The crowds had intensely accumulated and walking to the restaurants was almost unbearable. However, we found a tourist place serving Khmer dishes and settled there. Afterwards, outside of the restaurant was a woman selling cockroaches, crickets, larvae, snake, spider, and broiled chicks from a cart. We walked to a tourist trap of a bar and lounge, the FCC. Originally a post for journalists to hang out and drink its now a posh hangout for expats and tourists. Around the time we arrived, the fireworks had begun and people sat taking photos on the lounge of the boats below. An hour later, two drinks down each, evading one creepy expat hitting on us we still had not gotten the bill. Perhaps it was one too many bad Asian beers, that spin on the kiddie coaster or a subpar bowl of noodles but we shamelessly stood up and walked out of the bar without incident.
I'd hoped our dine and dash wasn't bringing us bad karma in a land where everyone is Buddhist. As we headed home on Sihanouk, one of the large boulevards in Phnom Penh en route to the apartment we hit a dead end. An enormous crowd of people, maybe about 2,000 had been congested at the intersection. On top of which, all of the motos and tuk tuks which had tipped the police earlier were now leaving the riverfront. In a massive crowd of thousands of people, motos and tuk tuks were increasingly squeezed together in this tight space. At first, I thought as in New York the crowd would disperse as people began to orderly file into different directions. However, as the crowd pushed and pushed more I saw overhead those in front of me. There was no traffic accident, it was simply an incredible amount of congestion caused by the thousands of people that were leaving this venue. Standing in the same place for about 20 minutes, the bodies pushed on top of mine felt like an inferno. I was panicking, I knew a few more pushes could get very dangerous. As a few motos tried to weave in front of me and the millimeters between the person in front of me, I feared burning my legs with it's exhaust pipe. The most troublesome was hearing a few shrieks of panic and seeing a man carry a small girl whose body seemed lifeless above the crowd as everyone moved aside to make room. I turned around to watch where the child was being taken to, and what I saw gave my body chills. A group of men were carrying a body bag above their heads back down Sihanouk. Immediately, I knew we had to leave. There were only a few people behind us, and we made our way out trying to find an alternate route to the apartment. It didn't matter where we went, the entire city was roadblocked. It was a scary and unforgettable situation, the thousands of people that were all around us. Motos were trying to pass in front of people, cutting of groups and mothers and children. It was complete chaos and I hoped I would get back to the apartment without injury. What should have been about a 20 minute walk took more than an hour to get home. It's incredible how crowded the festival was, it really proved why there were not more tourists there. I was so thankful I was able to get home without incident. Once again, its seems 50 cent spirit has made me nimble and evade a troublesome situation! That was a joke, mom.
The afternoon of boutique shopping was less congested than yesterday's hunt at the mall, but I was still disappointed at the lack of sizes in many of the shops. It seemed that even if I found anything cheap from H&M it may not even fit. I didn't give up hope, since many of the boutiques were closed for the Water Festival. We'd heard of a huge market and festival near the waterfront near the casinos. This area is notorious since only several years ago it was the site of one of Phnom Penh's biggest slum areas. The land was bulldozed and thousands of people were evacuated and relocated to other areas. Now the land is being commercially developed and is the site of festivals, conventions and other commerce that would encourage tourism to the casino and waterfront area. Seeing this land one could not imagine it one was a slum. Stalls for international brands like Revlon, L'Oreal, Pepsi Cola and others ran promotional events and gave free samples. Some stalls had games and contests for people. All of the major beers of southeast Asia, Angkor, Lao, Singha, Leo, Angkor were there selling beers at a fraction of the retail price and giving out free merchandise. Some cigarette companies also had stalls, with Khmer women dolled up in skimpy costumes giving out free cigarettes.
After sampling beers and grabbing free hats, we crossed a pedestrian bridge to an island of sorts where more markets and a carnival were taking place. Below were children playing in the river, taking naked dives and swimming through reeds as if oblivious to the thousands of people that could see them. There was a ferris wheel set up, and I was a little disappointed it had not been working. Nonetheless, there was a small roller coaster going and I was so eager to hop on. Its not uncommon for people to try to skip in line (theres never a queue in a public restroom, in a shop, fast food, etc.) but it was comical to see the huge crowd of people at the entrance of the roller coaster, all too afraid to go up and board. When the next group could get on the coaster, everyone refused and we simply jumped on. It was $2! I was a bit surprised, and did not feel like I got my money's worth. Riding in a dinosaur in circles just getting whiplash when I've already had too many beers is not an experience to write home about. After the dizzying kiddie ride, we walked some more and discovered a complex of buildings, all designed exactly the same from the exterior. The buildings looked like a shopping center, except there was no place for retail signage at the entrances. Each had a letter from A to Z and all looked unoccupied. We assumed they were unfinished office complexes or perhaps had some affiliation with the casinos across the small bridge.
Seeing nothing else to do on this island, we walked back over the bridge to the Phnom Penh side of things. We were bored and tired of walking in the hot sun just drinking beers and looking at things we would not buy, so we decided to go into Phnom Penh's most posh casino, NagaWorld. Despite a name that likens the latest Japanese cartoon craze, Nagaworld is a mega hotel casino complex that must have about 50 stories. Inside its lobby is an enormous koi pond, chandeliers and as we entered noticed about a 20 foot Christmas tree being decorated by casino employees with giant glass ornaments and garland. It also has a reputation for excluding Khmer people. The casino is not Cambodian owned, and a lot of the signs throughout were in English, Chinese, Korean or Vietnamese. The other volunteer traveling with me is of Chinese descent and commented on seeing very many Chinese people in the casino, hearing a lot of the gamblers speaking Chinese.
As a 20 year old, visibly not legal and walking into a casino in a tank blouse wearing fake Ray bans and holding a 40 cent can of Sing-ha beer, I was clearly not in a position to gamble nor give any business to Nagaworld. However I was never stopped or asked any questions, because westerners are always welcome. I knew my getup was ridiculous, but I pretended to have some intention of gambling so I played $1 in slots and came up dry. Oh well. My other traveler won about $2 and courageously asked for her earnings. One of the short skirted attendants came over and forked over under $1.50 in riel. When we inquired why we were short changed, we were told the exchange rate is 3,000 riel to the dollar, instead of the standard 4,000. Factor in some casino tricky work and you get short changed. Interestingly, the language barrier was pretty thin and two women who speak English got lost in translation. The explanation came in Mandarin, which it seems everyone speaks here.
After losing $1 and drinking too much cheap beer, it was time for dinner. The crowds had intensely accumulated and walking to the restaurants was almost unbearable. However, we found a tourist place serving Khmer dishes and settled there. Afterwards, outside of the restaurant was a woman selling cockroaches, crickets, larvae, snake, spider, and broiled chicks from a cart. We walked to a tourist trap of a bar and lounge, the FCC. Originally a post for journalists to hang out and drink its now a posh hangout for expats and tourists. Around the time we arrived, the fireworks had begun and people sat taking photos on the lounge of the boats below. An hour later, two drinks down each, evading one creepy expat hitting on us we still had not gotten the bill. Perhaps it was one too many bad Asian beers, that spin on the kiddie coaster or a subpar bowl of noodles but we shamelessly stood up and walked out of the bar without incident.
I'd hoped our dine and dash wasn't bringing us bad karma in a land where everyone is Buddhist. As we headed home on Sihanouk, one of the large boulevards in Phnom Penh en route to the apartment we hit a dead end. An enormous crowd of people, maybe about 2,000 had been congested at the intersection. On top of which, all of the motos and tuk tuks which had tipped the police earlier were now leaving the riverfront. In a massive crowd of thousands of people, motos and tuk tuks were increasingly squeezed together in this tight space. At first, I thought as in New York the crowd would disperse as people began to orderly file into different directions. However, as the crowd pushed and pushed more I saw overhead those in front of me. There was no traffic accident, it was simply an incredible amount of congestion caused by the thousands of people that were leaving this venue. Standing in the same place for about 20 minutes, the bodies pushed on top of mine felt like an inferno. I was panicking, I knew a few more pushes could get very dangerous. As a few motos tried to weave in front of me and the millimeters between the person in front of me, I feared burning my legs with it's exhaust pipe. The most troublesome was hearing a few shrieks of panic and seeing a man carry a small girl whose body seemed lifeless above the crowd as everyone moved aside to make room. I turned around to watch where the child was being taken to, and what I saw gave my body chills. A group of men were carrying a body bag above their heads back down Sihanouk. Immediately, I knew we had to leave. There were only a few people behind us, and we made our way out trying to find an alternate route to the apartment. It didn't matter where we went, the entire city was roadblocked. It was a scary and unforgettable situation, the thousands of people that were all around us. Motos were trying to pass in front of people, cutting of groups and mothers and children. It was complete chaos and I hoped I would get back to the apartment without injury. What should have been about a 20 minute walk took more than an hour to get home. It's incredible how crowded the festival was, it really proved why there were not more tourists there. I was so thankful I was able to get home without incident. Once again, its seems 50 cent spirit has made me nimble and evade a troublesome situation! That was a joke, mom.
November 20
Today we are heading to markets and the riverfront to check out the Water Festival. After brunch, it was Central Market again. This time I could actually look at things without being annoyed by a certain nuisance. I racked up on fake Raybans, fashioned with the actual stickers and tags a real pair of Raybans would have for only $2 each. I love Central Market because its so well organized and heavily frequented by locals and tourists so there are a lot of finds and great things if you look really closely. Like many markets, the sections are by clothes, housewares, shoes, cds and entertainment, and an entire atrium under the main entrance dedicated to jewelry, diamonds, gems and precious stones. I love it for its easy permeability with tourists. I was proud of my Swahili bargaining skills in Tanzania, but Khmer isn't for me and I don't know the numbers yet. However, the vendors are pretty fair and allow me to bargain usually giving me very good prices. Only woman was crazy enough to tell me there was no bargaining in Central Market while I had my purse stuffed with fake sunglasses I'd all bargained for. We laughed and walked away.
Next to the market is a large shopping mall with supermarket, cafe, ice cream shop and many other smaller independently owned stores. There's a chicken and pizza restaurant, as well as a skating rink on the top floors! One of the boutiques we checked out on the lower floor sold clothes from H&M, and as my retail enslavement there paid for my journey here (Cambodia makes most of the clothes in H&M) I thought it would be interesting to see how much (or how little!) the clothes would cost here, presumably those that have 'fallen off of the back of the truck'. I asked the sales woman, who pointed to the ticket labeled $55. I assumed perhaps it was from another currency. 'Dollars?' I asked. And she nodded her head and smiled. I remembered the top from this summer's collection, and it retailed for $17.95. I put it back and laughed my way out. I was pretty disappointed as we kept shopping how small the clothes are! I shopped effortlessly in Tanzania and never had a problem finding clothes or shoes. However, as we browsed a display outside of a store in the mall, a woman leapt out of her shop and looked at me saying 'Sorry madam, I don't make size for you'. Clearly adjusted to the weight I've lost being abroad, I shrugged and kept walking. It was amusing, however something that stateside would be cause for calling a television camera crew and making a production about weight discrimination. The same happened a few stores down with shoes, as I tried on a pair of sandals (labeled 40, however seemingly no larger than a real 36) a woman assured me there were no such shoes that would fit my feet. Right, lady because I came in here barefoot.
The mall was indescribably packed with people. The other volunteers were also amazed how at how many people were there, most likely in attendance for the Water Festival. I made an observation that most of the people in the mall were so young, many seemed to be in their 20's. It wasnt an unlikely observation, it was a mall after all. And the clothes and shops in it seemed to cater to younger crowds, and judging from the Justin Bieber and Akon music playing outside that is who would choose to come in.
Afterwards, we took tuk tuk to Russian Market, called so after Russian tourists (which must have frequented Cambodia at the time?) and a popular place in Phnom Penh for tourists to pick up souvenirs. Approaching the riverfront we saw more congestion on the streets, evident of the festivities tonight for Water Festival. We laughed on the way, as amidst all of the chaos in the intersection a man sneezed and all talking ceased as everyone stared at the noise he had just made. At Russian Market we briefly went in and bought some cd's and our departing volunteer made some last minute souvenir purchases. Soon after, we were at the waterfront. All of the major boulevards had been closed. However, as we walked along the boulevard to the riverfront, we noticed some motos had made their way past the pedestrian clearing point by simply giving the police officer behind the rope a handful of a couple Riels and zooming past. Phnom was clearly a different city that night, walking past the Royal Palace without cars, tuk tuks or buses was really cool. Soon after, we found that the Ministry of Tourism set up a special tent for tourists to view the boat races which signal the start of Water Festival. Its fabled that churning of the waters of the Tonle Bassac change the direction of the river's flow and the start of a new season. The long boats were similar to the Chinese boat races I've seen on television and those done in Queens back home. However, after inspection with binoculars I realized the boats are running with two rows of about 50 men total standing and vigorously rowing in complete synchronization. It was incredible that they could even stand upright at the speed they were moving. There were other tourists in the tent, where free booklets of the festival's history were being given out. Besides a minor, and rather unnecessary security point (the five pens and nailclipper I had posed no threat in the metal detector, however they needed to inspect my camera and have me turn it on and off to ensure it was not a bomb) the tent was a great idea.
Bored with the idea of watching people stare at boats, we left and headed to dinner. There are a plethora of places to eat on the riverfront, with the kitsch that often comes in backpacker neighborhoods. The landmark of kitsch and lame tourist food is Happy Herb Pizza. They are famous in the Lonely Planet and even have an outpost in Siem Riep for those hoping to get 'happy' off of their pizza. If you haven't figured it out by now, they marijuana on their pizza. That did not appeal to me as much as the 50 cent draft of Angkor, so off we went. It was bizarre how many people had actually decided to eat there. There were dozens of choices for pizza, and when mine arrived I wasn't moved by the flavors. I could smell the marijuana, but after having the few slices I realized they just put marijuana on mediocre pizza. As we finished our meal, night had fallen and the procession of lit boats had begun on the Tonle Bassac. Fireworks were also on display and tourists were snapping away photos of the lights. We walked down Sisowath Quay to a French restaurant for a few drinks and laughs at drunk tourists.
That night we found the Phnom Penh night market, which was great now that the Water Festival had called locals from all over Cambodia. The market was full of clothes and other goods, not souvenirs. We tried some of the foods from the stalls, and some cane sugar juice. There was a stage in the middle of the market where an act of karaoke singers and performers were dancing to a crowd of about 400 teenage Khmer kids.
