Care Packages

A few of you have inquired as to what I could use that you could send in a package, so I thought I'd share a few ideas. First of all, let me say that words fail to describe the pleasure of packages in the Peace Corps. “Hey. You have a package in the mail room” someone might tell you. “A PACKAGE?!!?” you squeal with delight before running off to claim what will surely be the highlight of your day, or week, or month. Thanks to packages, I’ve been able to expose the joys of Oreos, Mac 'n' cheese, and Nutella to Cambodian friends and family, and I can assure you: lives have been changed. So, if you’re feeling generous and care to send a package, but need some ideas, here are a few.

Ziploc bags. I can never have too many of these. The best kind are the ones with the re-sealable zipper, as those get the tightest seal and are best able to keep out the ants.

Luna Bars. Not having gone so much as a month without these since before my freshman year of college, I think I've created a lifelong addiction that not even two years in the Peace Corps offers any hope of breaking. I’ve been maniacally rationing out the ones I have received in packages- dividing and savoring them in fourths. Caramel nut brownie is my favorite. If you sent a package filled with nothing but Luna bars, I’d be thrilled.

Cliff bars, Nature Valley Bars, TLC, and Kashi bars. I’m a bar lover. My love for bars is indiscriminate.

Baby wipes. These come in handy for all kinds of purposes, as I’m sure you can imagine.

Wet Ones.

Peanut butter.

Cotton balls and Q-tips.

Ped-Egg.

Fragrance-free lotion.

Stain stick. I’ve yet to come across this in Phnom Penh, and it’d be useful for the poor pits of my collared shirts I am obligated to wear every day to school.

Individual packets of oatmeal- any flavor

Mixed nuts.

Cereal! Kashi Go Lean Crunch and Heart to Heart are a couple of favorites.

If you are unable or don’t want to send a package (shipping isn’t cheap, I know), I always love receiving letters too!

Leah Mortenson (PCV)

Peace Corps Cambodia

U.S. Embassy

P.O. Box 2453

Phnom Penh 3

Kingdom of Cambodia

ASIA

Tis the Season?

Christmas in Cambodia means redefining a lifetime’s accumulated expectations of this particular holiday. SNOW, Christmas music, Santa in the mall (the mall? What’s that?)— all gone— replaced by weather in the 80s, green leaves on the trees, flowers in bloom… I have to rub my eyes to believe the reality before me, which in no way resembles any conception of “December” I’ve previously had.

The good thing about Cambodia’s bearing no resemblance to Christmastime in the U.S. is it makes it fairly easy to delude myself into thinking it’s not really December at all. No holiday shopping? No 24 hours of A Christmas Story? Well then, it simply cannot be Christmas. Self delusion’s been working to an extent, but I’ve been forced into recognizing what season it is by random bits of Christmas popping up here and there: on the back of a student’s fuzzy red hoodie, for example, a fat, sequined Santa ho ho ho’ing: Merry Christmas! to all of Cambodia’s bewildered Buddhist community.

Explaining Christmastime to Cambodians is an inconceivable task. “You know, there’s snow in America right now.” Blank stare. I tried explaining how sometimes it gets so cold, your breath freezes. Of course, I didn’t have the vocabulary for this in Khmer: “It’s like…. When you breathe out….” One of my students offered, “There’s snow?” I liked this mental image so I went with it: America: Where it gets so cold, you breathe out snow.

A couple of nights ago at dinner, I tried again with my family: “… And then we put socks on the fireplace” (amazingly, there is a word for “fireplace” in Khmer—though I’m sure few have actually seen one—but not knowing it at the time, I drew one on the whiteboard). As I went on, explaining in broken Khmer this strange, consumerist, hazily Christian holiday of ours, I found myself thinking of David Sedaris and the rest of his french class trying to reconstruct Easter for a Moroccon student.

On I trudged: “Man, big, with fathermouth* color white, and long long, he enter into your house and he give you the presents. He put them under a tree, and he put sugar in socks of yours. If you are person bad, he give you—” At this point I dash to the back of the house to retrieve a piece of coal to illustrate my point. “—coal!” (I learned the word for coal is actually the same as the French word, which is handy: carbon). “We gives Santa cakes and water breast cow**, but we not never seen him.”

Interestingly, the Khmer New Year is, I guess, a lot like Christmas; there is a “god” (Santa) that comes to all of the good, law-abiding citizens’ houses to bring them good luck. Even though nobody’s ever seen him, you’re expected to leave out small cakes and plates of fruit to “give him energy” for his travels. The holiday’s in April and lasts for about a week or so—all the schools shut down and everyone parties. It does sound a lot like Christmas to me when you get right down to it, especially after my students and I established that Christmas is really just a “Christian party” (word choice courtesy of my students).

