Experiential Learning

I was rereading my journals a couple days ago. I've been stuck at home for 2 days. Not because of anything dramatic (though I have been a little sick), but because my floor is being re-tiled and someone needs to "supervise." So while the tile boys do their thing, I perused my old thoughts and prayers. Now before anyone gets excited about all the juicy tidbits I'm about to drop here, I'll say that it's always interesting to see how one's prayers and thoughts grow over time… and how they don't! What most interested me were the thoughts I had about my first trip to Cambodia.

I see lots of volunteers come through (and we had another team here just a couple weeks ago), so I hear lots of first impressions, lots of initial thoughts, and lots of misguided assumptions. In rereading my own thoughts, I am certainly guilty of them as well. This reminiscing about my own early perspective has coincided with revising our volunteer orientation manual… so I've been inundated with the "Cambodia Introduction" process. It's a little scary to be reminded of the way I thought and what I did (or didn't ask).

As part of my work, I answer many questions, and many of the same questions (and rarely—although I won't say never—do I outright make up answers). Some of them are relevant for orientation manuals (currency exchange) while others are… not (how long it took to get used to driving in Cambodia). I once answered the same question three times in a row in the span of 5 minutes. Not only am I a friendly fact source about Cambodian history, current events, and culture, I'm also the "appropriateness police"—reminding people when their outfits are unacceptable, to please not point their feet at that monk who is growing more and more offended, and oh, by the way, that question is way out of line and can't be translated anyway. Why keep answering these inquiries when it exhausts me or I've said the same thing five times in one day? Well, sadly, I understand the purpose.

None of the "Cambodian experts" we have on staff got that way by being quiet. We ask questions (even when they are dumb), and we ask them of our Khmer friends, neighbors, and church buddies. Just the other day I asked someone if it was all right for me to do something, or if I was crossing a cultural line that I couldn't quite see (the answer was, fortunately, no). So we became experts not because we're any smarter or better or innately understanding of things, but from living and breathing in the culture, from experiencing the kind of things that happen here, and from trying to make sense of the unknowns by talking with others who have been there.

Where, then, is the disconnect? When does asking questions turn into tedium? First, I think it's when people assume they know the answers. Often, one of our visitors will make a statement about The Way Things Are, followed by that lovely transformational phrase, "right, Kate?"—instantly hoping to soften the assumption by dressing it up with a question. I hate it when I have to "answer" by saying "well, not really." The second problem is that a lot of people ask a question and don't listen to the answer. Lots of the tougher "why" questions here are countered by some up-front information; Cambodians are very relational… that informs the way they live, work, shop, eat, everything. Thinking through the implications of one statement can inform later questions. Third, sometimes people don't think before they ask. Although I know a lot about Cambodia, that doesn't mean I'm the expert on Malaysia (and why I sometimes have to make things up). This is also where insensitivity rears its head. If you wouldn't want someone to walk into your house and ask you how much money you make, or what your daily schedule is, you can assume that others don't want to answer that either. Deep down, though, I know that people mostly have good motives. I know they want to understand everything about this culture… about the people… about what they are to do with what they see here. Unfortunately, that's not what it looks like all the time.

We learn from experience. We store up all the things that happen to us, cross-reference them with what we know about the world, and draw conclusions. Maybe we change our behavior, maybe we communicate differently, maybe we soak it all up and do nothing. Cambodia can be a great ultimate experiential learning… experience. Because there is so much that is different, so much to see, so much to process, people leave trying to make sense of what it is that is going on outside. So the questions stem from our internal balance being off, our need to be familiar and comfortable before we can feel productive. It is, as many have said before, about stress.

Where the stress transfers to me is when I realize so many of our volunteers are asking the wrong questions. Although a trip to Cambodia should never be completely self-focused, so few people leave asking themselves (out loud, anyway) "what has this changed in me?" "What has shaped my view of Cambodia?" "Why did I have so much trouble with the culture?" "Why did our village experience bring me to tears?" The introspection is just as key to understanding the experience as the cultural anthropology. At the end of the day, few people remain in Cambodia. If all the questions don't get answered, if there are cultural things left unknown, it's okay. The bigger issues of what this trip will change at home, of why it is a significant experience, of what can be learned… those should be sorted out, worked through, and talked over. That learning process might take a lifetime, but would be worth so much more than knowledge of just historical facts. Those are the questions I would love to answer, especially since I'm asking so many of them myself.