We both quickly realized how Khmer centered this festival was. Many of the traditions and events spectators and participants were Cambodians. The music at the night market, the goods being sold, the choice vendors (no one spoke English this time) and among the enormous crowd here we did not see a single westerner. I made away of the market with a full belly, a $2 silver watch for my sister and a Chinese kite for my 4 year old cousin.
It goes without saying we are still on the hunt for more mango and sticky rice, but todays fare did not include the heavenly dessert. However, another regional (if you're speaking of continents) was found---in a Chinese bakery; Chinese pork buns for $1! Needless to say, my wallet and my belly were content with that night's sleep.
Next to the market is a large shopping mall with supermarket, cafe, ice cream shop and many other smaller independently owned stores. There's a chicken and pizza restaurant, as well as a skating rink on the top floors! One of the boutiques we checked out on the lower floor sold clothes from H&M, and as my retail enslavement there paid for my journey here (Cambodia makes most of the clothes in H&M) I thought it would be interesting to see how much (or how little!) the clothes would cost here, presumably those that have 'fallen off of the back of the truck'. I asked the sales woman, who pointed to the ticket labeled $55. I assumed perhaps it was from another currency. 'Dollars?' I asked. And she nodded her head and smiled. I remembered the top from this summer's collection, and it retailed for $17.95. I put it back and laughed my way out. I was pretty disappointed as we kept shopping how small the clothes are! I shopped effortlessly in Tanzania and never had a problem finding clothes or shoes. However, as we browsed a display outside of a store in the mall, a woman leapt out of her shop and looked at me saying 'Sorry madam, I don't make size for you'. Clearly adjusted to the weight I've lost being abroad, I shrugged and kept walking. It was amusing, however something that stateside would be cause for calling a television camera crew and making a production about weight discrimination. The same happened a few stores down with shoes, as I tried on a pair of sandals (labeled 40, however seemingly no larger than a real 36) a woman assured me there were no such shoes that would fit my feet. Right, lady because I came in here barefoot.
The mall was indescribably packed with people. The other volunteers were also amazed how at how many people were there, most likely in attendance for the Water Festival. I made an observation that most of the people in the mall were so young, many seemed to be in their 20's. It wasnt an unlikely observation, it was a mall after all. And the clothes and shops in it seemed to cater to younger crowds, and judging from the Justin Bieber and Akon music playing outside that is who would choose to come in.
Afterwards, we took tuk tuk to Russian Market, called so after Russian tourists (which must have frequented Cambodia at the time?) and a popular place in Phnom Penh for tourists to pick up souvenirs. Approaching the riverfront we saw more congestion on the streets, evident of the festivities tonight for Water Festival. We laughed on the way, as amidst all of the chaos in the intersection a man sneezed and all talking ceased as everyone stared at the noise he had just made. At Russian Market we briefly went in and bought some cd's and our departing volunteer made some last minute souvenir purchases. Soon after, we were at the waterfront. All of the major boulevards had been closed. However, as we walked along the boulevard to the riverfront, we noticed some motos had made their way past the pedestrian clearing point by simply giving the police officer behind the rope a handful of a couple Riels and zooming past. Phnom was clearly a different city that night, walking past the Royal Palace without cars, tuk tuks or buses was really cool. Soon after, we found that the Ministry of Tourism set up a special tent for tourists to view the boat races which signal the start of Water Festival. Its fabled that churning of the waters of the Tonle Bassac change the direction of the river's flow and the start of a new season. The long boats were similar to the Chinese boat races I've seen on television and those done in Queens back home. However, after inspection with binoculars I realized the boats are running with two rows of about 50 men total standing and vigorously rowing in complete synchronization. It was incredible that they could even stand upright at the speed they were moving. There were other tourists in the tent, where free booklets of the festival's history were being given out. Besides a minor, and rather unnecessary security point (the five pens and nailclipper I had posed no threat in the metal detector, however they needed to inspect my camera and have me turn it on and off to ensure it was not a bomb) the tent was a great idea.
Bored with the idea of watching people stare at boats, we left and headed to dinner. There are a plethora of places to eat on the riverfront, with the kitsch that often comes in backpacker neighborhoods. The landmark of kitsch and lame tourist food is Happy Herb Pizza. They are famous in the Lonely Planet and even have an outpost in Siem Riep for those hoping to get 'happy' off of their pizza. If you haven't figured it out by now, they marijuana on their pizza. That did not appeal to me as much as the 50 cent draft of Angkor, so off we went. It was bizarre how many people had actually decided to eat there. There were dozens of choices for pizza, and when mine arrived I wasn't moved by the flavors. I could smell the marijuana, but after having the few slices I realized they just put marijuana on mediocre pizza. As we finished our meal, night had fallen and the procession of lit boats had begun on the Tonle Bassac. Fireworks were also on display and tourists were snapping away photos of the lights. We walked down Sisowath Quay to a French restaurant for a few drinks and laughs at drunk tourists.
That night we found the Phnom Penh night market, which was great now that the Water Festival had called locals from all over Cambodia. The market was full of clothes and other goods, not souvenirs. We tried some of the foods from the stalls, and some cane sugar juice. There was a stage in the middle of the market where an act of karaoke singers and performers were dancing to a crowd of about 400 teenage Khmer kids.
We both quickly realized how Khmer centered this festival was. Many of the traditions and events spectators and participants were Cambodians. The music at the night market, the goods being sold, the choice vendors (no one spoke English this time) and among the enormous crowd here we did not see a single westerner. I made away of the market with a full belly, a $2 silver watch for my sister and a Chinese kite for my 4 year old cousin.
It goes without saying we are still on the hunt for more mango and sticky rice, but todays fare did not include the heavenly dessert. However, another regional (if you're speaking of continents) was found---in a Chinese bakery; Chinese pork buns for $1! Needless to say, my wallet and my belly were content with that night's sleep.
November 19
Today is the last day of the week here at Wat Opot and my first annoyance free time in Phnom Penh! Yay! Again, although it is Friday the kids do not attend school because of the Water Festival since the teachers will not be in attendance. Similar to Tanzania, it seems the teachers have a very relaxed attitude about education--understandably so, with low wages and almost no resources for teaching. Two of the volunteers walked some of the uniformed and ready for school kids to the school this morning, and upon learning school was mostly cancelled one of the teachers that was there offered to take the two Americans down the road back to Wat Opot on his moto. They obviously declined and told him to just teach his class.
After lunch, we said goodbye to the children for the week. It was so cute, they told us they'd miss us so much and we'd only be gone for two days! One volunteer, who has been Cambodia for 4 months had a tough time saying goodbye to the children, especially Kunthea. However I was so happy for her to hear that she had plans on returning long-term next year. Most independent volunteers do end up returning for long term stays, or occasional trips to Wat Opot. Despite being here only 1 week, I think I may inevitably be one of these volunteers. I do plan on returning and visiting more of south Asia and southeast Asia, so why not fly in and visit these amazing kids, maybe when they're a little older?
The tuk tuk ride back was actually better than expected. We'd heard so many bad things about Water Festival this week--its congested and unbearable. However we made it to the apartment, right in the middle of town almost effortlessly. I was glad to enjoy a night of good food and drinks, almost luxuriously, something I had not experienced in Tanzania. I was glad to be spoiled with the amazing restaurants and hotels that were near the apartment. We ate at a great Thai restaurant Setsara, a few streets away, and not in the mood for something terribly spicy I opted for their Italian menu (I guess anywhere you go in the world, there's Italian food, it seems) and had a great plate of pasta alla carbonara, fashioned with a raw egg on top and all. With wine and Angkor beer it was a great meal. I fell in love with a new dessert! I love when I discover a new food addiction--I'd seen it in the Bangkok airport and I wished I'd taken advantage of its availability then. Mango and sticky rice, is a sticky sweet rice cooked in condensed milk and sugar and served on the side with a fresh sweet mango. As an avid rice pudding lover, I was in love. Khmer cuisine doesn't offer very many desserts but this Thai dish is pretty common on menus around Phnom Penh. Across the street is a lounge and guesthouse with a posh lighted pool at night and a cocktail bar. There were tourists swimming and sipping cocktails by the pool--the set looked like an exclusive nightclub in Los Angeles. Although this was not my scene (not even in New York) I was so impressed at the cosmopolitan (no pun intended) life that one can have in Phnom Penh, rather inexpensively by American standards (a good cocktail for $2). This street is pretty much just for expats, the neighborhood itself (NGO Town) is riddled with NGO offices and high rise condominiums for those working for agencies in child protection, HIV/AIDS and the like. It was great that it lacked that certain kitsch that can easily take over places with western food in foreign countries.
I've tried a lot of Khmer food, but I think I can spoil myself with some regional fare--from Thailand, here reguarly. And, the best French restaurant in Cambodia according the Lonely Planet right down the street....I think I know where I will eat tomorrow.
After lunch, we said goodbye to the children for the week. It was so cute, they told us they'd miss us so much and we'd only be gone for two days! One volunteer, who has been Cambodia for 4 months had a tough time saying goodbye to the children, especially Kunthea. However I was so happy for her to hear that she had plans on returning long-term next year. Most independent volunteers do end up returning for long term stays, or occasional trips to Wat Opot. Despite being here only 1 week, I think I may inevitably be one of these volunteers. I do plan on returning and visiting more of south Asia and southeast Asia, so why not fly in and visit these amazing kids, maybe when they're a little older?
The tuk tuk ride back was actually better than expected. We'd heard so many bad things about Water Festival this week--its congested and unbearable. However we made it to the apartment, right in the middle of town almost effortlessly. I was glad to enjoy a night of good food and drinks, almost luxuriously, something I had not experienced in Tanzania. I was glad to be spoiled with the amazing restaurants and hotels that were near the apartment. We ate at a great Thai restaurant Setsara, a few streets away, and not in the mood for something terribly spicy I opted for their Italian menu (I guess anywhere you go in the world, there's Italian food, it seems) and had a great plate of pasta alla carbonara, fashioned with a raw egg on top and all. With wine and Angkor beer it was a great meal. I fell in love with a new dessert! I love when I discover a new food addiction--I'd seen it in the Bangkok airport and I wished I'd taken advantage of its availability then. Mango and sticky rice, is a sticky sweet rice cooked in condensed milk and sugar and served on the side with a fresh sweet mango. As an avid rice pudding lover, I was in love. Khmer cuisine doesn't offer very many desserts but this Thai dish is pretty common on menus around Phnom Penh. Across the street is a lounge and guesthouse with a posh lighted pool at night and a cocktail bar. There were tourists swimming and sipping cocktails by the pool--the set looked like an exclusive nightclub in Los Angeles. Although this was not my scene (not even in New York) I was so impressed at the cosmopolitan (no pun intended) life that one can have in Phnom Penh, rather inexpensively by American standards (a good cocktail for $2). This street is pretty much just for expats, the neighborhood itself (NGO Town) is riddled with NGO offices and high rise condominiums for those working for agencies in child protection, HIV/AIDS and the like. It was great that it lacked that certain kitsch that can easily take over places with western food in foreign countries.
I've tried a lot of Khmer food, but I think I can spoil myself with some regional fare--from Thailand, here reguarly. And, the best French restaurant in Cambodia according the Lonely Planet right down the street....I think I know where I will eat tomorrow.
November 18
Today is the last full this week, and its been a long week! This morning was again the usual, but the kids did not attend school. This weekend is the Water Festival and apparently the teachers give themselves time off at their convenience. It was great to have them around all day, I'm getting a lot better at learning their names and their stories. It's hard to hear how they got here and the lives they had (the stories of which we even know) before they came to Wat Opot. So many of them are so full of life that its difficult to understand how they came to this point from having seen their parents sick and dying, and many of the children lived in the slum areas of Phnom Penh. They really are amazing and inspirational kids and I've loved being around them.
However, I learned today that often those happy personalities become dark and we see sides of them that tell us a bit about their anger. This afternoon one of the children, little Nak decided to run away. I wasn't around for the events preceding him becoming so angry, but I heard he was holding a stick and playing with some kids. Eventually the playing got serious and he began hitting some of the others. One volunteer tried to take the stick away from him but he wouldn't give in. He became so enraged that he ran away, down the road that leads to the main road. We've heard some children have run away, none ever been so serious we could not find them. Occasionally, they run away to cool off and make their way back. I was worried because Nak is only 6 years old. He is positive, and although I don't know his story he is incredibly sweet and one of the most sensitive kids. In English, he is one of the fastest learners and I love him because he is so adorable. It was so sweet to see how the other kids became concerned. All of the little ones followed the volunteers and the older boys on moto down the dirt road. One of the other boys shouted 'Nak ran away, Nak ran away!' It was such a testament to the name children's community. After about an hour of searching, Nak came back on moto. He hadn't made it to the main road, thankfully. Like kids, some of the boys were teasing him and pretending to roundhouse kick him as he sat stone faced on the ground outside of the dormitory. Even me, as I'd held him that very morning in the bead room, he did not want to look me in the face. This is unlike any tantrum for any kid I'd ever babysat in my life. It was so strange to see a boy so small so enraged and angry. However, from hearing everyone else's accounts of how often this can happen, I knew that as soon as he cooled off he would be back to normal. And by dinner, he was.
After dinner we took Kunthea back to the volunteer quarters to give her another bath. I've noticed these past few days that she often wears a kroma, the traditional scarf worn by many Khmer especially in the fields. Its a thin piece of cotton designed with a blue or red gingham print and usually older women wear them around their heads in the rice paddies. Kunthea uses her kroma as a bonnet to cover her rash. We know this worsens the rash because it doesn't allow it to breathe. However, she seems to be so troubled by the cosmetic part of having the rash that she refuses to remove it. After the bath, we tried to tell her to take the scarf off. The tea tree oil is very refreshing and soothes the rash, so afterward she was without the kroma. We know the love and care that her favorite volunteer gives her makes her more confident and accepted. Its not possible to eliminate ridicule from the other kids, they're children. But I hate that she is so self-conscious about her looks and although this volunteer leaves tomorrow I see how important it is that showing them that we care gives the confidence they need to feel good about themselves.
