Crannies and Nooks

How to slow time

2012-01-01T00:12:00.000-08:00

Last spring, my friend Sheryl mentioned a book, One Thousand Gifts, and its challenge to write down a thousand specific thingsyou’re thankful for. I took up thechallenge without even seeing the book, and since then, my roommates Megan andAngela have read it and extended the challenge to their homerooms. I love adding to my list – someone describedit as a perpetual treasure hunt for God’s blessings. Yesterday, having listed 535 items and counting, I finally opened the book. Itsauthor, Ann Voskamp, poetically chronicles her journey from loss and fear togratitude, weaving in the Bible and Christian classics. The chapter on time particularly challengedme; I'm certainly what she calls an "amateur." Read on for excerpts:

“They say time ismoney, but that’s not true. Time islife. And if I want the fullest life, Ineed to find fullest time. I wipe awater spot off the tap; there is a reflection of me. Oh yes, I know you, the busyness of your life leaving little room for the source of your life. I’m the face grieving.

God gives ustime. And who has time for God?

Which makes no sense.

In Christ, don’t wehave everlasting existence? Don’t Christians have all the time ineternity, life everlasting? IfChristians run out of time – wouldn’t we lose our very own existence? If anyone should have time, isn’t it theChrist-followers?

[I think back to aninterview with an elderly pastor.] Whatwas the pastor’s most profound regret in life? I hear the answer of the pastor ring.

'Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fullyentering the thing in front of me. I cannotthink of a single advantage I’ve ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tensof thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing...Through all that haste Ithought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away."

In our rushing, bullsin china shops, we break our own lives.

Haste makes waste.

And I hear this too,words of another woman seeking: 'On every level of life, from housework toheights of prayer, in all judgment and efforts to get things done, hurry andimpatience are sure marks of the amateur.' [Evelyn Underhill]

I scrub the bowlhard, try to scrape away the regret of a life lived amateur.

Because that is theway I have lived. The time, always thetime, I’m an amateur trying to beat time. In a world addicted to speed, I blur the moments into one unholy smear. I have done it. I do it still.

I speak it to God: Idon’t really want more time; I justwant enough time. Time to breathe deep and time to see real andtime to laugh long, time to give You glory and rest deep and sing joy and justenough time in a day not to feel hounded, pressed, driven, or wild to get it all done – yesterday.

I just want time to do my one life well.

A soap bubble, skinof light and water and space suspended in sphere. Who has time for that?

Hadn’t I? Only because I was looking. Because that list of one thousand gifts hasme always on the hunt for one more...and one more – to behold one more momentpregnant with wonder.

The wonder right inthe middle of the sink. Looking for itlike this. I lay the palm under waterand I raise my hand with the membrane of a life span of moments. In the light, the sheerness of bubbleshimmers. Bands of garnet, cobalt,flowing luminous.

362. Suds...all color in sun.

That’s my answer totime.

Time is a relentlessriver. It rages on, a respecter of noone. And this, this is the only way toslow time. When I fully enter time’sswift current, enter into the current moment with the weight of all myattention, I slow the torrent with the weight of me all here. I only live the fullest life when I livefully in the moment. And when I’m alwayslooking for the next glimpse of glory, I slow and enter. And time slows.

But there’smore. I awake to I AM here. When I’m present, I meet I AM, the verypresence of a present God. In hisembrace, time loses all sense of speed and stress and space and stands so stilland holy.

Here is the onlyplace I can love him."

-Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts

A tale of two haircuts

2011-12-31T21:55:00.000-08:00

I’ve only been to one hair salon since arriving in Cambodia:Mee In, around the corner from my house. It’s run by a Korean woman whose little boy, Dong Min, attends Logos, soLogos teachers get a nice discount. Shespeaks a bit of English, like all the Khmer girls who work for her, and a bitof Khmer. Dong Min, currently in Sarah’sfirst grade class, is always in the salon running around or playing video games. He’s known as a handful at school, though hebehaves pretty well for Sarah.

Sarah went there a few weeks ago for the second time. The first time, two years ago, they’d givenher bangs against her will, and it took a while for the bangs to grow out andfor her to overcome her aversion to returning. But return she finally did. Shewalked in to find Dong Min, with his back to her, screaming at the top of hislungs. Everyone in the salon – mom,employees, customers – was trying to ignore him, except for one employee makinga faint attempt to cheer him up.

Sarah walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. “Whatcha doin’, Dong Min?” He whirled around sheepishly, eyes wide. Busted!

“I’m hungry.”

“Oh, really? Do youthink you’re going to eat soon?”

“Yeah, my dad ordered pizza, but it’s not here yet.”

Sarah encouraged him to find better ways to distract himselfthan screaming, then took a seat for her haircut. Dong Min’s mom is the only one that cutshair, but several Khmer girls wash and blow it dry. They go all out blow-drying it, at no extracharge: two girls work simultaneously for ten minutes so it looks amazing. As they were blow-drying Sarah’s hair, ayoung Korean guy stood up from the chair where he’d been sitting the wholetime. “Let me do it,” he told the girlsin English.

“No, only two at a time. That’s the rule.”

“No! Let me do it!” He pestered them until they let himhelp. Was he a visiting nephew? A trainee? A bored customer? Sarah voted for“visiting nephew,” but had no way of knowing. She went on to get an acceptable haircut: no bangs this time, thankfully.

Today was my turn for a haircut. Last June it ended up shorter than I wanted, but it's finally long enough for a bun or a braid. Today I was hoping for just a small trim, andfor them to redo the layers, which had grown out. The same guy was sitting there, but came andstood behind me watching them blow-dry my hair before it was cut. Would he ask? Nope. He just kind of slouchedaround, observing everything with an emotionless expression.

As they finished, a crowd of girls gathered around me and broughtme a Korean book of hairstyles. “Whichone you want?” I flipped hesitantly tothe “long” section, aware that East Asian hairstyles favor extreme layering,with hardly any hair left the longest length. Usually, instead of a photo, I just show them the length I want and theshortest the layers can be. Finally I pointedto one, but stipulated, “Please don’t make the layers so short. Please have some hair this long...” (pointingto my hair) “and some that long" (pointing again). Theyshowed the photo to the Korean guy, who was listening intently with a skepticallook. Dong Min’s mom consulted briefly with the Korean guy. He laughed nervously and kept glancing at myhair, then away. He seemed at the center of theperhaps eight people surrounding me.

Wait! Was HE the onecutting my hair today? Shouldn’t they ask me first? Will I get a discount for this? Will I need another haircut afterward? His body language clearly indicated that hehad no idea what he was doing. I triedto maintain a neutral expression. Koreans are perfectionists, and she's got her business at stake: surely she wouldn’t let someone cut my hairwithout thorough training.

Finally Dong Min’s mom picked up the scissors, and my wholebody relaxed. I wonder if that was the original plan... My relief lasted only a minute, though: aftercutting straight across the longest length I’d indicated, she began to cut thetop half of my hair the shortest length, also straight across. This wasn’t normal layering! This was 50/50 for each length, and it lookedhorrible! I *am* going to need another haircut after all! How short will they have to make it? I spoke up anxiously: “Please also cutsome hair in between. Please do not onlycut it short or long.” This would never happen if we were fluent inthe same language...

“Layers?” “Yes,layers, please.” She gave me a look thatsaid “Duh!” and told me, “You say straight!” I don’t remember mentioning the word “straight,” but if I did, Iprobably thought she meant “not curly like the model in the photo.” I guess that explains all the dirty looks from that guy.

She got right to work adding layers, and tomy great relief, my hair started to look normal again. No buns or braids for a while – it’s nearly as short as last time. But in spite of everything, I think I actually like this haircut.

Foil thy foes with joy

2011-12-22T18:36:00.000-08:00

Some Korean moms invited us Logos teachers to a concert by a Cambodian children's choir. It's run by a Korean NGO that works with low-income children and families. "You won't believe how good they are! If you love music, it will bring hope to you for Cambodia!" they promised us. Four of us gladly accepted tickets, but tried not to get our hopes up too much. They'll be super-cute, and we'll enjoy it no matter what...

No, they were seriously amazing. I haven't heard a choir that good in years.

They sang in English, Korean, Khmer, and even Middle English: Benjamin Britten's "Ceremony of Carols." Its text is taken from 16 Middle English poems on Christmas, and I found the words powerful and fresh.

I used to think the hundreds of Christmas songs I knew had expressed the wonders of Christ's birth pretty thoroughly. Do we really need MORE Christmas songs? But I'm realizing that's idiotic. If the almighty God really did become a baby, the implications are endless. I wonder what other gems we've forgotten over the centuries.

Here's the text of one song, "This Little Babe." It's the second half of the poem "New Heaven, New War" by Robert Southwell. I love the paradoxical imagery.

(Side note: my dear friend Suzanne sent me a link to this free Christmas album by Andrew Peterson. I love him for his creative, thought-provoking, and sometimes playful lyrics. The album, called "Behold the Lamb of God: the TRUE tall tale of the coming of Christ," may contain the only song ever composed about the genealogy of Jesus...it's called "Matthew Begats." Even if you're sick of Christmas songs, these are mostly originals, and go far beyond the story of Jesus' birth.)

Thislittle babe, so few days old,

Iscome to rifle Satan’s fold;

Allhell doth at his presence quake.

Thoughhe himself for cold do shake,

Forin this weak unarmèd wise

Thegates of hell he will surprise.

Withtears he fights and wins the field;

Hisnaked breast stands for a shield;

Hisbattering shot are babish cries,

Hisarrows looks of weeping eyes,

Hismartial ensigns cold and need,

Andfeeble flesh his warrior’s steed.

Hiscamp is pitchèd in a stall,

Hisbulwark but a broken wall,

Thecrib his trench, hay stalks his stakes,

Ofshepherds he his muster makes;

Andthus, as sure his foe to wound,

Theangels’ trumps alarum sound.

Mysoul, with Christ join thou in fight;

Stickto the tents that he hath pight;

Withinhis crib is surest ward,

Thislittle babe will be thy guard.

Ifthou wilt foil thy foes with joy,

Thenflit not from this heavenly boy.

Beauty is in the (double) eye(lids) of the beholder

2011-11-07T20:28:00.000-08:00

Comparing yourself to others, especially cross-culturally, can warp your self-image. After 2 ½ years in Cambodia, it makes less and less sense to me that Americans enjoy looking tan. While I don’t approve of the skin-whitening products ubiquitous here (no FDA = some are quite dangerous), my appreciation is growing for people’s natural skin tone – including my own pale skin. Sometimes I catch myself wishing my eyes and hair were darker, a thought that never really occurred to me earlier. I struggle not to envy my students’ luxurious, silky black hair that never seems to frizz. I think many Cambodian girls are truly lovely, making us American girls look commonplace and plain by comparison. Still, it’s taken me a while to realize to what extent Western standards and ideals have influenced Asians, particularly Koreans.

Yes, the “whiter is prettier” value is pretty hard to miss, and as far as I know, it’s true across Asia. But Koreans (and other Northeast Asians?) have added a number of other criteria that yield one unified standard of beauty in Korea. The Korean girls considered “most beautiful” seem to vary in little except hairstyle. By the way, Koreans have a reputation for being naturally good-looking as a country, so it’s intriguing to me that their standards are so specific.

*Disclaimer: in writing critically about Korean standards, I do NOT mean to let the US off the hook. Americans’ obsession with beauty has led to rampant materialism, eating disorders, etc. I’m convinced that US media are partially to blame for modern Asians’ view of beauty. However, I think the US allows for more variety in traits considered beautiful.*

Unlike Cambodians, about 80% of Koreans have narrow eyes, which they refer to as a “single eyelid” - Korean has a specific word for it. This is considered ugly; everyone wants a double eyelid, opening their eyes wider. Double eyelids can be attained in two ways. I’ve known for a while that plastic surgery was common and a simple procedure – essentially ALL Korean stars have had it done, as well as many “ordinary” Koreans. (I’m glad I don’t know which of my students have had it done, but I’m sure several have.) “It’s not even considered surgery,” a Korean was quoted as saying in this recent article. Option #2, I just learned, is a special temporary glue that creates the same look for a few hours. This film clip shows a high school student demonstrating its use. Actors and actresses are even commonly required to wear contacts while filming that create the illusion of bigger eyes. During my last layover in Japan, my friend Yumiko and I visited a photo booth...it automatically made our skin paler and enlarged our eyes about 30%.

The other “problem” with Koreans’ appearance is a bit harder to solve. Many Koreans are very self-conscious about their faces being round or square, rather than oval. They feel that their faces are just too big. There are at least two home remedies for this. One is sleeping on your side, rather than on your back, and alternating sides in hopes that your chin will become pointier. I’ve heard Korean moms sometimes recommend this to their children. The other is using cheek rollers, which supposedly smooth out your cheeks and make them less round or chubby. I know some of my students have been borrowing each other’s cheek rollers lately, so they seem to place some confidence in this technique.

The more long-term solution is drastic: double-jaw surgery rearranging your jaw and chin. Plastic surgery is a major phenomenon, with 4000 clinics offering it in Seoul. Nose jobs are also common – many women dislike their naturally flatter noses and want ones that are more sharply defined. One in five women have undergone plastic surgery for their jaws, noses, etc. Korea is so competitive about everything - academics, music, appearance, social status – and surgery is seen as a way to get an edge. Reading this article on the topic yesterday made me sad, and also reminded me of a quote from the Korean drama I’ve been watching. “Beauty is always something you can achieve,” a teacher divulges to an overweight girl. “There are no ugly women, only lazy women.”

At Logos, we’re encouraging girls to have confidence in their inner beauty and find their identities in Christ. Only recently have I realized that I have most of the traits they dream of – double eyelids, a pointy chin and nose, and white skin – in spite of my own insecurities about my self-image. I’m growing in my understanding of what an uphill battle they’re in, and rejoicing to realize how far some have come from these twisted attitudes. My mom says they need their own version of the “Black is Beautiful” movement: maybe “Asian is Attractive”? I’m working, one day at a time, to lead by example in accepting ourselves the way God made us – hair, eyes, chin, and all.

Being a TCK means...

2011-11-07T20:18:00.000-08:00

Well, it means being a Third Culture Kid. What’s that? Traditionally, it’s when your parents are from one country, but you grow up temporarily in another country, planning to return to your parents’ country at some point. Therefore, two countries’ cultures strongly influence your childhood and identity.

But it can become much more complicated: I’ve known Cambodian children raised by adoptive American parents in Cambodia, Koreans who have lived in three or four countries but never spent more than a month in Korea, and even a friend in college whose parents were German and Filipino, but who grew up in Hong Kong, Brazil, and America.

To some extent, every one of my students is a Third Culture Kid, because a Cambodian attending an American school with international classmates sees the world differently than his or her Cambodian peers. TCKs have unique strengths and challenges. If you’re one of my students, here’s how being a TCK might affect you:

-The grandma that raised you for five years is in a coma in another country; you’re staying home alone with your cousins while your parents visit her.

-You want to tell your mom about Jesus, but even though you’ve studied Khmer in school and always speak it at home, you don’t know the formal language required to talk about God and royalty. When you try to use more everyday language, it doesn’t make sense to her.

-You know two or three other languages as well or better than your “native” language.

-You’re Cambodian and have never been to Korea, but you know how to write your friends notes in Korean.

-One of your Khmer friends suddenly starts staring at your face. “I’ve never really looked at an African nose before,” she tells you. You’re biracial American.

-You have to miss your senior trip for a “visa run” – a trip to the border to renew your visa.

-Your Filipino peers have started college this year, since they finish high school in grade 10. You’re just now returning to the Philippines, missing the last two years of school with your Logos friends, struggling to regain academic Tagalog after seven years away, and a grade behind your Filipino peers.

-You're Korean, Singaporian, or Malaysian, living in Cambodia, but you get nostalgic for the Dominican Republic, America, Pakistan, or Vietnam more often than for your "native" country.

-Your parents live in a town with no international school, so you’ve been living on your own with your siblings for years to attend Logos. When the school gives your parents an ultimatum – find you a host family or withdraw you from school – they send you to New Zealand to live with Koreans that you’ve barely met. After a year, you’re back at school again, living with a Filipino friend and his family.

-You’re considering college in three different countries, and you can’t agree with your parents on your preferred country. Their applications, expenses, and environments are all completely different. Scholarships determine everything. One year from now, you have no idea what your life will look like.

-Many of your closest friends live in other countries, some in countries you’ve never been to.

-Spending years in Honduran public schools, surrounded by Latino classmates and friends, means your attitude toward time is diametrically opposed to the attitude of your Korean parents.

-You get – or have– to decide which culture’s definition of success you’ll judge yourself by.

-You get in trouble when you visit relatives because you keep accidentally offending them.

-Your parents are divorced, and one parent lives in a country you haven't been to in over five years.

-You feel to some extent like you belong in neither your host nor your passport country/countries, but are only truly at home among foreigners.

-You have no idea where you’ll live when you grow up.

Raindrops keep falling on my...bed?

2011-10-07T07:17:00.000-07:00

The leaky roof/dripping ceiling is nothing new, but it’s always landed on my floor near the bed. Thankfully it's just the edge of the bed now, not quite touching my mattress. Good thing the bed is too big for my mattress, so there are a few inches of bare frame! I'm hoping the leaky area doesn't expand much more, and that the landlords will fix the roof again once rainy season is over. Last time, the repairs kept the water out for several months, if not a year.

In related news, my tile floor is very slick, despite the bucket catching 80% of the water and the towel sopping up another 10%. Maybe I should add more towels before I break my leg and wipe out on a wet spot. I love rainy season...but it does make things interesting.

I'd be a fool, though, to complain about my mostly-dry room and very-dry house. While Phnom Penh has had its share of rain, Cambodian provinces have experienced the worst flooding in ten years, and the puddles on my floor are...pardon my pun...a drop in the bucket. Several of my Khmer friends visited relatives out in the provinces during the Pchum Benh holiday two weeks ago. "How was it?" I asked Thavy, my Khmer-English conversation partner and colleague at Logos.

"Great, I loved it!" she replied. "Well, it was a little complicated. One time we woke up all wet in the middle of the night because the water had risen to our beds. [In traditional Khmer houses, you sleep on a platform underneath the house, which is on stilts.] And we had to keep throwing snakes out of the house. They're only a foot long, but they're poisonous enough to kill you if you don't get treatment within 24 hours."

"What was great about all that?"

"I got to go swimming a lot since the water was up to my shoulders! [Gross - what's IN that water?!] And we went fishing without even leaving our house. Traveling around everywhere in a boat was fun too."

Over 150 have died this month due to the flooding. 170,000 families were displaced as of Monday, and the destroyed rice crops throughout the country are raising concerns about food shortages in the coming months. A rice paddy is ruined if it's submerged for more than ten days. So many Cambodians are subsistence farmers whose food, even in a good year, barely lasts until the next harvest. If you lose your rice crop, you watch your family starve.

