Meanderings and other crap
Last week we had some people visit us from the Asian Health Institute. They are a Japanese based organisation who deals with, surprisingly, health issues across Asia. They primarily came to see the work that MODE was undertaking with Village Health Volunteer, People Living with HIV/AIDS and the Orphans and Vulnerable Children Programs.
Last Friday we took them out to San Dan, which is a bumpy 2 hours ride in the back tray of a 4WD north of Kampong Thom. It is fairly remote and the town only recently acquired a bridge so that it can accessed by road. It use to take a whole day in a slow putt-putt boat to get to San Dan from Kampong Thom. This week the river has risen, so the bridge is out of service (lucky we went when we did). Apparently, we can expect the river in Kampong Thom to do the same in the next few days – rumour has it that we are in some big floods this year, particularly for communities around Tonle Sap (the massive lake in the middle of Cambodia). The locals are worried that the floods will ruin the rice harvest…
But I digress.
On the way out to San Dan we went stopped at a place where the Japanese UN worker, Atsu Nagada, was killed by the Khmer Rouge during the first national elections in 1992. My counterpart, Nary, had worked for him and knew him quite well. She told me that when she first saw Shin she was quite taken back because he looks a lot like him. I got a cold shiver down my spine when we stopped at the place he was murdered. It is just a dirt road in the middle of a leafy little village, like so many others. Since his death they renamed the village ‘Atsu’ in his memory and there is a little monument. His son lives there now and carries on humanitarian aid work.
In San Dan, we went to a meeting of the village representatives, who were discussing the issues affecting the community, and visited one of the Village Health Volunteers post-natal classes. The class in a little wooden house and was packed with young women and children, and they showed them rather graphic cartoons of women giving birth and stuff on big laminated posters.
After that, we headed another hour out of San Dan to a forest community, in well, a forest. The village consisted of only about a dozen wooden huts and they met us in a school that the community had built. It was a really poor and bizarre. They told us that in order to build the school house that the whole village had to cut back on food, but they were clearly very proud of their achievements.
The single room school house had bare dirt floors and three rows of benches facing the front. It was dimly lit by the sun shining through the gaps in the wooden panels and the door. As usual, I had to sit up front, and the whole village, of about forty people, just stared at me. I think they thought I was a ghost. Outside the curious kids stuck there heads in the doorway to stare. Unnerved as I was by the staring, it struck me that something else was rather odd about this village. First, I realised that there were three distinct features that were repeated in every face (inbreeding me thinks) and, secondly, that there was no one in the room between the age of about 20 and 40.
Many of the people from poor rural areas migrate to the cities or the Thai border in search of better jobs and prospects. Some do well, but some end up being exploited as labourers in Thailand, many of the young girls get caught up in the sex trade…As we were leaving one of the few young women in the village came up and started screaming stuff (I assume it was directed mostly at me because it started after my boss asked if anyone had any questions for me). Everyone was laughing in an unsteady kind of way. And I backed away to the car. My counterpart said she couldn’t explain what she was saying, but not to worry cause she was just a bit crazy.
On a positive note, the forest was beautiful and it was fun going through it in a 4WD. We went through some deep rivers and across a number of muddy tracks. The forest was so thick with green trees and tendrils it was hard to see more than a few metres into it. There where a number of big clearing where timber thieves had been at work or where farmers had cleared land. I also got covered in dirt and mud. My white shirt was brown/orange by the time we got back.
On Saturday morning I went down to the ‘Happy Happy Children’ program at the local Watt. Katerina and Thomas, an Austrian couple working in Kampong Thom, have set a program to sponsor some of the children’s ongoing schooling and basic health, so they came along too. This time the kids learnt about the importance of exercise and keeping hydrated before they played for a bit and were given some food. It is always fun to play with the kids.
So it rained most of the weekend and I spent most of it curled up on my bed reading. Our fishing trip got cancelled because the guy’s boat had broken down and there was not other way of getting to the farm. So on the Saturday night Shin and I went to a 100 day funeral for the father of the friend of my friend Mab. The Buddhists (if they have money) have a funeral on the day of the death, 7 days later, 100 days later and 3 years later. Apparently this gives the soul to find a new mother who then falls pregnant shortly after. The funeral was pretty much like 
Christian ones, except there was no body. There are prays and then the men get drunk.On Monday I headed out to Stoang, which is about half way between Kampong Thom and Siem Reap along the highway. It had been raining all weekend and on Monday it drizzled all day so the road and the piles of cow dung that littered the highway were moist. Some of the piles were massive – like someone had been making poo castles along the road. Anyhow, I discovered a useful, but disgusting fact about moist cow dung – if you hit it on your moto it will end up on your feet. Gross. Why didn’t I wear my boots? I am such a city boy.
Forgive me if the poo comments are a little crass. It is different over here – people are pretty open about such things. Most villagers don’t have a toilet. When I get together with the other volunteers we often talk stools. We have all been sick and had to manage embarrassing situations. But I must say I have become a major convert to the ‘bum hose’ (only western places have toilet paper). It is great for cleaning yourself and cleaning up afore said embarrassing situations.
On the topic of toilets – no one ever tells you how to use a squat toilet and it is not an easy subject to broach with a stranger. So here is a few pointers – first they are usually designed for you to face the back wall (not the door). Secondly, you have to commit fully to the squat – no half or three-quarter squats – if you don’t squat all the way otherwise you risk missing the toilet or, worse still, getting it on your clothes. Thirdly, after you finish your business you have to stay in afore mentioned squat position for a few well directed squirts from the bum hose – most of the water will drain quickly and, again, you won’t get it on your clothes. Lets call this – making gravy the easy way.
Again, I digress…
Out at Stoang I went to visited a centre where local women were making ‘kraamers’ – a traditional checked tea towel/scarf that Khmer people wear (especially it the villages). They are quite useful because they are quite light and can be used as a hat, sweat band, towel, scarf, mask, pants or even strapless dress. Much to my distress, Shin has been adopting the local custom of using one as a skirt on hot days around the house. I have made it clear, unlike the locals, he better be wearing underwear under it. I don’t want any little surprise peeks.
After that we went out to watch some villagers receive training on decentralisation and local governance. My Khmer must be improving because I understood quite a bit of what was happening. Then we headed out to a village where they weaved baskets. On the way there I had a moment when I thought I saw an elephant in the wild. I almost squealed in excitement. But when I got closer I realised it was just two fat grey buffalo and an ant hill. I was rather disappointed. The village where they made the baskets was quite far off the main road, and they were really poor. Even the head of the village wore rags, but they still insisted that I take a basket as a gift. I had to take it as to not offended them, but I felt guilty.
On the way back from the village we hit some really muddy roads. Usually in places like this there is little path that snakes between pot holes, thick orange mud and puddles, along the dry part of the road, compressed by other moto drivers. When someone comes the other way, you pull over and wait. But this road was so bad in parts that we had to get off and walk. The mud was at least ankle deep and for the second time that day I wished I had wore my boots.
Aside from my tours, my project is also coming together slowly. I had a few meetings this week and have revised my plan. It is going well so far.
I hope all is well back home.
Take care
By-e.
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