Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Barbie Dreamhouse

My house is quite pink, both outside and in. It is super-convenient for helping people (including myself) find it. It's long and skinny on the outside and part of a long line of long, skinny houses. (Phnom Penh has this kind of house, fancy villas, shacks, and is starting to get some Western-style apartment buildings. There is almost no variation within each type of house.) I live here with Sarah, another new Logos teacher. Our landlord and landlady live just below us (pictured above); their kids and grandkids live either with them or above us. Look at the bottom of the door: I'm always afraid their three tiny dogs will fall out, either one foot down to the nearest stair, or a whole story to the ground level.
My bathroom is typical in that I have my own, it has 2 doors leading to different rooms (my room and the kitchen), and water from the shower falls directly on the floor. At first I thought the wet floor would bother me, but although we're in the rainy season, it's dry and dusty here, and the floor dries in under 90 minutes.

Sarah and I are in a new apartment within the house. You can tell that the house was just remodeled, partly because of things like this: the banister that shows where there used to be more stairs. There is now some thin plywood tacked over the area; we can hear almost everything in the apartment below us. (Mostly Khmer pop music.) Sarah's room and the "spare room" are both upstairs; the rest is all on one level.
Our kitchen was well-stocked when we arrived with a fridge and washing machine (we dry clothes out on the balcony), gas for the stove, and some basic groceries and utensils. The pastel letters on the fridge were not included. (They'll be for Sarah's first-grade class.) We were also given several of the woven mat in the corner, which is apparently ubiquitous and quite cheap.
We love our airy living/dining room, which still needs some furniture. A huge 5-gallon container of water, like the one on the left, apparently costs about $1 if you sign up for the delivery service. Not bad, since not even locals drink the Phnom Penh water! You can see hints of the two-toned pink paint, accented by a lovely periwinkle and teal. (We've heard Cambodians don't pay attention to shades and hues: pink is pink is pink.) Sarah's room is on top; my room is below; both have green-tinted windows into this room for ventilation. (But only mine has jail cell bars.)
The living/dining room is long and skinny. We're looking for a wicker couch that will use those maroon cushions. The tile floor stays wonderfully cool, even though we're on the second floor.
Sarah (pictured above) and I love the balcony, where we eat, read, and chat. We can see all the goings-on below, and it's typically the coolest and breeziest part of the house.

Hello Kitty x McDonalds?!?


"Kitty Lab: Hello Kitty x McDonalds"
The sights of Hong Kong between 10:30 PM (my arrival from Tokyo) and 9 AM (my departure to Phnom Penh). I was so glad to hang out with Adriano, who forewent (?) a decent night's sleep to show me around his high-class hometown between 12 and 5 AM. We know each other from PSU through both International Christian Fellowship and Rescue Childhood. We were both pretty giddy by the end of the night! When we stopped by McDonald's for their free WiFi, we got more than we had bargained for.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Finally here already

I arrived in Phnom Penh, Cambodia safely and as scheduled Saturday morning. It was a shock to be here so soon, and yet it felt like the culmination of six years of dreaming. I wish I were able to sit down with each of you and tell you my initial impressions. I certainly plan to include more descriptions on here soon (although Internet is always iffy here). But the 2-word description of Cambodia, as the elementary principal put it today, is "never boring." From my pink pink walls to the (American) family with 10 kids who hosted my roommate and me on Sunday to my futile attempt to mime a can opener to the sight of a 6' cubic pile of books today, life here has not yet contained a hint of boring, nor do I expect it to anytime soon. I'm excited for all that's in store!

Monday, July 20, 2009

Savoring the Shire


Since The Hobbit is in the eighth grade curriculum I'm teaching, I've been re-reading it this week. I realized that my trip this Thursday echoes in some ways the epic journeys in The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Bilbo and later Frodo, who have always enjoyed their clean, comfortable, close-knit Shire, are suddenly challenged to exchange it all for an enormous unknown, filled with perils and discomforts to match every joy and triumph. And yet both Bilbo and Frodo accept their quest, and find hidden strength, dear friends, and the chance to accomplish something great. I suppose the major difference between them and me is that I signed up for this adventure. Unlike Bilbo and Frodo, who departed within hours of hearing about the quest, I've wanted this for as long as I can remember. My advance notice has given me the chance to savor my own Shire. Some examples:


-Quiet roads: as opposed to dusty traffic 6 motorcycles deep on a 2-lane street (and where few motorcycles feature solo riders - see above photo)
-Drinking tap water straight from the faucet...with no fear of exotic diseases like cryptosporidiosis
-Sounding normal: nobody here teases me for my Southeast Pennsylvania accent or asks me to repeat myself
-Viewers like you: I've been spending quality time, either face-to-face or using free phone minutes, with dear friends and family, not knowing whether my Internet connection there will be strong enough to support a full-speed conversation on Skype-Chocolate and dairy: I think they're both available there, but harder to find and pricier
-Being cold: the highs in Phnom Penh and Doylestown are similar this week (around 83), but the low is rarely ever below 75, and the high can be pretty toasty:"We have had lots of heat, over 40C/104F most days (in the shade according to the school thermometer). This increased heat means that more people try to use the aircon and therefore we are losing power more often. We are losing power anywhere from 1 to 10 hours per day. Not having a fan during that time is even harder than not having aircon."

-Swiping a card: 80% of transactions in Cambodia take place using cash, specifically the American dollar ($1 = 4200 riels)
-Functional drains: rainstorms can flood Phnom Penh streets with more than just water
Still, it's almost time for me to leave. There'll be many positive things about Phnom Penh, and I can't wait to chronicle my discoveries for you, my enraptured audience.