So, maybe I am not experiencing the holiday season as I have known it to be in the U.S., but it looks like I will get to experience much of the same sorts of festivities and traditions that make Christmas worth it anyway: the food, friends, family, and of course, relaxation (a practice, I must admit, Cambodians are much more apt at than Americans). Until then, I wish you a very happy holiday season, filled with love, overeating, and family.

"Christmas"

*beard

**milk

The Great Escape

Several of you have already sent your love in the form of e books. For this, I thank you very much! You have no idea how happy this makes me and how grateful I am for your support. I have gotten great book recommendations in the comments section and in e-mails, and have had some requests to share mine with you, so I had a thought: why not write a blog post, solely dedicated to what seems to be our (mine and my fellow readers’) mutual passion for books?

So, here is a list of all the books I have read thus far while in Cambodia, with a brief thought or two regarding if the book was worth my time, and/or if I think it will be worth yours:

Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver. Kingsolver is one of my favorite authors, so anything she’s written comes highly recommended by me.

Harry Potter (1-4, only. Still waiting to download 5-7!)

Culture Shock! Cambodia. Recommend this if you plan on traveling to Cambodia (say, to visit me?), or are interested in getting a “traveler’s overview” of the country.

What is the What? by Dave Eggers. This is a beautifully written book and shows how versatile a writer Eggers is, able to jump into anyone’s story and capture it from the inside out.

I have America Surrounded, John Higgs. Interesting insight about the LSD movement in San Francisco in the 60s.

First comes Love, then comes Malaria. Okay, okay. Yes, this is as cavity-causing as it sounds like it would be, but in my defense I, a) picked it up on a whim in the Peace Corps office and so had no idea what I was getting myself into, and b) a little fluff every once in a while never hurt anybody.

When Broken Glass Floats. Only read about half of this. It didn’t captivate me, but maybe you’ll have more luck. Personally, if you want to know more about the Khmer Rouge, my recommendation is First they Killed my Father, which is coming up…

Brave New World. Needed a refresher since high school.

On the Road, Jack Kerouac.

Down and Out in Paris and London. Highly recommend this book to anyone interested in learning a different side of Orwell- one that’s not science fictiony.

Orientation and Other Stories, Daniel Orozco.

Me Talk Pretty One Day. I love David Sedaris.

Atlas Shrugged. This is by far the most profound book I’ve read yet while in Cambodia. Rand is an incredible writer- lyrical, perceptive, and ethical. I LOVED this book and highly recommend it to anyone who has the time and the inclination to delve into it. It’s over 1000 pages and so a bit of an endeavor, but I promise, it’s worth it.

Hot Water Music. Bukowski is kind of a jerk, and his characters, pretty much without exception, are assholes, but I get sucked in anyway.

Dharma Punx. Not a work of staggering genius, but provides some perspective into a small pocket of people who’ve taken their angsty punk rage and created some kind of spirituality with it. Kind of interesting and a very quick read.

At Home, Bill Bryson.

Let the Great World Spin. Loved this book. Great characters and active scenery.

Naked, Sedaris.

First they Killed My Father. This is a wonderful book if you’d like a glimpse into the Khmer Rouge from the perspective of someone who lived through it.

Ham on Rye. Again, Bukowski is a jerk but somehow I can’t put him down.

Off the Rails in Phnom Penh. Thought this author was a pretentious asshole when I started the book, but it’s actually really informative if you can get beyond that. Good read if you’re interested in learning about the darker side of Cambodia’s capitol: “into the dark heart of guns, girls, and ganja” as the subtitle reads.

Doors of Perception into Heaven and Hell (in progress), Aldous Huxley. Recounts Huxley’s first experience taking Mescaline.

Holidays on Ice, Sedaris.

Middlesex (in progress), Jeffrey Eugenides.

Bilbo le hobbit (in progress), Tolkien. Discovered this by chance in my school's library. Read about three chapters and then promptly forgot about it.

I may just create a new section on my blog so these are easier to access, and keep adding to the list.

So now, to jump briefly to something completely different; as some of you know, Sunday was my birthday! I am now 23, and still considered a “k’mayne k’mayne” (young’n) amongst Cambodians. After having a lovely conversation with my mom (the real one, in America) for over an hour, I set off to start my day of celebration. My Bong S’rei Ohn (my friend from the market who I’ve gotten pretty close to the past few months), told me from the beginning of my service— back in October— after she’d found out when my birthday was that she would make sure I had a noam cake and a party. Birthdays aren’t really a big deal in Cambodia after you’re about one, but S’rei Ohn knows that this isn’t the case in America, and wanted to make sure I wouldn’t feel forgotten about. I was sure she’d forgotten all about this by the time my birthday rolled around, but she didn’t, and I was able to enjoy a real cake (real by Cambodian standards; it was essentially a muffin with cool whip), on my birthday, and we indeed had a party with her family.