I read an article today that in typical fashion, the Cambodian government has been dragging its feet. It's promised relief funds - I think $250 million? - but hasn't explained HOW it plans to allocate them. And NGOs, eager to respond to those affected, are frustrated that it won't share information about which families have been overlooked by aid thus far. They want a coordinated strategy, which the Disaster Management Committee is in charge of, but this committee sent only a low-ranking official to a recent meeting with key NGOs. (I think my details are mostly correct, but I can't find the article online to verify.) The flooding started in August - it's not an issue of lacking time to plan.

Basically, the government doesn't care (surprise!), and its pledged funds will likely never see displaced families. NGOs are left addressing the disaster piecemeal. I'm proud of three former students - Tia, Krumm, and Veassna - for mobilizing Logos to collect funds to help one small village, about an hour from here. It may be another illustration of "drop in the bucket," but it's better than sitting by and listening to the drips from my ceiling.

My late-night grocery run

2011-09-18T07:30:00.000-07:00

I walk in from church at 6:30 PM. Was I really there for three whole hours? I'm kicking myself - I knew I needed groceries, but I never left the house between jogging this morning and going to church. Usually I walk there since it's not far, but my jogging route this morning took a different direction. Now it's late, I don't have breakfast food for this week, and I need ingredients for the birthday cake I want to make for myself. (Turtle cake, a Cooper tradition spanning three generations.)

"Where's the moto key? I'm going out to get groceries," I tell Sarah.

"Now? It's late!"

"Yeah, now. I'll be OK." This isn't normal for me. Usually, once I return from school around five, I'm in for the night. Occasionally, like last night, we take a group trip downtown for dinner, but those times are few - maybe every two months. Being out after dark, even as early as seven, just doesn't happen much here.

Outside, it's been completely dark for an hour. I climb onto my trusty moto, pleased to see that the landlords' dog is near their door and far from the gate. Maybe, just maybe, I can get the moto out without him escaping again. I crack open the gate...scoot the moto forward quietly...slip down the kickstand...

Too late. He's come bounding through before I can dismount and latch the gate.

"Khla! Mao, Khla!" We don't really know the dog's name. I thought they told me "Khla," which sounds like the Khmer word that makes nouns plural. But Michaela avows their little girl told her "Clark." That'd make sense - the little girl and her dad are fluent in English. And their last puppy, the one they sent to the farm because he wandered outside the gate one time too many, was named Scotty after the American Idol winner. Most Khmer people don't pronounce final consonants, so it's hard to tell the difference between "Khla" and "Clark." Or could it be "Claw?"

"Mao! Khla, mao!" Does he know any Khmer? Is "mao" the right word, or do dogs get the more formal version "mok"? Maybe I'd know this if they'd ever tried to train their dog. We've never heard them speak to him...their discipline consists of kicking him and hitting him with a stick, or else ignoring him. No wonder he runs outside the gate - he's never even been walked.

We'd be more upset with them if that weren't completely typical for Cambodians with dogs. I make a face at my across-the-street neighbors, who are sitting on their curb waiting for just such an occasion. Laughing at the white girls trying to catch the dog again is pretty good entertainment. What would they do - just leave him? Hit him so he'll learn his lesson? They've never offered any advice or help, just sympathetic grins.

I grab his collar and try to coax or drag him, but it's not happening. At probably 80 pounds and resembling a black lab mix, he's pretty good at resisting. He rolls over and tries to get me to scratch his belly. Seriously? Can't this wait for inside the gate, or better yet, after my grocery trip?

Finally, exasperated, I close the gate with him still sniffing through the trash on the street. The landlords are away, so I can't let them know he's out. At least the street is deserted so he can't easily get hit. Please, Lord, don't let me be responsible for a major incident.

I drive the two blocks to the mom-and-pop grocery store, peeling my eyes for unlit vehicles. Khmer tradition says that ghosts follow vehicles with lights after dark; cars always use headlights, but young guys on motos don't always bother, and bicycles rarely have lights. I've forgotten how jumpy I get here, driving in the dark. There's little traffic until I hit the major road that the store is on - crossing it is always a challenge.

Inside the store, I quickly find what I need, except the cake mix I need for turtle cake. I feel silly buying a mix - I usually prefer cakes from scratch - but it's the one recipe I like that calls for one, and today I'm not up to the hassle of finding an equivalent recipe that still works. "Samto bong, mien 'cake mix'?" I ask a young employee, carefully pronouncing the foreign word. She stares blankly at me. Come to think of it, though they carry a few imported treats like spaghetti sauce and Nutella, I can't recall ever seeing cake mixes here. I don't know the word for "mix," and "cake" doesn't have a separate word from "bread." "It's OK," I reassure her in Khmer, "maybe you not have here. It's OK." She begins repeating "kay meek" to the other four employees standing around, one of whom leads me to pancake mix. I'm impressed how close he got. "Yes, similar, but cake sweeter and bigger than pancake. Maybe you not have."

The cashier rings up my other purchases and I walk out behind a Korean couple and their darling toddler girl, the only other customers at the moment. Is it worth it to try the other local grocery store with foreign foods? I suppose. I really want to make this cake tomorrow.

I dodge the luxury SUVs and drive an uneventful few blocks to the new Thai Huot grocery store. I heard rumors the last two years that it was coming, but was shocked when it actually opened, practically next to Logos' old campus. My neighborhood has become so much more developed since I've arrived: both these stores are new, as well as the bank and several upscale cafes. The markets are still cheaper, but it's such a novelty to be able to buy chocolate within walking distance, especially after 5 when market vendors pack up.

One of the three guards drags two other motos apart, creating a parking space for me in the tiny area designated for motos. He hands me a ticket and staples a matching one to my right handlebar. I soon choose my cake mix - a Malaysian brand, 70 cents cheaper than Betty Crocker! - and head out again. One guard takes my ticket while another thoughtfully pulls my moto back out for me. I drive straight down this road toward my house, even though I hate this road after dark. Did you know red-light districts are actually marked by red lights? The street to the other grocery store has a sketchy snooker lounge, but nothing as blatant as this line of red-light rowhouses. The moto driver in front of me stares to his left, where girls in short shorts sit just outside their buildings. Somewhere on the right is the former Asian Hope boys' house - they moved to get away from all these not-so-stellar neighbors, and their house too succombed to the industry. "My house is now a brothel?!" I've heard these students bemoan. That's just messed up.

I turn right onto a road that's bustling during the day with small businesses, but now is completely dark. I guess these business owners don't actually live at the same place, like most similar shops? I've never paid attention. A quick left, and to my relief, there is Khla, jumping on the gate and clamoring to be let in.

"Ready to come back inside? Me too! It's late."

Worlds Apart

2011-08-28T01:24:00.000-07:00

Every weekday this month, when not in school, I've been at the girls' house associated with Logos. Their guardians are in the US for the month, so several of us teachers are stepping in to supervise, though the girls don't need much help. They're four orphans...well, kind of...who live in an orphanage...well, kind of. Really, they're teenage girls with unique personalities, but who have faced some common challenges.

These girls are definitely Third Culture Kids, like most of my students. That means their identity is not fully based in any one culture. For them, the story is more dramatic and even painful than for many. The American family who first started the group home and Logos School established an English-only policy for all 30-odd children, forcing them to replace their Khmer language. The older children, who have since graduated and moved on, retained enough Khmer to still be fluent today. The youngest ones, who came as toddlers, had never learned much Khmer to begin with. Even now, after several years of Khmer-language study in school and around Cambodia, their mannerisms and accent in Khmer label them as outsiders.

"I grew up overnight in sixth grade," one told me, reflecting on her maturity for her age. "Really? Which night was that?" I teased her, taking her comment as metaphorical. Oh, THAT night. The night she found out that Mom and Dad - those original guardians - were never coming back from their brief furlough in the US. There are many layers to the hurt they've experienced, but most of the girls have shared some stories about life with those guardians - the ecstasy of belonging to a new family, the joyfully chaotic Christmas dinners, the struggle to move on afterwards. After that couple left in 2005, the girls experienced a succession of guardians coming and going, none Cambodian, each with a new set of expectations.

Finally, last fall, a Khmer-American couple committed to these girls until the youngest girl moves out - about 5 years total. Though Jeff is American, he's fluent in Khmer, and he and Vanny have spent the better part of the last 19 years here as missionaries. For the first time in six years, the girls have someone to call "Mom and Dad" again, and they truly seem to feel like a family. Jeff and Vanny understand the girls' American-style upbringing and preferences, but have done wonders in helping the girls feel Cambodian for the first time. I love hearing the girls joke in Khmer and seeing the progress they've made in just a year in learning Khmer worship music, cooking, etc.

Still, it's a process for the girls to feel at home outside a Third Culture environment like Logos. Their neighborhood, just down the street from Logos, feels like the province. Chickens and cows roam in front of traditional wooden homes on stilts, underneath which families squat on mats to eat. Though one girl - quite the athlete - was invited to play volleyball in a nearby vacant lot, she said no, knowing that good Khmer girls aren't supposed to be athletic and mix with an all-guys crowd. "They all think I'm gay or lesbian," she told me. She's gorgeous and likes cute clothes, but is equally comfortable in baggy T-shirts and long shorts. It's far more appropriate for guys to be effeminate than for girls to seem masculine, so I'm not surprised the neighbor guys are confused.

Another told me, "I usually like going on walks, but not around here. The neighbors always think I'm Filipino or Khmer-American." I'm not sure if there's a Khmer equivalent of a block party or potluck, but I think the girls haven't yet found a way to build positive connections with neighbors.

I came along to their Khmer-language church one day - they normally attend Khmer and English-speaking churches back to back. With few available seats left, I ended up sitting apart from them, next to a woman in red flowered pajamas. She asked who I was, and I pointed to the girls, saying I was their teacher. "Oh! Do you know (girl's name)?" she asked me, brightening. "That's my daughter!" I thought she meant it figuratively - lots of people are honorary aunties, etc. But indeed, I learned that she was this girl's birth mom! I had known that two other girls were in contact with their moms in the province, but hadn't realized that any of them had family in Phnom Penh, or that this girl knew any of her relatives. This girl told me about some of the difficulties that led her mom to give her up, but I still wonder what kind of "what-ifs" both mom and daughter have dealt with. Today they're working on their relationship, but there is much that isolates them from one another.

Their story reflects the bizarre culture around orphanages. Many poor families believe their children are better off in orphanages, especially Western-run ones. Though orphanages are a dime a dozen, a very low percentage of Cambodian children in orphanages have lost both parents. Today, Asian Hope and other organizations are recognizing the folly in unnecessarily removing children from their families, and have committed to addressing families' needs in more constructive ways.

As we drove off from church, I tried to find a sensitive way to ask the girls how they felt about growing up away from their families. It was a casual conversation, so I'm sure there's a lot they didn't say. But I didn't sense much bitterness from them, unlike one of the boys, who says he was robbed of his native language and culture. Instead, it was almost like they couldn't imagine themselves growing up purely Khmer. These girls love Celtic music, Korean dramas, and Filipino karaoke. They dream of attending college in Uganda, India, Thailand, and the States. For better or for worse - or maybe both? - they're global nomads.

Reasons to smile – Cambodia edition

2011-08-02T03:50:00.000-07:00

More and more Cambodian songs that I really enjoy.

A very cool rainy season: no fan needed at night all week?!

Being able to print 16 largeish pictures of France for under $3.

The sight of an elephant in traffic at least four times this summer in four different locations.

The kind owners of a roadside stand who let me take a poncho (urgently needed) though I’d left my wallet at home.

Funny miscommunications, like trying to ask for the artificial flower section, but instead being brought a flowered pillow.

The receptionist at the Khmer language tutoring center whose warm smile, patience, and sweet questions always make me feel special.

Reading Kevin Henkes books with little girls who now love him just as much as I do. (Notably “Chrysanthemum,” if you were wondering, though “Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse” has also caught on.)

Celebrating the marriage of a woman who’s given some of the best years of her life to serving orphaned Cambodian girls.

Getting into an extensive French conversation with the man selling me vegetables, who spent years in Paris.

Standing outside a gate at night with the Khmer teachers, laughing, chattering, and waiting for someone to arrive with a key, only to realize we’d been swarming the gate to the wrong house the last ten minutes.

Teaching a community Bible study and then having a young girl share as her prayer request that “God make Teacher Chelsea prettier.”

Samedi’s delectable homemade treats: a soursop smoothie and coconut macaroons in my first 24 hours at her house!

Book three head

2011-08-02T03:43:00.000-07:00

Khmer is my third foreign language, but my first with no relation to English. I’ve found it helpful to seize hold of patterns and trends in the way the Khmer language is organized. So I’ll let you in on a few of them. The Khmer language features...

-Differences in word order. Adjectives follow the nouns they describe, and question words often come at the end. “Why do you have a blue book?” would turn into “[Uncle/little sister/etc.] have book blue why?”

-Simpler verbs and nouns. In Khmer, there’s no need for articles (ex. a/the/some), verb conjugation, verb tenses, or plural noun forms. It’s correct to say, “He go Vietnam yesterday” or “She have friend many.” Extra words like “yesterday” and “many” clarify meaning, or you can add more general words like “past” or “plural.” But you’d never alter the verb or noun itself, as English does (ex. go => went, friend => friends).

-Lots of compound words. A daughter is “child girl,” a driver is “person drive car,” a fridge is “container ice,” milk is “water from cow,” lime is “orange cat,” a bath towel is “towel stomach cow.” Hey, I didn’t say they were 100% logical to foreigners! It really does make it easier, though, because they often build on one another, so you can multiply your vocabulary quickly.

-Lots of nasal sounds. “Nasal” means the air is coming through your nose, not your mouth. Picture a stereotypical French laugh or the first syllable in “français.” That’s how Khmer often sounds – probably the majority of their vowels are nasal. I tell my students this helps them learn French, also a frequently nasal language.

-Lots of French loan words for things they imported. “Robe” (dress), “café” (coffee), “freins” (brakes), “valise” (suitcase). All of these are pronounced with a Khmer accent, meaning they don’t pronounce final consonants: valise => vali. I love loan words.

-Classifiers for many nouns. Someone wouldn’t say, “I have two children.” Instead, they’d say, “I have child two person.” I’ve only learned a few of the maybe 20 classifiers, but so far my favorite is “head” (kbahl) to classify books, cattle, horses, buffalo, and enemy soldiers. “I have book three head.”

-Lots and lots of vowels. English has 5 or 6, which make a total of maybe 20 sounds. Khmer has 35, making a total of over 50 sounds. 23 vowels are dependent, meaning they have to be placed with a consonant that determines the sound they make. Each vowel has a certain position in relation to the consonant: it can go to the left, right, top, or bottom, or a combination of all those. I haven’t learned any of the 12 independent vowels yet. It’s not quite as bad as I’m making it sound: for me, knowing the meaning of what I’m reading is much harder than deciphering the sounds. And I’m very thankful that it’s mostly phonetic: even English breaks the spelling rules far more often. Still, it’s relatively slow going. The good news is, it really has helped my pronunciation to better understand these vowels.

-Different registers, depending on formality. I’ve only studied one, for speaking with “normal” people. But if I wanted to talk with a monk, or the king, or an animal, I’d need a whole different set of verbs. I think there are six.

-Complicated terms of address. Khmer has a word for “you,” but it’s rarely used. Instead, like in many Asian languages, you mostly address people according to their age in relation to yours: auntie for a woman younger than your mom, grandpa for a man older than your dad, younger brother, niece, etc. This means it’s important to judge people’s age correctly and quickly, and it’s not rude to ask how old someone is, if you’re actually having a conversation with them. But with quick exchanges, like at the market, sometimes I misjudge them at first. Also, sometimes it’s more complicated: I can call a girl “bong” (older sibling), but if I say it to a guy, I have to include his name or it’ll sound like we’re a couple. That’s why if you don’t know a guy’s name (ex. a motodup driver), you usually just call him “uncle.” I’ve probably even said “uncle” to guys younger than me. If it’s a very close friend or loved one, sometimes you call them “myself.” I still wonder how that works: if you want to say “I love you,” how do they know you don't mean“I love myself?”

Language study

2011-07-23T22:47:00.001-07:00

I’ve devoted the month of July to studying Khmer, and while I haven’t been fully immersed, it’s still been immensely helpful. My listening skills have skyrocketed, I’ve never learned vocab so quickly in my life, and I’m gaining a sense of how to phrase things. Sadly, a month is really quite short, and soon I’ll be back to working 60+ hours a week, exclusively in English. Still, I’m hoping to maintain this level and continue slowly adding to it this coming year.

I have several strategies for working on Khmer. One is formal lessons. Every weekday morning, I go downtown to a language school for one-on-one tutoring. I love this school because they’re great at making me practice what I’ve learned. My tutor brings in baskets of plastic fruit for me to describe, makes me pretend to be buying or selling clothing, and asks me to tell stories about someone brushing their teeth or rowing a boat. It’s all in Khmer, except an occasional English definition. Even when I leave the tutoring session, the cleaners and receptionists seem genuinely interested in chatting. They ask why I brought my backpack today, what I miss about America, how I scraped my knees. It’s a very warm environment, and they’ve helped me so much. If only I could continue there once school starts!

After that, I often practice with Khmer speakers at Logos school or with people in my neighborhood. Since I’m new to this neighborhood, it still takes a lot of energy and courage for me to start a conversation. But if I’m buying vegetables or a phone card, they usually ask me how long I’ve been in Cambodia, and I ask them about their family or which province they’re from. It’s exciting when I can turn it into a longer conversation, even if that’s not always the case.

I love the elementary teaching assistants (TAs) at my school, but I never see them during school because they have a different schedule. During summer school, though, the kids leave by lunchtime and I can sit and eat with the TAs as long as we want. They love teasing me in Khmer, and I can get bits and pieces of their conversations with one another. The office staff has also been super-helpful in practicing with me...they’re all so sweet.

When I get home, sometimes I sit in on Chrismoon and Elizabeth’s writing lesson. They’re ahead of me, but not by too much, since they’re only 7 and 8 and attending school mostly in English. Lessons involve Sovannary chanting the equivalent of “C-A-T spells cat!” and us repeating it. Later, to review, they have to read it on their own or spell words she dictates, but I can’t quite keep up with that part yet since I don’t know the whole alphabet. My lessons with her this spring focused mainly on the alphabet, but this summer I’ve abandoned that to focus on speaking and listening. I figure the more vocab I know, the more I’ll be able to understand what I’m reading. Writing helps with pronunciation, but beyond that, it’s not terribly useful here – only for some store signs, newspapers, karaoke lyrics, and hymnals. There are few books printed in Khmer, and even most food labels are printed in other languages.

Dinner is the main time Sovannary’s family is together and speaking Khmer, though there are snatches of conversation at other times. Traditionally, Cambodians don’t talk while eating. (This is true of Koreans and probably other Asian cultures too.) However, Sovannary’s family is pretty lax about this, and with 2 little girls, there’s lots of, “Hurry up and eat your rice!” or negotiating about the quantity of vegetables to be eaten and whether they can add extra fish/hot dog to make it taste better. (Elizabeth is obsessed with hot dogs! She put on a 10-minute puppet show that was essentially an ode to hot dogs, although Cambodian hot dogs are far sketchier than their US counterparts.)