However, I learned today that often those happy personalities become dark and we see sides of them that tell us a bit about their anger. This afternoon one of the children, little Nak decided to run away. I wasn't around for the events preceding him becoming so angry, but I heard he was holding a stick and playing with some kids. Eventually the playing got serious and he began hitting some of the others. One volunteer tried to take the stick away from him but he wouldn't give in. He became so enraged that he ran away, down the road that leads to the main road. We've heard some children have run away, none ever been so serious we could not find them. Occasionally, they run away to cool off and make their way back. I was worried because Nak is only 6 years old. He is positive, and although I don't know his story he is incredibly sweet and one of the most sensitive kids. In English, he is one of the fastest learners and I love him because he is so adorable. It was so sweet to see how the other kids became concerned. All of the little ones followed the volunteers and the older boys on moto down the dirt road. One of the other boys shouted 'Nak ran away, Nak ran away!' It was such a testament to the name children's community. After about an hour of searching, Nak came back on moto. He hadn't made it to the main road, thankfully. Like kids, some of the boys were teasing him and pretending to roundhouse kick him as he sat stone faced on the ground outside of the dormitory. Even me, as I'd held him that very morning in the bead room, he did not want to look me in the face. This is unlike any tantrum for any kid I'd ever babysat in my life. It was so strange to see a boy so small so enraged and angry. However, from hearing everyone else's accounts of how often this can happen, I knew that as soon as he cooled off he would be back to normal. And by dinner, he was.
After dinner we took Kunthea back to the volunteer quarters to give her another bath. I've noticed these past few days that she often wears a kroma, the traditional scarf worn by many Khmer especially in the fields. Its a thin piece of cotton designed with a blue or red gingham print and usually older women wear them around their heads in the rice paddies. Kunthea uses her kroma as a bonnet to cover her rash. We know this worsens the rash because it doesn't allow it to breathe. However, she seems to be so troubled by the cosmetic part of having the rash that she refuses to remove it. After the bath, we tried to tell her to take the scarf off. The tea tree oil is very refreshing and soothes the rash, so afterward she was without the kroma. We know the love and care that her favorite volunteer gives her makes her more confident and accepted. Its not possible to eliminate ridicule from the other kids, they're children. But I hate that she is so self-conscious about her looks and although this volunteer leaves tomorrow I see how important it is that showing them that we care gives the confidence they need to feel good about themselves.
November 17
Wednesday after lunch, I headed back over to the bead room with a volunteer to work on some jewelry. Little Kunthea was there, and as usual attached to her side. It was pretty adorable how Kunthea copied her every move. Some of the other children were there too. As I mentioned before, some of the children live here with their families, including their parents. Some are very ill and have been living on the campus assuming they will soon not be able to care for their children. One girl's mother was in the bead room with us today, and I've seen her here before. She likes to sing in Khmer, very well I can say and she often supervises the kids as they sit at the table making jewelry. Today I was surprised she looked at little Kunthea and said something to me and the other volunteer in Khmer. I dont speak the language but she was trying to tell me something and she motioned, almost barbarically by scratching the back of her head. She was obviously making fun of Kunthea and making faces at her behind her back. I was really disappointed that an adult would do this to an innocent child, and the other volunteer told her rather assertively that it was ok and under control.
Apparently, this isn't uncommon for people in the community, and perhaps in Khmer culture to comment or ridicule a child or someone who has a condition like this. Kunthea's rash is not making much progress--it weeps pus and smells. I really related to her because when I was about 4 I also had a similar rash. I was really embarrassed and family members would comment on it. Kunthea's case is worse for obvious reasons, because she isn't under constant supervision its difficult to get her to bathe multiple times a day and keep good hygiene. Also, because she is positive I've been told her immunity won't just fight off an infection as easily as someone who is not HIV positive. It was awful to watch her face as this adult woman was making fun of her, and she had no idea. I don't hate the woman for making fun of her, because it is out of ignorance. I know she and her daughter are negative, and it's not clear why she lives here on campus. However, because she does live here, I would think she should know better.
That afternoon, another volunteer and I decided to take a bike ride to town to see if we could find any good food in the stalls at the market. It was about a 20 minute bike ride on the main road towards Phnom Penh. As we made our way down the main road it was amazing the almost immediate transition from rural to semi-urban all with the absence of rice paddies. Suddenly there were more cars and motos and it was difficult, not to mention dangerous to pedal without compromising falling or crashing. We passed one garment factory and I was shocked to see a rickshaw and a truck holding packs of women crammed in the back. It was too far and too much to bike to the market so we retreated and settled at a shop known for its blended drinks. For 50 cents I bought a concoction of jackfruit, papaya, carrot, apple, dragonfruit, some other vegetables, sweetened condensed milk (they love that stuff here), sugar, and of course durian! After its blended and thrown in with some ice, its served in a plastic pouch wrapped in a baggie with ice and a straw is inserted in top. I was told this drink is a medicinal mix (for what ailment I'm not sure) but it was delicious. The durian stood out, but it was not unpleasant. We pedaled down the road some more, and I bought a bag of something that resembled onion rings, or french fried onions for about 30 cents.
When we got back to Wat Opot we sat at the corner shop to get sodas and ice coffees. One of the men there, about in his early 30's teaches art to some of the older boys at the orphanage. He was very well spoken and understood a lot of English. We laughed at how intrigued he was with my hair--even saying I looked African, which I know I do not. It was pretty awful how funny he thought it was that I have thick hair, something I've never had happen to me in my life.
At the campus, the children were getting their faces painted by two other volunteers. They were shouting to the volunteers doing the painting to draw dogs, cats, pandas, tigers and other designs. It was adorable when the kids took hold of the markers and painted each others' faces beautifully without fighting or quarrels. As we ate dinner, the kids played near the picnic table playing leapfrog and some other games I didnt recognize. Where do they learn these games from? We hear that the kids come from all different backgrounds and some have other childhoods before they come to Wat Opot. They go showing each other games, as well as teach each other games they learn at school.
After dinner, it was an English lesson which I was really excited to see. The English lessons are held in the schoolhouse on campus and usually volunteer led. Its not mandatory that the kids attend, but the lessons begin with the ringing of a bell outside of the schoolhouse. Many of the kids come running with notebooks and pens while others wander in at their own accord. Many of the kids know the alphabet and numbers, but have trouble remembering meanings of words in English. Its a challenge to teach English without knowing a few words in Khmer so of course I have to get better.
November 15-16
Monday morning I woke to find that the kids had already made their way to school, and the campus was quiet. Too quiet, however the little ones who stay for the pre-school made their way into the volunteer quarters to play with the toys and harass us. I was told the days' events can easily repeat themselves everyday if one doesn't take much initiative so after lunch (which was frog, I was stoked!) we headed over to the crafts room. I was really impressed with the materials in the bead room. As a beader myself, I knew I would really enjoy spending time with the kids in here. The beads and materials were donated by a woman from New Zealand who runs a jewelry business, who upon visiting Wat Opot decided to contribute materials to the craft room. Seeing the bowls and bins of beads and how excited the kids are, this is an incredibly generous gift.
After the bead room, the other volunteers were working to give a bath to one of the children who is positive had developed a rash on the back of her neck. Her name is Kunthea, she is about six years old and is very attached to one volunteer, who is unfortunately leaving to the states this weekend. The volunteer gave her a bath to remove some of the scabs in the back of Kunthea's neck. It is a pretty bad rash, and we hear that some of the other children make fun of her for it since she scratches it often. Although she is of age to attend school, she has refused to put on her uniform and go because of her rash. Also, some teachers will not allow her in the school for fear that it is contagious, something everyone here seems to agree is not. Kunthea was very brave and never once cringed as we combed scabs out and scrubbed away the dead skin. It looked incredibly painful, but it seems she has been through it before and was very well behaved. After she was done and we applied some tea tree oil, we have her a balloon and she was all smiles.
Tuesday afternoon I again went over the bead room hoping to make a few pieces of jewelry. The jewelry here gets sold to visitors, volunteers or anyone that happens to have a dollar and see something they like. The proceeds go directly to Wat Opot, and some of the older girls who make jewelry receive a portion of revenues from their jewelry sold. Since I had a few hours to spare, I brought some of the kids over so they can make some jewelry. I was amazed at some of their work, I've studied from books so many beading and string techniques and these kids are so skilled without any formal training or studying! A lot of the work many of the children have done is incredibly professional looking, ready to be purchased in just about any boutique in New York.
After the bead room, the other volunteers were working to give a bath to one of the children who is positive had developed a rash on the back of her neck. Her name is Kunthea, she is about six years old and is very attached to one volunteer, who is unfortunately leaving to the states this weekend. The volunteer gave her a bath to remove some of the scabs in the back of Kunthea's neck. It is a pretty bad rash, and we hear that some of the other children make fun of her for it since she scratches it often. Although she is of age to attend school, she has refused to put on her uniform and go because of her rash. Also, some teachers will not allow her in the school for fear that it is contagious, something everyone here seems to agree is not. Kunthea was very brave and never once cringed as we combed scabs out and scrubbed away the dead skin. It looked incredibly painful, but it seems she has been through it before and was very well behaved. After she was done and we applied some tea tree oil, we have her a balloon and she was all smiles.
Tuesday afternoon I again went over the bead room hoping to make a few pieces of jewelry. The jewelry here gets sold to visitors, volunteers or anyone that happens to have a dollar and see something they like. The proceeds go directly to Wat Opot, and some of the older girls who make jewelry receive a portion of revenues from their jewelry sold. Since I had a few hours to spare, I brought some of the kids over so they can make some jewelry. I was amazed at some of their work, I've studied from books so many beading and string techniques and these kids are so skilled without any formal training or studying! A lot of the work many of the children have done is incredibly professional looking, ready to be purchased in just about any boutique in New York.
November 14
Today will be my first full day at Wat Opot. I don't really know what to expect, and my directions weren't exactly the most clear. I know I need to take a lot of initiative, which is very unlike my work in Tanzania so I'll see where today takes me.
The lodging here is pretty sweet, I was really excited I would be a lot more comfortable than some of the guesthouses in Tanzania. However, I was in for a real surprise last night when sleeping without a mosquito net (this area isn't at risk for malaria and there aren't very many mosquitoes, I've heard) I was hit with dozens of little beetles that hang around the dark air when the lights go out. As they hit the ceiling, I would hear them bang around making little pitter patter noises and as they would die of some unknown cause, gravity would take them downwards onto my face and hit me as I lay sleeping. It was pretty disturbing. The next morning I woke to find about 50 dead beetles and various bugs on my sheets and in my hair. I was more amused than upset, it was actually pretty funny.
After lunch, and getting to play with the kids, another volunteer told me about a pre-Angkorian temple nearby, Phnom Chisor. It's not very well known and not too many tourists know about it, although it is listed in the ever ubiquitous Lonely Planet Cambodia. Since it was Sunday and the kids were not in school, we borrowed two of the older boys' bikes and pedaled about an hour through rice paddies to seemingly the only hill in the entire region. It was incredibly picturesque, and I was really excited it was my first look into the countryside of Cambodia. Also, totally unlike Tanzania where any passersby even in a LandCruiser would be greeted by children on the road with 'mzungu!' but Cambodian children shout 'Hello!' I've heard Khmer people often call westerners farong which is a colloquial term for the French. No one yelled that at us, but most people waved and some kids even ran alongside us trying to catch up with the bikes.
When we got there, I was so amazed that this temple had still been standing. It was built in the 11th century and it seemed to be made of sandstone, evidenced as some of the bricks had been eroding. It was truly nothing like I'd ever seen before. I clicked away with my camera trying to capture the beauty of this temple, knowing I sadly had to trek back to Wat Opot soon for dinner. Behind the smaller temple is a steep set of stairs leading up to the hill, where there is an active temple community. We decided we wouldn't go up today, since we had the boys' bikes and didn't want to risk losing them to thieves. However, the temple is beautiful in its antiquated state and just incredibly grand. It sits in between trees right atop the hill and can be seen from far below.
We pedaled back and were in time for dinner. Soon after, the children take their medications at 6pm and take baths. Wayne, the director of Wat Opot showed us some videos of documentaries and a tv special done about the children. It was incredible to see the support these children receive from around the world. From a Korean superstar to Unicef to volunteers and photographers who've visited--the message Wayne wants to put out is that although some of the children are positive, they are still children. I found this approach very different from what Americans often think of children who are afflicted with diseases, especially HIV. Its not terminal in all cases, and often what we see on television in Feed the Children commercials are images of children who are sad, hungry, dirty, and overall in need. The children at Wat Opot are happy, and look and behave no differently than children at home or any other part of the world. I was happy these portrayals of kids with HIV to the rest of the world was supportive of the fact that they are not at fault for their diseases. This is the attitude people should have towards HIV and AIDS for everyone.
After medication, the children have time to watch television. The other volunteers often watch, and I think its great to watch Khmer television. Our tv in the apartment has a lot of international, especially American channels and after being deprived of music for two months I am inclined to just watch MTV (with actual music videos!) for hours on the weekends. Bayon TV and a few other Khmer language channels are really great and I've gotten to really enjoy Khmer music videos. When I left the kids dormitory to go back to the volunteer quarters, I realized one of my shoes was missing. Knowing the kids are pranksters, and also sometimes kick around the shoes outside calling each other Ronaldinho and Pele, I figured perhaps they'd been kicked out of sight. I had another pair of sandals in my bag and thought I'd figure out this mystery tomorrow.
It was great to see more of how Wat Opot is run and learn about the children today. I'm really excited to see more of the countryside, maybe practice some Khmer with the kids!
The lodging here is pretty sweet, I was really excited I would be a lot more comfortable than some of the guesthouses in Tanzania. However, I was in for a real surprise last night when sleeping without a mosquito net (this area isn't at risk for malaria and there aren't very many mosquitoes, I've heard) I was hit with dozens of little beetles that hang around the dark air when the lights go out. As they hit the ceiling, I would hear them bang around making little pitter patter noises and as they would die of some unknown cause, gravity would take them downwards onto my face and hit me as I lay sleeping. It was pretty disturbing. The next morning I woke to find about 50 dead beetles and various bugs on my sheets and in my hair. I was more amused than upset, it was actually pretty funny.
After lunch, and getting to play with the kids, another volunteer told me about a pre-Angkorian temple nearby, Phnom Chisor. It's not very well known and not too many tourists know about it, although it is listed in the ever ubiquitous Lonely Planet Cambodia. Since it was Sunday and the kids were not in school, we borrowed two of the older boys' bikes and pedaled about an hour through rice paddies to seemingly the only hill in the entire region. It was incredibly picturesque, and I was really excited it was my first look into the countryside of Cambodia. Also, totally unlike Tanzania where any passersby even in a LandCruiser would be greeted by children on the road with 'mzungu!' but Cambodian children shout 'Hello!' I've heard Khmer people often call westerners farong which is a colloquial term for the French. No one yelled that at us, but most people waved and some kids even ran alongside us trying to catch up with the bikes.