That is a can of silly string on the table.

Sparklers, firecrackers… it was really more like the fourth of July than my birthday.

Kramer baby!

As you can see, it was quite the celebration. I was by no means anticipating so much pomp and circumstance, and expected my first birthday in Cambodia would be a much lonelier affair. But due to the love and generosity I’ve discovered in the friends I’ve made, it ended up being a day I won’t soon forget. My birthday also happened to fall on S’rei Ohn’s cousin’s wedding, so to continue the festivities in the afternoon, I tagged along with the rest of the family. The usual eating, drinking, and boppy Khmer music ensued, and, sometime in the early evening, we called it a day.

That’s about all from here, for now! Hope you are all healthy, happy, and well.

Rongia Naa!

The month is December. My birthday month. The month of Christmas, and New Years Eve. By the looks of it, none of this is evident in Cambodia, where it is still 80 degrees midday. Living in 100 plus weather for much of the year, Cambodians clearly aren’t used to these “cooler temperatures” and I struggle not to shake them as I see how they’ve reacted: winter coats, fur lined zip-ups, hats, gloves… The works. It is horrifying. And I know it’s real because I’ve seen people genuinely shiver! All the while, I am still sweating. Heh.

Case in point: Two days ago, it was extremely humid since the “sky wanted to rain.” I was sitting at the kitchen table and my mom turns to me with a chill, (as sweat is pouring down my face), and says “rongia naa!” (it’s so cold!!)

Twenty degrees may not be a lot, but it makes a difference in certain departments of life. For example, my bucket baths are now something I dread, rather than look forward to. During the rainy season, when it was extremely hot and humid all day, I couldn’t wait till my morning and evening bucket baths, which were necessary respites from the heat. Now, I have to mentally and physically prepare myself for a moment before pouring that first bucket of cold water over my head. It is, however, a nice change of pace to go from sweating 75% of the time, to sweating maybe 50% of the time.

Since most of my afternoons are fairly free, subtract Khmer lessons and English club with my younger kids, I’ve already devoured much of my personal library. If you care to assist in adding to my dwindling pile, I’ve put together a wish list of e-books on Amazon. If you search my name, you should be able to find my list, and you can “gift” a book to me on the website, which should then send the order number to my e-mail address so that I can download it. For any willing participants, THANK YOU. You have no idea what a difference it makes as a Peace Corps volunteer to know that regardless of how the day goes, you can cozy up with a good book to engage in some necessary escapism at the end of it.

Merry December!

Barang

Barang is a term here used to describe any foreigner with light skin. It used to be a description unique to the French, when they were occupying Cambodia, but has, over time, come to encompass all foreigners with lighter skin.

I learned this term quickly when I got to Cambodia, as it was the word being yelled at me across both sides of the street from children, teenagers, and adults. Of course, a group of twenty or so of us had just invaded their small community for our pre-service training, so our presence was overwhelming and came as a shock to many who had never seen a light skinned person before.

At first, when I was called a barang, I didn’t really take any offense to it. It was called out in a friendly way, out of recognition, so I’d acknowledge whoever yelled with a “hello!” or “suasadye!” Then after a while, it sort of evolved to be something I resented being associated with. The tone of voice used when uttering it was more disdainful and the word seemed to be spit out.

I am still addressed as a barang on occasion—mainly when I visit a new province, or go on a long bike ride out of my village—but it’s stopped bothering me because I’ve realized it’s said out of ignorance rather than disdain. The person who calls me a barang does so because he/she doesn’t know me, and doesn’t know the work I am doing here.

So today, I saw my first other barang in my village- probably just passing through. And you know what I felt? Not a sense of solidarity, or a curiosity to know this other person. I felt resentment and suspicion. Like, I wanted this person to leave, and had no interest in knowing if she was another volunteer, like me, here to try to help in the best way she knows how. I shared this with a fellow P.C. volunteer, who was surprised; when she sees another volunteer, she sees them as she sees herself: here to do good work and try to help. She sees them as allies.

Now, unfortunately, I am not this optimistic. By nature, I am more suspicious of people, I guess. I’m open to being proven wrong, but I tend to set the bar pretty low first. This is not something I’m proud of about myself, it’s just a fact. But realizing my own hypocrisy and acknowledging that I saw this barang through much the same lens that Cambodians who don't know me, view me, made me feel more understanding towards Cambodians who are uncertain how they should feel towards me. They may never have seen a white person before, or if they have, maybe the association was a negative one, so their natural inclination is to be a little wary.