After dinner, Sovannary often takes time to help me practice speaking, or we just have conversations in English. She’s a deep thinker: her questions for me include, “How does the US deal with population control?” and “Which country do you think has the worst pollution worldwide?” That makes her an anomaly in Cambodia. Though our conversations aren’t always in Khmer, I’ve still learned a lot about Khmer culture from them, and I really appreciate our chats.

Caution: flying rocks

2011-07-23T22:45:00.000-07:00

Last night, several former Logos students came over for dinner. One, Chenda, recently returned from a 6-month Discipleship Training Program in Europe. While there, her oldest sister passed away, and Chenda’s been struggling to process her sister’s death since returning to Cambodia. (It was an electrical accident that killed her sister: some live wires were left touching her metal front door. What a terrible, needless tragedy.) Her sister’s oldest daughter is about to take the national exam to graduate high school, which carries a lot of prestige. So Chenda’s offered to accompany her niece to the exam and wait there until she’s finished.

“It’s a lot of pressure,” Chenda told us.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they all want so much to pass, even though you can go on to college if you fail it. So it’s expected that whoever accompanies the student will help them with the answers.”

“How? Are you sitting next to them in the room?”

“No, but people write down the answers, tie them to rocks, and throw them through the windows.”

“How do you know if the answers are for you? And isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

“Yeah, sometimes people don’t aim well, and students are hit in the head. And I guess students just share the answers.”

“And the teachers don’t care?”

“Well, there are so many students that each teacher has to walk around patrolling several classrooms. So you throw the rocks when they’re not in your relative’s classroom.”

Chenda’s trying to figure out how to tell her niece that she can’t help her cheat. The other two Cambodian students concurred: one is in a Cambodian university now, where students in her class always suck up to her to get help with homework, if not exams. The other has received phone calls from her friends who are in the middle of university exams, asking for help with an English translation. They’ve heard stories of students sneaking into school the night before to remove the glass from the few classrooms that have glass windows. (Most just have a metal lattice pattern.)

It reminds me of a story I heard from an Australian professor working here to mentor postgraduate students in education. She said one of them, the dean of education at his university, came to her one day looking upset.

“I need your help! Last week, I saw a student in tears. She had her exam for my class the next day, and she’d failed it once already. She was so anxious about failing again, and I felt really bad for her.”

“So why do you need my help?”

“Well, I ultimately gave her the answer sheet, but told her to write some down wrong on purpose so that her cheating wouldn’t be too obvious.”

“What!? And now you’re coming to me because you feel guilty or something?”

“No, because my boss noticed the vast improvement in her score and several others’ scores. She told me to meet with her about what happened, and the meeting is this afternoon! What should I do? I could lose my job over this!”

“Well, you might need to be honest and admit your mistake. I hope things work out for you!”

A few days later, she saw him again and asked how the meeting had gone.

He beamed. “She brought the dean of each college to the meeting, and asked us very sternly, ‘Do you know anything about students cheating?’ We all shook our heads solemnly, and she said, ‘Good!’ and told us we could go.”

Shortly after I arrived in Cambodia, there were articles in the paper about the crackdown on cheating in national high school exams. Previously, for maybe a dollar or two, students could buy answer sheets just outside the school. The crackdown didn’t forbid those vendors, but it meant that teachers were expected to confiscate any answer sheets they found. The rate of students who passed dropped that year from the overwhelming majority to a small minority.

I don’t know if the rock-throwing has started since then, or if it’s older. But one thing is clear: Logos’ commitment to academic integrity is pretty exceptional in Cambodia. Corruption extends far beyond the government.

Joining the family

2011-07-17T00:28:00.000-07:00

This month I’m doing a homestay to learn more about Khmer language and culture. It makes me sad that I've lived here for 2 years and yet so rarely left a “foreigner bubble." So I'm excited to be venturing a bit deeper this month.

In past homestays, I knew nothing of the city, less of the culture, and MUCH more of the language, so I never needed English. This one is a study in contrasts to those: I’m living with a close friend, Sovannary, and her family, while still paying rent a couple miles away where I usually live.

This doesn't exactly qualify as language immersion. My Khmer is still limited enough that it’s nice to switch into English some of the time, which they’re well able to do, since she and her daughters are fluent. This is the "chicken" way of doing it: if I were serious about maximizing learning, I'd have moved in with strangers in the province who spoke no English and weren't at all westernized. However, this was much easier to arrange on my own, and it's comfortable enough that I can still enjoy my summer and hopefully not start school exhausted. Still, I’m learning a lot about Khmer vocab, alphabet, and culture. More soon on my progress, but first, let me introduce you:

Sovannary: Formerly the owner of a restaurant where I frequently ate last year, she’s the first Khmer person I became close to. If you remember my trip to an orphanage in the province, she’s also the one who took me to visit there. She’s quite the go-getter. A teaching assistant at another international school, she first learned English by cooking for the Americans who started Logos and the orphanage associated with it. She’s very curious about the world and seizes every opportunity to learn, despite having little formal education. She told me, “I get in trouble because I speak my mind too much,” and I can see what she means. She exhausts herself on behalf of her girls, fighting to get them good nutrition and a solid education...not easy, even with great scholarships for them at the school where she works. She’s been an invaluable help in my adjustment to Khmer culture the last two years, and now, a great Khmer language teacher for me.

Her husband, Nara: I'm comfortable around him but always a bit nervous about talking to him. I forgot his name while in the US, and was too embarrassed to ask! They told me to call him by his first name (not normal in Khmer) but I just called him “Uncle” when I have to, since “older brother” is reserved for your husband. Anyhow, he’s very reticent: he probably says 10 words a day to me. However, he’s very laid back, and can always make Sovannary and the girls laugh. He’s a softy who spent weeks weaving a giant jump rope out of hundreds of rubber bands for the girls to play with. He caters food for the school’s lunches and loves playing Solitaire in his free time. He’s the only one who never speaks English to me, although he knows a bit.

L to R: Elizabeth, Chrismoon

Their girls: Chrismoon, age 8, and Elizabeth, age 7. (She’s named after an American friend who did a lot for Sovannary.) They almost act like twins: they’re inseparable, love dressing alike, and amazingly never get on each other’s nerves. They spend probably an hour a day in fits of giggles, mostly at potty humor or at tricks they’ve played on me. Chrismoon is quieter and more obedient; Elizabeth is very bright, but is a total ham who’d rather goof around or charm her way out of finishing her rice or doing her math pages. Sadly for me, they don’t like speaking Khmer with me (too impatient and too good at English), but lucky for me, I learn a lot when they talk with their parents. I spend lots of time with the girls helping them read books in English, or playing games like chess or badminton in the living room, or being victimized by their mimicking and pranking.

L to R: Chrismoon, Elizabeth

Translation of a sample quote from Elizabeth the comedian:
Elizabeth: I'm from Colorado, just like [1st grade teacher] Miss Tanya!
Sovannary: No, I'm Cambodian and you're my daughter, so you're Cambodian too.
Elizabeth: No, I'm not! Mommy had me in Colorado and she brought me back to Cambodia in a tuk-tuk!

The Girls

2011-07-13T01:00:00.000-07:00

There are thousands of them. They pack the streets, propelling other passersby in their direction, irritating moto drivers who need to squeeze between them. Their hair is pulled back; they wear no make-up; their plaid shirts or neon T-shirts (or both) create unity across a cacophony of colors. Sometimes a whole block is filled with girls wearing the same headscarf in vibrant turquoise, purple, yellow, pink. Other times everyone is gone, and the deserted streets are hushed.

When I walk among them, every one of them looks at me.

Some give a quick glance, others do a double take, and still others a prolonged gaze of bewilderment. A few smile shyly, which I shyly return. One girl next to me poked her friend and pointed. That friend poked another girl, who poked another, about six total. Never in my life have I felt so completely conspicuous.

I was expecting this, actually. I’m staying with my Cambodian friend Sovannary this summer to study the Khmer language, and I knew she lived near several factories: I’d seen the crowds while driving there for Khmer lessons every Saturday. I figured I’d attract much more attention on foot than I had on my moto, and I wanted to get it over with. So the first few days, just before my flight to the US, I went walking (or jogging, when space permitted) every morning. I didn’t have a chance of blending in, and not just due to my fair skin and light hair. It’s my way of walking (especially during aerobic workouts), my loose exercise T-shirt and knee-length shorts, the fact that I have a good 4 inches on most of them, and more.

The factory girls make up a clear majority in this neighborhood, if not 90% of the population. So if I go out while they’re working (mostly around 7 to 5, minus a lunch break and plus overtime for some), the streets are empty and more conducive to jogging/driving/not being trampled. But since my Khmer tutoring is downtown at 7:30 AM every weekday, I’ll likely continue exercising earlier, when they’re out and about. I’m hoping once they get used to the white girl in the neighborhood, the fuss will die down a bit.

To be honest, I’m as fascinated by them as they are by me. I quizzed Sovannary to make sure my ideas on them were accurate. She confirmed the following: It’s mostly garment factories in this area, as are most factories in Cambodia, producing clothing for Gap, Abercrombie, Hollister, and other prominent brands. Owners are typically foreign – including several Logos students’ parents – and pay substantial bribes to import materials and export the finished products. Besides those lucky government officials, and maybe taxes, Cambodia profits little from one of its main industries.

The rules are simple: males need not apply, nor anyone under 18 or over 30. Housing is available nearby, packing workers in with six or more per smallish room. The girls are nearly all from the province, since the pay is low: about $50 per month. At 40 hours a week, that works out to about $0.28 per hour. (As a comparison, my house helper earns over double that for working half the hours.) Overtime until as late as 11 PM is a way to earn more...if you never want to see daylight. They spend little, sending most back to their families.

“What about all the poor people from Phnom Penh?” I asked Sovannary. “Don’t any of them want factory jobs?” “A few, but most aren’t that desperate,” Sovannary replied, visibly indignant about factory workers' plight and the government’s apathy. Everyone knows most Cambodian provinces face extreme poverty.

Go to the province, she told me. You’ll see hardly any young women left there because there are no jobs. It’s tearing apart families and hurting the culture of the villages. Some girls, lonely and joyless, fall for the young guys who hang around the factories, buying them gifts until the girls are convinced it’s true love. They’re dumped as soon as they get pregnant, and face extreme rejection if they return to the province as a single mom. Some die in botched abortions or commit suicide.

And these are the lucky ones, who aren’t promised a job and then sold into brothels! There are a lot of Cambodian girls that would be much better off in a factory than in their current line of work.

I remember in high school, reading about companies like Nike defending their low wages. They make a valid point that they’re not forcing people to take these jobs, and that workers flock to the factories because pay is superior to other opportunities workers would have. But what if the workers see no alternatives? Does that make it acceptable to pay below a living wage, and to break up millions of families countrywide by insisting on “young women only”? (Unemployment is a huge problem among Cambodian males.)

It just seems like a lousy excuse from huge corporations that could feasibly pay better and consider employees’ needs. They’re exploiting how corrupt Cambodia’s government is and how little economic opportunity is available here. In my mind, it’s kind of like taking a child into foster care and saying, “Well, at least I abuse her less than her birth parents.” That’s not exactly taking the high ground.

These aren’t new observations. Elizabeth Gaskell’s “North and South”...Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables”...Alan Paton’s “Cry, the Beloved Country”...many acclaimed pieces of literature have decried poor conditions for factory workers and the resulting harm to society. Haven’t we learned anything? Is offshoring just a way to hush Westerners’ protests: “out of sight, out of mind”?

The Industrial Revolution is long over, but a bleak tenement lifestyle is far from history for my new neighbors.

On normalcy

2011-06-29T17:46:00.001-07:00

People keep asking me if it's hard to be back in PA. I appreciate their thoughtfulness in asking. Last summer, being back meant thinking hard about who I was and where I fit in, and sometimes that was painful. This year's been far easier. Culture shock has come mainly in small flashes of insecurity: feeling baffled by an iPhone, trying to get the parking meter to work, forgetting that Rendell isn't governor anymore, not knowing what Marcellus Shale is. Reminders that though I slip back into it so easily, this isn't usually my life anymore. I'm a bit out of practice.

One of my first days back, I saw a TV show about girls buying expensive wedding gowns, and I had to walk away - their extravagance made me want to cry, not laugh. That show, "Say Yes to the Dress," illustrates one of the main cultural differences that strikes me when I'm home. So much of TV, magazine, and movie content focuses on rich people: movie stars, athletes, fictional rich people in sitcoms, real Americans spending thousands on home remodeling or new wardrobes. And isn't that the whole point of advertising: making you want/need stuff you don't have yet?

I think these media are part of what enables so many Americans to say, "I'm not rich. I'm normal." It's easy to think, people in my neighborhood live about like I do, and people on TV have far more lavish lifestyles. I play that game, too: okay, my family lives well, but we'd never buy THAT brand of car. And if we ever had a vacation house, it sure wouldn't look like THIS one. We're still at least semi-normal.

Of course, we know that many people in America worldwide are less affluent than we are. And we're not heartless: we feel bad for those people. Those poor people. If only they could be normal like we are. Thank God that He gave me what I deserve and need, and didn't make me suffer like them. Because "suffering" must be the word that describes "not having any cars," or "doing your laundry by hand," or "sharing a room with multiple relatives," or "having no use for a bank account." Even if all of those seemed normal to our great-grandparents.

Still, though we're not suffering like them, we barely have enough. That's why my sister's fellow nurses complain about their $50,000 salary. That's why US Christians can only afford to give away 2% of their salary. I'm thankful that I haven't heard much of this attitude from people I know - that many seem more in tune with reality - but it pervades so many aspects of US culture.

I don't want to be insensitive. My dad was laid off two years ago, and we had it easier than many others unemployed in our community. I realize that even in middle-class America, economic stresses can mount quickly, to levels far beyond what I've ever known. Still, the belief that we need and deserve all we have seems so ludicrous in light of my experiences in Cambodia. There, I can never forget how rich I am. I was told early on, "You bought a plane ticket here. That alone makes you rich to most Cambodians, regardless of your spending habits here."

All the examples I listed of "suffering" describe some of my Khmer friends teaching at Logos, who are solidly middle-class by Cambodian standards. Not only that, but they describe billions of people around the world. A paper on my family's fridge describes a "village of 100:"
if you reduced the world's population to 100 people...
1 would have a college education.
7 would have Internet access.
50 would be malnourished.

Still think you're normal?

I'm still trying to figure out how to respond to knowing I'm ridiculously rich compared with most of the world. But here's the no-brainer: be grateful! We can marvel at the fact that, out of the entire world, God put us into the tiny fraction that has abundantly more than we need. Thank God for your flush toilet, for your clean drinking water, for your mattress, for your multiple pairs of shoes. Think before you buy stuff: Is this as necessary as I thought it was? Or is it a privilege I don't mind foregoing?

And look for chances to learn about "normal" people, instead of just the ones who are rolling in even more dough than you.

Reasons to smile: PA edition

2011-06-29T17:28:00.000-07:00

Hugs from people who love me a lot. Many hugs.

Making ice cream cake with my sister.

Peaches, cherries, blueberries, strawberries.

My mom's cooking...all of it. (Can you tell I've been eating quite a bit?)

Hearing, "I've been reading your stories, thinking of you, praying for you." Over and over.

Cheap books from Amazon to take back with me.
Free books from the library, hopefully not to take back with me.
Time for reading books.

Going on walks without sweating.

Phone conversations where nobody has to repeat themselves.

Numerous causes to be proud of my younger brothers.

Moss.

Hair that cooperates.

Uncrowded streets and peaceful roads.

The most beautiful barn I've ever seen.

Remember-whens.

Icy-cold waterfalls.

Being reminded how much of my goofiness I owe to my family.

Silence.

Cold nights and warm blankets.

My favorite old sweaters.

A park located on a lake, not a highway median.

Conversations with my family that don't involve the words, "Nope, the sound's gone now..."

My dog.

Blending in.

Stories to tell - and hear - of God's goodness and faithfulness.

Piling up the jars

2011-05-31T04:58:00.000-07:00

I should be grading finals right now. Report cards are due tomorrow, and I have tons to do before they'll be ready. All week, really, I planned to focus on grading and other urgent tasks.

But students' family issues don't always wait for opportune moments, and this week has had more than its share. In the past seven days, these family concerns have taken up more of my brain energy than essays or multiple choice ever could:

-A student finding out they'd be sent to their passport country, to live with a relative they barely know, in just nine days. Their preschool-aged sibling is coming too.

-A first-grade student whose parents don't care that this student is being held back, again. They can't be bothered to come to special needs meetings, or to help with homework. They let the student down for the umpteenth time yesterday when they promised to come to the first-grade Penguin Party, and then didn't show. (The mom doesn't work, FYI.)

-A high school student not that far from that first-grader, still craving their parents' attention while the parents are stressing out fulfilling missionary obligations. All those broken promises still hurt.

-A student trying to end an unhealthy relationship, but being pressured by both families to stay in it and pretend everything is OK.

-A student who has to deceive one parent in order to stay in contact with the other, and yet feels much closer to the latter.

-A student who's an elated brand-new Christian, and yet afraid their parents will find out. "Last time I mentioned Christianity to them, they moved me to another school for a year. What do I do?"

-A student asking to move back with their parents and not being allowed to, even though they're not in trouble.

All of them are well-fed, have access to health care, and will probably never drop out to become a street vendor. They've never faced a death in their immediate family; most have never been abused. Compared to most Cambodians, they live in total luxury. Some of their parents are being selfish, but others are truly trying to do what's right. Sometimes I feel guilty for letting their concerns get to me.

But you know what? If I'm allowed to care about how to get exams graded, I sure can care about their pain. Because it's real and it's intense, even if it's not the most anguishing on an objective scale. And if I'm going to let myself love my students, empathizing is not even a choice.

Here's the other thing: entering their pain lets me see God so clearly. It forces me to rely on Him when personally, I haven't gone through any significant hardships. Taking on bigger concerns than my own shows me that God is bigger than I thought. And better.

I've seen God do so much for students this year. It makes me almost excited to have new things to bring before Him. I feel like the widow whom Elijah told to collect empty jars from neighbors so there'd be more room for the oil that poured out from her tiny container. That's where I am now, piling up the jars and waiting expectantly for grace to start brimming over.

Photos from "Joseph"

2011-05-08T01:15:00.001-07:00

Well done, everyone! It was so fun to watch! Congratulations to all involved.

Momentous Memoirs #4

2011-04-29T06:56:00.000-07:00

My World Lit students wrote memoirs, inspired by Amy Tan's novel The Joy Luck Club. Each wrote one story about an adult influencing them, and one story about a key moment in that adult's life. I'm posting excerpts from a few of my favorites.

“When I was a child, Superman was my hero. I would wait all day in front of the television to watch Justice League on Cartoon Network. Whenever Superman appeared, my breath would stop because of his awe-inspiring appearance. Whenever I saw him flying around, shooting laser beams that came out of his eyes and fighting off the bad guys with his super-speed and strength, I would feel my heart wildly pumping boiling blood throughout my body. Superman’s mere presence stunned me.