When we got there, I was so amazed that this temple had still been standing. It was built in the 11th century and it seemed to be made of sandstone, evidenced as some of the bricks had been eroding. It was truly nothing like I'd ever seen before. I clicked away with my camera trying to capture the beauty of this temple, knowing I sadly had to trek back to Wat Opot soon for dinner. Behind the smaller temple is a steep set of stairs leading up to the hill, where there is an active temple community. We decided we wouldn't go up today, since we had the boys' bikes and didn't want to risk losing them to thieves. However, the temple is beautiful in its antiquated state and just incredibly grand. It sits in between trees right atop the hill and can be seen from far below.
We pedaled back and were in time for dinner. Soon after, the children take their medications at 6pm and take baths. Wayne, the director of Wat Opot showed us some videos of documentaries and a tv special done about the children. It was incredible to see the support these children receive from around the world. From a Korean superstar to Unicef to volunteers and photographers who've visited--the message Wayne wants to put out is that although some of the children are positive, they are still children. I found this approach very different from what Americans often think of children who are afflicted with diseases, especially HIV. Its not terminal in all cases, and often what we see on television in Feed the Children commercials are images of children who are sad, hungry, dirty, and overall in need. The children at Wat Opot are happy, and look and behave no differently than children at home or any other part of the world. I was happy these portrayals of kids with HIV to the rest of the world was supportive of the fact that they are not at fault for their diseases. This is the attitude people should have towards HIV and AIDS for everyone.
After medication, the children have time to watch television. The other volunteers often watch, and I think its great to watch Khmer television. Our tv in the apartment has a lot of international, especially American channels and after being deprived of music for two months I am inclined to just watch MTV (with actual music videos!) for hours on the weekends. Bayon TV and a few other Khmer language channels are really great and I've gotten to really enjoy Khmer music videos. When I left the kids dormitory to go back to the volunteer quarters, I realized one of my shoes was missing. Knowing the kids are pranksters, and also sometimes kick around the shoes outside calling each other Ronaldinho and Pele, I figured perhaps they'd been kicked out of sight. I had another pair of sandals in my bag and thought I'd figure out this mystery tomorrow.
It was great to see more of how Wat Opot is run and learn about the children today. I'm really excited to see more of the countryside, maybe practice some Khmer with the kids!
Monday, December 20, 2010
November 13
Its Saturday and almost a full week in Cambodia. Today I took the bus out towards Takeo Province to begin a full week at Wat Opot. The bus station isn't too far from the apartment, right in the middle of town. I was glad there was a mini mart right near the waiting area and got my fix of an iced coffee and doughnut. Here in Cambodia, iced coffee is really unique. They prepare it with black coffee, ice, and at the bottom of the glass is a layer of sweetened condensed milk. Sweetened condensed milk is a huge favorite in my house, we use it in desserts, drinks, and sometimes late at night when mom is asleep right out of the can with a spoon. I love coffee this way, and its definitely a recipe coming home with me. On the bus, I was glad I would be riding comfortably. The bus had cushioned seats, air conditioning, and really catchy Khmer music playing. As we waited to leave, there were vendors selling cooked food outside of our window; cooked veggies in rice in a tiny styrofoam container. While the bus drove down the bumpy streets to Takeo I realized how entirely different this experience was than just a week ago I was in Tanzania. The style of music playing on the radio, the customs of the people around me, the smells of the foods everyone was eating, and the views from outside of my window. It was nothing like one would see or imagine of Asia on television. On the way, the bus stopped at a presumably popular bread shop where everyone departed the bus and bought dozens of loaves of French bread. The woman and child sitting beside me offered me some. I politely refused, I didn't know if I would like it and its a bit much to take away an entire loaf of bread from a mother and child.
When we arrived at Wat Opot, one of the boys came to pick me up from the road on a moto. I hadn't ridden on motorcycle in ages and with my large duffel was afraid I'd fall off. But I was in good hands, and taken up a bumpy dirt road towards the orphanage. The other volunteers were already in and settled, and the guest house looked like much better quarters than I'd had in Tanzania so I was pretty impressed. Soon after I arrived it was lunch time, and we sat on a picnic table right here on the campus. The food was so delicious, further enhanced by the little ones running around and calling our attention as we ate. These kids are so sweet and playful and I couldn't help but laugh at how cute they are.
Every Saturday they have planned to visit the wat (Khmer word for Buddhist temple) behind the orphanage for meditation and prayer. As I made my way back to the volunteer quarters before going to the wat, some of the children were playing right outside of our door. I would soon find out that this is not uncommon. One of the little ones had been crying and the others seemed to be teasing him. I hate seeing babies cry, its one of my weaknesses and I picked him up and tossed him up in the air. He had the most adorable smile, and covered his little face to stifle his laughs while I threw him up in the air in embarrassment for his sudden change of emotions. His name was Chai, and he's also positive with HIV. He was so sweet, he did not want me to put him down while we went to the wat with the other kids. Inside of the wat, the children sat lined in rows before the Buddha crossed legged. The kids chanted in Buddhist prayer and then sang a Christian song. I looked around at their faces and they all seemed so immersed into their prayers. After the prayer at the wat, it was time for a meeting. The kids are warned against stealing and about washing up regularly. Little Chai sat next to me during the meeting, smiling and pointing to his t shirt which was dirty from playing outside.
Soon it was dinnertime and there was preparation for an event at the wat. There was traditional Khmer music playing throughout the afternoon. As night fell we headed over with a bunch of the kids, who were excitedly clutching spending money. I had no idea what celebration was in place, but it was great to see so many people in the community come out to the wat. There were prayers inside of the pagoda, but food stalls were already beginning to set up. There was an enormous screen set up for a film and when we arrived there were Khmer music videos playing and the villagers were seated on the grass watching. I decided to nosh on the snacks and noticed there was absolutely nothing recognizable. There was one woman cooking discs made of rice flour over an open fire. As they cooked the dough became flat and crispy. There was another food stall where a woman making a "sandwich" with a baguette and sweetened condensed milk and nothing else! I tried everything, and was really excited to have a pork bun. This was such a nice event, there were vendors selling fruits, nuts and the movie seemed to be a huge hit with the kids. I'd heard this event has in the past attracted gangs who've started trouble by starting fights. Thankfully, tonight when on without incidence and the kids were so happy.
As we walked around that night I realized it was refreshing to be able to walk around at night, unlike Tanzania where I was always on edge. I enjoyed another iced coffee at a local store down the road, and we all shrieked when a huge rat passed right under us. There isn't a set time to get up, however the children take their ARV's early in the morning so they will be up and running around. I loved spending time here today, and am excited for the rest of the week!
When we arrived at Wat Opot, one of the boys came to pick me up from the road on a moto. I hadn't ridden on motorcycle in ages and with my large duffel was afraid I'd fall off. But I was in good hands, and taken up a bumpy dirt road towards the orphanage. The other volunteers were already in and settled, and the guest house looked like much better quarters than I'd had in Tanzania so I was pretty impressed. Soon after I arrived it was lunch time, and we sat on a picnic table right here on the campus. The food was so delicious, further enhanced by the little ones running around and calling our attention as we ate. These kids are so sweet and playful and I couldn't help but laugh at how cute they are.
Every Saturday they have planned to visit the wat (Khmer word for Buddhist temple) behind the orphanage for meditation and prayer. As I made my way back to the volunteer quarters before going to the wat, some of the children were playing right outside of our door. I would soon find out that this is not uncommon. One of the little ones had been crying and the others seemed to be teasing him. I hate seeing babies cry, its one of my weaknesses and I picked him up and tossed him up in the air. He had the most adorable smile, and covered his little face to stifle his laughs while I threw him up in the air in embarrassment for his sudden change of emotions. His name was Chai, and he's also positive with HIV. He was so sweet, he did not want me to put him down while we went to the wat with the other kids. Inside of the wat, the children sat lined in rows before the Buddha crossed legged. The kids chanted in Buddhist prayer and then sang a Christian song. I looked around at their faces and they all seemed so immersed into their prayers. After the prayer at the wat, it was time for a meeting. The kids are warned against stealing and about washing up regularly. Little Chai sat next to me during the meeting, smiling and pointing to his t shirt which was dirty from playing outside.
Soon it was dinnertime and there was preparation for an event at the wat. There was traditional Khmer music playing throughout the afternoon. As night fell we headed over with a bunch of the kids, who were excitedly clutching spending money. I had no idea what celebration was in place, but it was great to see so many people in the community come out to the wat. There were prayers inside of the pagoda, but food stalls were already beginning to set up. There was an enormous screen set up for a film and when we arrived there were Khmer music videos playing and the villagers were seated on the grass watching. I decided to nosh on the snacks and noticed there was absolutely nothing recognizable. There was one woman cooking discs made of rice flour over an open fire. As they cooked the dough became flat and crispy. There was another food stall where a woman making a "sandwich" with a baguette and sweetened condensed milk and nothing else! I tried everything, and was really excited to have a pork bun. This was such a nice event, there were vendors selling fruits, nuts and the movie seemed to be a huge hit with the kids. I'd heard this event has in the past attracted gangs who've started trouble by starting fights. Thankfully, tonight when on without incidence and the kids were so happy.
As we walked around that night I realized it was refreshing to be able to walk around at night, unlike Tanzania where I was always on edge. I enjoyed another iced coffee at a local store down the road, and we all shrieked when a huge rat passed right under us. There isn't a set time to get up, however the children take their ARV's early in the morning so they will be up and running around. I loved spending time here today, and am excited for the rest of the week!
November 12
Today was the last Khmer lesson in the morning, and I was glad. I'm all for being able to speak the language when you go somewhere, but Khmer is really hard and I really just need to practice. Afterwards, I had some free time to browse the internet and work on some logistics until that afternoon it was off to tour the Royal Palace/Silver Pagoda. It's the biggest tourist attraction in town, and although I have no idea anything about it's history I decided I'd feign excitement and go along. When we arrived, I wasn't surprised. Its, well.....a palace. The gates are heralded with two uniformed guards (copying Buckingham palace?) and a sign to keep walking to walk to the ticket booth. The line was pretty long, all tourists with big Nikon cameras hyped to take pictures of the pretty Khmer architecture. I noticed a number of people occasionally making their way back out, and I was worried they were saying the place was closed or packed to capacity or something. As I made my way to the front booth, there was an enormous sign indicating which styles of dress were appropriate for entry and which were not. Of course, people are getting kicked out for showing up in tank tops and short skirts. As I would usually find this funny, it must have sucked to have to go back to your tour bus while the rest of your tour enjoyed the grounds.
I took some great photos of the inside of these buildings, and I've yet to understand when they were built. It's fabled they're ancient but the structure of it would seem they are from the last century at least. I was in the Silver Pagoda, but didn't notice the floor! I remember it was carpeted, but I was standing on like a billion dollars worth of silver and didn't once look down. The Silver Pagoda is now a museum of sorts, theres the giant Buddha and then around it are displays of artifacts and pieces of silver. When I entered the Silver Pagoda I had to take off my shoes and put them in one of two sets of bins--one where a guard was watching and another that was not being monitored. Wearing my $5 sandals I bought in Tanzania, I had to put them in the guarded bin--they were my own personal souvenir!
The Silver Pagoda was a really nice treat and look into Cambodia. After this I went to a presentation by an international NGO called Childsafe that works to protect children from sexual crimes and trafficking in southeast Asia. Their work has become so successful that their programs now stretch across to Latin America and Europe. I thought it was great to hear how they educate businesses and local workers about how to protect children, sort of setting up a network of people that may pick up on suspicious activity as they conduct their business. They educate hotels, guesthouses, moto and tuk tuk drivers and restaurant employees in Phnom Penh and Siem Riep. They also advertise presentations to tourists, to warn them about smart travel in Cambodia and throughout southeast Asia. I've noticed street children especially along the riverfront. They don't openly beg for money, kids usually sell books and maps or souvenirs hanging from a box around their necks. Childsafe warns that by day these children work selling goods and are pimped out by adults, keeping the money in their own pockets. Tourists are more likely to unknowingly support these children by purchasing books and souvenirs, and its tricky to avoid them these kids are so cheeky! Someone must be teaching them English, since many of them can make jokes with tourists. They know their geography and can make jokes in different languages. However, I'm glad I got this education so that I'm more aware of situations that put children in vulnerable situations.
The most shocking thing I learned with Childsafe was the number of illegitimate orphanages around Phnom Penh. I've noticed in several tuk tuks I've taken around town there are advertisements about visiting orphanages in town. Childsafe warns that visiting orphanages is unfair for children and is an invasion of privacy. Our presenter likened it to visiting a zoo, saying tourists come and visit the children as if they were animals. I thought it was strange that people come to visit orphanages, at least not without hoping to make long term contributions or volunteer time. Childsafe helps promote against these visits and making legitimate opportunities for tourists to learn about and help children. They are part of another organization called Friends International which has stores and a restaurant in Phnom Penh, proceeds of which goes towards the cause.
Tomorrow I head over to Wat Opot for a full week, and I'm very excited! I hope to learn so much while I'm there, it'll be great to see another side of Cambodia besides Phnom Penh. And I've been dying to get away from this apartment!
I took some great photos of the inside of these buildings, and I've yet to understand when they were built. It's fabled they're ancient but the structure of it would seem they are from the last century at least. I was in the Silver Pagoda, but didn't notice the floor! I remember it was carpeted, but I was standing on like a billion dollars worth of silver and didn't once look down. The Silver Pagoda is now a museum of sorts, theres the giant Buddha and then around it are displays of artifacts and pieces of silver. When I entered the Silver Pagoda I had to take off my shoes and put them in one of two sets of bins--one where a guard was watching and another that was not being monitored. Wearing my $5 sandals I bought in Tanzania, I had to put them in the guarded bin--they were my own personal souvenir!
The Silver Pagoda was a really nice treat and look into Cambodia. After this I went to a presentation by an international NGO called Childsafe that works to protect children from sexual crimes and trafficking in southeast Asia. Their work has become so successful that their programs now stretch across to Latin America and Europe. I thought it was great to hear how they educate businesses and local workers about how to protect children, sort of setting up a network of people that may pick up on suspicious activity as they conduct their business. They educate hotels, guesthouses, moto and tuk tuk drivers and restaurant employees in Phnom Penh and Siem Riep. They also advertise presentations to tourists, to warn them about smart travel in Cambodia and throughout southeast Asia. I've noticed street children especially along the riverfront. They don't openly beg for money, kids usually sell books and maps or souvenirs hanging from a box around their necks. Childsafe warns that by day these children work selling goods and are pimped out by adults, keeping the money in their own pockets. Tourists are more likely to unknowingly support these children by purchasing books and souvenirs, and its tricky to avoid them these kids are so cheeky! Someone must be teaching them English, since many of them can make jokes with tourists. They know their geography and can make jokes in different languages. However, I'm glad I got this education so that I'm more aware of situations that put children in vulnerable situations.