All this is to say, that I’m going to try a little harder to be more open-minded towards fellow foreigners working here, and see them as I hope Cambodians will see me: as an ally and not an enemy.

First Thanksgiving in Cambodia

Hello! First of all, I want to say THANK YOU for all of your kind words and inspiration. I am fast learning that each day of teaching is a new one: with a whole new set of challenges and inspirations to work with. Some days I will be up to this challenge, and respond effectively to the different situations that present themselves, and some days, not so much. I’m trying to remember this, and be patient with myself when I fall short.

Last week I was able to push pause on the sometimes-taxing realities of teaching, to go to Kampong Cham for an IST (in service training) with my fellow volunteers. This is the province just north of me. Half of the volunteers (those who live in the south) met in K. Cham for IST, and half of them (those who live in the north) met the week before in Battambong. My counterpart, So Wichea, and my vice school director, Ongkean, came with me to the training, where we brainstormed secondary projects that could help my school and community and talked about what our roles will be to each other throughout my service.

At first I was a little discouraged when we started talking about secondary projects, because my school director seemed only to be interested in the installation of a basketball court and a computer lab, two extremely resource heavy projects that will not be possible without the input of grants. I explained the limited resources I'm currently working with, though, and we agreed that improving the library is a much more feasible project for the present. The library is very musty/dusty/moldy and virtually unusable for students due to its lack of organization. It has no real check out/return system so that books often go missing, and there's virtually no selection of books in English. I hope to improve this in the future if and when I’m able to somehow get ahold of the necessary finances. 

My counterparts and I also talked about planting a garden, which I really hope can happen! I haven’t yet run the idea by my actual school director (who didn’t come to K. Cham: “too busy”), but there is definitely space for it, and technically he has extra money that is meant for “beautification of the school” in the words of my co-teacher, so maybe he will be generous and help me fund the initial start up costs.

Thanksgiving dinner with the other volunteers was amazing! Not only did we have a REAL turkey (which doesn’t even have a name in Khmer, by the way, it’s just referred to as a “foreign chicken”), but also mashed ‘taters, carrots, green beans, stuffing, corn bread, salad, and many, many delectable deserts to choose from. (This proved too difficult for me so I just tasted them all). The meal was amazing, the company was great, and it was just comforting to feel so much a part of a familiar community, amongst so much unfamiliarity. Peace Corps went above and beyond its duties to create a memorable first Thanskgiving away from home for all of us new volunteers. 

This is the bridge that’s on the back of every 500 riel note!

This is the most imbalanced snack I could find in K. Cham

Outside of the Provincial Teaching Training Center (PTTC)

Thanksgiving Feast!!

That's about all from here for now! Thanks again for all of your words of encouragement. Keep me posted on what's going on with all of you, too! I love to hear news of what you're up to, and anything related to current events in the states. I learned recently that pizza is now being considered a vegetable in elementary schools (tomato paste, duh), so that's great news... :-/

So this week I started teaching again after having five days off from school for Water Festival, which came at a timely moment as I was afraid I was beginning to sink into the depths of my bed with no hopes to ever again return to the outside world and be a productive member of society. On Mondays, I only teach two hours in the morning, which may be a good thing because it allows me to sort of ease back into a normal work week, or could be a bad thing because it lets me be lazy a little longer… I haven’t really decided yet. Monday I had a really bad class. Like, so bad that I almost walked out on them and started crying… I choked my way through the dialogue in the book anyway, my internal dialogue screaming at me to not let them see me upset, but they’re not stupid. They knew. And I didn’t recover… I was so upset that no one was participating; the majority of them don’t know how to read in English (after having studied English for several years already- being in grade ten- many of them still don’t know how to read in English). I felt incredibly frustrated with the whole Cambodian school system in general- the corruption, the favoritism, the unequal opportunity. It all hit me at once and I found myself wanting to run away, maybe even back to America.

Fortunately, I have made some really good friends here, and my friend Amie offered me words of wisdom and hope that helped me get through the morning, and eventually the rest of the day, with a smidgen more optimistic of an outlook. There are going to be really bad days here. I came here knowing that, yet it doesn’t make the reality of one any less real, scary, or disillusioning.