As a child, I thought that Superman had no equals, but if I’d had to choose a person who was more “super” than Superman, I would have confidently said “mom” without giving a second thought. She possessed a superpower that even Superman did not have. Her cooking abilities were beyond the measure of human abilities. Believe it or not, not only did she cook good-tasting foods, but also her foods were good-looking, good-smelling, and even good-sounding. She was the strongest woman I knew. Whenever we went to the grocery store, she would have no trouble lifting up and carrying all the plastic bags of fruits and vegetables that I did not even attempt to make budge. She would ceaselessly work all day and would never get sick. To me, Mom was indestructible, just like Superman.

However, the earth-shattering reality struck me when I was nine years old. I awoke to my mom’s loud and sorrowful cry...”

Momentous Memoirs #3

2011-04-29T06:52:00.000-07:00

My World Lit students wrote memoirs, inspired by Amy Tan's novel The Joy Luck Club. Each wrote one story about an adult influencing them, and one story about a key moment in that adult's life. I'm posting excerpts from a few of my favorites.

This student is describing her first-ever trip from her Cambodian province to the capitol, Phnom Penh. It ended unexpectedly for her.

“Ten days passed, and Mom told me that it was time for her to return to the province. I was excited, but there was a strange look on her face. She then walked into the room and packed all her clothes, not mine. I stood by the door observing her every movement. I anticipated something was going to happen, yet I tried not to guess. Mom beckoned me to enter the room. I sat down beside her and stared at her anxiously.

‘Umm...[Name], we have decided that you’re going to stay here with this family,' Mom said softly. ‘I believe that it is best for you, especially since you can go to school more easily.’ Tears streamed down from my eyes. I hoped this was not real. No, not real, but a dream. I wanted to say something, yet whenever I opened my mouth, I felt as if a hard lump stuck in my throat. Only a sobbing sound came out. The humidity in the room seemed to radically increase. My palms and fingers became damp, and I thought this burden was too heavy for me. How could I ever handle it?

After a whole night of tears and restlessness, the morning came. I held tightly to Mom’s arms. ‘Mom, take me with you,’ I pleaded with tears. ‘I don’t want to stay here! I want to go home!’ Mom acted as if she did not hear and turned her face away. I knew she was crying and did not want me to see it. She climbed on a motodop with her back to me. When the driver started his engine, I cried louder and louder. [...] I was running behind the moto, when all of a sudden I felt two strong arms grab me from behind. My uncle would not let go of my hands. Mom went out of sight, making my body feel like an empty container.”

Momentous Memoirs #2

2011-04-29T06:26:00.000-07:00

Momentous Memoirs #1

2011-04-29T05:37:00.000-07:00

I wasn't sure how my World Lit students would take Amy Tan's novel The Joy Luck Club. It's about Asian-Americans, yes, but specifically about women and their moms, and about their many forms of dissatisfaction. I hoped they could see past the angst and the feminism to the lyrical writing, vivid storytelling, and powerful use of everyday events to explore profound truths about relationships. I think they did.

As we read, we wrote our own memoirs (myself included). Each wrote one story about an adult influencing them, and one story about a key moment in that adult's life. Students interviewed those adults - mostly their parents - and used the interviews as a launching point to explore some themes in their own families.

My students blew me away with the stories they uncovered and their analysis of why those stories mattered. It's only been a month since I was groaning over their research papers, but here in narratives, many were in their element. I'd like to share with you a few highlights. I chose four outstanding writers from four different Asian countries, none of them native English speakers. Even many students with much lower English abilities had really poignant and vivid moments in their stories. Next draft, theirs will be fantastic! I loved, too, glimpsing their perspectives as Asians and Third Culture Kids.

Here's one girl's introduction:

“My mother calls me ‘con trâu cùa nhà.’ She says it in Vietnamese and occasionally introduces me that way. Translated into English, I am “the water buffalo of the house.” My personality mirrors that of the water buffalo, as did my mother’s, her mother’s, and her mother’s mother’s. I come from a race of water buffalos. The Vietnamese buffalo is known as a dedicated and extremely hard worker, toiling despite suffering. On the flip side, buffalos are also known for their brashness, carelessness, and destruction. My mother called me a water buffalo because I was breaking the glass in the house, spilling cups, and being blamed for broken things, even things I did not break! Someday, people will call me a water buffalo not because I destroy, but because I will be as hard a worker as my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother...”

Go, go, Joe!

2011-04-24T02:01:00.000-07:00

Have you ever tried to pull off a musical with a high school student body of 90? Also, you live in a developing country? Yeah, I haven't either. Logos has performed several plays, but never attempted a musical. So I was a bit skeptical when I heard about plans to perform "Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat" this spring. But with two weeks left till showtime, it's been fascinating to see the team overcome challenges.

Challenge 1: The small pool of students means they have less time. These are the same kids who are on the basketball team after school, who tutor elementary students, who are studying their butts off in both our AP courses. The Korean missionary kids spend practically their entire weekend at church. The Khmer kids have family obligations involving large blocks of time. They can't just drop everything for a musical.

Solution 1: Make it nearly mandatory for students to join. There's only one other class - I.T. - offered in the same time slot, so about 80% of the high school is involved somehow in the production. Students do most of their prep during a normal class period, with occasional outside practices scheduled around sports.

Challenge 2: The small pool of students also means they have less talent. Remember that guy who got the part because he could act, but whose voice cracked on the high notes? Yeah, me too.

Solution 2: Get the choir to help. A few major characters sing solos, but most either speak their lines or sing along with the choir. Even the middle school choir is singing a few of the songs. We've also made a few changes to the script, like dividing the narrator's part into three, so that no one girl has to carry such a heavy load. Also, we've got the Korean factor. Those kids are musical! Not only do we have an outstanding lead, we even have a very capable understudy.

Challenge 3: The drama teacher, Erin, has her hands full. She's also the yearbook adviser and art teacher for grades 4-12. She doesn't have time to singlehandedly direct a musical. Also, she never directed a play until last year, so she lacks the experience to teach all aspects.

Solution 3: Enlist other teachers' support. Lesley, the librarian/elementary-middle school music teacher, has handled lots of logistical details and overall coordination. Megan, the high school choir teacher, is obviously quite involved. Others are less obvious choices: first-grade teacher Sarah is in charge of costumes, with help from expert seamstresses Suzanne and Tirai (aka ESL teacher and 4th grade TA). Dani, who teaches mostly math and PE, was supposed to teach health the same period as drama and choir. The first day of class, they decided to cancel health and add her to drama, since she has extensive dance experience. She's now choreographed and taught all the dances. It takes a village...

Challenge 4: We're in Cambodia! The resources available here are hit-or-miss, hidden, and quite different from what's available in the US.

Solution 4: Flexibility and perseverance. If we can't find leather jackets, why not change them to traditional Khmer wedding jackets? The girls' hoop skirts get their oomph from wicker hula hoops. It turns out that a cyclo (bike-pulled carriage) works pretty well as a chariot. Sometimes being here is a great advantage: using scrap material and a tailor, we got Joseph's incredible coat made for only $30. Sarah and Erin have spent every weekend scouring the markets for bargains and elusive props.

Challenge 5: Asian students. They can't visualize colors like "ochre" and "mauve," and have no idea what a "juicy tidbit" is, or how to dance a hoedown. Most have never danced, period, besides maybe imitating K-pop videos. Many have never heard a Southern or French accent, let alone practiced them, and a few have pretty thick accents of their own.

Solution 5: Treat it as a learning experience, of course! I got them up to par on the French accent - my one contribution. They've dived into the dancing and expanded their vocabulary. We're also adding some Asian elements...they can do a pretty mean Korean fan dance. And their hoedown moves are getting better and better.

I don't know what further challenges await them, but I know that staff and students alike are committed to excellence. I can't wait to witness the final product!

Mondulkiri

2011-04-16T01:33:00.000-07:00

Chickens in the trees.

Cats on the bar.

Cows under the floor.

The Nature Lodge, in Mondulkiri, isn’t your typical Cambodian guesthouse. Run by a Khmer guy and his Israeli wife, it’s a sanctuary of blissful rest that aims for “whimsical” rather than “luxurious.” For example, the bathrooms adjacent to each cabin only have half a roof, with trees and bushes protruding from the bright blue cement floor. The sink and shower drain directly to the garden.

The owners live right next to the cabins.

My friend Emily and I spent the last four days there during our break for Khmer New Year, when most Cambodians visit relatives in the provinces. Mondulkiri is a tiny town in the hills, with more wind and less heat than nearly anywhere else in Cambodia. April is the peak of hot season, though it’s been mild this year, and so Mondulkiri was wonderfully refreshing.

As its name suggests, the Nature Lodge is not downtown, but on a hill overlooking town. Every morning I woke up early and climbed the hill, marveling at the chance to be totally alone outside. I needed the reminder that Cambodia truly is a beautiful country – I hadn’t left Phnom Penh since early January. Mondulkiri brought back treasured memories of growing up in Vermont.

Our plans weren’t big. We took a tour of nearby waterfalls, entertained along the way by a very affable motodup driver. We walked into town. We toured an orchard and coffee plantation. It was enough.

On Thursday, our plans for an outing fell through, and I enjoyed a whole day of reading and relaxing. Since our room didn’t have a fan, I opted for the restaurant in the Nature Lodge, which had better air flow. Devoid of guests most of the day, only the staff remained: that couple, their adorable year-old daughter Lila, their two young nephews, and a few others. I’d already talked with most of them, and was glad to be around them more.

Cambodians are generally a friendly and easygoing bunch, but these seemed to have a nearly tangible joy and warmth. The girl watching Lila patiently helped me practice Khmer. Lila’s mom, Sheery, told me about the band playing in the background – Dengue Fever – and their sweet fusion of traditional Khmer music and psychedelic rock. Her Singaporean neighbor asked me about Killer Bunnies, the crazy card game Emily and I had played at dinner the night before. The nephews tickled Lila, joked around, fiddled with the playlists. I felt so at home with them, even when I was just reading in the corner.

The restaurant was built around/into some remarkable trees.

I work all the time. It’s a struggle not to do schoolwork on Sundays, though I need the day off for mental health. I worked straight through the March holiday, and even Thursday, I spent a few hours writing review questions. I’ve come to terms with being very busy all the time for now – it’s quite normal for new teachers.

Still, I hope that “I’m busy” and “Work is important” aren’t the main things I communicate to others. Whether or not I’m not savoring lush scenery or indulging in a good book, my life has so many sources of delight. No matter the length of my to-do list, I want to exude warmth and contentment like I saw in Mondulkiri.

Grace like rain

2011-04-03T00:33:00.001-07:00

The courtyard looked festive for last year's grand opening -

on Friday it held another form of festivities!

On Friday, April 1, shortly after lunch, Operation Grace Like Rain commenced. The brainchild of my roommate Erin, with help from Megan and me, it had the support of nearly the entire middle/high school faculty – about 12 teachers.

It started with buckets of water being filled and placed strategically. Then Bonnie, the guidance counselor, made an announcement over the intercom: “Would all high school students please report outside the office.” Our hallways are open-air, so just outside the main office is the school courtyard and playground. Some were a bit suspicious and tried to hover on the steps, protected by the awning. But Bonnie is not one to be messed with, and in her lecture, she sounded ANGRY. She told students she was fed up with bullying issues. “I have a student crying in my office who never wants to return! This is unacceptable. Your punishment will be a wet shower.” With that, four of us charged from around the corners –Danielle and Erin from near the art room, Elaine and I from the pool area. (We were wearing snazzy lifejackets from the PreK swimming class, if you were wondering.) We yelled and tossed water over everyone as five other teachers dumped water from the cafeteria overhead. It was amazing.

Soon, students and teachers were running around chasing each other, trying to throw flour. Before I knew it, I was being thrown in the pool, along with Danielle and Erin. The pool dunkings grew to encompass teachers all the way on the fourth floor as students charged the building looking for more culprits. Somewhere along the line, students also became each other’s victims, with about ¼ of the student body going under.

After about twenty minutes, we all headed back upstairs to class. (Thankfully it was my planning period!) I helped girls figure out how to wring out their wet clothes so they could type their history projects without flooding the computer lab. I grinned as dozens of students took in my soaked, disheveled appearance. “Ms. COOPER!” I dried off my blouse and capris as best I could, thankful for their dark color and my invincible Old Navy flip-flops. Then I sat down to finish planning 9th grade English.

When the 9th graders came in, I told them it was back to business. We quizzed each other on characters from The Odyssey, discussed heroic qualities of Odysseus and Penelope, debated Homer’s portrayal of women. Wet or not, we only had 90 minutes to review for the test the following class. And review we did!

I love my school.

Raining radiation

2011-03-20T01:28:00.000-07:00

The crisis in Japan has of course been all over the news here. And from every angle: when I didn't want to watch US marine helicopters loading up on CNN, I could see different images on the Chinese or Khmer or even Japanese channels. This is Asia, after all, and so even with only one Japanese family at Logos, recent events have still hit a bit closer to home for me. My heart goes out to them.

My perspective mirrors that of many Western expats. But here's the news that's been guiding many locals I know:

"A nuclear power plant in Fukumi, Japan exploded at 4:30 AM today. If it rains tomorrow or later, don’t go outside. If you are outside, be sure that you have rain protectors. It’s acid rain. Don’t let it touch you. You may burn your skin, lose your hair or have cancer. Please pass, stay safe and remind everyone you know. This applies to anyone in Asia."

So Wednesday, even high school students came to Logos ultra-nervous about getting wet. But it's not just teens that believed it: the past few days, this message went viral on texts and Facebook statuses from the Philippines to Singapore and beyond.

Talking with my friend Sovannary helped me understand how Cambodians could fall for this. They obviously don't have advanced science knowledge, given that many are illiterate and their education system is built on rote learning. And I rarely see anything on people's TVs besides karaoke and comedy - they might not think to check the news for confirmation. So when they hear "nuclear power plant," they think of the only nuclear thing in their memory: nuclear bombs. (Apparently most are aware of Hiroshima.)

Rumors among Cambodians far exceed the text message. Not only did everyone tell Sovannary that she and her daughters would die of cancer since they got caught in the rain, but they also claimed that Japan was about to explode and that nothing would grow on the power plant site for 100,000 years. Radiation, according to their story, would reach even the US at fatal levels. Kudos to Sovannary for researching more reliable sources: she's a teaching assistant, and her teacher gave her a much more accurate description of nuclear energy and the crisis in Japan. She had lots of questions for me, trying to confirm her teacher's reports.

All this was a powerful reminder for me that ignorance is NOT bliss. Fear often drives Cambodians' attitudes on issues where science could put their minds at ease.

The Khmer Riche

2011-03-13T06:05:00.001-07:00

Stealing a year-old post from my friend Sheryl...she highlights an article with fascinating interviews of Cambodia's young elite. Logos may have been founded for orphans, but it has a few ultra-rich Khmer students. From the impending arranged marriages, to the entourage of bodyguards and servants, and right down to the kidnappings, this article rings true with my experiences of Cambodia's wealthy. (I even live in the neighborhood mentioned in the article, within blocks of many of Prime Minister Hun Sen's relatives.)

"So have you been wondering where international aid money goes once it leaves donors hands and enters the quagmire of Cambodian politics? Please read this article for a very interesting look at money in Cambodia.

"What is even more fascinating and encouraging is that some of the Khmer Riche children attend Logos International School. These children are being taught Christian ethics, given an education to international standards, and introduced to the Lord Jesus on a daily basis. We have already seen dramatic shifts in some of these kids' lives and look forward to seeing how God uses them here in Cambodia in the future. We praise God for the privledge of working with so many different children at Logos as the school represents dozens of different nationalities and straddles all economic layers."

I don't pretend to understand my students' lives, but I know they're intense. The wealthy ones' entire world depends on corruption and dirty money. They've experienced their own sort of trauma: the weight of secrets much bigger than themselves and pressure to live a very limited, if self-indulgent, lifestyle. Home and school pull them in opposite directions, and most of them know which one has to win. Seeing some of them learn to show compassion for other segments of Cambodia is so exciting, because it's such a huge departure from their whole upbringing.

Should I laugh or cry?

2011-03-07T21:31:00.000-08:00

I assigned my first-ever research paper in my 11th/12th grade class. I knew they needed practice writing formal research papers, and in my naivete, I thought that with some careful planning and clear instruction, I could be the one to guide them step-by-step through the process. That was my first mistake: overconfidence. There were a lot of mistakes after that. Now, I'm about 10 hours into a 30-hour grading process. If you gave me a choice between having my wisdom teeth out again and finishing the last 20 hours, there would be no contest.

Anyhow, after reading Alan Paton's novel Cry, the Beloved Country, I let them choose from four different research topics. Three of them went OK, but on one, I vastly underestimated students' prior knowledge and research skills. They had to compare apartheid in South Africa to slavery/civil rights in the US. Despite special meetings with me outside class to discuss research on this topic, they've struggled to gain an accurate overall picture of US black history. Nearly all of them have some interesting claims. So far, I've encountered the following gems:

“Slaveries in Africa started on December 1, 1955...
Slaves who worked on the big farm [in America] have to take care of fish and other sea food...
If the [American] blacks ever go against the law they will face punishment and they even got arrested and if they did more than that, all the black people will be kill. So [Rosa] Park got arrested in jail for going against the law. The black people cannot get merry with the white people, but later on the blacks and the white people can get merry.”

“In America, there was a massive slavery that started from the 1600s, and it ended due to the civil rights movement that led to civil war in 1865.”

“Martin Luther King was widely revered after winning the Noble Prize Winner Award. His amazing act of offering his life up to protect and save the lives of his own race without having to do anything much but give a strong speech and through nonviolence made him a true hero in my opinion.”

Accurate info but not the best wording: “The different reasons for slavery and apartheid in both the US and South Africa were that the slavery in the US is different from the slavery in South Africa. In the US, the slaves works in plowing fields, as a servant that had a lower class which was not considered to be important than white people, had no education, and the slaves came from all around Africa. As for in South Africa, the slavery and apartheid have the similar ways as in the US, likes the black people works in mines that are lower class that is not important than white people that has no education and it is only found in South Africa.”

“The Civil Rights Movement started in 1961, by President Abraham Lincoln, elected in 1860. He started the Civil War between the free, north state and the slave, south state.”

“The next movement was sit-ins that the black people would just gathered around in anytime anywhere and just sit there and did nothing but it was representing the protesting the racism.”

Lord, give me patience...and help me and my students learn a LOT through this long, laborious process!

Service trip!

2011-02-19T02:17:00.000-08:00

Two teachers and I took a week to lead 11th and 12th grade students on three different service trips around Phnom Penh. It was last-minute, stressful to plan, and disorganized. But none of that really mattered: overall, it was amazing. Praise God for how He uses us in our weakness! Photos and details available here.

Go Tectonic Plates!