The most shocking thing I learned with Childsafe was the number of illegitimate orphanages around Phnom Penh. I've noticed in several tuk tuks I've taken around town there are advertisements about visiting orphanages in town. Childsafe warns that visiting orphanages is unfair for children and is an invasion of privacy. Our presenter likened it to visiting a zoo, saying tourists come and visit the children as if they were animals. I thought it was strange that people come to visit orphanages, at least not without hoping to make long term contributions or volunteer time. Childsafe helps promote against these visits and making legitimate opportunities for tourists to learn about and help children. They are part of another organization called Friends International which has stores and a restaurant in Phnom Penh, proceeds of which goes towards the cause.
Tomorrow I head over to Wat Opot for a full week, and I'm very excited! I hope to learn so much while I'm there, it'll be great to see another side of Cambodia besides Phnom Penh. And I've been dying to get away from this apartment!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
November 11
Thursday! The week is almost over and I thank the Lord in high heaven for giving me strength. Today I will be visiting the orphanage I've pined to work with. Wat Opot is an orphanage, but I don't want to use that word in this case--Children's Community for kids who've lost parents or are losing parents to the HIV/AIDS virus. Some are also infected, and have been abandoned by their parents because they want nothing to do with a child that has the virus, so they are living together in this community run by an American ex-pat who has made a great place for them about an hour south out of Phnom Penh in Takeo province. It's called Wat Opot because the wat (meaning temple) next door donated the land to this cause.
We got there early this morning, and it was refreshing to meet some other people who seemed normal. The director of Wat Opot is an incredibly nice guy. I met him and many of the children who had seemed to be randomly running around. Everyone in Tanzania joked that when my time ran out to do physical work in Sustainable Agriculture, I just played with babies and now that will be the subject of my work in Cambodia! As we toured the grounds, and I heard each child's story I was so moved. I would be working with kids who are under 10 years old and have been through such feats. Wat Opot has a hospice and crematorium on site. Some of the children didn't arrive here orphaned--one or both parents may have been sick with the virus and stayed under hospice care for days until they died, sometimes with the children as young as 2 or 3 years old refusing to leave their side. Wat Opot does the work of removing the body and sometimes the child will help in lighting the flame in the crematorium. The thought of a small child being able to grasp the reality of losing a parent to AIDS, they themselves being positive, watching that parent suffer and then taking part in cremating them shocking but inspiring. I was in love with their kindness after only being here a few hours, and respected each of them for their personal stories. It would be such a privilege to work with these children, hear from them what it is like to live with HIV and be able to give them the care that they couldn't have before.
Wat Opot is a really special place, I was beginning to see. There are a lot of Christian as well as Buddhist teachings taught to the kids and meditation is a part of regular activities. So much funding and support has been given to the site, and there are a lot of options for the kids to learn, play and grow together. There is an art room, which blew me away with the work the older kids were working on. One boy is having an exhibition in Germany this winter, while others are getting a lot of attention for their work. A woman from New Zealand donated a whole room full of beading and craft supplies (which as a beader myself made me jealous) in which the kids make jewelry and crafts and sell them to visitors and volunteers. I'm expected to be here for the weekdays helping out in teaching English and other subjects, and giving a hand around. I'm really excited about being at Wat Opot, I hope to learn a lot about these kids and what their lives are like.
We got there early this morning, and it was refreshing to meet some other people who seemed normal. The director of Wat Opot is an incredibly nice guy. I met him and many of the children who had seemed to be randomly running around. Everyone in Tanzania joked that when my time ran out to do physical work in Sustainable Agriculture, I just played with babies and now that will be the subject of my work in Cambodia! As we toured the grounds, and I heard each child's story I was so moved. I would be working with kids who are under 10 years old and have been through such feats. Wat Opot has a hospice and crematorium on site. Some of the children didn't arrive here orphaned--one or both parents may have been sick with the virus and stayed under hospice care for days until they died, sometimes with the children as young as 2 or 3 years old refusing to leave their side. Wat Opot does the work of removing the body and sometimes the child will help in lighting the flame in the crematorium. The thought of a small child being able to grasp the reality of losing a parent to AIDS, they themselves being positive, watching that parent suffer and then taking part in cremating them shocking but inspiring. I was in love with their kindness after only being here a few hours, and respected each of them for their personal stories. It would be such a privilege to work with these children, hear from them what it is like to live with HIV and be able to give them the care that they couldn't have before.
Wat Opot is a really special place, I was beginning to see. There are a lot of Christian as well as Buddhist teachings taught to the kids and meditation is a part of regular activities. So much funding and support has been given to the site, and there are a lot of options for the kids to learn, play and grow together. There is an art room, which blew me away with the work the older kids were working on. One boy is having an exhibition in Germany this winter, while others are getting a lot of attention for their work. A woman from New Zealand donated a whole room full of beading and craft supplies (which as a beader myself made me jealous) in which the kids make jewelry and crafts and sell them to visitors and volunteers. I'm expected to be here for the weekdays helping out in teaching English and other subjects, and giving a hand around. I'm really excited about being at Wat Opot, I hope to learn a lot about these kids and what their lives are like.
November 10
Orientation day 3. Today it was to wake again to a Khmer lesson and then a tuk tuk out to the Cheung-Euk killing fields. I remember telling people over the summer about my plans to go abroad to Cambodia and was asked several times if I'd planned on going to the Killing Fields. I'd said no a few times, since I didn't think I could stomach that kind of thing. It wasn't my decision--so off to Cheung Euk it was. It's located about an hour outside of Phnom Penh and you can hire a tuk tuk for the time you're there for a pretty low price. When we got there I was already pissed at the other people that had shown up to see this site, where tens of thousands of women, especially children had died such horrific deaths. A bus full of old people came in, some wearing short shorts and tanks, talking loudly and laughing out loud behind us. Its as if they didn't know what happened here?
We hired a tour guide who took us around the property. What was most sickening to me was the size of the Killing Fields. We hear about it in school and read it in books about this place the Khmer Rouge executed thousands, but it's not a big place. It's smaller than the podium back at campus. And tens of thousands of bodies were kept here? The whole tour was incredibly bizarre. The tour guide, a survivor of the Khmer Rouge genocide himself, introduced us to the many graves around Cheung-Euk and in his broken English just kept shaking his head and saying 'Pol Pot, crazy man.....he kill so many people......bad man.....crazy man...why he do these things?' Someone thought this was funny, but I did not. This man has to work on the grounds where his parents were killed, and is still troubled by what he's seen. It was sickening. At the epicenter of Cheung-Euk is the tower of bones which was built in the early 1980's. The tower holds about 8,000 skulls which have been found and identified into age groups of male and female and laid out on shelves upon a huge glass tower, decorated with traditional Khmer/Buddhist architecture. It was pretty unusual to see Khmer people buying flowers to give as gifts to loved ones, while foreigners were standing at the gate of the tower taking photos of the skulls and bones from close. Walking around the property was making me nauseous, there were still bone fragments poking out from the ground. Every step I took I was increasingly disturbed and irritated something like this happened, and for so long. It's weird something like this affects only some people, there were other tourists who were walking all over the grounds laughing and smiling and photographing things. I had to photograph the trees which to me looked beautiful on the grounds of Cheung-Euk. However, we learned that many of those trees served as posts for execution of women, children, soldiers, respectively. Our guide told us that until several years ago, the stains from the blood and remains of the victims could still be seen on the bark. I might have fainted if I'd seen that. Our guide was great, he was very aware of what happened during this time, and is the first person I've met here in Cambodia that can give a first hand account of what life was like during the Khmer Rouge. But to visitors of Cheung-Euk, I will say its not for those with a light stomach.
Afterwards, it was scheduled to go to the National Museum back in Phnom Penh. Its located not too far from the riverfront and right across the street from the Royal Palace (yes, I didn't know either, Cambodia has a monarchy). It was a decent museum, mostly Angkorian and Buddhist artwork. They had a temporary exhibit about the Royal Ballet which looked amazing and I hoped I could be able to check out a show while I'm in Phnom Penh. That evening we were invited to teach an English class for the how-long-can-he-stand stand in in-country coordinator. He is Khmer and teaches an evening English as a Foreign Language course at two universities. It was great, the first class was excited to have some extra help on their pronunciations, but I felt their English was great and most were making a serious effort. However, for the American ethno-centric, hard of hearing types they are incomprehensible. So, 't-shirt' can't be understood when someone says it 't-shut' (because in Khmer they don't really use their 'r's), so if you'd like to be difficult and spend 45 minutes on how to say 't-shirt' then it was a productive lesson.
That night we ate dinner at a Khmer restaurant which was very nice, except for the cockroach walking along the table as I ate my noodles. But, I realized after flicking it off that my standards have surely dropped. The girl who has the Health Department Inspections App on her Blackberry home page has finally loosened up! But how much more of this other nonsense can I take?
We hired a tour guide who took us around the property. What was most sickening to me was the size of the Killing Fields. We hear about it in school and read it in books about this place the Khmer Rouge executed thousands, but it's not a big place. It's smaller than the podium back at campus. And tens of thousands of bodies were kept here? The whole tour was incredibly bizarre. The tour guide, a survivor of the Khmer Rouge genocide himself, introduced us to the many graves around Cheung-Euk and in his broken English just kept shaking his head and saying 'Pol Pot, crazy man.....he kill so many people......bad man.....crazy man...why he do these things?' Someone thought this was funny, but I did not. This man has to work on the grounds where his parents were killed, and is still troubled by what he's seen. It was sickening. At the epicenter of Cheung-Euk is the tower of bones which was built in the early 1980's. The tower holds about 8,000 skulls which have been found and identified into age groups of male and female and laid out on shelves upon a huge glass tower, decorated with traditional Khmer/Buddhist architecture. It was pretty unusual to see Khmer people buying flowers to give as gifts to loved ones, while foreigners were standing at the gate of the tower taking photos of the skulls and bones from close. Walking around the property was making me nauseous, there were still bone fragments poking out from the ground. Every step I took I was increasingly disturbed and irritated something like this happened, and for so long. It's weird something like this affects only some people, there were other tourists who were walking all over the grounds laughing and smiling and photographing things. I had to photograph the trees which to me looked beautiful on the grounds of Cheung-Euk. However, we learned that many of those trees served as posts for execution of women, children, soldiers, respectively. Our guide told us that until several years ago, the stains from the blood and remains of the victims could still be seen on the bark. I might have fainted if I'd seen that. Our guide was great, he was very aware of what happened during this time, and is the first person I've met here in Cambodia that can give a first hand account of what life was like during the Khmer Rouge. But to visitors of Cheung-Euk, I will say its not for those with a light stomach.
Afterwards, it was scheduled to go to the National Museum back in Phnom Penh. Its located not too far from the riverfront and right across the street from the Royal Palace (yes, I didn't know either, Cambodia has a monarchy). It was a decent museum, mostly Angkorian and Buddhist artwork. They had a temporary exhibit about the Royal Ballet which looked amazing and I hoped I could be able to check out a show while I'm in Phnom Penh. That evening we were invited to teach an English class for the how-long-can-he-stand stand in in-country coordinator. He is Khmer and teaches an evening English as a Foreign Language course at two universities. It was great, the first class was excited to have some extra help on their pronunciations, but I felt their English was great and most were making a serious effort. However, for the American ethno-centric, hard of hearing types they are incomprehensible. So, 't-shirt' can't be understood when someone says it 't-shut' (because in Khmer they don't really use their 'r's), so if you'd like to be difficult and spend 45 minutes on how to say 't-shirt' then it was a productive lesson.
That night we ate dinner at a Khmer restaurant which was very nice, except for the cockroach walking along the table as I ate my noodles. But, I realized after flicking it off that my standards have surely dropped. The girl who has the Health Department Inspections App on her Blackberry home page has finally loosened up! But how much more of this other nonsense can I take?
November 9th
Tuesday morning ridiculousness ensued. I woke at 8 to a Khmer lesson, which went great. I can now say Hello, How are you?, Do you like?, and I am hungry. Its not going to be as easy for me as Swahili, which is phonetic--Khmer is tonal and even when the teacher would tell me how to pronounce things and I'd write them down phonetically, I'd still screw up the pronunciation.
Then it was off to Wat Phnom, the fabled first site of Phnom Penh. Its a huge tourist site set atop the only hill in town (Phnom Penh is said in the guidebooks to be about 6 feet above sea level....I knew there was something different about the air here than Arusha!). The temple is huge, and in it are about a million statues of buddha along with flower arrangements, gifts and money all throughout the shrine. Foreigners pay $1 and Khmer pay nothing. I wonder how that works out, what if you're a dark Chinese person? Tibetan? Nepali? Thai? They just pick you out as you're going up the stairs'---Westerners, pay $1! Its worth it, the site is kept in extremely good condition. When you enter, you take off your shoes (something I've got to get used to now) and leave them in a bin. You head in and its courteous to walk with your right hand side towards the shrine at all times. Most Khmer or Buddhists sit down on their sides for a moment to acknowledge the buddha and then get back up. Photography was not allowed inside of the temple, but of course, you know Americans. The temple also sort of served as museum; some of the relics from ages ago is kept in a glass case in the back where visitors can take a look. As we stepped out back to take our tuk tuk to another pointless meeting, I heard rustling in the trees overhead and remembered that familiar sound from Tanzania. Monkeys!! There were about 3 playing in the trees, and some came down to chase after the others. I thought for a moment that they were natural to the park around Wat Phnom but should have known better since the park is in the middle of town in a huge roundabout. They must be part of the attraction to locals, as I saw one woman feeding a monkey on the ground a mango, offering a banana and other fruits. Since I haven't been vaccinated with a rabies shot, I knew better and kept walking away.
We rushed again on to the Central Market in town. I've been excited to go see an Asian market since I knew I'd be in Cambodia. It really is unlike any market you'd see on television! The Cambodian government has built a huge yellow complex, decked out with electricity, running water, restrooms, and booths in which vendors sell everything from scarves, souveniers, jewelry, art, clothes, wigs, food, even cockroaches! The market is arranged into sections in which vendors sell similar things all near each other, which to a foreigner means one thing--cheap prices! The woman with the cockroaches was all alone, and each large cockroach was 5,000 riel-- a little more than a dollar. I promised myself I wouldn't leave Cambodia till I came back to even try a cricket.
