Afajita

One thing I will never get used to is being watched all the time. When we lived in Beng Trabek, our neighbors didn’t just look into our windows, they stared. When they were caught, they didn’t get embarrassed and look away. They didn’t even try to play it off by quickly glancing up at the roof as if there were something interesting up there. They would keep staring and if they were particularly friendly, they would smile and wave at Silas.

Kids would climb up the side of our house and hang onto the window bars to get a better look. They would watch what we were doing and give a second by second play of what we were doing to the rest of the neighbors downstairs listening to their reports.

When we fed Silas outside at the top of the stairs, kids would take turns coming up so see what he was eating. “He’s eating fried rice with carrots and pork!”, would echo down the neighborhood from one kid to another.

Our teammates who lived in the same neighborhood had it really bad, mainly because they are not only foreigners but are dead-up white foreigners. People would watch their baby taking a bath and comment to each other, “Wow, his balls look like chicken eggs!”

When we first moved to this small town of Kampong Cham, we thought we were getting more privacy because we live at work within a gated house. Then we realized that whenever we went out, our neighbors would somehow report to one another where we went, what we bought, and how our kids were behaving.

It’s not like we’re followed around by paparazzi, but living in a fish bowl can be really frustrating. But then we realize, “what else are they going to be talking about?”  Most of the time you just see people lounging around looking at each other, the ground, the sky…there’s not much going on. So we become the entertainment.

Last Sunday was a typical Sunday. We had nothing to do and no one to see. We were sitting out on our balcony doing nothing but looking up and down the street. Danny started watching the next door neighbors build cement pillars and started commenting on them.

Danny – Check out the guy in the gray shirt. My man is bookin’!
Anita – He looks like he’s on speed or something.
Danny – Dude, he must be hot. How does he move so fast? He’s gotta be twice as fast as the rest of them.
Anita – Yeah, ten times faster than Humpty Dumpty over there.
Danny – Oh, look at Da (grandpa) trying to help. He’s going to break his back.
Anita - I think that’s the guy I always hear coughing up phlegm every morning.
Danny - Yuck!

Anita – Hey Danny?
Danny  - Yeah?
Anita – You know what’s happening?
Danny –  Yeah…
Anita & Danny  - We’re becoming like them!

Last week marked the end of a two month period of a constant influx of guests. We had friends from various places like Malaysia, Kuwait, Thailand, Romania and the States visit for one or two nights to two weeks.  Although busy, it was a wonderful time.  Not only did we use them as excuses to see new places in Cambodia, it was really nice to have  English speaking  companionship other than my husband and children. Each one was a blessing.

The thing I love most about having guests is that I find that whenever someone visits, particularly from the States, I experience Cambodia for the first time again. They point out things, like a family of seven riding on one moto-bike, that have ceased to amaze me. They observe things, like the incredible high percentage of folks with missing limbs, when I’d rather turn a blind eye. The amount and intensity of begging tends to disturb them, while I have grown accustomed to shooing people away. They experience the heat (even thought it’s “cool” season), cry taking cold showers (OK, I admit, I STILL cry taking cold showers), get bitten by mosquitoes like raw meat, and are always asking if the water is clean or if they should throw away the ice.

Having guests reminds me that I am, in a sense, a foreigner from a foreign land. I come from a place where life is A LOT different. I have not come to live in a place that is actually that strange or exotic. It is America that is the anomaly. It is not normal to live in a place where you can expect clean, running water, where the item you wanted to buy is REALLY in the box, where a “new” car is actually new, and where you can screw up on your income tax form and Uncle Sam not only lets you know but pays you back (this has actually happened to me TWICE!). The fact that there are such things as libraries, parks, free public bathrooms, sinks with hot water, and open refrigeration in grocery stores now completely baffle me.

Cambodia has ruined me for good. I has changed my life, my perspective, my attitude. It has burst my bubble.  I can no longer go back believing things that I used to expect as God given rights, like plumbing, electricity, and medical care, are the norm. These luxuries are not rights, they are privileges to those who are among the elite. Everyday that I dread taking cold showers, I am faced with the reality that most Cambodians do not have running water and much of the world does not even have adequate water period. Everyday I am bombarded with the fact that my life back in the States was almost like living in the “Truman Show”. It’s nice and neat, but not real, at least for most of the world.