The local wildlife

2011-02-03T05:09:00.000-08:00

My roommates and I are so classy that we keep a giant can of Raid on our kitchen counter. You never live alone when you live in a Cambodian home, and I've grown accustomed to sharing my space with creatures I rarely encountered back in the US. One important lesson I've realized: All creatures are NOT created equal. Some are downright obnoxious, but others are mildly irritating, easy to ignore, even endearing. So, being a good teacher, I've created a quiz for you to test your intuition (and astute memory of previous blog posts) about my experiences with these common creatures. Can you guess which bug or vermin belongs to which description below? Take your best guess, then check against the answer key at the bottom. Post your scores - I'm curious!

a. Mosquitoes
b. Rats
c. Spiders
d. Cockroaches
e. Ants
f. Gecko lizards

1. I think squashed ______ smell like freshly cut grass.
2. After turning on the kitchen light at night, I always hesitate before entering, to allow time for ______ to run out of the room.
3. ______ are much smarter than I’d like them to be: they frequently switch up their favorite hiding spots in my room, and make quick getaways once I’m on the alert.
4. In contrast, I find ______ quite stupid: I always know where they'll hide, and often they run TOWARD me in an attempt to get away.
5. The only creatures that I find satisfying to squash with my bare hands are ______.
6. Fried ______ are said to taste somewhat like Cambodia smells.
7. A 7th grade lesson last year was livened up when a dead ______ fell out of our air conditioner.
8. ______ are responsible for the bloodstains I discover on my bedsheets some mornings.
9. Sometimes we keep dead fish laced with poison under our sink to allure ______ to their doom.
10. ______ are at their peak during cool season, resulting in the fact that I have to keep the fan on even if it means shivering in a sweater. (These days, I shiver in a sweater when it’s about 74 F, so don’t feel too bad for me.)
11. Everyone’s rather fond of ______, even though they often defecate on the walls.
12. I often feel bad for ______ after spraying them with Raid: it takes them so long to die, and they look so pathetic flailing around. So I wait until they're seriously irritating me before I spray them.
13. At the Bible camp last year, I had to comfort girls who were rather disconcerted by the giant ______ and ______ in the cabin and bathroom.
14. Most roads have dead ______ flattened into them.
15. ______ are usually much smaller than the species I knew in America, but can descend by the hundreds in a matter of minutes.
16. A zapper racquet kills ______ in a delightful way that my roommate Michaela refers to as “my own personal fireworks show.”
17. Two ______ live permanently on the kitchen counter, and a third in my bathroom.
18. Most of my Logos friends would agree with me: ______ are far and away our #1 archnemesis. (Hint: And that's not only because they've given some of us dengue fever...)

Answers: 1.E 2.B 3.A 4.D 5.A 6.C 7.F 8.A 9.B 10.A 11.F 12.D 13.C,F 14.B 15.E 16.A 17.F 18.A

Can't leave them behind

2011-01-16T04:12:00.000-08:00

French and German and I go waaay back. I had my first French lessons in 3rd grade, when I was still half-homeschooling. I remember struggling to pronounce the date each day: the 1990s were not a good time to start learning! ("1994" alone is 8 syllables.) German started at birth, with my mom trying to alternate between English and German days. It worked great for a year or two, especially since we spent 9 months in Germany before I turned 2. After that, my German was reduced to foods, colors, and random phrases like "straight ahead." Anyhow, by 10th grade, I was in level 3 in both languages, and continued to level 5 by graduation.

I always felt enthusiastic about learning languages in general, as opposed to French and German in particular. In fact, while I felt an affinity for all things German due to my family's connections there, I was apathetic toward France for years. I enrolled at Penn State in the education program for both languages, not intending to spend my life as a French teacher, but supposing that proficiency in three languages would serve me well wherever I went after graduation. I wanted to teach SOMEthing (maybe ESL?) and I was good at those. My decision seemed pragmatic, not passionate.

What changed my mind was my semester in France in 2007. Once France became a real place in my mind, not just the site of castles and cafes and catwalks, I found an affection for it. Finally, French people weren't the little cartoons in my textbooks - they were my host family and classmates and conversation partners. What helped most of all was how different we were: that I had to struggle to relate to them, rather than them being "just like me" but in another language. That struggle helped me define my identity in a deeper way.

Now I finally have a chance to fulfill a dream I've had since college: to learn Cambodia's Khmer language. (Albeit very slowly...new teachers are busy!) I thought I'd be content to throw myself into it and abandon further pursuit of French and German. Instead, I find myself wistful when I hear snippets at the grocery store, fumbling in my head to find words to initiate a conversation. Speakers are abundant in this city full of NGOs, but I'm rarely in their part of town with time to kill, and I don't know any personally. Thus, the Bible and an occasional DVD or online article are now my main sources of foreign-language sustenance. Better than nothing, but I'm missing the conversation component.

In French class last week, I realized I'd forgotten some common everyday words, like closet and pillow - words I never needed in college courses. At the French Cultural Center bookstore, I made mistakes in my chat with the cashier that I've successfully avoided for years. I was rusty, to say the least. I know I'm forgetting German much faster: even after years of study, it's still "use it or lose it." At this point, I could still easily regain fluency if I spent a month immersed in either, but that part of my knowledge is being buried deeper and deeper. I thought I was OK with not using it. I never realized losing my adopted languages would feel like losing part of myself.

Lilies of the field

2011-01-08T23:34:00.000-08:00

I've never been very concerned with fashion, let alone gifted at it. I wore 80% pastels until middle school. In college, I decided I was fine with wearing "somewhat ugly" clothes if they were free and comfortable. I still like a hand-me-down sweater I got at age 11. There have always been clothes I liked and clothes I didn't like, but shopping was no fun and neither was parting with clothes that had seen better days.

That's one reason I was nervous before going to France, where fashion is about both self-expression and self-respect. To French minds, my solid-colored shirts with plain necklines and no accessories communicated, "I don't deserve to be noticed." My wardrobe didn't change dramatically when I was there, though I became a bit more adventurous. But I grew to appreciate a bit more their philosophy: that if you care about yourself, you don't wear sweatpants to run errands, and that dramatic earrings can be more about savoring life than about striving to win a beauty contest.

In terms of fashion, Cambodia and I are a good fit. Unlike wealthier Asian capitols (Hong Kong/Seoul/Tokyo), many people here can't afford to obsess about fashion. Conditions also aren't conducive to keeping clothes in top quality. My washing machine is a huge blessing (most Cambodians hand-wash their clothes) but it also wears clothes out much faster than in the US. Many of the clothes I brought are now stretched out, pockmarked, stained with sweat, and/or dyed pink from the red skirt I got at the market last year. On a similar note, my hair is almost never down due to the heat and humidity.

This bothers me much less than a few other teachers, who are used to looking put together, especially for work. At the same time, I am expected to dress professionally at school. Though the administrators aren't too strict - I wore Old Navy flip-flops all spring after my other shoes had all broken - I don't want to look much worse than my students, who wear uniforms that they generally keep in good condition. Fashion doesn't just communicate self-respect; it also can communicate respect for others. Dressing nicely for school is one way to show that I care about my students and that I take my job seriously.

As I live here longer without frequent trips home, more of my clothes are wearing out, and I'm still learning how to replace them. The mall's expensive and stores don't encourage trying things on. Tailors are gifted at copying clothing, and it's a great way to support local business - but it IS more expensive, and the fabric available is limited. Some markets have small stalls with used clothing, which I haven't explored yet. I love thrift shops in the US, but here they seem a bit more daunting. One market has cheap factory rejects, many of which are small and/or teenybopperish, but some of which are great. Jeans and shoes might be nearly impossible here: I'm half a foot taller than the average girl. I'm set on clothes for a while, but eventually I'll need to brave the world of shopping, Cambodia-style.

At the moment, I have two main categories of clothes: teaching clothes, and jogging clothes (along with ratty/stained former teacher clothes). If I want to look kind of nice (ex. church), I wear teacher clothes. If I don't care (ex. Saturdays at home), I wear jogging clothes. Because every time I wear my old gross clothing is one MORE time I'll be able to wear my nice clothing later on.

But in which contexts am I supposed to care how I look? Downtown, clothing is mostly a status symbol. Rich Cambodians dress up to run errands; poor Cambodians wear pajama-style outfits or work clothes or whatever they have. My roommate Megan and I agree that we see clothes largely as a social norm. I'm happy wearing nearly any type of clothing that is considered acceptable in the culture where I live. (Thus, the pajamas and crazy T-shirts ubiquitous here seem more and more appealing to me.) But I'm still working on figuring things out. If I want to live cheaply and simply, does it seem insulting to a restaurant owner when I walk in wearing stained capris and I can clearly afford something better? If most of my students are upper-class and have cute clothing, should I wear a more casual "teacher shirt" or can I get away with an old wrinkled T-shirt? For now, I guess I'll stick with what I have, and do my best to dress acceptably. But if you see a tall blonde girl in Phnom Penh wearing new floral pajamas, you can guess her name.

Christmas shenanigans

2010-12-23T07:44:00.000-08:00

Last year for Christmas, I did diddly-squat of my own initiative. I was trying to survive writing and grading final exams, moving the school, subbing for a friend's kindergarten class, cleaning for my new roommate to move in, and more. So besides attending the Christmas concert and caroling, my Christmas celebration consisted of drinking iced coffee with my roommate at a local cafe.

This year, I knew I needed more. And so did my friends. All five of us at my house, plus two other teachers, are here in Phnom Penh for at least Christmas day, if not the entire 2 1/2 weeks. And we now have an oven, as well as a clearer idea of where to find ingredients. (Even if it DID require trips to all three international grocery stores.) I think we've done a pretty good job, if I say so myself.
Sarah and I went old-fashioned and stuck cloves into oranges. They smell amazing! Michaela had snuck the pine cones back into Cambodia after our visit to Korea, since conifers only exist in one province of Cambodia.

Mmm, neon frosting! High school girls, and an alumna, got into the reason for the season: sugar cookie decorating. (Didn't the shepherds bring a plateful for Mary and Joseph?)

You'd never know this was their first time: they did outstanding work. We took some to share with our landlords and neighbors, who were a bit taken aback. Yesterday, we made four other types of Christmas cookies over at the Roberts' house, who, with 18 people in town, don't much notice if a few more tag along.

Sarah's "little angels" (grade 1) were all hyped up for their part in the elementary Christmas concert. This year the staff also performed two songs at the middle/high school concert. It was a first at Logos and I enjoyed being in choir again - it's been a while!

"There, I fixed it!" Outlets here are made with holes big enough to accommodate numerous plug types: Korean/European/US plugs all fit in. Sometimes these large holes mean that numerous plug types fall out of them. But when masking tape wasn't strong enough to keep the extension cord plugged in, our spatula saved the day.

Tina, a dear friend from Doylestown, gave me this gift a couple years ago. Named Oh Deer: the Super-Duper Reindeer Pooper, it's a plastic reindeer that...um, dispenses...jelly beans. I decided to use it as a prize for a competition to name a one-eyed snowman that a former teacher left behind.

The competition was on! I received about 50 suggestions from students.

See the snowman's glittery eyepatch? The winner, pictured here, was determined to win Oh Deer. Instead of her slips of paper containing merely name ideas, she wrote a paragraph on each one, adding, "P.S. Have a poopin' Christmas! I want a poopin' deer!" This additional interest and effort did not go unnoticed. Her winning name idea was Noon, which means both "Snow" and "Eye" in Korean. Runners-up were Jayavarman (the Cambodian king who built Angkor Wat) and Super-Duper Eyeless Cooper.

I don't have photos, but we've much enjoyed the Christmas music that has pervaded life recently. A Korean church choir performed two masses - one Vivaldi, one gospel - that were really neat. Last night's Christmas carol service continued in the Roberts' van on the way home. And our house has heard lots of spontaneous singing.

Christmas is pretty low on the radar here in Phnom Penh - a few strings of lights, Santa cutouts on the doors of a few shops, that's about it. And the 90-degree weather doesn't add much to the "Christmas spirit." This can be annoying, but it's thus easier to remember WHY Christmas matters: God becoming a baby, bringing light to a people trapped in darkness. Still, I really appreciate carrying on Christmas traditions: my own and my friends'. It's one way to be myself, even when I'm far from home.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Out of the frying pan

2010-11-29T03:27:00.001-08:00

It's a weird feeling to miss a national tragedy. It's also a weird feeling to walk into one.

If you follow the news, you may have heard about last Monday's stampede in Cambodia, just hours before the attacks on North Korea. Thousands panicked on a bridge while celebrating Cambodia's Water Festival, which draws two million visitors from the provinces. About 350 died, mostly of suffocation; about 400 more were injured. Prime Minister Hun Sen called it the greatest tragedy since the Khmer Rouge's era in the 1970s.

I was en route to the airport when it occurred, traveling during the holiday to a teaching conference in Seoul. So I didn't hear about it until Tuesday noon, about the time that the bombing was taking place on the same island as the airport. Instead of being able to mourn with Cambodians, to ask my friends and neighbors about it, or even to read updates online last week, my firsthand experiences were watching Koreans react to their own turmoil.

Trying to piece things together since my return, I'm struck by the fear and the corruption that pervade Cambodia. Most Cambodians are Buddhist/animist and live in fear of wandering spirits. For example, the spirits of victims were blamed for a subsequent bus crash where everyone died.

Cambodians try to assuage the spirits' wrath by leaving offerings, especially bananas, in the spirit houses outside their homes. The price of bananas rose drastically from $0.50 a bunch - I've heard estimates on maximum prices ranging from $2.50 all the way to $25 a bunch. Fruit sellers can't afford to pass up extra profit any more than the rest of Cambodia. I can't imagine the fear of everyone who couldn't afford the elevated prices, wondering if the hungry and offended spirits would lash out at them in the night.

The police's response during the stampede was vastly inadequate and understaffed. Better planning could have prevented the entire thing. Since then, the government hasn't much improved its handling of affairs. Hospitals were overwhelmed with the injured. Hospital workers demanded payment, though the government offered to cover costs of treatment. Prime Minister Hun Sen promised money to victims' families, and the bodies all disappeared from hospitals within 24 hours. It's impossible for all the families from the provinces to have arrived so quickly and accurately identified their loved ones. More likely, people who wanted that money claimed a relation or promised to track down the family somehow. Many of those families will never receive confirmation of their loved one's death, let alone a body to bury or the promised payment.

Talking about anything sex-related is strictly taboo in Cambodia, but death isn't hidden at all. Those TV reports I missed showed all kinds of graphic footage: people jumping off the bridge to their deaths, bodies piled up, and so on. Michaela and Sarah had to spend a large chunk of Monday morning helping their 5- to 7-year-old students process what they had seen. Our friend Sophorn was walking by a hospital where all the bodies were laid out. She couldn't sleep for four days because of the flood of haunting memories.

What's even sadder is the demographics of victims. Many or most were visiting from the provinces, on possibly their one trip a year to the city, a rare chance to enjoy themselves. Most were children, teens, and twenty-somethings: the next generation of workers. They were there with siblings and cousins, meaning most families who were affected lost multiple relatives. One girl at Logos knows of someone whose sixteen relatives visited her from the province; all sixteen perished. How can a family of rice farmers overcome such a loss of laborers? In a society where children are the only retirement plan, how will the older generation of this family survive after such devastation?

Pari, a senior girl dear to my heart, is the only Logos student I know who was present on that island. Fifteen minutes before, she'd tried to get on the bridge and concluded it was too crowded. She wandered away toward another route, unaware of the devastation until late that evening. Praise God for protecting her for the umpteenth time in a life full of extreme hazards.

I was so moved by the faith of South Koreans and by their fervent, compassionate prayers for their North Korean counterparts. Prayer is the only logical response to events like this. Please pray for Cambodia.

"Wait! I'm not in the picture!"

2010-11-19T20:55:00.000-08:00

Hat ladies

The senior trip was fantastic, in my opinion. And not because I helped plan it! I hate being in charge of large events, and this was my biggest yet. But instead of being draining and nerve-racking as I had feared, it proved a lovely chance to relax with students and explore major questions together of God's call in our lives and the strengths He's given us.

"Come be a fool...a fool for Christ!" The message on these shirts resonated with students so much more than I'd expected.

One of the best aspects was the disregard for time. At summer camp, or last year's Bible camp, we were always reinforcing the message, "Be here at this time! Let's hurry so we can cram everything in!" It's kind of necessary when you're corralling eighty students, or two hundred.

The rickety path out to the edge of the mangrove forests...it seems we'd taken a wrong turn...

But fourteen is another story. Can we skip the beach when it starts raining and just hang out in our rooms? Sure we can! Can priceless conversations occur while in those rooms? Absolutely! Do we have time to learn the Virginia Reel before devotions tonight? I don't see why not. And during said devotions, can we spend 45 minutes on worship, leave out half the lesson, and start an entirely unplanned discussion? Yes, indeed.

Conquering the hill

Being a teacher, I've learned to segment each class period, to squeeze eight activities into 90 minutes, to finish within seconds of the bell ringing. It was good for me to leave my time-oriented tendencies at home and let activities expand or go a new direction.

We were going to divide into two groups to come back in the SUV, but the guys realized they could just cling to the outside of the car on the ten-minute drive home. This is Cambodia, after all!

Mixed in with the profound was a great deal of the goofy. We made up challenges for each student to complete on two different days. One had to kiss someone's hand every time anyone sneezed; another had to jump into every photo and complain when left out; another had to call everyone by their first and last names all day. (She was self-conscious doing that with teachers - it was pretty entertaining!) When we tramped through clay on our way to a waterfall, one student seized the chance for a free makeover, convincing several of us to join in.

The ringleader, at left, later developed a rash. It was worth it, though!

This class is close-knit, even compared to most Logos classes, and seems more sincere in their faith than many. They're wrestling with big questions as they start applying to college. Where in the world do I belong? How can I be myself and still respect my parents' expectations? How can I relish my friendships at Logos without being afraid of the goodbyes...possibly forever...next spring? Can I make it on my own in another world, far from anyone I know? They've been learning about God's provision and faithfulness through studying Isaiah and through the challenges of senior year, college applications, TOEFL and SAT exams, and family difficulties.

This girl and I had a great conversation during the boat ride. She was terrified of clambering on the rocks up to the waterfall but grew to enjoy it by the end.

This trip was a great place to discuss those questions and what they've been learning. We got to encourage them that these challenges will ultimately strengthen them. All three of us teachers were overwhelmed by the privilege of seeing their faith, of drawing close to them, and of investing in the lives of such eager and passionate brothers and sisters in Christ.

One means of strengthening: push-ups over a crevice

A special request

2010-10-31T06:58:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, I have a special request from a student.

"Hello, first I should introduce myself. My name is Hannah Lee. I go to Logos International School in Cambodia and Ms. Cooper is my homeroom teacher. I've been studying at Logos for 5 years and Ms. Cooper is my homeroom teacher. I have one request! The Logos Jog-a-thon is the second week of November. This is when students look for sponsors and ask them to donate money to the school. This is our third Jog-a-thon. Last year, all the donations went to finishing the playground. This year the donations will go toward computers in the computer lab. Could you sponsor me for the Jog-a-thon? This year Mr. Hein, the principal, made a deal with the seniors that if we raise enough money, we will receive money toward our Senior Trip next week. If you sponsor me, then you are supporting two things: our school and the trip.