After the market, it was time for yet another ridiculous meeting and testing my tolerance for stupidity, until finally it was time for bed. Tomorrow, orientation will continue with more sightseeing around Phnom Penh and figuring out what I will be doing here!
Then it was off to Wat Phnom, the fabled first site of Phnom Penh. Its a huge tourist site set atop the only hill in town (Phnom Penh is said in the guidebooks to be about 6 feet above sea level....I knew there was something different about the air here than Arusha!). The temple is huge, and in it are about a million statues of buddha along with flower arrangements, gifts and money all throughout the shrine. Foreigners pay $1 and Khmer pay nothing. I wonder how that works out, what if you're a dark Chinese person? Tibetan? Nepali? Thai? They just pick you out as you're going up the stairs'---Westerners, pay $1! Its worth it, the site is kept in extremely good condition. When you enter, you take off your shoes (something I've got to get used to now) and leave them in a bin. You head in and its courteous to walk with your right hand side towards the shrine at all times. Most Khmer or Buddhists sit down on their sides for a moment to acknowledge the buddha and then get back up. Photography was not allowed inside of the temple, but of course, you know Americans. The temple also sort of served as museum; some of the relics from ages ago is kept in a glass case in the back where visitors can take a look. As we stepped out back to take our tuk tuk to another pointless meeting, I heard rustling in the trees overhead and remembered that familiar sound from Tanzania. Monkeys!! There were about 3 playing in the trees, and some came down to chase after the others. I thought for a moment that they were natural to the park around Wat Phnom but should have known better since the park is in the middle of town in a huge roundabout. They must be part of the attraction to locals, as I saw one woman feeding a monkey on the ground a mango, offering a banana and other fruits. Since I haven't been vaccinated with a rabies shot, I knew better and kept walking away.
We rushed again on to the Central Market in town. I've been excited to go see an Asian market since I knew I'd be in Cambodia. It really is unlike any market you'd see on television! The Cambodian government has built a huge yellow complex, decked out with electricity, running water, restrooms, and booths in which vendors sell everything from scarves, souveniers, jewelry, art, clothes, wigs, food, even cockroaches! The market is arranged into sections in which vendors sell similar things all near each other, which to a foreigner means one thing--cheap prices! The woman with the cockroaches was all alone, and each large cockroach was 5,000 riel-- a little more than a dollar. I promised myself I wouldn't leave Cambodia till I came back to even try a cricket.
After the market, it was time for yet another ridiculous meeting and testing my tolerance for stupidity, until finally it was time for bed. Tomorrow, orientation will continue with more sightseeing around Phnom Penh and figuring out what I will be doing here!
November 7th & 8th
Sou s'day Phnom Penh! I arrived in Phnom Penh last night to a whirlwind of sights, smells and surprisingly, sounds. Phnom Penh really is a wondrous city and envelops all as it plays with all of the senses--words really can't describe how fascinated I am with this city already! After I got my luggage and passed customs, I walked out of the airport literally peeling off the layers, it was so humid! The rainy season should be ending, but I guess not quite!
They say your first time in Asia is unlike any other cultural experience, and they are right. I got out of the airport to the apartment in tuk tuk, a motorcycle with a cab attached to the back. I've heard them being used in Guatemala with the same name, so its pretty neat this is the same way of getting around in Cambodia, too. As we drove I was easily enamored with this city--Arusha does not compare. Phnom Penh has tall skyscraper condominiums and hotels, large 5 lane avenues with stoplights on every corner. Most astoundingly, were the number of motorcycles all over the roads. It was evening, around 9 pm, and women were dressed to the nines in high heels and evening gowns riding side saddle with three other people on the back of a moto. It was late, but I noticed there were absolutely no pedestrians on the streets, all the sidewalks were covered in motos! I had no shame in showing my excitement for an actual department store! A Kentucky Fried Chicken! And good Lord, a Dairy Queen! (I'd spent about 200 baht or around $6 in the Bangkok airport buying a chili cheese dog and a blizzard, to treat myself for being fast food deprived. It's a new low for me, but I can now engorge myself in imitation cheese product and frozen oreo cookie shakes to my heart's content!) It was almost bittersweet, too. I remember feeling like I'd cheated since I was doing so well without my Blackberry, wireless internet, hot showers, and other shameful amenities that Americans are used to, when I was in Tanzania. And here we arrived at the apartment, located across the street from the mayor's mansion to a palace of a place. There was bright, functioning electricity, no geckos or cockroaches roaming about, hot showers, an actual stove and a beautiful balcony. But, it was proof that Cambodia would be a whole lot different than Tanzania and I was excited.
I'd come to find the Cambodia I'd thought of when I was in Tanzania was not what I'd expected, but thanks Forest, life really is like a box of chocolates. Monday was pretty much a sign of misfortunes to come later this week, and I'm not excited. I was beginning to ask myself, why am I here?
They say your first time in Asia is unlike any other cultural experience, and they are right. I got out of the airport to the apartment in tuk tuk, a motorcycle with a cab attached to the back. I've heard them being used in Guatemala with the same name, so its pretty neat this is the same way of getting around in Cambodia, too. As we drove I was easily enamored with this city--Arusha does not compare. Phnom Penh has tall skyscraper condominiums and hotels, large 5 lane avenues with stoplights on every corner. Most astoundingly, were the number of motorcycles all over the roads. It was evening, around 9 pm, and women were dressed to the nines in high heels and evening gowns riding side saddle with three other people on the back of a moto. It was late, but I noticed there were absolutely no pedestrians on the streets, all the sidewalks were covered in motos! I had no shame in showing my excitement for an actual department store! A Kentucky Fried Chicken! And good Lord, a Dairy Queen! (I'd spent about 200 baht or around $6 in the Bangkok airport buying a chili cheese dog and a blizzard, to treat myself for being fast food deprived. It's a new low for me, but I can now engorge myself in imitation cheese product and frozen oreo cookie shakes to my heart's content!) It was almost bittersweet, too. I remember feeling like I'd cheated since I was doing so well without my Blackberry, wireless internet, hot showers, and other shameful amenities that Americans are used to, when I was in Tanzania. And here we arrived at the apartment, located across the street from the mayor's mansion to a palace of a place. There was bright, functioning electricity, no geckos or cockroaches roaming about, hot showers, an actual stove and a beautiful balcony. But, it was proof that Cambodia would be a whole lot different than Tanzania and I was excited.
I'd come to find the Cambodia I'd thought of when I was in Tanzania was not what I'd expected, but thanks Forest, life really is like a box of chocolates. Monday was pretty much a sign of misfortunes to come later this week, and I'm not excited. I was beginning to ask myself, why am I here?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
November 5
Tear. Last day in Tanzania. I cannot believe it has come already. This morning I woke up, realizing I still had some things to rearrange in order to fully declare myself packed and ready to start my second half of the semester in Phnom Penh. It was also unusual for me to say goodbye to this host family, whom I've befriended over these two weeks. I don't have any idea how I should have prepared for Cambodia, except maybe I should have learned some Khmer in my free time. My excuse is that it's a tonal language so I can't really learn from a book. I'm comfortable being lost--its Asia and I have no idea what to expect.
This morning I woke and got ready to meet everyone at the office. We were supposed to be working on digging a hafir in the GSC demo plot. Again, after breaking a forkhoe and a machete, we took a break and went off to lunch. We were supposed to go to Tengeru to the larger demo plot to assist in one training at 3 but I wanted to play hooky and see if I could do some last minute souvenir shopping. It was a pretty light day, and some faces were missing from the office, so I was pretty disappointed I couldn't say a proper goodbye after being there so long.
After giving my evaluation, I left the office to have one more walk through town. I've really come to be a master of navigating through Arusha. Granted it such a small city, and the downtown area can be thoroughly visited in one day, but Arusha has it's charms and many things I'm going to miss. My first day walking to the GSC office, I was surprised at how persistent the artwork dealers are, the men who tell you they have a craft and souvenir shop they want you to go to and the men who sell you Swahili dictionaries on the street. I never knew how to avoid them, yet here I was telling them I wasn't interested, in Swahili.
I know I'd come back to Tanzania, but not as a tourist. This is my first time away traveling alone, and I've learned to really appreciate a place and live like the locals do. If I come back, I'd like to be able to afford a trip to Zanzibar, and spend a little more time in Moshi. It would be great to come back in 10 years to a slightly more developed Arusha. The roads are single lane and poorly constructed, there isn't any public space for people to come together and sit, and all of the good places to go in town; nice restaurants, mini golf, gyms, cinemas are all tourist dominated. Places change over time, and hopefully with this past election, Arusha can be a place which locals and foreigners equally enjoy.
Tomorrow is my flight to Cambodia, and while sad to leave Tanzania there are some things I definitely won't miss! I've made a neat little list to give me closure:
This morning I woke and got ready to meet everyone at the office. We were supposed to be working on digging a hafir in the GSC demo plot. Again, after breaking a forkhoe and a machete, we took a break and went off to lunch. We were supposed to go to Tengeru to the larger demo plot to assist in one training at 3 but I wanted to play hooky and see if I could do some last minute souvenir shopping. It was a pretty light day, and some faces were missing from the office, so I was pretty disappointed I couldn't say a proper goodbye after being there so long.
After giving my evaluation, I left the office to have one more walk through town. I've really come to be a master of navigating through Arusha. Granted it such a small city, and the downtown area can be thoroughly visited in one day, but Arusha has it's charms and many things I'm going to miss. My first day walking to the GSC office, I was surprised at how persistent the artwork dealers are, the men who tell you they have a craft and souvenir shop they want you to go to and the men who sell you Swahili dictionaries on the street. I never knew how to avoid them, yet here I was telling them I wasn't interested, in Swahili.
I know I'd come back to Tanzania, but not as a tourist. This is my first time away traveling alone, and I've learned to really appreciate a place and live like the locals do. If I come back, I'd like to be able to afford a trip to Zanzibar, and spend a little more time in Moshi. It would be great to come back in 10 years to a slightly more developed Arusha. The roads are single lane and poorly constructed, there isn't any public space for people to come together and sit, and all of the good places to go in town; nice restaurants, mini golf, gyms, cinemas are all tourist dominated. Places change over time, and hopefully with this past election, Arusha can be a place which locals and foreigners equally enjoy.
Tomorrow is my flight to Cambodia, and while sad to leave Tanzania there are some things I definitely won't miss! I've made a neat little list to give me closure:
- Squatter toilets -- The ubiquitous response when asked the worst part of your experience among long term volunteers. Sometimes you get the nice porcelain ones that flush and never smell bad. Sometimes you get the one in between and seldom ever flushes--but sometimes in the villages you get the one thats made of concrete, with cement steps for standing and is just a whole in the ground. Bonus rule for tourists, BYOTP!! Toilet paper is relatively expensive and in some Tanzanian households there never is any. Theres always a bucket of water that should do the job. Sometimes you hold it, but when the urge is unbearable you must remember the old addage: ''When in Rome.......''
- Wazungu price -- as a not white person, in America, anyway I found it extremely difficult to bite my tongue when people assumed I was white and wealthy. As I've mentioned before in my disdain for many western (sorry, but especially American) tourists, I don't blame Tanzanians for making this assumption. However, its discouraging to those who simply want to bring a souvenir for their loved ones and are expected to pay triple the mbongo (slang for Tanzanian) price. Thus, it was essential to learn 'Market Swahili'. Even cookies in the duka, which I know cost 500 shillings would be totaled 1500 shillings. If you don't have a sharp tongue, you don't get a good price.
- The no camera rule -- I've mentally captured amazing memories.....in my head. Its an engrained rule in Arusha that you must not take photographs in town as there are so many pickpockets and snatchers around. I've seen some fools doing it, but everyone stares and its usually not a good situation. However, Mount Meru in Arusha at dusk is an amazing sight that I wish I could keep on my wall forever.
- Constant marriage proposals -- 'Mzungu I love you', 'Do you have husband, my son is 25 and needs a wife', 'Mzungu, I am looking for wife and I always wanted to go to America', etc. Although incredibly entertaining for everyone in the beginning, in town its a bit much. On the bus to Moshi a man joking with our male volunteer pointed to me and shouted 'I'm going to marry her!' It became such a joke that at times we'd have to pretend we were married to spare me the embarrassment. If they'd printed t-shirts that said 'I've been offered a cow and sheep by a Maasai boy in exchange for a hand in marriage' I'd surely qualify to have bought one.
There really are small things I'm anxious to see again--skyscrapers, a city lit at night, something priced with a dollar sign, hell....even a McDonalds would be cause to stop and stare for a few minutes. I've been hungry for that moment when I get off the plane and see Phnom Penh for the first time, and even thinking about what will surprise me when I get home to New York! I'm glad I'll be able to have seen both landscapes one after the other, and will be able to have seen life in both places right before I go home to the biggest consumer holiday in the country--Christmas!
Asante mungu kwa safari! (Thank God for this trip) I will miss Tanzania and its great people!
Friday, November 12, 2010
November 3 & 4
Wednesday it was back to Moshono. Today was the day I'd been waiting for, the students would be getting their booklets about BIA today and be able to ask any final questions about any of the material they've learned so far. I know it sounds awful to say, but I'm glad we're done training this group--working with this crowd has pretty much killed my volunteer spirit. After being in the classroom and realizing our answers weren't going to be of any use, we decided to take a walk and see what exactly was in Moshono. There is a set of old railroad tracks that runs right behind the school and we decided to take a walk and follow it for a bit. The area around this railroad track looked very rural and undeveloped, however as we walked there is an enormous flower farm here in Moshono as well as a huge lodge hidden in the hills, where we asked one boy pushing a wheelbarrow what the deal was with that, and he told us its a fancy lodge and spa where wazungu stay. There is also mining for minerals done in the area--we aren't far from where Tanzanite is commonly mined.
The walk down the railroad pretty much ended when we realized the tracks crossed a bridge that was almost too unsafe for our passing. So we crossed a small wooden bridge that led down to a river. There were some mamas washing laundry and bathing children. As we sat, we noticed there was a well organized concrete irrigation system that was in place to prevent the water from eroding the soil supporting the bridge. I even got a great video of a mama crossing the river with a bunch of plantains on her head. It was a great sight, and a real last minute treat to a real Tanzanian village right before I left. The day was fairly unproductive after that, we made it back to town and had lunch. I was pretty sure it was my last day at Montessori Infinity since tomorrow I'd planned on going to safari. It was a good feeling.