Empty Handed

I should be used to this feeling by now. It's not strange to me anymore. I'm sure there's a word to describe it somewhere. Not insecurity nor inadequacy, certainly a far cry from insincerity. It's somewhere between incompetency and ineffectuality. Could I be a little more vague?

I spent the morning with a visitor witnessing several of our projects in a poor village near Phnom Penh. I've done this fairly often, I'm used to the routine, prepared for the questions. I'd even been to this particular village before and met some of the people there. Pretty much nothing about the day was a surprise… and maybe that's where this feeling makes me particularly uncomfortable.

We sat on the floor of a small house, surrounded by women who are part of an education group. They learn about preventing HIV, and today they learned about treating childhood asthma and preventing pneumonia. Seven of the women are HIV positive, and 5 of them are on Anti-Retroviral medications (ARV). Two of the women said their husbands are also infected. It's a sobering reality to share floor space with such stories. These women know their husbands were unfaithful and are living with the consequences—living and dying with them, I should say.

One of the women, a 23 year old, was actually part of the last visit I made to this village, and was interviewed for a WR video. I have heard her story, but even this time, was brought to tears as she recounted her tragic past. Sold by her older sister into prostitution at 17, she was beaten by the brothel owner and raped by his "customers." When she was finally able to leave, the owner talked her into coming back. Eventually she left again, and made her way back to her parent's home. That was about a year ago, and now she lives with her family, whose neglect of her health, theft of what little she has (or what is given to her), and disregard for her is a constant torment. From a life in bondage, this woman has moved into a life of pain. She discovered that she was HIV positive after our staff found her very, very sick and insisted she be tested. She became a Christian, and now is training to be a volunteer with the Hope program. She said that she is happy that she has new friends who are training with her.

As we sat there, across from her, watching tears fall down her cheeks and Nari (the staff leader) comfort her, I wasn't sure what to do. This story is heartbreaking—and I've heard it before, all too often. Sometimes I feel like that little boy trying to plug the dam in Holland with only his thumb. How do we stop the tide of hurt, of pain, of sorrow? Of all the things I have to offer her, there is not much that is immediate, that brings this young woman out of her situation and into something hopeful. To give her money is to ask her family to steal from her, and it's not sustainable. What does love look like here? How do we be "Good Samaritans" when the wounds are to the heart?

I promised to pray. I held out empty hands, wishing that I had something more to give, anything that would help. I know that prayer is something. I know that it is powerful and effective and that I shouldn't feel like I'm offering a consolation prize when I commit to pray. In these moments, though, it seems like such a small gift, a band-aid for a gaping wound.

Perhaps what is most humbling about these situations is that I have no control over the outcome. This woman's emotional (and physical) wounds can only be healed by God. He does promise hope for those who are suffering; to "comfort those who mourn and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair" (Isaiah 61:2-3). If we take Him at His word, holding out empty hands in prayer is to weep with those who are mourning, and in doing so, to let ourselves be transformed by their pain. I guess this is where the feelings of incompetence and ineffectiveness are realized. It isn't my job to bring healing or transform lives; that responsibility belongs to the Lord. I am to serve them, to abandon my own desire to be useful, and commit myself to that supposedly meager offering of prayer. Ultimately, I suppose it gives God the glory—for who else could transform death into life? Certainly not me.

Road Warriors

Some of you wonder if, when I talk about the bad traffic and dangerous road conditions in Cambodia I am exaggerating. While certain facts or stories may be a bit embellished, for the most part, I try to be exact. This week, while driving in the provinces, I narrowly avoided hitting a baby cow about to dart into the road. There have been other near misses, in other vehicles, on other roads. What I regret is that I've never captured these on film to adequately document the phenomenon and could rely only on my storytelling abilities.

And now I don't have to.

Thanks to my alert sister, this news story found its way to me. Apparently the Google car (who knew there was such a thing?) had an incident involving a deer. Now this is sad, but it is a great reason why the Google car has no place in Cambodia. I'm not sure that Google maps could afford the damages every time they nicked a cow or water buffalo. Not to mention kids on bicycles, motorbikes loaded down with stuff, or horse-drawn carts. In any case... this is a taste of driving in Cambodia. Without the constant adrenaline rush and heart-pounding terror, of course. You have to pay extra for that.

Facing Fear

I arrived back in Cambodia just before the beginning of a holiday (not surprising, as holidays happen here about once a month). This time it was Chinese New Year. I know some of you are thinking, "wait, wait, she doesn't live in China!" and you would be correct. However, a large portion of the Khmer population is part Chinese, and so the holiday is celebrated here with lots of fake paper money burning, sacrifices to ancestors, and a day off school. Also with firecrackers. Which is the subject of the first funny story of the Year of the Ox.

