8/01/10
On the road from Phnom Penh to Koh Kong
The only thing I knew about where we were going today is I thought they said King Kong, and thought, “that would be cool.” Cambodia is a land where you see just about anything you can imagine. You will find an elephant in the middle of a downtown park. Scooters numbering surely in the hundreds of thousands ply the streets like mosquitos, buzzing about in every free road space imaginable, even up the wrong side, fearlessly. Cambodia on first glance appears to be chaos incarnate, but oddly enough, for all its insanity, there is a calm, compliant order to it all.
We are headed for a resort that has “Picnic” in the name, so I am betting and hoping the food will be good. We had a lawyer who worked for the UN do a presentation on Human Trafficking I will reflect on later, and it was powerful, like all of our experiences thus far. The Red-light district, the Khmer Rouge, Tuol Sleng Museum (S21 – Google it), the Royal Palace and Museum all have been intensive and startling, tearing open a brutal, brilliant, colorful, painful world that until now was only talked about in history books, pictures, and vain attempts of portrayals in movies and television. Everyone should see this.
Our lawyer was inspiring, ambitious, and fearless; his dream was to be the Cambodian judge on the ICC (Google this too, just because). After lunch we boarded the bus to head to the slum areas for another round of surreal people watching. We never quite know where we are going when our hosts from the Spirit in Education Movement (SEM) or the YRDP point us towards the bus. We kind of wink, pack up, then embrace the Buddhist philosophy of mindfulness and choose to, as our professor Al Fuertes says, “live in the moment.”
The road led us out of town to Andong, a “suburb” of Phnom Penh. Habitat for Humanity and other NGO’s have a large footprint here, so the people were not surprised nor necessarily impressed another group of well-dressed tourist/foreigners wandering their streets. Imagine for a moment, being on your front porch, and a short tour bus pulling up at the end of the street, disgorging a group of 20. They then walk up and down your street, waving at you, saying hello, and then playing with and talking to your children, taking pictures, and then an hour and a half later, walking away, never to return.
It seemed and felt somewhat shallow, similar to the aforementioned zoo. However, it was enlightening and inspiring for a number of reasons. The Cambodians who live out here are a bit different than in the city. Their homes are close together, close to their neighbors, in homes built of the simplest materials: corrugated steel, sticks, discarded lumber, and in some cases, a theoretically waterproof vinyl tarp of some sort. Many of them have plastic chairs and hammocks in which the elderly were reclined and napping out of the early afternoon sun.
It was warm. The dust scattered about the feet of the scurrying children…playing coy with us. They had done this before. Many of them knew the peace sign. Other little girls hid in the shadows of the tiny houses, peeking around the corners of their thresholds, with the smiles and giggles not of forlorn kids, but naïve and content with the world around them. My first heartbreaker peered from behind a aqua painted window grate, clinging to what appeared to be either a stuffed dog or koala. It would have been easy to look at as a prison, with the illusion of bars, but you don’t get the sense from these kids they are trapped. They smile incessantly, and want to play and be chased by the big, bald, monster in the orange Old Navy striped shirt.
The homes are sturdy, small, and dirty, with dusty floors and a mish mash of furniture inside and out. Wood boxes surround many of the living areas, and along the walk way in the narrow alleys, fetid water – an unassailable, strange color, perhaps gray green blue – ran it’s own course with no clearly planned destination. The ducks, chickens, and dogs lapped from the pools all about them, and surely their survival was a semblance of God’s grace.
Cisterns (some wore the UNICEF seal) were lined along the street. Often between our interactions with the people, we were passed by vendors on bicycles. One had a cage on wheels, modified to serve as a bike trailer full of chicken chicks. These folks are resourceful. They build from scratch as we used to, with whatever they can cobble together. A scruffy man rode past us without even acknowledging us and passed us about 20 minutes later on a different “street,” his cage empty and latest transaction complete.
One young girl was fascinated with the camera, but flirting with the man who owned it. When I finally coerced her to me, I photographed her, noticing a large cut around and above her eye and wondered, “I wonder if the mother had a first aid kit?” I don’t think they would have known what to do with one if they had it.
This is probably the most important thing about this community. My guilt and pity for them quickly shifted to admiration and respect. They know no other life, so our world of shopping malls, comparatively safe traffic, easy jobs, and obscenely stocked grocery stores only serve to remind you that you may be the one who is trapped in a cage, with only a lot more to watch on TV. Politics, taxes, Obama, House, and Senate take on an entire new meaning in this context. People here have lived in a world most of these us wouldn’t survive more than a week or so if left alone.
We met many families, and had a chance to speak with the local representative of Habitat for Humanity. Jimmy Carter came here back in the fall, as I understand, so I can only imagine how different our entourage must appear. Nonetheless, we are given the story of the homes that have and will be built here. Up to 200 will be available, and the organizations that support this community will pay most obligations up front for around $700. The families that move in will have about 7 years to pay for the home at the rate of about $35/month. The real challenge lies in meeting that obligation, since most here survive on less than $1 a day.
One of the ironies in all of this is these projects are well funded. The construction manager I met was hesitant to talk about his boss, who he at one point referred to as his pastor. When I asked him to explain why his pastor was his boss, he quickly changed the subject and refused to comment any further calling it a joke. He is working here on a three month contract to build a two story structure. I inquired what the cost was to build one of these simple concrete structures, and he became incensed by the question.
He said people often come here to “help” the people, but the money comes and goes to the middle men who facilitate the process of building. The NGO provides money, but it often goes to everybody in the various government agencies, companies, and other interested parties. The trickle down effect, once again in action, leaves almost nothing but a cheap 4 meter x 6 meter concrete bock with a few doors and windows for those at the bottom of the barrel. There is a “real” sense of “reality” here.
Cambodia is one of the most corrupt countries in the world. This is the price of doing business in the country. For all the reports that have been written by the state department, for all the bribes passed through different ministries, at least these people get a sturdy shelter and a chance for a better quality of life. I guess that has to be a good thing.
We said our goodbyes and had to walk through a few more narrow streets of children, dogs, ducks, mothers, fathers, and grandparents in various stages of repose. The uncertainty at the start of our visit long gone, I found myself not wanting to work my way back on the bus to my “Picnic” destination. I will eat well tonight, as we have every day since we have been here, and while I have no regrets for my station in life, I feel a connection to the humanity we left behind to their own uncertain fate. What will these kids grow up to be? UN Lawyers? Teachers? Fisherman? We won’t know until they do. What I do know as I pass the transfer points on the highway to Koh Kong is there is a beast out there. It feeds a little on all of us, and constantly forces us to reconsider what our true purpose in life is. When I look in the mirror tonight, it won’t be the same face I saw in the morning. It will be lined with the shadows and sketches of young and old faces alike, reminders of who I am, who I can be, and the eyes of the beast that lives in me.
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