When we got back to the office, we planned on going to a hearing for the UN Tribunal for Rwanda. We had to arrive an hour before the hearing began and bring our passports for identification. Apparently, the guards must have thought we were employees or something, since he did not tell us where exactly to go and we wandered around the atrium of the building looking for signage which told us where the courtroom was. We had to go back to ask for instructions, but by then the security guard had become so consumed with French tourists explaining to them what the passport was for, that time flew and we were fed up and off to get drinks at the Maasai Cafe once more. It was nice to finally go inside of the Tribunal--to see so many kinds of professionals, well dressed and serving important jobs. We'd heard most are lawyers, other reporters, and a good number are translators! I wished aloud to be able to work here; I love Arusha, I love Tanzania and a job working for the United Nations must be pretty sweet. The others disagreed, they could use a job in a more developed region of the world, but the visit alone was like career day back in elementary school.
Thursday I got up at about 5, was on the dala at 6 a.m. (and it was packed, I've never been up that early in town) to be at HQ at 7 a.m. where we were to meet our safari driver. It was an awesome 3 hour drive to Lake Manyara national park--but it was worth it. One more look at the dry savannah, home to the Maasai bomas and occasional passing herds of 50 cows and sheep. I really will miss this scenery, I could never get tired of looking at this landscape. I was able to see elephants, hippos, lots of giraffes and some monkeys. I got some great shots, and just fell in love with the elephants--there was a group only several feet of the car and one even walked right in front of the jeep!
After the safari I met a friend at her hotel for drinks and nachos (why didn't I come here for food before, really nachos? That were actually delicious?). It was getting dark and I had to take a taxi home, and I was fairly proud of myself for getting a good price and giving the directions in Swahili. It made me a bit sad, too because I've felt like I've learned so much from being here. I almost wished I was staying the one extra month.
Tomorrow is my last day in Tanzania! And there may be waterworks! I haven't even thought of how I am going to say goodbye to Mama Mary and the girls (its only been two weeks with them, but still!), how I will say goodbye to everyone at HQ. I haven't even really begun to think about Cambodia, but I am sure I'll be terrified tomorrow.
The walk down the railroad pretty much ended when we realized the tracks crossed a bridge that was almost too unsafe for our passing. So we crossed a small wooden bridge that led down to a river. There were some mamas washing laundry and bathing children. As we sat, we noticed there was a well organized concrete irrigation system that was in place to prevent the water from eroding the soil supporting the bridge. I even got a great video of a mama crossing the river with a bunch of plantains on her head. It was a great sight, and a real last minute treat to a real Tanzanian village right before I left. The day was fairly unproductive after that, we made it back to town and had lunch. I was pretty sure it was my last day at Montessori Infinity since tomorrow I'd planned on going to safari. It was a good feeling.
When we got back to the office, we planned on going to a hearing for the UN Tribunal for Rwanda. We had to arrive an hour before the hearing began and bring our passports for identification. Apparently, the guards must have thought we were employees or something, since he did not tell us where exactly to go and we wandered around the atrium of the building looking for signage which told us where the courtroom was. We had to go back to ask for instructions, but by then the security guard had become so consumed with French tourists explaining to them what the passport was for, that time flew and we were fed up and off to get drinks at the Maasai Cafe once more. It was nice to finally go inside of the Tribunal--to see so many kinds of professionals, well dressed and serving important jobs. We'd heard most are lawyers, other reporters, and a good number are translators! I wished aloud to be able to work here; I love Arusha, I love Tanzania and a job working for the United Nations must be pretty sweet. The others disagreed, they could use a job in a more developed region of the world, but the visit alone was like career day back in elementary school.
Thursday I got up at about 5, was on the dala at 6 a.m. (and it was packed, I've never been up that early in town) to be at HQ at 7 a.m. where we were to meet our safari driver. It was an awesome 3 hour drive to Lake Manyara national park--but it was worth it. One more look at the dry savannah, home to the Maasai bomas and occasional passing herds of 50 cows and sheep. I really will miss this scenery, I could never get tired of looking at this landscape. I was able to see elephants, hippos, lots of giraffes and some monkeys. I got some great shots, and just fell in love with the elephants--there was a group only several feet of the car and one even walked right in front of the jeep!
After the safari I met a friend at her hotel for drinks and nachos (why didn't I come here for food before, really nachos? That were actually delicious?). It was getting dark and I had to take a taxi home, and I was fairly proud of myself for getting a good price and giving the directions in Swahili. It made me a bit sad, too because I've felt like I've learned so much from being here. I almost wished I was staying the one extra month.
Tomorrow is my last day in Tanzania! And there may be waterworks! I haven't even thought of how I am going to say goodbye to Mama Mary and the girls (its only been two weeks with them, but still!), how I will say goodbye to everyone at HQ. I haven't even really begun to think about Cambodia, but I am sure I'll be terrified tomorrow.
November 2
Election Day! Well, in America anyway. While everyone prepares to vote for Senate and whatnot, (I've tried to follow, but seriously the Republicans are back--who's Christine O'Donnell? And the lady who made Ebay is running for something, really?) today Tanzanians are awaiting what is pretty much the inevitable news of the presidential election--and that it's Kikwete's. After yesterday's showdown on the main road, I'm sure everyone maxed out their celebrations because it could possibly be the only victory for Chadema. In Mama Mary's house, everyone is just betting on what time the announcement will come in.
Nonetheless, today we were back in Moshono teaching at Montessori Infinity for another round of Agriculture brat boot camp. We're slated to talk about crop rotation and how to plant seedlings in a nursery garden. After I gave my blah blah, as they say here, the students sat deadpan, with no questions at all about why these vegetables are rafiki and adui (friends and enemies), one asked aloud in Swahili 'When is chai?' The others laughed and the counterpart motioned it was time for them to take chai. Even though I don't care for their attitude, I couldn't blame them. It was 9 a.m. and we were talking their ears off about how potatoes and tomatoes aren't friends when they haven't even taken breakfast. Besides, we needed a break too.
After chai, they returned for us to give more increasingly pointless lectures and then we went to their garden to demonstrate how to plant seeds in a nursery garden. The Bio Intensive way of making a nursery bed, is sort of similar to a raised bed--but you dont have to double dig, instead just till a foot deep and raise and loosen the soil with a forkhoe, spray some woodash and sand, mix and then even out the inside of the mound. It was fairly simple and it seemed they were following as I taught. Just in case, to engage them I motioned how to make the indentations for which to plant the seeds. Conveniently, it was a peace sign--also the Chadema sign. They all laughed at I was able to make them help out making indentations in the nursery bed so we can plant the seeds.
Our female volunteer made some observations about the behavior of some of our counterparts towards us, as women and as Americans. She feels that they have been treating us differently, perhaps because of our gender. I'm not surprised--it's a part of the culture that when a man says something--it has more bearing than when a woman speaks. I've had my share of frustrations in getting my ideas across with some counterparts, but I assumed it was my almost invisible influence, as a volunteer and not staff. As she's been showing me examples of her hypothesis, I've also come to realize that this may be exactly what caused most of my frustrations at the start of my program. I often felt like the counterparts favored the other two male volunteers at the start, one my age and another 70 year old man. It was awkward in the beginning to not have any of the counterparts talking to me, but now I realize why. I should have noticed this earlier, especially in the habits surrounding when its time to eat. Today at lunch, I was waiting to wash my hands in the restaurant. Typical in most restaurants and even in households, there is a handwashing station made from a 20 liter plastic bucket on a stand, fashioned with a spigot cemented on the bottom and a bar of soap on the side. I know Tanzanians dont like to wait in line, but all three of our counterparts skipped me in line to wash their hands. I am notorious for having a big mouth and being cheeky, but I told them I was waiting. They very casually said that men wash their hands before women, especially when the food is already at the table. Since I made a comment, they let me go ahead. At the table, our other female volunteer was in the restroom when orders were taken. When she arrived back, the food was on the table and everyone was eating. Our counterparts, all male and the only Swahili speakers, didn't even respond when we motioned the waitress over to take her order. It was as if all was well because they were eating!
Eventually that afternoon, we found out Kikwete had won re-election and pretty much nothing unusual or of a celebratory nature was going on in the streets. However, that night as I was watching television with my host family I parted to get ready to shower and prepare for bed. As I got up, there was knocking at the gate and everyone stood up to answer the gate. When I got out of the shower and bid usiku mwema (good night), Irene told me that a friend of Rachel, who is 15, came knocking at the gate to seek refuge because she had been beaten. Apparently, this friend is commonly in the streets with men and casually sleeps with men in the neighborhood. She was in a situation where she was beaten, and Mama Mary's husband being a pastor she came to their home to stay the night. Mama Mary and the daughters took her in and put her in a spare room in the side of the house, but I never got to see the girl. However, Rachel tells me this girl is also afraid she may have contracted HIV from one of her partners and is afraid to get tested, which the family is trying to urge her to do. I wished I was able to see her, but as the family was very concerned with her well being I didn't want to impose. You always hear of these stories in case studies, magazines and literature about HIV/AIDS and sexual activity in Africa, but its shocking to hear it could come close to home for even good kids like these girls. But it was promising to know that they didn't stigmatize her and made her feel welcome, and also knew better than to follow this kind of behavior.
Tomorrow we'll be back in Moshono, again. This should be one of the last trainings and we will finish by Thursday. However, I'm planning a safari that day! I hope to continue learning about Tanzania, its people and learn even more Swahili all this last week. I really dont want to leave!
Nonetheless, today we were back in Moshono teaching at Montessori Infinity for another round of Agriculture brat boot camp. We're slated to talk about crop rotation and how to plant seedlings in a nursery garden. After I gave my blah blah, as they say here, the students sat deadpan, with no questions at all about why these vegetables are rafiki and adui (friends and enemies), one asked aloud in Swahili 'When is chai?' The others laughed and the counterpart motioned it was time for them to take chai. Even though I don't care for their attitude, I couldn't blame them. It was 9 a.m. and we were talking their ears off about how potatoes and tomatoes aren't friends when they haven't even taken breakfast. Besides, we needed a break too.
After chai, they returned for us to give more increasingly pointless lectures and then we went to their garden to demonstrate how to plant seeds in a nursery garden. The Bio Intensive way of making a nursery bed, is sort of similar to a raised bed--but you dont have to double dig, instead just till a foot deep and raise and loosen the soil with a forkhoe, spray some woodash and sand, mix and then even out the inside of the mound. It was fairly simple and it seemed they were following as I taught. Just in case, to engage them I motioned how to make the indentations for which to plant the seeds. Conveniently, it was a peace sign--also the Chadema sign. They all laughed at I was able to make them help out making indentations in the nursery bed so we can plant the seeds.
Our female volunteer made some observations about the behavior of some of our counterparts towards us, as women and as Americans. She feels that they have been treating us differently, perhaps because of our gender. I'm not surprised--it's a part of the culture that when a man says something--it has more bearing than when a woman speaks. I've had my share of frustrations in getting my ideas across with some counterparts, but I assumed it was my almost invisible influence, as a volunteer and not staff. As she's been showing me examples of her hypothesis, I've also come to realize that this may be exactly what caused most of my frustrations at the start of my program. I often felt like the counterparts favored the other two male volunteers at the start, one my age and another 70 year old man. It was awkward in the beginning to not have any of the counterparts talking to me, but now I realize why. I should have noticed this earlier, especially in the habits surrounding when its time to eat. Today at lunch, I was waiting to wash my hands in the restaurant. Typical in most restaurants and even in households, there is a handwashing station made from a 20 liter plastic bucket on a stand, fashioned with a spigot cemented on the bottom and a bar of soap on the side. I know Tanzanians dont like to wait in line, but all three of our counterparts skipped me in line to wash their hands. I am notorious for having a big mouth and being cheeky, but I told them I was waiting. They very casually said that men wash their hands before women, especially when the food is already at the table. Since I made a comment, they let me go ahead. At the table, our other female volunteer was in the restroom when orders were taken. When she arrived back, the food was on the table and everyone was eating. Our counterparts, all male and the only Swahili speakers, didn't even respond when we motioned the waitress over to take her order. It was as if all was well because they were eating!
Eventually that afternoon, we found out Kikwete had won re-election and pretty much nothing unusual or of a celebratory nature was going on in the streets. However, that night as I was watching television with my host family I parted to get ready to shower and prepare for bed. As I got up, there was knocking at the gate and everyone stood up to answer the gate. When I got out of the shower and bid usiku mwema (good night), Irene told me that a friend of Rachel, who is 15, came knocking at the gate to seek refuge because she had been beaten. Apparently, this friend is commonly in the streets with men and casually sleeps with men in the neighborhood. She was in a situation where she was beaten, and Mama Mary's husband being a pastor she came to their home to stay the night. Mama Mary and the daughters took her in and put her in a spare room in the side of the house, but I never got to see the girl. However, Rachel tells me this girl is also afraid she may have contracted HIV from one of her partners and is afraid to get tested, which the family is trying to urge her to do. I wished I was able to see her, but as the family was very concerned with her well being I didn't want to impose. You always hear of these stories in case studies, magazines and literature about HIV/AIDS and sexual activity in Africa, but its shocking to hear it could come close to home for even good kids like these girls. But it was promising to know that they didn't stigmatize her and made her feel welcome, and also knew better than to follow this kind of behavior.
Tomorrow we'll be back in Moshono, again. This should be one of the last trainings and we will finish by Thursday. However, I'm planning a safari that day! I hope to continue learning about Tanzania, its people and learn even more Swahili all this last week. I really dont want to leave!
November 1
Last Monday morning in Tanzania! Monday mornings are nothing like those in New York, but this morning was particularly different. There weren't as many people in the streets--I'd heard many Tanzanians typically have a lax week after elections (which I hope explains our lack of structured trainings this week). Besides that, my morning was pretty regular. On the commute, my dala dala was playing Backstreet Boys 'That Way" and the conductor was singing along. It was entertaining to watch him standing with his head out of the window, and bills of shillings in his hands, then climbing back inside the van shaking a handful of coins at us to pay our fare as he sang ''I never wanna hear you say, I want it that way."