Last year, during Chinese New Year, I was consistently surprised by the firecrackers going off in the neighborhood. So this year, having forgotten that the holiday was even approaching (let alone here), I said to my house cleaner on Saturday morning, "Hedia, they are doing some construction or something. There is this constant banging, so don't let it frighten you. I have been jumping at the sounds all morning." Just then, another BANG sounded. She looked at me curiously. "Kate," she said, with a great deal of patience, and not a little amusement, "That's a game."

Aside from being annoyed/scared by the noises coming from outside my house, a greater fear-inducing problem exists (potentially) inside. Some of you may also remember that there have been several instances in which a mouse has been spotted in my house. During those dangerous times, I was vastly reassured by the presence of my very own mouse assassin (and roommate), Deanna. However, she has returned to the US, leaving me vulnerable to mouse attacks once more. Since my return, I have been on the lookout for any signs of furry creatures. Several pieces of circumstantial evidence point to the existence of a mouse-like intruder, but I haven't actually spotted it yet. The question remains: to trap, or not to trap?

Cambodia (Reprise)

My friend Katie wrote this week about her to-do list after arriving back in the Philippines after time away. I think it's safe to say that we're sharing similar experiences. I've been sitting at my computer all day, trying to craft email responses, complete arrangements, and make a plan of attack for the next few weeks. I've failed utterly.

I'm not sure if it's the fatigue from traveling or simply the transition from a month of being "away" and working in a different capacity. I've actually done very little "online" work, having to communicate face-to-face with those I would normally phone or email. The break was great for me; a chance to put some distance between myself, my work, and Cambodia. On the other side it has made me grateful to be back, excited about the coming months and the work ahead, and, I must admit, a little bit lazy about some of the follow up.

In fact, as I sit here contemplating my own laziness, I'm finding it difficult to even put my thoughts together for this little update. My body is still adjusting to the time here, and my brain is stumbling to catch up. I know I'll be spending a good portion of the weekend clearing my to-do list in preparation for some of the things that await next week.

All in all, I suppose this means I am "back," at least in the physical sense. The swelling in my feet has finally gone down, and the aches and pains of sitting in an airplane seat for 12 hours are fading. Mentally, it will take me a few days to catch up with what's going on and to reconnect myself to life here. I'll push past the listless feelings, the fatigue and the transition, and life will resume. In the meantime, I'm going for a massage. Might as well clear up the aches and pains first.

Heading Back

Just a brief update as I wait at the gate for my final flight of this journey. I'm now surrounded by the familiar tones of the Khmer language as there are several Cambodians waiting to board the plane as well. I've been "stuck" in the Korean airport all day-- which isn't so bad considering they have free wireless and a Starbucks... but I can think of better ways to spend 11 hours.

I've told a couple people that this time the trip back and forth is interesting for me. There is sadness in leaving-- friends and family I see all too rarely-- but no sorrow in going. What awaits me when this plane lands is a comfortable (for the most part) life, full of familiar faces and yes, even joy. I'm returning to a full list of things to do, in fact, a meeting at 8:30 tomorrow morning! Yet I can't help but wish the stretches in between seeing all those beloved friends and family were shorter. I missed getting to spend time with a few folks while I was back, and that's disappointing. Yet I know I was missed in Cambodia too. I guess this is another instance of the aches and pains that come with growing in and out of new homes.

Nine more hours, then, and I'll be back in familiar territory. Further away from things that are dear to me, but very close to new places and people that have captured my affection. In some ways, being in transit is easier... it's very isolationist, being a stranger in a strange land, all anticipation and longing at the same time. Or perhaps this is just what I feel now because I've been traveling so much. With that, I'm going to board and say good bye to Korea, Starbucks, hot showers, and modernization for some time. It's a bittersweet farewell, though, and in just a few hours I'll be waving hello to friends, humidity, and sights and sounds of Cambodia that have come to represent, in some way, comfort.

Update Overdue

Because of my travels, I've not had much time to organize my thoughts. I've now visited 6 states, been on 12 planes (with 4 more to go!) and lost my luggage for 7 days. Once I'm settled again, have time to sort through all my emotions and impressions, I'll be back. Until then, just know that the arm warmers have enjoyed their tour of the US. As, of course, have I.