On Fridays, I teach another two hours. Tuesday through Thursday, I teach four hours straight through just FYI (I’m not totally lazy), with Khmer lessons and English club in the afternoon to boot. So this morning before class, my co-teacher Chun Saroon called me. (You might remember him from a previous entry). “Hello. Yes. Today, I am very busy.” So I taught the class, to a classroom full of tenth graders whose grasp of the English language is less than tenuous at best. There were times during the lesson when I had that same feeling of Holy shit I want to be anywhere but here- when forty pairs of glazed over eyes were staring at me, bored out of their skulls- but other times when I felt like Ok, I think I can do this. And this is pretty much how every class goes for me. There are moments when I feel ok about it all- when I made them laugh at something, or someone voluntarily raises their hand to answer a question- and moments I feel hopeless.

So ok, maybe there will be days when I hate this, resent my co-teachers, resent my students, resent myself for resenting them… But then, hopefully, there will be days when I think, Ok, I can do this.

My First Khmer Wedding!

Well, I have survived my first Khmer wedding! Yesterday, about eleven in the morning, my co-teacher called me and invited me to the wedding of (I think?) my vice school director’s daughter. Since we have five days off of school for Water Festival, I needed something to drag me out of my room, away from my books and laziness to something back in the social realm. I accepted and we agreed to meet the following morning.

So seven o clock the next morning, my co-teacher arrived at my house. He and my family laughed at me as I ran inside to retrieve my bike, refusing the offer to hop on the back of his moto. First of all I have no idea how I would even attempt that in my sampot, the long traditional Khmer skirt that’s reminiscent of drapes and allows your legs about a ten-inch radius of wiggle room...

We arrived at the groom’s house a little after seven, and were soon handed trays of bananas to carry in the procession. Khmer weddings consist of two parts: the procession in the morning in which fruit is carried from the groom’s house to the bride’s as an offering, and the party which follows in the evening. So my co-teacher and I each held a tray of bananas and hopped into line as it was starting. Somebody told us we were in the wrong spot, so we jumped back in line with the other banana holders (apparently, there is a strict order to these things). And we were off! A dtroh player in the front led the way with help from the beat of a drum. Once at the bride’s house, she came downstairs with her bridesmaids. Everyone looked beautiful, but not quite as beautiful as the bride!

The bride and groom met… I have to admit, I got a little knot in my throat. They are so in love! Afterwards we all sat down to have breakfast together: rice soup, fruit, and pastries of sticky rice wrapped around banana, coconut, and honey. While we were eating, my co-teacher taught me the Khmer names of a couple of fruits I hadn’t learned yet and I attempted to teach him a few in English. “Clementine” I said pointing. “Lemontime” he said, nodding his head in agreement. “No, Clementine” “Yes yes, I know: Lemontime” I guess I couldn’t expect him to pay much attention with all the surrounding excitement.

While we were eating, the bride and groom went upstairs to pray to the family shrine and thank the ancestors for bringing them together. Later in the day, my co-teacher told me, they would cut each other’s hair, as a symbol of them starting their lives anew together.

After breakfast, we all went home to rest a bit for the coming festivities in the evening. I once again delved into my book, but with less guilt, as I knew I’d be partying it up later!

Four o clock rolled around and I rode my bike back to the party. I met one of my neighbors outside and she sort of adopted me for the evening as another one of her kids. She held my hand and led me into the party, sat me down at a table, poured my beer, and even peeled a shrimp for me at one point.

There was a feast: we ate rice (of course) with fish, beef and greens, roasted duck, chicken and peanuts, pâté, and shrimp soup. I sort of picked around the meat the best I could, but it was all delicious! Nobody really talks much while eating in Cambodia, but it didn’t matter because there was a band on a stage, serenading us loudly with boppy Khmer music the whole time. After we ate, and it was getting a bit later, people started moving around more, talking and laughing, some starting to dance. My neighbor grabbed me by the hand again and led me near the stage, where we watched the band and she offered the singers a flower when they would come off of the stage.

One of the singers came over to me at one point and told me to let him know if I wanted to get up and sing… It could be in English, he said, just let him know if I wanted to. I said maybe next time. J

I called it a night fairly early, heading home to my family and back to my books. It was a fun evening though, and I’m really happy I went! First Khmer wedding= success.

the fruit at the groom’s house

standing in line before the procession started

my co-teacher! with his tray of bananas

I couldn’t resist jumping out of line to get a pic of everybody from the front

the dtroh player!

walking to the bride’s house

groom waiting for the bride to accept her gifts

bride coming down to greet him

bride and groom meeting. ahhh, so happy!

bride and groom being serenaded. check out those socks!

eating rice porridge

the alter upstairs with all the fruit we’d brought

TEFL Conference, Site Visit, and Sammies.