At the GSC office, we loaded up the trucks with the materials we needed for today's training. However, when we arrived the students were not ready to be lectured just yet--they were taking chai. We waited for an incredibly long time outside of the classroom, until finally the class was filled with students. We only had time for me to teach how to make a nursery bed and I showed them some examples of weeds and flowers that can be grinded to make a natural pesticide solution to spray on crops. Apparently, the word for thorn apple (a thorny stem with big leaves that sprouts small apple like fruits; inedible but deters pests) is mbangi bangi which alone, bangi means marijuana. Our very mature students began laughing, making jokes and enjoying the fact that something that sounded like marijuana was good for your vegetable garden. As our counterpart spoke to them in Swahili, he took over the lesson to take any questions about bio-intensive agriculture that may have arisen over the weekend. None. It was also becoming a slight issue the past couple of days how our other female volunteer was feeling uncomfortable since she could tell that the students were making fun of her and looking at her while she was sitting waiting for her lecture to begin. It was true, I could hear them snickering and laughing occasionally when we were in class together. It has begun to make her more frustrated with this teaching situation, and this is also her last week. I tried to explain about my problem a couple of weeks ago working with the group of villagers in Maweni, which proved more difficult because I was alone. However, it kills the volunteer spirit when you feel virtually useless and you know you are not being of much service.
I wasn't feeling as bad, and haven't really been bothered as much by this group's training as much as the other two volunteers. Until when I was teaching I mentioned that some of the information about pesticide control and the plants which can be used for pest solution can be found in their booklet--a small stapled booklet GSC prepares and distributes at the start of every training. These booklets are sort of controversial within GSC especially the groups we've worked with in the past--the books are in Swahili and some Maasai don't speak Swahili, and also some groups that do speak Swahili aren't literate. Anyway, our counterpart informed me that I shouldn't have said that because this group did not receive any kind of booklet. Well. That certainly explains a lot. When I asked why, as this was standard for every training group, he said it was because they felt from the first day that the group would not be attentive. As one of the teachers of this group, I would have loved to be a part of that conversation. It would have made an enormous difference in the style and efficacy of our lessons if they'd have some material to look over to follow along. This was really what drew the line for me, and killed any motivation I had to continue teaching with as much dedication as I've always had.
That afternoon, as everyone gathered to collect materials for tomorrow's lesson, us three volunteers sat under a tree to talk about non-BIA related topics, vent our frustrations with teaching these brats, and decide which watering hole we would gather after we get back to the office.
It was decided we'd get to the Maasai Cafe, one of my favorite places in Arusha. Originally owned by an Italian woman who married a Maasai and opened a fancy Italian restaurant in Arusha. Well, fancy by comparison--its not much more than a modest bistro would be in New York. It's hidden down a small road from the UN International Tribunal for crimes against humanity in Rwanda, and its known for having many foreign diplomat types dine there. We enjoyed some beers and drinks and laughed at each other for a bit to put a nice end to the day. We were about to pay the bill when we heard a thunderous noise and shouting in the streets. Afraid, slightly saucy, and not knowing what was going on, we asked our waiter what the commotion was. He told us that Chadema had won majority of the parliament seats for Arusha and people are very happy. We shrugged it off, and decided it would be ok to go home since we knew it was just revelers. As we went out, mobs of people were in the street shouting and holding Chadema flags, cars were honking and people holding small children in the air รก la Lion King--it was an amazing sight. Until I realized I live 40 minutes away, I'm kind of inebriated and I have to take two dala dalas. I think I read something about this kind of irresponsibility in my study abroad materials--but African intuition prevailed--decided against everyone's suggestions that I should take a taxi and moved on to the dala dala stand.
On the main road, there were hundreds of people standing and waving flags as cars passed, honking. People were walking up to me and putting up Chadema signs as I walked by, and I made the signs back. After several minutes of jam-packed dalas making their way past me without even stopping, I knew it was going to be a tough commute. Finally I got on one dala, standing with my backside out the door, fearing I wouldn't fall out. Sorry mom, I had to get home somehow. I overheard some of the passengers of the dala arguing numbers in Swahili. One man, obviously taking the side of CCM was arguing something about the count while everyone else in the van argued back shouting other numbers. If this was a statistical representation of the ratio of Chadema voters to CCM voters, I assumed Chadema took a landslide victory in Arusha. I could also make out one young man arguing in favor of Chadema say something about Kikwete, and slightly standing up and pointing to the CCM guy, trying to make his point. I could hear him arguing in Swahili and saying bara bara (road) and Serengeti, perhaps arguing about Kikwete's proposed plan to build a highway through the Serengeti. Its been an international controversy especially this week, since a re-election (which is probably going to happen) could mean he may go through with the construction. The United Nations is supposed to make an announcement about that, since a highway will cut the ecosystem in half. But, some CCM supporters argue it is beneficial to transportation and development to western Tanzania, or the Maasailand.
The debate continued as I got off at Mianzini to take my second dala. I crossed the road (pretty easy when its just people on the road). Again, I realized it was going to be very difficult to take a dala dala since almost no cars were running, and it was getting dark. I wasn't sure if I would make it home before dark and I was becoming increasingly worried. A man in a suit on a piki piki (motorcycle) rode past me, and asked me what I was doing waiting at that stand. I usually don't talk to men in Tanzania, its known for a fact that they only speak to wazungu women because most Tanzanians think everyone with white skin is filthy rich. I tried to ignore him, until he told me he was a security guard (sometimes people hire them instead of the police......because it's Tanzania and police = vigilante). He asked me why, as an American was I standing here because I was in a dangerous situation. He pointed out to the crowd of people still passing in the road, and he had a point. Now people were running down the street instead of the normal procession when I was closer in town. One man had just finished a small bottle of Konyagi (some local alcohol thats even served in a plastic pouch you can buy for about $.30US) and smashed it on the ground. The suited security man offered to wait with me until a dala arrived, or a lift on the back of his motorbike. Although still too inebriated to make a wise decision, I thankfully stayed and waited for a dala. My prayers were answered when one finally arrived, still almost no room for me to get inside but I managed to squeeze in. There were still hoards of people running in the street, and I even saw some soldiers with rifles standing in the middle of it in case there were riots or something (which thankfully, didn't look like there would be soon). At Mazeewa, my stop, I got out to yet another enormous crowd of celebrants on the main road. What was surprising, was the almost equal number of Tanzanians and wazungu that were standing and waving flags at cars--this street really is full of foreigners and now I actually got to see that. After a couple of minutes, it was already completely sundown and I felt stupid for making the decision to come home this late, however I think everyone was in too good of a mood to harass an mzungu and I was home safely. My homestay mama was cooking a huge meal of stewed beef and vegetables, rice and beans and chapatis for everyone. Everyone in the house was in a good mood and all were watching the television on updates on parliamentary wins around Tanzania. It was just as everyone had predicted--CCM took a lot of votes in the rural areas and the south, while Chadema won most of the north. Surprisingly, I thought Dar es Salaam as a large city would be fairly liberal; however because of its strong Muslim population in favor of Kikwete (who is Muslim, and actually has around 5 wives) is rather conservative and predominately CCM.
There were reports that somewhere in the country two people were killed for celebrating CCM wins either in Moshi or here in Arusha--and I hoped it wasn't Arusha, because if so I most likely just passed the scene of the crime. I was grateful to have experienced this kind of thing, and despite my irresponsibility and defying the State Department's warning, I was glad I was able to experience a true, successful, democratic election in Africa. Successful, that is, until we find out in the following weeks that inevitably, CCM has stolen votes, money, etc. But tonight's dinner was amazing, and the people are happy, and isn't that what America is after?
At the GSC office, we loaded up the trucks with the materials we needed for today's training. However, when we arrived the students were not ready to be lectured just yet--they were taking chai. We waited for an incredibly long time outside of the classroom, until finally the class was filled with students. We only had time for me to teach how to make a nursery bed and I showed them some examples of weeds and flowers that can be grinded to make a natural pesticide solution to spray on crops. Apparently, the word for thorn apple (a thorny stem with big leaves that sprouts small apple like fruits; inedible but deters pests) is mbangi bangi which alone, bangi means marijuana. Our very mature students began laughing, making jokes and enjoying the fact that something that sounded like marijuana was good for your vegetable garden. As our counterpart spoke to them in Swahili, he took over the lesson to take any questions about bio-intensive agriculture that may have arisen over the weekend. None. It was also becoming a slight issue the past couple of days how our other female volunteer was feeling uncomfortable since she could tell that the students were making fun of her and looking at her while she was sitting waiting for her lecture to begin. It was true, I could hear them snickering and laughing occasionally when we were in class together. It has begun to make her more frustrated with this teaching situation, and this is also her last week. I tried to explain about my problem a couple of weeks ago working with the group of villagers in Maweni, which proved more difficult because I was alone. However, it kills the volunteer spirit when you feel virtually useless and you know you are not being of much service.
I wasn't feeling as bad, and haven't really been bothered as much by this group's training as much as the other two volunteers. Until when I was teaching I mentioned that some of the information about pesticide control and the plants which can be used for pest solution can be found in their booklet--a small stapled booklet GSC prepares and distributes at the start of every training. These booklets are sort of controversial within GSC especially the groups we've worked with in the past--the books are in Swahili and some Maasai don't speak Swahili, and also some groups that do speak Swahili aren't literate. Anyway, our counterpart informed me that I shouldn't have said that because this group did not receive any kind of booklet. Well. That certainly explains a lot. When I asked why, as this was standard for every training group, he said it was because they felt from the first day that the group would not be attentive. As one of the teachers of this group, I would have loved to be a part of that conversation. It would have made an enormous difference in the style and efficacy of our lessons if they'd have some material to look over to follow along. This was really what drew the line for me, and killed any motivation I had to continue teaching with as much dedication as I've always had.
That afternoon, as everyone gathered to collect materials for tomorrow's lesson, us three volunteers sat under a tree to talk about non-BIA related topics, vent our frustrations with teaching these brats, and decide which watering hole we would gather after we get back to the office.
It was decided we'd get to the Maasai Cafe, one of my favorite places in Arusha. Originally owned by an Italian woman who married a Maasai and opened a fancy Italian restaurant in Arusha. Well, fancy by comparison--its not much more than a modest bistro would be in New York. It's hidden down a small road from the UN International Tribunal for crimes against humanity in Rwanda, and its known for having many foreign diplomat types dine there. We enjoyed some beers and drinks and laughed at each other for a bit to put a nice end to the day. We were about to pay the bill when we heard a thunderous noise and shouting in the streets. Afraid, slightly saucy, and not knowing what was going on, we asked our waiter what the commotion was. He told us that Chadema had won majority of the parliament seats for Arusha and people are very happy. We shrugged it off, and decided it would be ok to go home since we knew it was just revelers. As we went out, mobs of people were in the street shouting and holding Chadema flags, cars were honking and people holding small children in the air รก la Lion King--it was an amazing sight. Until I realized I live 40 minutes away, I'm kind of inebriated and I have to take two dala dalas. I think I read something about this kind of irresponsibility in my study abroad materials--but African intuition prevailed--decided against everyone's suggestions that I should take a taxi and moved on to the dala dala stand.
On the main road, there were hundreds of people standing and waving flags as cars passed, honking. People were walking up to me and putting up Chadema signs as I walked by, and I made the signs back. After several minutes of jam-packed dalas making their way past me without even stopping, I knew it was going to be a tough commute. Finally I got on one dala, standing with my backside out the door, fearing I wouldn't fall out. Sorry mom, I had to get home somehow. I overheard some of the passengers of the dala arguing numbers in Swahili. One man, obviously taking the side of CCM was arguing something about the count while everyone else in the van argued back shouting other numbers. If this was a statistical representation of the ratio of Chadema voters to CCM voters, I assumed Chadema took a landslide victory in Arusha. I could also make out one young man arguing in favor of Chadema say something about Kikwete, and slightly standing up and pointing to the CCM guy, trying to make his point. I could hear him arguing in Swahili and saying bara bara (road) and Serengeti, perhaps arguing about Kikwete's proposed plan to build a highway through the Serengeti. Its been an international controversy especially this week, since a re-election (which is probably going to happen) could mean he may go through with the construction. The United Nations is supposed to make an announcement about that, since a highway will cut the ecosystem in half. But, some CCM supporters argue it is beneficial to transportation and development to western Tanzania, or the Maasailand.
The debate continued as I got off at Mianzini to take my second dala. I crossed the road (pretty easy when its just people on the road). Again, I realized it was going to be very difficult to take a dala dala since almost no cars were running, and it was getting dark. I wasn't sure if I would make it home before dark and I was becoming increasingly worried. A man in a suit on a piki piki (motorcycle) rode past me, and asked me what I was doing waiting at that stand. I usually don't talk to men in Tanzania, its known for a fact that they only speak to wazungu women because most Tanzanians think everyone with white skin is filthy rich. I tried to ignore him, until he told me he was a security guard (sometimes people hire them instead of the police......because it's Tanzania and police = vigilante). He asked me why, as an American was I standing here because I was in a dangerous situation. He pointed out to the crowd of people still passing in the road, and he had a point. Now people were running down the street instead of the normal procession when I was closer in town. One man had just finished a small bottle of Konyagi (some local alcohol thats even served in a plastic pouch you can buy for about $.30US) and smashed it on the ground. The suited security man offered to wait with me until a dala arrived, or a lift on the back of his motorbike. Although still too inebriated to make a wise decision, I thankfully stayed and waited for a dala. My prayers were answered when one finally arrived, still almost no room for me to get inside but I managed to squeeze in. There were still hoards of people running in the street, and I even saw some soldiers with rifles standing in the middle of it in case there were riots or something (which thankfully, didn't look like there would be soon). At Mazeewa, my stop, I got out to yet another enormous crowd of celebrants on the main road. What was surprising, was the almost equal number of Tanzanians and wazungu that were standing and waving flags at cars--this street really is full of foreigners and now I actually got to see that. After a couple of minutes, it was already completely sundown and I felt stupid for making the decision to come home this late, however I think everyone was in too good of a mood to harass an mzungu and I was home safely. My homestay mama was cooking a huge meal of stewed beef and vegetables, rice and beans and chapatis for everyone. Everyone in the house was in a good mood and all were watching the television on updates on parliamentary wins around Tanzania. It was just as everyone had predicted--CCM took a lot of votes in the rural areas and the south, while Chadema won most of the north. Surprisingly, I thought Dar es Salaam as a large city would be fairly liberal; however because of its strong Muslim population in favor of Kikwete (who is Muslim, and actually has around 5 wives) is rather conservative and predominately CCM.
There were reports that somewhere in the country two people were killed for celebrating CCM wins either in Moshi or here in Arusha--and I hoped it wasn't Arusha, because if so I most likely just passed the scene of the crime. I was grateful to have experienced this kind of thing, and despite my irresponsibility and defying the State Department's warning, I was glad I was able to experience a true, successful, democratic election in Africa. Successful, that is, until we find out in the following weeks that inevitably, CCM has stolen votes, money, etc. But tonight's dinner was amazing, and the people are happy, and isn't that what America is after?
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