We also have a great donor from Canada. If Logos raises at least $5000, then he will match our donations. If we raise $10-15,000, he will contribute double our donations. Isn't that great?? This is my last year at Logos and I want to leave a legacy for our school. It would be wonderful if you offer to sponsor me. hehe But it will also be okay if you don't decide to sponsor. Thank you for reading this, and have a wonderful day!!," says Hannah.^^

Jog-a-thon is a great opportunity to support Logos. It helps in enabling us to keep tuition at less than half that of comparable international schools and to offer scholarships to many students. the entire school will run the course together in early November to celebrate the donations we have received. If you'd like to contribute, visit http://www.asianhope.org/, click on "Jog-a-thon" on the left (it shows a photo of runners), and specify that your donation is for Hannah.

Thanks so much for your ongoing support!

The king and I

2010-10-30T20:15:00.000-07:00

Last night was my second time attending a concert with the king of Cambodia, I think. It may have been his son, since they both look alike. Both times, he was sitting front and center, but there was very little other hoopla surrounding him. I sat close enough to him both times to hear his voice. I'm not positive it was him, but he was definitely addressed as "Your Excellency," and he sure looked like the two guys whose portraits hang in every building, including Logos.

Seeing him in person drives home the point that Cambodia is a small country with a small capitol, and that there are not many events to attend here. Phnom Penh has three museums, one movie theater (featuring 100% horror movies), one water park, and zero parks wider than a 4-lane highway. To my knowledge, it has no professional performing arts ensembles: not in dance, not in music, not in theater. The nearest hiking, boating, and beach opportunities are several hours away. Worst of all, it has no public libraries, and only a couple of small bookstores. So if you're looking for something to do besides watching a pirated DVD or eating out, your options are limited. Even if you're royalty.

Thankfully, being in a developing country, richer countries often send us talented performers for free or very cheap performances. About once a month, some embassy sponsors a performance, and multiple people tell me about it. Students, parents, and teachers all have it on their minds. I attended one featuring some Canadian dancers, but mostly it's been classical music. I can count on running into multiple Logos teachers there and a decent number of students and parents - especially Koreans. I knew that many Korean students learn an instrument quite well, so it makes sense to me that parents work hard to instill music appreciation in their young budding prodigies. Korean parents gave me and my roommate some tickets, so four of us attended together.

Last night's concert was by a Korean soprano, Kim In Hye, and the audience was at least 90% Korean. She was fun to watch because she's an opera singer, so her gestures and facial expressions added a lot. Even between songs, she beamed and laughed and genuinely seemed to enjoy the whole show. Her sparkly purple dress, which looked like a Barbie outfit, augmented the effect. I loved her Spanish folk songs, but the most memorable was a rousing rendition of "O Happy Day." It was hard not to crack up at the combination of her and the song, but you could tell she loved it!

For her encore, she brought up a young Khmer girl, and they sang a Khmer song together. She told the girl, "I'm a born-again Christian, and I want you to know that Jesus loves you." Pretty special for an event sponsored entirely by secular entities. Kim In Hye was so nervous about her pronunciation of Khmer words - it was really cute. She blew all my stereotypes of the haughty opera star.

At the end, for her second encore, she sang a traditional Korean song and had all those Korean audience members join in. I appreciated that. It seems bizarre to me that the ultra-patriotic Koreans value classical music so much, but never include their own culture's music in performances. The rest of her performance had been exclusively European and American music. It was a beautiful song, though I'm not sure what it was, and a satisfying end to a fun concert.

Off to school...

2010-10-12T20:00:00.000-07:00

with my roommate Sarah yesterday morning on our trusty moto, Fang, after it rained a bit Monday night.

See the post below for the rest of the story.

All in a day's work

2010-10-12T06:19:00.000-07:00

It rained yesterday.

Yeah, it's rainy season, and yeah, it rained more than normal yesterday. Still, nobody really commented on it, and we were surprised last night to find water six inches deep on our drive home. It worked out, though. I figured today would be a good day to bring a camera en route to school, in case there was still flooding.

I was right.

On our street, the water had subsided considerably. But the farther we drove, the deeper the water got. The term "water" is used loosely - I spotted or felt lots of garbage floating in it, as well as plant matter and toilet paper. And while I didn't see them, I know rat corpses were there too, because they normally litter the streets.

I heard there were even fish from nearby lakes. Quote of the day from Sarah's class: "This morning my dad went fishing in my grandma's house!" Her teaching assistant saw people using fishing nets in the road.

When we saw a broken-down truck just ahead, we knew we were in for it, but turning around would've been just as difficult.

Having successfully navigated about 1.5 km of flooding, we succumbed in the final 1/2 km. We knew we were in good company - most people around us had also started walking their vehicles. But when we reached higher ground, we were in trouble. Most people around us were still able to start their motos, at least using the kick-starter. We were not so fortunate.

We called Dean, the elementary principal, for advice. It was just before 7, so we weren't sure he knew how bad the flooding was. "Our moto broke down - do we really want the kids driving in this? Could we maybe delay school?"

"You'll be fine. Just keep pushing it and try to kick-start it every few hundred yards. The kids might be late, but flooding's no big deal here. This is Cambodia!"

We walked it about a kilometer, mostly submerged about 6 inches deep. It was slow going. Everyone was laughing at us as they drove past us in the comparatively shallow water. When we reached a cafe we knew, we decided to leave it there and have them lock it up for us. Then we both caught motodups (motorcycle taxis) to school.

We arrived at 7:35, over an hour after we left, just in time for staff devotions. At least I hadn't counted today on last-minute photocopying or planning...for once! I ended up going straight into first period without even having rinsed off my legs and feet. My students all seemed unconcerned about the flooding. But a Cambodian co-worker said this might be the biggest flood she can remember.

After school, Sarah and I left early to take a motodup back to the cafe and pick up our moto. But Suorsdai (her name is also a common greeting) and her adorable little sister saw us walking away from school and offered us a lift in their tuk-tuk. We were so grateful. Their camera-shy brother Solomon, in Sarah's 1st grade class, was enthralled to have us aboard. He *loves* attention from teachers. "And we can tell EVERYone about this, right?"

At the cafe, the guys outside tried to help us kick-start the moto again. After 20 minutes and four of them, they concluded it was a futile effort. They advised us to take it to a repair shop, so we set off, pushing it through the still-flooded streets to new waves of laughter.

We were concerned about finding a moto repair guy who spoke English, but the first place we stopped had a Cambodian guy from Philadelphia! (Cheltenham, to be precise.) It was a great answer to prayer. He and his co-workers quickly set to work. The giant battery they used to jump the moto...at least 10 times...is labeled "BUS." Yeah, did I mention this repair shop doesn't normally serve motos?

They used bare hands to touch the stripped wires to the contact points. Sarah, whose brothers spent weeks in the hospital following an electrical accident, couldn't bear to watch.

Though we described how high the water had been, they acted absolutely shocked every time they opened something and water flowed out. This happened about 5 different times. Notice how the oil and water that poured out together separated into a Yin-Yang shape. That has to be symbolic, though I'm not sure how.

These five guys dropped everything to help us for 2 1/2 hours. Note the one with his shirt up - that's very Khmer, only he doesn't have a beer belly like most of the old guys that do this. The one in the striped blue and red shirt is the Philadelphia resident.

90 minutes later, five guys had multiplied to 10 - with at least 3 onlookers on the right (not counting Sarah or me). By that point, they could successfully jump-start it and were hopeful about it starting on its own. They tried to fix it, reassembled it, tried to fix it, and the cycle continued.

Meanwhile, we were nervous about leaving after dark. We asked if we could leave it overnight, feeling SO grateful that we trusted them enough to consider it. But they kept reassuring us that they were almost finished and just had to reassemble it. We dilly-dallied for an hour, then called our trusty tuk-tuk driver, Mop. By the time he arrived, the moto was consistently starting, but they were worried that a drive home through the still-flooded streets might be overly taxing. So we paid our $8 (oil change included) and headed home sans moto.

Tomorrow, we're taking a tuk-tuk to school. But in the afternoon, we'll be back for you, moto dearest!

Oh, and did I mention it's been raining for hours again today?

Not-so-happy childhoods

2010-10-10T03:51:00.000-07:00

At a recent staff retreat, many of us shared our testimonies. It was amazing to hear everyone's stories, but especially those of the Khmer teachers and assistants. Sometimes, since they know English and have good-paying jobs, and they were born after the Khmer Rouge era, it seems like they're the lucky ones compared to most Cambodians. I forget that they've experienced a lot of suffering, just like nearly all Cambodians. Some details that stood out to me:

-Sophorn sold porridge and fruit in the streets starting at age 16, when her dad died. She spent a year teaching in the US 2 years ago, and describes it as "my chance to be a teenager." It was the most freedom and the fewest responsibilities she'd ever had.

-When Piseth was young, his dad spent three years in the hospital. Every day, Piseth rode his bike for miles to bring his dad food. Only months after his dad recovered, he deserted the family for another woman. For years, Piseth timed his walk to school to avoid running into his dad en route to work. On another topic: when Piseth became a Christian, all his friends called him "Son of God." For years, he worshiped God in the bathroom - the only place in his house with privacy. It's still where he feels closest to God!

-Somien, the oldest child in his family, watched his siblings get split up into several orphanages when he was about 12. He kept running away from his orphanage and soon joined a gang. He cried as he told his story. Today, he's a teaching assistant in kindergarten, and has earned the trust of all the little ones. He hopes to start a school in the provinces in a few years.

-Sokcha's dad spoke out too much against the government during the civil war in the late '80s. His family had to leave abruptly for a refugee camp in Thailand. The journey through the jungle, surrounded by land mines, took weeks on foot and by bicycle. His family of four rode on one bicycle taxi = 5 people total for miles on a dirt path. At the camp, he was the worst student in his class, earning 0's on everything. His parents beat him for his grades. One day, his teacher became so frustrated with him that she slammed his head against the chalkboard. About a week later, everything started to make sense, and he became a top student. Today, he's a brilliant math and physics teacher.

Quirks of Daily Life

2010-10-10T03:06:00.000-07:00

I've realized that my life in Cambodia has many quirks that I never think to write about. Some of these make me laugh, some I just take for granted, but none of them were part of my US life. So I'll share a few, in order to deepen your understanding of this ancient nation.

-Guys at Logos often put their arms around each other, hug each other, punch each other, etc. Girls are much less hands-on with each other.

-I never go into the kitchen at night without turning on the light first. It's just to prevent catching any rats off-guard...I want them to be on their way out when I go in. (We have far fewer than last year, but a few times I've seen one about 8 inches long.)

-I'm doing better this year with the heat. Last year, I slept with a fan on low and I only used a bedsheet during cold season. This year, I've consistently needed a sheet at night.

-"Knee squeeze!" Every day, Sarah drives me to school on our moto. The gate has 2 openings - one for cars and one for pedestrians/bikes/motos. We ddrive through the small one, and I have to squeeze my knees together to avoid scraping them.

-All the classrooms have ornate living room-style curtains because the sunshine reflects too much on the boards otherwise. Blinds are quite expensive here, but these curtains were reasonable. However, the science classroom has Venetian blinds, for some reason. The first time the science teacher closed them, students was shocked and amazed - they'd never seen them before.

-We have water coolers in the hallways, since you can't drink tap water here. Most actually cool the water, but the one outside my classroom doesn't work, and it's in the sun all day. Kids ask me how I can drink water well over 100 degrees, but the truth is, I don't have time between classes to go to one of the cold ones. I always tell them, "It's wet, so why should it matter?"

Wow. That's about all I could say, wow.

2010-10-02T02:09:00.000-07:00

What could be better than a birthday party where dear friends read me beloved children's books? Naturally, ice cream was involved as well.

I need to do better at documenting Cambodian modes of transportation. This pickup has about 25 guys on their way to work.

Best T-shirt I've seen in forever. "NO! I don't need a tuk tuk!" It's especially fitting for Erin, who takes 90-minute walks across town most weekends.

"STILL NO!"

French students gathered earlier today at a cafe for yummy pastries and some rousing games like Telephone and I Spy.

I was so proud of them for how much they figured out from the French newspapers.

Bon travail, mes eleves!

The hope of glory

2010-09-21T07:57:00.000-07:00

And the life that I now live no longer is my own,
Jesus lives in me, the hope of glory!
And each day I live no longer is my own,
Jesus lives in me, the hope of glory!

Realizing this again this week brought a much-needed breakthrough. So easy to forget...so deliciously satisfying to practice! Thanks be to God that I am NOT the star of my life.

His first-ever letter

2010-09-12T01:52:00.001-07:00

Last week in 8th grade English, I had students write letters to former students who had moved at the end of last year.

One student, quite bright and motivated, was stumped. "If I put 'From (Name)' at the top, then where do I put who the letter is to?"

I tried to activate his prior knowledge. "Remember? You start with 'Dear So&So' and you end with...?"

But he didn't remember, and he asked for several more details before feeling satisfied that he had it right.

"Is it the opposite in Korean?" I asked him. "How do Koreans start a letter?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I've never written a letter in English OR Korean."

A smart, well-educated student, writing his first-ever letter at age thirteen. How did that happen?

After living here a year, I've still never seen a post office or a postal worker...my mail is sent to the school. The postal system is certainly corrupt, slow, and generally inconvenient. Still, though, I can't imagine. No thank-you notes? No pen pals? No "pretend you're this character and write to this other character" in English or history class?

This may have been his first letter for my class, but it will certainly not be his last.

Wade in the water

2010-09-07T01:48:00.000-07:00

Even before my arrival last year, I heard about the flooding during rainy season. But where I lived last year, none of the streets flooded in my neighborhood. So all that I witnessed firsthand were giant puddles on the edge of streets, next to the sidewalks. I had to cross them a few times but never walk the long way through them. This year, I live several blocks away. The house never floods, but I've experienced a good bit more flooding on nearby streets.

Sunday night, I went to a local cafe for Internet. I opted to walk instead of driving my moto, since it's only about 10 minutes on foot. Every day brings an afternoon rainstorm, but I hadn't noticed heavier storms than usual that weekend. Having crossed one small flooded section, though, I was confronted with an entire block flooded about 8 inches deep. I happened to know that alongside this block was a field where oxen were pastured each night after pulling wagons with pottery all day. This water could NOT be clean!

Just in front of it was a motodup driver who agreed to take me the rest of the way for $0.25, a bit pricy for such a short distance, but well worth it in this case. I hopped on and we began to cross. It was kinda like fording the river, for you Oregon Trail fans. His moto soon began making sounds: bug-a-bug-a-JOOT-a-bug-a-JOOT... Seconds later, it quit entirely. I sat on the back, wondering whether to give up and walk or stick it out. He pulled off a part and blew on it a few times. No luck. Then he propelled the moto, using his feet, until we reached dry ground. I realized both his flip-flops had broken along the way! He stuck them under his thighs and blew on the part a little more until it started again shakily. Success!

An hour later, I emerged from the cafe. There were no motodups in sight my entire way back. I rolled up my capris and started crossing the lake, much to the amusement of some young Khmer guys on the corner. I dind't want to pick up my feet with each step and add to the splashing, so I slogged through slowly. The longer I was in there, the more prayers I added under my breath: "Thank You, God, that I don't have any open wounds on my legs. Please, if I fall, don't let my computer land in this. Thank You that I haven't hit anything mushy yet. Please protect me from typhoid and all the germs in here. Thank You that my house doesn't flood like some of Sarah's friends' homes. Thank You that I didn't get my moto stuck in this." I arrived safely, rinsed off thoroughly below the knee, and I'm hopefully none worse for the wear. It may have taken over a year, but I'm finally initiated into Cambodian flood-wading!

Grasshopper pie

2010-09-06T20:24:00.000-07:00

Thursday was the annual senior class "Pie in the Face" fund-raiser, auctioning off the right to smear a pie in various teachers' and students' faces. As one of two senior homeroom teachers, I was involved in helping them organize it. The first dilemma: what kind of pie filling to sue. Ready-made whipped cream is pricy here, as is shaving cream. (Yuck!) Last year's seniors used meringue, but I wasn't confident ours would succeed - making meringue is a delicate operation. Plus, with no mixer, ten pies' worth of meringue takes a lot of time and elbow grease. Finally I hit on banana pudding as an easy and cheap alternative. It seemed like a shame to waste all that food...it worked beautifully as a fund-raiser, but there sure are a lot of hungry people around here.

A team assembled Wednesday afternoon at the home of Monique, a Khmer girl who lived with relatives in California until two years ago. I knew her neighborhood was upscale, but wasn't prepared for the fishpond in the living room, the bathroom sink made of shimmering glass, or the seven servants hovering around us. When one cook finally arrived with the ingredients, we abandoned our Uno game and dove in.

We easily mixed up the pudding, and Monique even added Kool-Aid last-minute for a deep rose tone. Because of the cook's delay, the other students had to leave after we made the first of two batches. Monique invited me to eat dinner before continuing. I seized the opportunity, partly bause I don't know her very well yet, and partly because I was really enjoying our conversation. She's very American, having grown up in a mostly-white US community. It was neat talking to her about the culture shock two years ago of being treated like a princess at her parents' house. (And "princess" really is how she's treated, in terms of both privileges and responsibilities.) She became a Christian shortly after starting at Logos, much to her parents' chagrin, and struggles to find any common ground with them. During our entire dinner, her mom never once looked at either of us.

Thursday morning, the seniors added Monique's secret ingredient: fried bugs! We had beetles, crickets, and more, but the tarantulas caused by far the biggest stir. The victims were pretty grossed out, especially my roommate Megan - I didn't realize how much she dreads spiders! Thankfully, her pie just had crickets, but I'm living in fear of her retaliation. Most people were resigned to their fate, though they agreed that the smell (vaguely like vomit?) lingered for hours.

The auction started slow, but soon students really got into bidding. We ultimately earned enough for our class trip, sparing us the need for other fund-raisers we had considered. The pie filling *did* look pretty remarkable on faces, even if it wasn't the traditional look that meringue or whipped cream would yield. Even students who didn't bid were captivated as each pie was smashed on a face. Dan and Dean, our principals, were great sports. Dan ate a giant spider from his pie, and Dean took off his shirt ahead of time and let students smear the pie all over him. At the end, the victims pooled their money for the right to pie Monique out of pure revenge. I'm so glad they spared me!

Miraculous

2010-08-30T05:20:00.000-07:00

The further I get into this school year, the more these two thoughts float around in my head:

1. This is sooo much easier than last year!
2. I am at my limit: I can't handle any more than this.

Which leads to the question, how did I do it last year? I have NO idea. How did I juggle 5 separate courses, culture shock, heat, power outages, brand-new age groups, brand-new learners' needs, and the list goes on? How did I handle my numerous commitments outside of class? I pulled that off for a YEAR? Because at the moment, with 4 courses (2 repeated from last year), I am on the verge of exhaustion.

Last year, I would constantly be tempted to give into panic attacks. "I know I was okay the LAST time, but look at this crisis now! I can't make it! Any day now, I'm going to break and everything will fall apart." Time and again, God showed me that He was faithful to renew my energy. Eventually, I started expecting Him to come through, just as he always had.

But somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that the panic was the crazy part. "I must just be a worrier - it's illogical to stress about this." I'm now realizing that from a logical standpoint, worry WAS the logical response. Any sane person would know it's not possible to do what I did last year, or what so many other Logos teachers have done. Yet we did. As my roommate put it, "Students know that we love them. But they have no idea how long ago our love ran out and only God's love was left to pour through us." My new proof for God's existence: come to Logos and see for yourself!

Same with my students. This year I've been astounded to see so many of them thriving in school and to learn more about their families' struggles. How can you possibly be working and growing the way you are? This one's mom is on drugs, that one's dad recently passed away, this one's brother was murdered, that one faces all kinds of abuse, and these ones live by themselves. How are you still breathing, let alone discussing utopian societies and Greek tragedy and college applications?

I always knew God's grace is real here, but I'm catching a glimpse of just how big it is. And I'm glad that He has me at my limit already; it will highlight His power and faithfulness once again this year. I need the constant reminders that it's not my strength that determines what I accomplish; it's only Him.

I’m baaaaack...

2010-08-15T17:01:00.000-07:00

Miscellaneous observations since returning to Phnom Penh two weeks ago:

-Returning is so much nicer than arriving for the first time! I've loved reuniting with staff and students and rediscovering quirks and fun things from last year.

-It's rainy season, so there's a storm every afternoon. The heat is SO MUCH more livable as a result. Rain is fun! Except when you're driving a moto and it's up to your knees. Thankfully, that was my housemate, not me.

-To prevent flooding in the classrooms, they poured concrete strips for the cracks under the classroom doors. (Our school is California-style, with open-air hallways.) Mine and my neighbor's already broke when people accidentally kicked them...not hard, either. Note to self: move new books off the floor!

-Students have so much more energy and motivation when they're not melting in heat waves.

-In some contexts (ex. restaurants and grocery stores), Cambodia's customer service is phenomenal. In others (ex. Internet installation), it leaves something to be desired.

-Cambodia is awfully far from Pennsylvania. This is sad.

-Teaching wears you OUT!

-Life in Cambodia sometimes feels extraordinarily hard. And I'm not always sure why.

-Little things quickly become big things if you let them, maybe more so here than at home. If I let myself become minorly stressed or annoyed, it can turn into a crisis in no time flat. I know too many missionaries who have struggled with bitterness and burnout. I need to guard my thoughts and not give into anxiety and frustration.

-Helpful people (and they are many) keep me sane. They're like a direct injection of God's grace.

-Something I failed to notice last year: using a moto to tow a wheelbarrow. No trailer hitch or bungee cord needed, just have your passengers hold the wheelbarrow handles. Brilliant.

-When it's in season (ex. right now), dragonfruit is fantastically delicious.

-Speaking Khmer is so much more fun when you've learned a lot more words recently. I want to keep up both the studying and the speaking this year, in contrast with last year.

-God is so faithful, even when we can't see it right away!

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Safety

2010-07-16T08:55:00.000-07:00

For months now, I've been anticipating the Motorcycle Safety course that ended last night.

Every time I mention this to people, they crack up. Those who know me from America laugh at the "motorcycle" part. Those who know me from Cambodia laugh at the "safety course" part. "Shouldn't you just pay attention? There's not much you can learn - just expect everyone to suddenly dart in and out of your path all the time."

Regardless, it seemed like a reasonable way to learn. It's more complete and safer than learning from friends on the streets of Phnom Penh or even Doylestown. It assuages my parents' concerns for me. And in PA, it's free.

From a logical standpoint, I agreed 100% that I should take it. Emotionally, though, I despised the idea. I'm a very reluctant and hesitant learner with many mechanical and kinesthetic skills. I hated learning to drive, learning stick shift, probably even learning to ride a bike back in the day. I always want to KNOW it, but LEARNING is painful.

The first time we mounted the bikes, I was terrified. I didn't know the locations of *any* of the parts they quizzed us on: engine kill switch, choke, even ignition. The instructions were frighteningly quick and involved doing things with all those just-learned parts. But not following them meant certain humiliation and possible physical danger. Each new drill that night brought panic: I'd figured out the last one, but could I do this one?

Eventually, I calmed down and realized most of the exercises were within my ability, even if it took me more practices than others to get the hang of them. (Although there was one that I never really mastered, which appeared on the final exam.) But I think that sense of terror was good for me as a teacher.

School was easy for me. I'm comfortable in a classroom, taking tests, writing papers, even giving presentations. I forget how it feels for others. There are students in my classes who feel that same sense of dread and despair every time I assign something. Many have only attended an English-speaking school for a year or two. Maybe they read slowly, or struggle to interpret literature, or always have to search for words. Regardless, school can be a scary place.

This class has helped increase my empathy for them. Just before the final exam, I was certain I would fail. There were specific skills that I consistently missed during the practices. But my instructors kept patiently encouraging me, as they had throughout the class. I slowly brought my thoughts under control and prayed for focus and the grace of God. And, to my astonishment, I got the skills right and passed the exam! I'm hoping to be a safe motorcyclist this year, but also to be an empathetic encourager for students convinced they'll crash and burn.

Growing into my name

2010-06-14T13:47:00.000-07:00

"You look like a Chelsea." I always hear that and I never know what it means. Now, with Facebook, I can type in "Chelsea" and see thousands of profile pictures. Many of them look like sorority girls, like they go straight from the tanning salon to the beer pong tournament. That's wonderful! I've always hoped to look like them! Or maybe they mean the upscale neighborhoods in London and New York, the beverage, the hairstyle, or the boots worn by stormtroopers in Star Wars. Either way, I'm not quite sure how to take it.

It's how I got my name, though. My parents were considering the name Annelise if I was a girl, but somehow, "when we saw you, you just looked like a Chelsea." I felt somewhat like a Chelsea growing up, picturing her as someone steady rather than flighty, practical and not given to much girliness. (Although I was far too spacey to fully deserve my image of the name!) At the same time, I hated its meaning: "Port of Ships." Other girls got cool name plates with meanings like "Beloved" or "Harmonious" or "Joyful." Theirs came with amazing Bible promises tailored to their names. The lucky ones even had Bible characters or famous heroines who shared their names, whose character traits and qualities they could aspire to. My name, by contrast, wasn't available on most of those monogrammed souvenirs. "Port of Ships" smelled like fish, looked grey and dingy, and sounded like a steamboat. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

I've often wished for a more multi-cultural name. Most people named Chelsea are white Americans within ten years of my age. But if it's not a common girls' name to most people besides my peers, at least people are still familiar with it. Older adults ask if I'm named after Chelsea Clinton. When I played with little kids from the inner city, they said, "Of course - you're Chelsea like in 'That's so Raven' on Disney!"

When I studied in Europe, part of me hoped to go by my middle name, Elise. I may well have done it, except that people knew me already as Chelsea in both France and Germany. Anyhow, it worked out: I just had to tell people I was "Chelsea like the football club in England." (Works for Korean youth, too!) It's not the easiest to pronounce, but most people do OK with it, no matter their language background.

So I'm growing to accept it. More than that, I was recently challenged to appreciate it more. The subject came up at Bible study this spring, and someone mentioned the phrase "a port in a storm": a haven for people going through a rough time. Am I that kind of person? I want to be, and I think it's a trait I've been working to develop. Some of my most fulfilling moments have been listening to people experiencing difficulties and encouraging them. Maybe I finally have an identity in my name, just like the Ruths and Lydias and Hannahs I used to envy with their built-in role models. Maybe my name is finally meaningful, just as much as all those names with a cute plaque describing their significance. Maybe I'm starting to become a Chelsea.

Leavin' on a jet plane...

2010-05-29T04:54:00.001-07:00

or rather four of them...(what kind of flight has 3 layovers, anyway?)...but I know I'll be back in August! As I write, I'm in a hostel in Hong Kong, in the middle of my 17-hour layover after a 3-hour flight from Phnom Penh. It's been a whirlwind of activities leading up to today, as the end of a school year always is: banquet, finals, awards night, goodbye lunch for departing teachers, moving my stuff to the house where I'll live next year. So despite the inconvenience, my 46-hour travel time actually provides some needed quiet time to reflect and prepare for re-entry.

I've heard that most missions agencies don't let people go home during their first two years. In some ways, I wholeheartedly agree. Going "home" for the summer, every summer, is a little too reminiscent of college and a little too far from considering a place your new home. I wish that I had time to relax in Phnom Penh, that I didn't associate it with ALWAYS having work to do and teaching on my mind. So I know that by spending the summer in the US, I'm missing out on some really valuable experiences. I know, too, that reverse culture shock is often more intense than culture shock, and that this summer won't always be easy.

Overall, though, I'm delighted about my summer plans. I've been looking forward to baked goods, berries, not being stared at, forests, and other wondrous features of my former life. And while I'm glad to be returning to Cambodia soon, a few recent events have convinced me I'm ready for a break:

1. My hairdryer melted! Concrete evidence of the intensity of hot season. I was given one that a former teacher had left, and hadn't used it all year because it's too hot to wear my hair down. When I started packing, I picked it up and found it covered in a sticky residue. I realized that my room is so hot, the plastic on my hairdryer was actually melting.

2. My neighbors invited me to watch porn! I walked in to pay rent and sat down to chat for a minute. Then they gestured for me to turn around: "Look, Chelsea, it's in English!" I told them, "I don't think I know that movie."

3. My bed broke! I only bought it this semester, when Michaela moved into my old room. But this week, I kept hearing things cracking ominously, and finally realized that several of the beams holding up my slats had fallen out. I

4. Ants infested my underwear! Why only that shelf, out of all my clothes? Why yesterday, when I've been using that detergent all year? Why underwear, for crying out loud? Nothing a little Raid can't solve, but still aggravating when I was trying to pack.

I'm already getting nostalgic about this year and missing people from Logos. I know I'll be glad to come back in 2 months. But in the meantime, I think I'm finally ready to be stateside!

Cambodia: a skyscraper over a pit

2010-05-16T03:19:00.000-07:00

On Friday, my friend Sheryl was telling me how disillusioned her Khmer tutor has become. A few years ago, he arrived in the city from his province, brilliant and accepted into a university, with lofty ambitions. Today, he feels hopeless, saying that he and his friends – like thousands of others from the province – are now well-educated but have no chance against the spoiled rich kids competing for their jobs. These smart kids from the province are left scrambling to survive, just like the average Cambodian: hoping for a few dollars a day from driving a moto, or working in a factory, or selling vegetables.

Many people on top are just as incompetent as they are corrupt. A generation earlier, his father had to read orders to an illiterate Khmer Rouge general; today, nothing has changed. These rich kids who get the good jobs are usually very poorly educated, having bought their grades all throughout school, and ill-equipped for their positions. Once in power, they freely exploit it to seek their own selfish gain. It makes no difference, though – they will always be hired over someone poorer, with fewer connections.

Sheryl is concerned that her tutor will become a freedom fighter if the occasion arises in the next ten years. While a small Cambodian middle class is developing in some ways, in other ways the gap between rich and poor is widening, and unemployment is an epidemic. Marie Ens, working here for decades, describes Cambodia as “a skyscraper built over a pit:” its glitzy new neighborhoods and showy business districts are so steeped in corruption that they are doomed to collapse. In several ways, conditions are parallel to life just before the Khmer Rouge. At that time, it was disillusioned intellectuals who rallied the peasants and gathered an army to overthrow the rich and powerful. Khmer Rouge leaders Pol Pot and his comrades, while attending university in France, learned about Communism and saw more hope in it than in the rigidly hierarchical status quo. But the only way in which they really achieved equality for all is that millions of rich and poor alike perished under their regime.

A Khmer colleague says that Cambodians don’t like to learn from their mistakes; they tend to be fatalistic rather than closely analyzing cause and effect relationships. So it’s not surprising that Cambodians have largely refused to address the repercussions of this genocide. Most older people don’t ever discuss it or tell their stories, and the government schools twist history to blame the Vietnamese for Khmer Rouge atrocities. Unlike Germans, who almost obsess about the Nazis and bend over backward to avoid any semblance of repeating history, the Khmer often ignore their painful legacy. So Sheryl feels that Cambodia is ripe for another revolution. The only way to avoid it is, she theorizes, if the cultural mentality very gradually shifts. So far, there’s no evidence that it has been, but God’s grace is mighty.

Being here has shown me how little I know about the future: not only for myself, but for my friends and my host country. If a revolution were to break out, my Khmer students would likely be in grave danger: they’re a minority religion, have foreign connections, and are well-educated. Any one of those would have gotten them killed under Pol Pot’s regime. I don’t want to be pessimistic or fearful, but nor do I want to pretend that the status quo is permanent. I just finished teaching 1984 in British Literature, and the most poignant discussion we had was on a Christian’s response to torture. Part of my job as a teacher is to equip my students for the future. All I know how to do is to keep pointing them toward the truth and pray that God will strengthen them to walk by faith, wherever He asks them to go. And I can rejoice that regardless of the short-term, ultimately their future IS secure and glorious: with Him forever!

They’re so grown-up!

2010-05-16T02:55:00.000-07:00

At graduation...

And last night's banquet

The seniors graduated yesterday, all eleven of them. It’s only Logos’ third graduating class. For me, it was amazing to see how personal a graduation ceremony could be. My graduations from high school and college had 630 and maybe 4000 students graduating, respectively. At this one, as each student walked, their baby pictures flashed across the screen as their homeroom teachers read statements each had written about Logos and future plans. I taught all but three this year, and I’ve had real conversations with every one of them, one-on-one, outside of class. I genuinely felt happy for each of them and deeply interested in their future after Logos. I’m going to miss them! (Well, except that they still have class Tuesday...I don't understand graduating before school is over.)

I was reminded several times of their past before Logos. The one American and four Koreans all had several cute baby pictures, whereas several Khmer (Cambodian) students only showed one faded photo before age ten or so. One Khmer student is from a wealthy family; the others are on scholarship, and only one of them lives with her birth parents. In her speech, the salutatorian talked about being invited as a young girl into the home of a foreign woman, Bonnie. She accepted the invitation but was afraid because she’d been warned about sexual abuse by foreigners. But instead of abusing her, that woman offered her a scholarship to Logos, changing her entire life. Today, this girl has flawless English, great critical thinking skills, and a vision for serving the people of Cambodia as a lawyer fighting corruption. (And she just might have the courage to do so!) This student now lives with Bonnie, escaping a hostile and often-abusive family, and says she’s amazed at how God’s been transforming her life after years and years in which she was closed off to the Gospel. Incredible, the result of Bonnie (who still works at Logos) seeing a young girl suffering and helping her access an education.

I’m praying for their future after Logos, and I’d love it if you would too. Some will be attending college in America or Thailand; others are working or interning locally next year; one has no idea of his plans. I’d love to see all of them receive a quality higher education, which currently seems out of reach to one girl in particular. But I’m reminded that just making it into, or even through, college isn’t a guarantee of future success. Especially not in Cambodia, where nepotism and wealth determine opportunity far more than knowledge or skills. Besides, Cambodia’s future is so uncertain. (More on that in the next blog entry.) It makes me wonder what will happen with these Cambodian Logos grads as they leave their safe haven and enter the “real world,” a world far harsher than I’ve ever known. Will their Western connections and English skills be enough to land them jobs long-term? Will they be able to support their parents and relatives, as they are often expected to do? And how come I got a job, no problem, right after graduation? I am so obscenely privileged. I know it’s God’s grace, but I want to live a life worthy of His calling, and such an enormous blessing sure does carry a heavy responsibility!

Here’s what I know but need constant reminders of: My God is faithful. Just as He has provided for me all this time, He has provided for my students and will continue to. Maybe not in the way I would like, but in a way that meets my students’ every need and glorifies His name. My students have been tested so much already in trusting God’s faithfulness, and have found Him reliable in situations far harder than I’ve ever faced. I am convinced that God’s power and love will be on display as they learn to walk with Him outside the close-knit warmth of the Logos community. Pray for them to have endurance and faith!

Photos from the orphanage

2010-04-16T17:51:00.000-07:00

Not an orphan, but the house parents' daughter...Sarah and I died laughing whenever we looked at her, because her worried expression and dropped jaw never changed.

Sokha, perpetually shirtless, an excellent fisher and dancer. He has an intense stare.

Mai Dalin, who knew she was too cute for words. Her adorable polka dot dress was filthy and drenched with sweat - hey, it's April!

Soklee and Srey Nih - her shirt says "Kiss me quick!"
Random neighbor girl (or old woman in disguise?) who spent her time swearing and spitting sugarcane chunks at us.

Srey Nai and Mai Dalin again, climbing to bring down cashew fruit for us - tasty but it dries out your mouth! (Aren't you glad you can't see their lice?)

The Orphanage

2010-04-12T22:41:00.000-07:00

You always hear about people going to orphanages, don’t you? They start planning it 8 months in advance. They get their shots, sew their puppets, practice their skits, pack their crafts. Me? I decided about 2 weeks ago that I’d join my friend Sovannary this past weekend and see where she just started working. On Wednesday, my oldest class asked me about my plans for this week’s holiday, and 2 students decided to join me. No big deal – just a trip to the orphanage, out in a village in the province.

Orphanages are a dime a dozen in Cambodia. In fact, living in Phnom Penh’s NGO circuit, it’s kind of trendy to visit other organizations and help out for an afternoon or something. Many children in them aren’t true “orphans” – their parents just aren’t able to take care of them. If you’re not careful or scrupulous, you can even get kids from capable parents who just believe their child will have access to more in the orphanage than living with them. Many orphanages also deal with corrupt staff – corruption shows up at ALL levels of Cambodian society.

This one is far from a shining example. A foreign family started it several years ago, then moved back to the US, leaving people in charge who apparently lack both the competence and the virtue to do a good job. Sovannary was hired to try to get it back on track, visiting every weekend to manage it and hold them accountable. She’s perfect for the job in so many ways – a visionary, a great communicator, a no-excuses person, a real heart for God and the kids. But she says it’s daunting, and I believe her. The kids are lovely, although I’m sure they have plenty of issues. It’s the 5 staff members. Both house parents do hardly anything…during the whole visit, I never once saw them talk to any of the twenty children. The two cooks have huge fights several times a week, in which they scream obscenities at each other in front of the kids.

All of them claim to be Christian, but Sovannary believes they’re all pocketing orphanage money. Only half the food budget is spent weekly (the other half disappears), and the teenage boys complain that they never eat until they’re full. (Anyhow, I’ve seen what they eat: no fruit or vegetables except the produce from one fruit tree, and every dish is chock-full of salt and MSGs.) The house parents just keep saying “I don’t know,” not only about the food budget, but about the missing toothbrushes and toothpaste, and the shampoo, and other basic items intended for the children. From now on, Sovannary is having them write down EVERYTHING they use or distribute to the kids.