I am back from my week in Phnom Penh! It was a good week, but I am glad to be back at my site. The TEFL conference was interesting and I definitely took away some new ideas from it, but it was very long: Seven and a half hours in the same room, every day for six days, gets a little torturous at times. Three days might have been more manageable. When we were focused and engaged, the sessions were productive and our Khmer counterparts got a lot out of it. But when we were exhausted, particularly towards the end of the week, it was harder to focus enough to absorb much of anything. Overall, though, I think the conference was pretty helpful and I’m glad I went. There was one session in particular that Mr. Chuon Nam Heng (my counterpart) and I loved. We were doing exercises to show how differently stressed syllables within a sentence can change its meaning (“You like teaching, don’t you?”- if the tone goes down at the end, you’re sure, whereas if it goes up, you’re unsure). Everyone in the room seemed to think the exercise futile for the Cambodian classroom, but my counterpart and I appreciated the nuances and eagerly analyzed the sentences together like the couple of nerds we apparently are. This confirmed in my mind that we were meant to be (counterparts).

The King’s 90^th birthday was on Monday so there was a parade that started from Independence Monument in the morning.

At the end of the conference, we took a boat ride out on the Tonle Sap River with our Khmer counterparts, the director of the conference, and the country director of Peace Corps Cambodia.

I got home from Phnom Penh on Monday, and spent two days in my village before leaving again for a meeting in my provincial town with my program manager and P.C. Cambodia’s director of training. The drives in Cambodia are always a blast. And by that I mean, I am almost always scared for my life. “Chicken” is a regular past time between drivers on the highway, horns being the only means of division on the road, drivers swerving in and out of “lanes.” When I was in Italy, driving on the highway for the first time with my host family and sputtering in disbelief about the seeming chaos of it all, I remember by host dad turning to me, waving his hand nonchalantly and saying, “the lines are just a suggestion.” The same applies to traffic in Cambodia.

Once safely in Prey Veng, I dropped my stuff off at the guesthouse and went on my way to meet up with two other volunteers who live in the provincial town, and another who lives in a nearby village. We all had to come to town for this meeting, so we took advantage of our time together by running around our tiny, dusty provincial town, taking refuge in the Tela (an air conditioned gas station) whenever needed, eating mi chaa (fried noodles), playing with the kitties at a nearby Wat, and stopping to gawk at the giant pot-bellied pig who also inhabits the place (what it is with Wats and giant pigs, I really don’t know. The contrast of gluttony and asceticism seems unfortunately ironic to me).

Frighteningly large pig at the Wat in Prey Veng

After dinner and drinks on the river, it was time to head back to the guesthouse. My friend Diana had received a package from Phnom Penh, and we were anxious to see what marvels it held... We walked hurriedly, cursing the dogs that barked at us as we passed and trying to convince ourselves we were bigger and stronger than they are (for their size and general manginess, the dogs here can still be intimidating, especially at night).

Receiving a package is like Christmas. Actually, truth be told, it’s better than Christmas. Christmas, you probably know what you’re getting, and after opening your presents, the excitement quickly fades. Maybe I should have asked for this instead… You think to yourself, dully. The whole thing can be pretty anticlimactic. Not the case with packages in Cambodia. Opening a package merits the special attention of a ritual. It is a treasure that will be savored… A package of Oreos! A bag of Candy Corn! Even if ants find their way into these delights, Peace Corps volunteers will honor them all the same, brushing away the occasional bug or justifying it as extra protein, which we all surely need.

So naturally, Diana was very excited to open her package. She carefully cut the tape, using the tiny pocketknife I keep on my keychain, to do so, as I looked on, mesmerized. She folded back the cardboard flaps expectantly! … Only to find that a container of Marshmallow Fluff had exploded its contents on the entirety of the package…

Fluff on the books, fluff on two recorders (Diana was a music major), fluff on the Post-Its, fluff on the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch… You name it, it was covered in Marshmallow Fluff. Our hearts dropped. Being the thrifty Peace Corps volunteers we are, however, we quickly recovered and began to take stock of our resources, assessing the needs of the situation. Since we were in a hotel room, the disaster was not quite as catastrophic as it potentially could have been had Diana been at site where there is no running water, where the ants would surely have congregated in masses towards the fluff the moment the package was opened.

With baby wipes and water, we were able to scrape off the fluff, leaving the contents of the package as good as if they’d never been assaulted in the first place, establishing Diana’s package once again as a blessing and a joy.