As our family is now preparing to return to the States this summer, I have mixed feelings. In one sense I am totally looking forward to being back “home”. I can’t wait for all those creature comforts like hot showers, strolling down sidewalks, playing in public parks, wearing a jacket, and ice-cream that’s creamy. On the other hand, I dread reentering a society where I can so easily slip back into my self-absorbed, unconcerned and complacent ways.  I fear taking for granted things that I have come to appreciate so much. I don’t want to be spoiled again, but will trust God that Cambodia has “ruined me for good”.

How far would you go to eat pizza?

Yesterday started out as a typical Sunday morning. We ate breakfast, brushed our teeth, then had family worship. We sat around expecting to do what we do every Sunday, nothing. While Danny and I were trying to entertain the kids, playing David and Goliath, I mentioned that I could really go for some pizza. Danny perked up and asked, “Hey, you want to go to Kratie?”

Kratie is a town about 180 km from Kampong Cham up the Mekong River and is known for its river dolphins. But more importantly, we had heard that there’s a place there that makes pizza! We figured since it takes about an hour by boat, we could get there in about the same amount of time if we drove.

In about 10 minutes we had looked up the route on a map, packed some water, got the kids in the car and headed out in a quest for pizza. It was 9am and we figured once we arrived in Kratie we could take our time, see the river dolphins, eat lunch, take a leisurely walk around town, then head back before dark. Who knew we were going to end up doing a “Harold and Komar” just to get a pizza fix.

We drove about one hour before we realized that it was going to take a little longer than what we had thought. Fortunately the drive was beautiful. It’s the end of rainy season so the fields were brilliant green. Although the road had virtually no homes and no phone signal, it was paved almost the whole way. We passed through beautiful rubber plantations, pepper farms, and the biggest marijuana field I have ever seen. We saw hardly any people except for this sun-burnt white guy riding his bike with no less than four bags strapped on. At this sight we laughed out loud, “Is this guy totally cool or totally crazy or what?!” Danny commented, “It would really suck to get a flat out here in the middle of nowhere. Well, except for having a pretty nice bonfire”.

Anyway, we finally arrived in Kratie THREE hours later. Ok, so we had to forget about the dolphins but we were there just in time for lunch. After poking around the town (which is even smaller and sleepier than Kampong Cham) for about five minutes we found the pizza place. At this point, we were so hungry we asked the guy for five pizzas. He kept saying he didn’t feel like making pizza so could we please order from the Khmer menu. I was like, “We didn’t drive all the way from Kampong Cham for rice so could you please make us some pizza and french fries.”

While Silas and Danny went to take a walk along the river I stayed at the restaurant to feed Cassia. During this time I eavesdropped on a conversation of a tourist and the guy who took my order.

Tourist – When is my bus to Ratanakiri coming?
Guy – Not until tomorrow afternoon.
Tourist – What? So what can I do until then?
Guy – You can sit down and have a drink.
Tourist – No, I mean what is there to do here?
Guy - Um…walk along the river, see the dolphins…
Tourist – Well, I already did that. What else is there to do? Can someone at least take me on a moto ride?
Guy – Not right now. It’s too hot. No one wants to go out now.
Tourist – Well, I’ll pay them.
Guy – No, just sit down. Relax.
Tourist – I’ve been relaxing all morning. I want to go out and do something!

I was so frustrated just listening to the conversation that I wanted to turn to the lady and say, “Mame, you’re in Cambodia!”

When Danny and Silas came back from their walk they were surprised that we didn’t even get our drinks let alone our food yet. When they came back from washing their hands in the kitchen. Danny sat down and grumbled to me, “They just started pealing the potatoes”. We were the only customers at the place with four waiters hanging around the bar. I grumbled back to Danny, “Do you think that one of them could at least get us our drinks?” We couldn’t believe that there could be a place even more slow than Kampong Cham.

After more than an hour we finally got our food. They were more like matzo smeared with sweet ketchup, sprinkled with a few vegetables and a little cheese. Let’s just say, it wouldn’t pass in America. But at this point, we didn’t care. It was pizza!