Silly me. I thought that moving to the other side of the world, departing graduate school, and leaving my friends would open up a vast amount of free time, relaxation, and slow down the pace of life.
And then it became ESL season here.
Technically, it’s the rainy season. Which, I was informed today, is not the same as “summer.” My mistake. Must be the heat.
Despite an enforced weekend of rest, life has been moving pretty quickly here. There’s lots to tell about, lots to think about, but not lots of time to tell the full story. So you’ll get what I’m getting—snatches of reflection, little bites of Cambodia to process. Chew too much and you’ll miss the striking simplicity here. Chew too little and you’ll choke on the complexity of the problems and the lack of quick solutions.
In no order whatsoever, here are my most recent observations/reflections:
Language. I need to learn it. Desperately. I can give directions, ask “how much,” and count to 10. I can let people know that I like mangoes (does mangoes have an "e"?), tell them my name and age. I can say thank you. What I can’t do is call about a broken washing machine, or order cases of water for our ESL volunteers. Phone calls rely on more than hand gestures.
Dogs. I would not consider myself to be afraid of dogs. Well, I wouldn’t have considered myself to be afraid of dogs until I moved to Cambodia and met rabid, mangy, street dogs on every corner. I usually give them a wide berth (cross the road, walk around, etc.), but today one decided to follow me. Someone told me that the best thing to do was to act as though I was going to hit the animal, since they are afraid of that. I decided to risk it and made as if to strike the dog. At this point, I realized that the strategy, which sounded so wise at the dinner table, had one huge problem: the dog could potentially decide to be aggressive back and bite my arm. Hmm. Luckily, this particular dog just cowered in fear, and I kept walking. Kate—1, Dogs of Cambodia—0.
Technically, it’s the rainy season. Which, I was informed today, is not the same as “summer.” My mistake. Must be the heat.
Despite an enforced weekend of rest, life has been moving pretty quickly here. There’s lots to tell about, lots to think about, but not lots of time to tell the full story. So you’ll get what I’m getting—snatches of reflection, little bites of Cambodia to process. Chew too much and you’ll miss the striking simplicity here. Chew too little and you’ll choke on the complexity of the problems and the lack of quick solutions.
In no order whatsoever, here are my most recent observations/reflections:
Language. I need to learn it. Desperately. I can give directions, ask “how much,” and count to 10. I can let people know that I like mangoes (does mangoes have an "e"?), tell them my name and age. I can say thank you. What I can’t do is call about a broken washing machine, or order cases of water for our ESL volunteers. Phone calls rely on more than hand gestures.
Dogs. I would not consider myself to be afraid of dogs. Well, I wouldn’t have considered myself to be afraid of dogs until I moved to Cambodia and met rabid, mangy, street dogs on every corner. I usually give them a wide berth (cross the road, walk around, etc.), but today one decided to follow me. Someone told me that the best thing to do was to act as though I was going to hit the animal, since they are afraid of that. I decided to risk it and made as if to strike the dog. At this point, I realized that the strategy, which sounded so wise at the dinner table, had one huge problem: the dog could potentially decide to be aggressive back and bite my arm. Hmm. Luckily, this particular dog just cowered in fear, and I kept walking. Kate—1, Dogs of Cambodia—0.
Crossing the street. On my list of dangerous daily activities, after dogs, is crossing the street. Seriously. All that, “look both ways, don’t walk in front of traffic” stuff that we tell kids in the States is completely pre-empted by Cambodian driving tactics. So, most days, the two busy streets that I cross require the use of the following strategy: stand in distress on the corner for 10 seconds; refuse 3 moto drivers who want to take me to work; wade into the oncoming stream of motos and bicycles, walk in front of a few SUVs and Toyota Camrys, and even a truck or two; skirt the remaining stream of motos and bicycles on the other side of the street; and, finally, breathe a sigh of relief upon reaching the opposite corner. Perhaps I will write a letter about the importance of crosswalks to the people of Cambodia.
Cell phones. Many of you will be happy to learn that the problem of driving too slowly (or too quickly) while talking on a cell phone is not a uniquely North American problem. Just a public service announcement.
Poverty. This doesn’t fit, really, in a post about dogs, crosswalks, and cell phones. But it’s an inescapable fact of life here, one that I encounter every morning and every evening. My average number of daily contemplations on the nature of poverty, the role of God and faith in tackling the problem, and the urgency of the solution has increased dramatically. Said contemplations are particularly relevant when poverty is juxtaposed with obscene wealth and privilege (and I’m not talking about myself, though I meet that description when I walk down the street). I have more to say on this, so much more, in fact, that I’ll probably write about it later.
Sex trade. On my trip through the provinces, we were told about the problem of the sex trade in Cambodia. We passed a place where someone announced, “That’s apparently the cheapest brothel in Cambodia.” This is not a reassuring statement, but time and distance have eased the shock I felt in that moment. Last night, driving in during the evening from another trip to the provinces, I saw with my own eyes the sex trade at work in Cambodia. Red lights. Women for sale. Five minutes later, we pulled up to the house where I’m living. There is no distance from these brothels. There is no time away from this.
No easy wrap-ups, no verses that spell out how I feel about all these things. My prayers are both pleas to God about life, and short questions… How? Why? This is not the way You made it. In some respects, I know this is culture shock, this inability to think beyond the surface. In other ways, it’s really me, grappling with who and what God made me to be in a place where I can’t make sense of the language, the traffic, the poverty, and the sin. Perhaps it will take me 2 years to figure that out.
Cell phones. Many of you will be happy to learn that the problem of driving too slowly (or too quickly) while talking on a cell phone is not a uniquely North American problem. Just a public service announcement.
Poverty. This doesn’t fit, really, in a post about dogs, crosswalks, and cell phones. But it’s an inescapable fact of life here, one that I encounter every morning and every evening. My average number of daily contemplations on the nature of poverty, the role of God and faith in tackling the problem, and the urgency of the solution has increased dramatically. Said contemplations are particularly relevant when poverty is juxtaposed with obscene wealth and privilege (and I’m not talking about myself, though I meet that description when I walk down the street). I have more to say on this, so much more, in fact, that I’ll probably write about it later.
Sex trade. On my trip through the provinces, we were told about the problem of the sex trade in Cambodia. We passed a place where someone announced, “That’s apparently the cheapest brothel in Cambodia.” This is not a reassuring statement, but time and distance have eased the shock I felt in that moment. Last night, driving in during the evening from another trip to the provinces, I saw with my own eyes the sex trade at work in Cambodia. Red lights. Women for sale. Five minutes later, we pulled up to the house where I’m living. There is no distance from these brothels. There is no time away from this.
No easy wrap-ups, no verses that spell out how I feel about all these things. My prayers are both pleas to God about life, and short questions… How? Why? This is not the way You made it. In some respects, I know this is culture shock, this inability to think beyond the surface. In other ways, it’s really me, grappling with who and what God made me to be in a place where I can’t make sense of the language, the traffic, the poverty, and the sin. Perhaps it will take me 2 years to figure that out.
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