Adding to my less than clean record with hotel rooms: I came out of the bathroom and saw this. It may be hard to see here, but those fingerprints are a deep red color…

So now, finally, I am home once again, this time for a while. This week has been The Week Of Sandwiches. While in Phnom Penh, I bought sliced bread and cheese to make my family a good old-fashioned sandwich when I got home. The second my Bong S’rei Ohn heard about this, she insisted I come over the following day to make her sandwiches too. The sandwiches I made for my family had cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce, and today I added a fried egg. S’rei Ohn was beyond thrilled about the whole thing, but took a bite of hers and immediately made a face, saying “Ought jeh niam.” (I don’t know how to eat it). My Ma Ma, however, loved them, and wants me to come over tomorrow to make them again.

Sandwiches: round one, with my family. My nephews didn’t like them, but they were huge supporters of the Oreos.

Sandwiches: round two! Ma Ma frying the eggs. “Ma Ma jeh niam” (I know how to eat them) she proudly remarked after S’rei Ohn proved incapable.

More soon!

Face Sucking and Sumbs.

Cow Sevin is a man about the same age as my Khmai parents, who works at a nearby NGO and sleeps at our house a few nights a week (he goes home to his family in a different town the other nights). Dinners with Sevin are always interesting. He speaks English, albeit brokenly, and is always curiously inquiring about things he’s heard about America, that he wants to clarify as being true, as well as voicing his personal opinions about America’s moral compass or lack thereof. “I heard that eleven year olds have babies in America. Is it true?” “I think that woman have more right in America than men.” It’s always a careful balance for me, trying to answer his questions or respond to his opinions in a tactful yet honest way. Last night at dinner, Sevin asked me, “Why you suck each other’s face in America?” Choking on my rice, I looked up at him. “What?!” I croaked as I pictured something vaguely reminiscent of a scene in Silence of the Lambs. “In America, you suck each other’s face. What is it?” Sevin replied. Using my hands as puppets to mime, I figured out he was talking about kissing.

Learning that “face sucking” (I explained the term “making out” to him) does indeed occur in America, he crossed his arms over his chest and said definitively, “It is not clean.” This coming from someone who uses his own spoon to serve himself soup from the communal soup bowl! Anyway, it was yet another encounter of many that are funny with Sevin.

Last week I was supposed to go observe Chun Saroon teach, the English teacher with whom I really don’t want to work. Chuon Nam Heng (the one I like) told me there would be no classes last week, since the school was still flooded and students were having trouble getting there, so I didn’t go. As it turns out, he was not teaching any classes- the other teachers still were. The following day, I was drinking a coffee with Chuon Nam Heng when Chun Saroon showed up. “Do you know that you are a liar?” he said to me. Great. I explained the misunderstanding, but he was not very empathetic. Needless to say, this encounter did not enhance my feeling for the guy. The following day, I faithfully showed up to observe his class. “Where is Chun Saroon?” I ask his classroom full of students. Nobody knew. “Ohhh, I am very busy! Very busy now!” he said to me when I called him. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Ohhhh umm… Today I not come to school because… I am busy! Sorry!” So just like that, Chun Saroon totally evaded his primary duty as a teacher because he was simply “too busy” and expected I would teach his class. I was furious. I talked to the school director, and we worked it out to where I now know all of the teachers’ schedules and will show up to observe at my convenience, so that they can’t just duck out knowing I will be able to take over their responsibilities. Unfortunately, I am not the first volunteer to have experienced this in Cambodia. Teachers are paid the same wage, by the government, regardless of how much they teach and when, so things are often “coming up” which prevent them from teaching and turn the responsibility over to volunteers, or, if no volunteer is present, the kids go home.

After school, twice a week, I’ve been teaching English to a group of ten and eleven year olds at S’rei Ohn’s house. One of the students is her daughter, the rest, her friends. It’s ended up being a lot of fun. The kids are extremely eager to learn English, and while more like parrots than people right now (they will attempt to babble anything that comes out of my mouth), I can see that their enthusiasm will translate to knowledge. So far, we’ve covered body parts, family, and animal vocabulary. What I like more than anything else, I think, and what frustrates me the most at the same time, is working on pronunciation. Those THs and Rs are nearly impossible for Cambodians, which is excruciating to listen to, but makes the occasional “breakthrough” that much more rewarding. “Thumb” for example, is pronounced by Cambodians, “Sumb.” No matter what I do, “Sumb” it remains. But during my language group, I had an idea to have them grab their tongues and try to say the word. It worked! And of course they were giggling uncontrollably over the whole thing. One boy is particularly enthusiastic: Dong Leeyung. We sit in a half circle on a table outside, me, next to the white board, and the kids surrounding. When we’re learning a new word, I’ll say it, and have them repeat after me, together at first, and then individually. The kids don’t really get the “individual” part, and continue to scream it at me in chorus as I’m trying to pay attention only to one. Dong Leeyung screams it in my ear, leaning closer and closer to me desperately vying for my attention until I turn to him and ask him to please scoot back and wait his turn. It gets mildly irritating, but I’m sure I wouldn’t be fooling anyone if I said I didn’t love it.