Saturday, July 18, 2009

Cambodia Prayer E-mails

Well, I'm off to Cambodia this week: Thursday, July 23, to be precise. Many of you have asked how to pray for me, and I am so grateful! If you would like me to send you prayer updates, please write your e-mail address below. How to know if YOU should write your e-mail below:1. If you want stories and photos, but not necessarily prayer requests, read my blog: www.cranniesandnooks.blogspot.com I don't want to put you in a conundrum regarding how to cease without praying.*

2. If you asked me in person to add you, I'll try hard to remember, but no promises. You'd better write your e-mail again. (If you wrote it down on paper, you're probably safe.)

3. If you were on my e-mail list for France/Germany stories, write your name below anyway - I don't have those lists anymore.

4. If you are a member of ICF at Penn State, I'm sending my e-mails to the whole listserve. You don't need to send me your e-mail.

5. If you were not tagged in this note, I apologize. I'd still love to send you e-mails. Please write your e-mail below.

Thanks guys!

Chelsea

*Taken from the blog Stuff Christians Like:

"This chapter is about when you somehow find yourself on an email prayer chain that you don’t remember signing up for and you’re almost positive that you don’t know anyone in the Nantahala River Gorge region and you’re not sure you’re committed to praying daily via email reminders for the river people. How do you quit a prayer chain like that without looking like you hate God and river people and maybe even gorges which doesn’t even make sense?"

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Defining "in the boonies"

Preparing for life in Phnom Penh has brought to my attention some issues that would never have entered my Pennsylvania mind. Case in point: Logos School offers great health insurance through a company designed for those in overseas missions. The Q & A section of the web site made me quite thankful that I'm traveling to a capitol city. (By the way, the answer was "yes.")

Q: We are serving in a remote village, a 5-day walk from the nearest airstrip, plus a plane journey away from the nearest doctor. There is, however, a police post with radio contact, which could be reached in one long day's run by a local villager. We are therefore concerned about what happens in an emergency. The program wording says it covers emergency medical airlift upon the advice of a registered practitioner. However, in our situation there are no doctors available. We would have to assess the situation ourselves, and if we thought it was an emergency, send a local runner down to the police post with a message to radio for help. Please can you give us a definite 'yes' or 'no' as to whether the policy would provide emergency helicopter lift out under these sort of conditions?

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Where grief was a luxury

I mentioned in my previous post that I was moved by Loung Ung's memoir, "First They Killed My Father." Loung was 5 when the Khmer Rouge came to power in 1975, the second-youngest child in a wealthy family in Phnom Penh. She recounts their rapid descent: in weeks, she changed from the girl in the red dress who loved trips to the movie theater, to the hungry skinny girl on forced marches, to the silent girl who only seeks anonymity, who couldn't afford to cry.

I'd love to think that victims bond together in their suffering, that they bear one another's burdens. But that's often not how it works, and in Loung's case, her fellow victims increased her sorrows rather than sharing them. She spent the years from age 5 to 10 channeling her terror and grief into rage and anger. Amazingly, Loung overcame these patterns and now works from the US as an advocate against land mines, testifying to their destruction in her native Cambodia.

In one pivotal scene, her mom splits up the family, hoping that it will increase the chances one of them will survive. She convinces her kids that she's too spent by grief to love them anymore:

“Remember,” Ma whispers, “don’t go together and don’t come back.” My heart sinks as I realize Ma really is sending us away.
“Ma, I’m not going!” I plant my feet to the ground, refusing to move.
“Yes, you are!” Ma says sternly. “Your Pa is gone now, and I just cannot take care of you kids. I don’t want you here! You are too much work for me! I want you to leave!” Ma’s eyes stare at us blankly.
“Ma,” my arms reach out to her, pleading with her to take me into her arms and tell me I can stay. But she swats them back with a quick slap.
“Now go!” she turns me around by the shoulders and bends down to give me a hard swat on the butt, pushing me away.


Later, Loung tries to obey the family who has temporarily taken her in, by bringing food to their dying grandmother:

When the nurse leaves, the grandmother’s face darkens and she turns her attention to me. “What are you doing? Give me my food!” she barks at me and unwraps the banana leaves to find rice and salted pork. “Stupid girl! I know you ate some on the way. I am old and I need this more than you.” I say nothing and continue to stand there. “You are a little thief – I know you are. You are not even grateful we took you in. Stupid little thief!” Hearing her hateful words, I cannot find it in my heart to feel sorry for her anymore, and I leave her with her cries and moans and the stench of impending death.

Just after the Khmer Rouge surrenders, she and a strange girl find a body in the river while fetching water. To avoid painful emotions, she assumes he's an enemy:

“The water is too shallow. On the count of three, you push the body and I’ll push the head,” I direct. After a concerted effort, the body finally floats down the river, his long hair spreading around. The picture tugs at my heart and knots up my stomach. For a few brief seconds I think of Geak and hope the soldiers did not put her in a bag and throw her into the river. I nearly cry at the thought of someone poking at her body, but I push the tears down. “Another damn Khmer Rough,” I mutter under my breath. “I hate them. I hope they all die.” We wait a few minutes until we believe the body fluids have all floated past us before fetching our water.

The Khmer Rouge's reign of terror ended thirty years ago, but trials for their crimes against humanity are just beginning this year. Nearly everyone in Cambodia today either endured this themselves or was raised by someone who endured this. How long does it take, after crimes of this magnitude, for justice to come? And where the average citizen was both a victim and a perpetrator, how long does it take for an entire society to find healing?