I should mention that Cambodians rarely smile in photographs. Even in their wedding pictures, they have a look as solemn as if someone just died. So the smiles that are beginning to show here are as good as gold. J

From this Saturday until the next, I’m going to a TEFL conference in Phnom Penh with Chuon Nam Heng. With twenty or so other volunteers, and their Khmer counterparts, we will learn about how to become better teachers. I’m really excited! I’ll report back after the conference. Thanks for tuning in!

At our first staff meeting at the beginning of last week, I was introduced to all six of the English teachers at my school. There are three with whom I can see myself working: Loak cru (Male teacher) Chuon Nam Heng has several gold teeth, mocking eyes, and almost perfect English; Chum Cheeung is very kind and has a nice laugh; and Nek Cru (Female teacher) Soweechia is clever and speaks English fairly well, having studied at the Royal University of Phnom Penh. There are two other English teachers, but I don’t see myself working with either of them: one is going crazy (literally), and the other is abrasively enthusiastic, which makes me want to run the other way whenever I see him. One day while I was running, he pulled up on his moto and ordered me to stop on the side of the road to have a chat: not what I want to do when I am sweating and intent on collecting endorphins. “I really want to improve my English. Okay?!? Mean that… I really really wants yous to teach to me!!!!” I know it’s not fair of me to turn away from someone who is this anxious to work with me and I’m trying to change my attitude about him, but it’s really hard… If you met the guy, you might understand.

            

Then there’s Loak Cru Ot Dam, who showed up to our first staff meeting wearing a grubby white t-shirt and dirty pants, muttering to himself audibly. “Oh don’t mind him, he has mental problems” the teacher to my left assured me. Having given my number out to all of the teachers at this meeting, Ot Dam has since called me every day and night an average of ten times (I don’t answer anymore). His mom even called me one evening to inquire about his teaching schedule. His mom!

       

Despite the water that is still in the school and the surrounding area, preventing many students from being able to come, we’ve still been meeting every day. The kids don’t have their books yet, so these “classes” have quickly turned in to what I like to call “American Culture Happy Hour,” by which I mean, me, standing in front of forty unblinking eyes, trying desperately to eat away at the time by yapping about what I know (or think I know) about America. Luckily, when I am on the edge of despair is just when the students start to participate. “Do you know how to eat Cambodian food?” “How many cities are there in America?” (Right.) “Can I have your number?” I am quickly forming my own philosophy about what it means to be a good teacher, and while I am sure it will develop from its now crudest of forms, I think that maybe a huge part of it is being willing to boldly venture forth from any sort of “comfort zone” to make a point- and to be willing to make a total jackass of myself repeatedly to (hopefully) foster some sort of connection.

Wading to class…

The market lady who sells me coffee in the morning has quickly become my best bud. She calls me every night after dinner to ask what I ate for dinner, what I am doing now, and to tell me she misses me. Our capacity for conversation is quickly exhausted and we just giggle at each other for a few moments before she says “Ok byebye!” and hangs up. She invites me over to her house to hang out and watch the workers fixing the siding on her house, eat fruit or an soam jay- banana with sticky rice- or just let me hang out while she tuts around going about her various business. It’s a nice place for me to go to get away from everything else for a little while. I feel safe there- I can be in a great mood, or a not so great mood, and I feel like she genuinely accepts whatever it is I am that day, and wants me around just the same. She’s brings me back bread when she goes to Phnom Penh, and buys me fruit and soy milk at the market. She bought me a delightfully tacky broach today that she insisted she help me put on the moment she gave it to me: a bedazzled spider with green rhinestones and painted silver finish. Let your imagination run wild. I’ve helped her bake nompia, a sort of biscuit-like pastry filled with a crushed peanuts and marzipan that she sells at the market in the mornings. By “help” I mean that I laze around in front of the fan basking in the attention of the yays (grandmothers) who pet my arm or pat my butt and feed me fruit. It’s great.

Peanut mixture inside of the Nompia

S’rei Ohn, my new friend, working the dough.

One of the yays, displaying the finished product

I could be a hand model, don’t you think?

One last story that’s kind of funny: I was drinking coffee with Chuon Nam Heng- my new Khmai teacher and hopefully, co-teacher- the other day when class was over, and suddenly he sighs, a propos of nothing and says, “Don’t mind me. I am not sad, I am just thinking about my son… And that… I wish he were married… Oh! Look! Here! I have his number! He lives in Phnom Penh and speaks English! You call to him.” Maybe it’s time to make up a fake boyfriend.