The best example to the children seems to be Rakhim, the computer teacher, who’s Muslim. He has a real relationship with the kids and is the only one who has earned Sovannary’s trust. He also displays the most interest in a genuine relationship with Christ; the others never live out their faith, but he has many questions for Sovannary. The staff are supposed to lead daily devotions (ex. Bible stories and singing) for the children, but lack the Bible knowledge to do a good job. When Sovannary offered to find them sponsors to attend a Bible school, only Rakhim expressed interest. Would it make sense to put a non-Christian in charge of devotions, and to send him to Bible school in hopes that he makes a decision for Christ? That’s what Sovannary is having to weigh in her mind.

As for me, the question I’m weighing in my mind is what I can bring them next time. This time, I treated everyone to mangos, for the large sum of $2 total: only 50 cents a kilogram! It’s a rare treat for them, one they’d have to save their pocket money for, because the orphanage never buys them. But I’d love to track down things for them to do, since there’s currently nothing. Besides some dancing and traditional Khmer New Year's games, we spent the day watching a few guys fish and playing hand-clap games. I’d like to bring anything that challenges their intellects or fine motor skills: books…puzzles…sidewalk chalk…crayons…buckets and shovels for the sand outside…I think it wouldn’t be hard to get them engaged in that kind of stuff, and they desperately need the stimulation. Not sure yet how to make this happen, but I’m praying that God will direct my steps!

English Language Learners

2010-04-03T20:29:00.001-07:00

It’s been an interesting time all year, trying to figure out my students’ abilities in English. (90% are English language learners, or ELLs, meaning English is not their first language.) In many ways, they’re quite advanced. The books I teach are the same level, often the same books, as what I read as an honors student. Most Logos classes are taught around the level of an honors class in America. Graduates now in US colleges, or those who move to the US, find the classes easier than Logos. Logos is generally regarded as the toughest school in Cambodia. (Although, with about 6 international schools extending to twelfth grade, that’s not saying as much as it might. High-caliber education is a very recent development in Cambodia.)

On the other hand, students have to put in tremendous effort to meet our standards. You might think that after eight or ten years of attending school taught by native English speakers, my students would have the same English language ability as a typical native speaker. But a language is such an enormously complicated system of information. It’s more and more amazing to me that anybody is ever fluent in a language, let alone that God created children’s minds to acquire their native language without really trying. My students have three major disadvantages: they didn’t learn English from infancy (even though several have now forgotten Khmer and use English exclusively), most things outside of Logos are not in English, and they learn from many models of incorrect English: namely, each other.

Take grammar, for instance. My students still struggle with when to put “the” or “a” in front of nouns and when to add “-s” or “-ed” to verbs. Some mistakes are deeply engrained, like “few days later” instead of “a few.” They still write truly mangled sentences from time to time (especially newer arrivals), as well as many that just don’t quite work. This is something I expected, but I’m still working on what to do with it. How often do I correct students’ mistakes in essays and projects? Should I ever correct them verbally? Which grammar activities help, and which are too isolated from their real-life experiences? One history teacher has remarked several times that it’s hard to decipher student papers, and I wonder what to do to help them write legibly.

And vocab! Students study the words on vocab lists, but are missing many common words that don’t show up often in the classroom. So they’re mostly comfortable with academic or Biblical words like “punctuation” and “perseverance” and “predestination,” but might have no idea about words like “pacifier” or “pitcher” or “pioneers.” They also tend to know fewer synonyms and thus feel more comfortable using boring word choice in papers, like “said” and “went” instead of “retorted” or “dashed.” A few at the opposite end go thesaurus-crazy, with a tendency to put in obscure or inappropriate words. A recent example: “He searched for poetic sources from the everyday happenings. From that careful double-check, he derived into a conclusion.” Lessons on word choice can easily lead to a sense of frustration and inadequacy if I’m not careful.

Interpretation is a huge one. Students are often insecure about what they’ve read, making them more hesitant to rely on context clues to figure out new words. Critical thinking is also not a value emphasized in Khmer culture, which instead values rote memorization. Some adoptive parents told me their teens have no idea how to put together jigsaw puzzles. A few of my students have amazing memories for detail: they can describe a scene and recall characters much better than I can after several readings, but they honestly don’t know how to infer things about it. Thankfully, this is certainly not the case for all my students, and critical thinking is something they’ve worked hard to learn. Even in upper levels, though, it’s sometimes quite difficult for them to draw connections that seem obvious to me.

I love my ELLs, and overall I’m amazed at how well they do. Not only can they define “perseverance,” but most of them live it out, fighting to understand each new reading and to express ideas clearly. Learning is such a messy process, particularly developing abstract skills like those involved in a Language Arts class. I’m trying to remember to be patient with myself as I guide their development: I’m neither their first English teacher, nor their last.

Wondrous Words

2010-04-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

Did you know that I wanted to be a librarian when I was little? Books have always been so dear to my heart. A job that combines reading books with ministering to teens in Cambodia is more of a dream come true than I can tell you.

Other types of literature, though, I’m just now starting to appreciate. I never read anything Greek besides “The Odyssey” in high school, so I’ve had to catch up this year in teaching various myths and a version of “The Iliad.” It’s been neat to see many of my students come in with FAR more passion for Greek literature than I ever had before this year.

Likewise, it’s not that I hated poetry in school, but none from high school stand out to me as much as some I’ve read since then. I’ve really found some treasures this year.

If you’re gagging right now at what a nerd I am, skip this post. Otherwise, read on for some wondrous words.

Two People Be Like – Eve Merriam
(I read this with Grade 7)

That man
stuck in traffic
not pounding his fists against the steering wheel
not trying to shift to the next lane
just
using the time
for a slow steady grin
of remembering
all the good unstuck times

and that woman
clerking in the supermarket
at rush hour
bagging bottles and cartons and boxes and jars and cans
punching it all out
slapping it all along
and leveling a smile
at everyone in the line.

I wish they were married to each other.

Maybe it’s better they’re not,
so they can pass their sweet harmony
around.

Hurrahing in Harvest – Gerard Manley Hopkins
(I read this with Brit Lit)

Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks arise
Around; up above, what wind-walks! What lovely behavior
Of silk-sack clouds! Has wilder, wilful-wavier
Meal-drift molded ever and melted across skies?

I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,
Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Savior;
And, éyes, héart, what looks, what lips yet gave you a
Rapturous love’s greeting of realer, of rounder replies?

And the azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder
Majestic – as a stallion stalwart, very-violet-sweet! –
These things, these things were here and but the beholder
Wanting; which two when they once meet,
The heart rears wings bold and bolder
And hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet.

April is the cruellest month

2010-04-03T20:18:00.000-07:00

Unlike Pennsylvania, which can have blue skies, snow, hail, and mild showers in the span of twenty minutes, Cambodia has very little variation in the weather from day to day. For example, it’s rained only twice in the past four months or so of dry season.

If you look at a travel guide, you will learn that Cambodia has four seasons:
1. Wet and hot (June to August)
2. Wet and cool (September to November)
3. Dry and cool (November to February)
4. Dry and hot (March to May)

If you talk to an expat who’s been here a while, they will put it differently:
1. Wet and stiflingly hot (June to August)
2. Wet and still decently hot(September to November)
3. Dry and as hot as Pennsylvania in July (November to February)
4. Dry and absurdly hot (March and May)
5. Someone PLEASE send me to a sauna to cool down for a while! (April)

Even before I arrived, I started hearing about April. It brings on a reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder for many, where tempers flare, immune systems are compromised, and work ethics sag. Now it’s upon us. And I’ve noticed already this week: I used to not sweat if I had a fan pointed directly at me, but now, even with it on a higher power, I still find myself perpetually perspiring. A “cold” shower no longer carries with it the momentary shiver that it once did, even late at night. And…the real clincher…even Cambodians think it’s hot, including the seventy-pound ones like Sarah’s teaching assistant, Sinuon.

The interesting thing is that Cambodians don’t necessarily change their dress depending on the weather. At least, not in the way I would expect. In Sinuon’s case, she wears long sleeves in the morning because it’s still “cold” then (mid-80s), and changes into short sleeves at lunch, when it’s at least 92 degrees in the classroom. One Khmer student recently wrote the following journal entry:
“The weather is horrible because it’s very hot. I hate hot weather because it makes my day worse. When it is hot, I can’t stand to do anything because it burns me to death. The word hot is always in my mind because everywhere I go, I feel hot. The heat makes my skin burn and turn black. When I drive my motor back home, it’s very hot even though I have my long-sleeved jacket on, it is still hot.”

In other words, long sleeves are not just an issue of protecting against suntan – Khmer people actually feel that they soften the harshness of the sun’s heat on your skin. I can accept this theory, although I haven’t personally tested it out. The part that gets me is that that some people seem to think, if thin long sleeves help, thick ones must be even better. I see people wearing fur-lined coats on their motos at midday. The guy who fixed Sarah’s moto yesterday (her tire blew out) was dripping sweat in the shade as he worked, but never took off either of the zip-up jackets he was wearing. Often, I get the impression that because it’s always more or less hot here, you just dress in what you like, without regard for the weather forecast or even the season.

I'm almost at that point too. I know I'll sweat through anything I wear, so it doesn't matter whether it's a breezier outfit or a slightly more oppressive one. If I want to wear it at all in the next eight weeks, today is as good a day as any, even if it IS in the 90s. That doesn't apply to my cardigan and jeans, though - I'm saving them for summer in Pennsylvania, which in Cambodian terms is known as "bitingly cold season."

Tears and Ashes

2010-03-15T02:23:00.000-07:00

There was a fire in my neighborhood, Tuol Kork, last Monday. It burned a small but densely populated area just a few blocks away, crammed with wooden homes. "While no one was hurt, 257 families, 181 students and 90 monks were left homeless as a result." (I've heard rumors of unreported fatalities.) Now the sidewalk near my house, where a few women and children used to spread out mats nightly, is packed with lines of people who have nowhere else to go.

The fire reminds me of a lot of things that are wrong with Cambodia. Fire safety codes? No such thing. Under US standards, the community would have been demolished decades ago. Fire trucks? 26 came but were slow to act, according to witnesses. Maybe the fire department's claim is valid that the roads were too narrow to move quickly. Maybe the victims' claim is valid that those who bribed the fire department still have homes standing. Who knows?

Cause of fire? "Electrical," officials claimed in yesterday's newspaper. But everyone knows that the government has wanted to confiscate that land for development of new office buildings and wider roads and such. It's been offering money to anyone who would sell their land and leave. Trouble is, a lot of the displaced people were squatters who didn't own the land anyway. They weren't eligible for reimbursement. Also, those who owned their plot didn't see the prices as fair. So most people think it's no coincidence that the fire happened in this location, or that construction on the land started the next day. Too bad they didn't think to warn the kids who were home alone, some locked into their houses until parents or relatives returned.

Now that the homes are gone, officials conveniently plan to move ahead with development plans while allowing a few families to return. The rest are being offered a small plot of land in a nearby province along with $8000, which residents say is too little. A number of them, who ran stores or food stands in the area, lost not only their homes but also their means of livelihood. Out in the province, jobs are much scarcer than in Phnom Penh, which has 13% unemployment. So it's looking pretty bleak for those affected. Please pray for them, and for Logos to know how to respond in a way that demonstrates God's love for them!

Hanging out, Logos-style

2010-02-26T18:56:00.000-08:00

The last post focused on ways that Bible Camp stretched us, but there was so much about camp that was just plain fun! First and foremost, it was so nice to be around students in a non-teaching context. At school, there are a million logistical details to consider all the time: Have I made all my copies? Who was absent last class and owes me homework? Do we have time to finish this activity today? Do students know this word? At Bible camp, I supervised students, but I didn’t have to plan or explain almost anything. In fact, since the upperclassmen were returning, they explained a lot to me. Participating alongside them and hanging out with them was so refreshing. Same with them: my often-stressed students had no homework, tests to study for, or other responsibilities to pull them away from time with the group. They needed that!

Secondly, I got to see more about how they like to hang out. I learned several new games from them, including Ninjas (freezing in poses and trying to hit others), The Stupid Game (I was terrible!), and a name game from Korea (difficult but really fun). All the Korean guys loved playing a form of extreme rock-paper-scissors that I found disturbing, but apparently it’s very popular in Korea. I imported Dutch Blitz, which a few of them already enjoyed, and Four on a Couch. I’d heard that Asian games often involve punishment, but I’d never seen it until this week: every game had some aspect of mocking or hitting anyone who lost or messed up. The chance to do this to teachers was eagerly seized! The skits highlighted their suave dance moves and sense of humor; my stomach hurt from laughing.

Thirdly, we got to create many new memories. Our cabin – art teacher Erin and ten girls and I - had “Bonding Time” every night. It wasn’t scheduled, but Erin suggested it and it became a big hit. The things we did weren’t revolutionary: eat candy, make up goofy stories, give backrubs. But it was so special to a lot of us. I realized that although these girls are around each other often at school, and although they get tons of teaching from the Bible, there aren’t many opportunities for structured girls-only time. The girls’ Bible studies that I was part of from middle school through college were huge in my development as a Christian and as an individual. I was so glad to be able to recreate that for a few days.

Fourthly, I got to talk with many of the students more than ever before. Hearing stories about them growing up, their hopes and fears, their families, and their perspective on life in Cambodia was really meaningful to me. And seeing how they interact outside the classroom – with older and younger grades, with siblings, with teammates in challenging activities – revealed a lot to me about who they are. Out of the 75 students who went, I teach about 50 (plus about 50 middle schoolers who stayed home). That’s a lot of individuals…a lot of stories…a lot of opinions…a lot of challenges faced and life lived. I’ve learned so much this year about them, and yet I’m barely scratching the surface. A week of relationship-building was a really special thing for me.

2 new photo albums!

2010-02-18T04:45:00.000-08:00

You all should appreciate this. I have neglected my lesson plans and grading in order to bring you not one, but TWO lengthy blog entries and not one, but TWO full-sized photo albums in the last several days. This is definitely a personal record!

So, without further ado, I'd like to introduce my non-Facebook friends to 2 new photo albums:

1. Smarter than a Chicken: "A wedding, a first-grade birthday party, a boat ride, a Christmas party, a carnival...so much excitement in a few short weeks!"
Location: Phnom Penh Thmei, Cambodia

2. Elbow-Lickin' Good: "5 days. 73 students. 9 chaperones. 53 giant geckos. Countless memories."
Location: Jumbok Hoas Adventure Camp, Preah Vihear, Cambodia

Roughing it...and loving it

2010-02-16T16:17:00.001-08:00

I’d been looking forward to last week for nearly a year! Shortly after committing to Logos, I saw Facebook albums from last year’s teachers showing the high school Bible camp. I’d heard it was great for building relationships, and I love anything that involves lots of trees. So I was thrilled to be invited along as one of the nine staff members to chaperone last Monday through Friday. I wrote my middle school substitute lesson plans, jumped on a bus, and headed six hours north to Jumbok Hoas (“Flying Tree”) Adventure Camp, near the Thai border.

Not everyone’s enthusiasm matched my own. In fact, the principals had spent weeks on the phone convincing certain parents to let their children attend this “mandatory” event. This province, Preah Vihear, has had a border conflict with Thailand off and on in the past two years. Although we were hours from the conflict, parents claimed their children might be unsafe. Besides, it’s not appropriate for good Khmer girls to leave their families for a week, even for a school-sponsored activity. Four ninth-grade girls were stuck at home, assigned a “ten-page” paper (which turned into three) and forced to pay the camp fee anyways. Other students grumbled about the hardship of leaving behind their Facebook accounts, their house helpers, and their air con. For some, “vacation” always involves fancy hotels and gourmet dinners. I was shocked at how many would never willingly go into the forest, or any nature setting besides the beach.

You have to understand that in Cambodia, leaving Phnom Penh is always inherently an adventure. It was on the bus that several Korean students and I tried our first fried crickets. They were surprisingly good (kind of like potato chips); I even ate a second without persuasion. At the rest stop, we were swarmed by poor children hawking fruit, craving our ice creams, and clinging to our legs. Shortly thereafter, the thick red dust from the dirt roads started entering the bus through the air vents and choking us, forcing us to breathe through our air masks or sleeves for a few hours. Several students screamed as boards cracked on a few of the bridges. Ten minutes from our destination, we tried to go around a broken bridge and the bus got stuck for a hot, sticky thirty minutes as moto drivers stopped and stared, fascinated. We had to walk a half-mile with our things because the camp’s road wasn’t equipped for buses.

The camp was the most rustic I’ve ever been to. We had electricity for a few hours each evening, which just meant lights in the cabins and along the path. Guys’ and girls’ bathing areas were visible to each other (awkward!) and involved the traditional method of dumping buckets of water from two giant tubs. All the new girls were nervous about their sarongs: you’re supposed to bathe wearing a huge tube of colorful fabric with elastic at the top. (I missed the memo on that and wore my swimsuit and shorts. Next year I’ll know better.) Showers were thus slightly nerve-racking as well as jam-packed, although they took top priority for everyone given the heat. People slept on either thin mattresses or traditional hammocks, both shrouded in mosquito nets to ward off malaria. Our cabin featured footlong geckos and biting ants, I shared the squatty potty with a frog and some very large spiders. Thankfully, there were no appearances by the cobra that had bitten a guy at the camp two weeks earlier.

I was intrigued by the number of students afraid of heights. As I reflected further, I realized Cambodia doesn’t have much that’s safe yet daring. People around us take crazy risks all the time out of necessity. For example, the rappelling tree that we climbed using harnesses and ballayers is roughly the same height as the coconut trees by my classroom window that workers scale unaided weekly to collect coconut milk. But risk-taking might not be seen as a fun thing that someone would seek out, even when it’s actually far safer than the moto rides we brave daily. Some students surprised themselves by enjoying the high ropes elements; others bore it as best they could.

Camp was a new adventure for many of us. Then again, Logos had a poisonous krait snake in the girls’ locker room two weeks ago, and dozens of people in my neighborhood shower in sarongs and sleep in hammocks. So in some ways, it was just like the lower/middle-class experience of life in Phnom Penh. All told, most of us enjoyed the adventure, even those who dreaded it. I personally can’t wait to return next year. But it sure made life here in Phnom Penh feel luxurious when we returned!

Talk it out!

2010-02-16T16:13:00.000-08:00

Lately I’ve felt like my life is going to air on Adventures in Odyssey any day now. Am I the only one who grew up listening to that show? It’s a Christian kids’ radio program where each story line involves several people learning the same Biblical principle in different ways. The show always wraps up neatly with everyone coming to the same realization.

My lesson revolves around communication and loving people when you’re tired. At Bible camp last week, my group of 12 high school students tackled team-building challenges together for three days. Together we faced the Dancing Cable (where you hold onto each other and a few trees while edging along 50 meters of wire), the Electric Fence (a rope we had to hurtle over within a time limit), the Giant Shoes (long boards with room for all 12 pairs of feet), and about ten more. Each activity took a lot of encouragement, courage, and initiative. And towards the end, their endurance and patience were really being tried. The same toes being stepped on, over and over, were really demanding bitterness and discord by the last day. For me, those exhausted moments were among the most tender, as students learned to keep considering others’ needs after the novelty wore off.

I came home to about a million applications for these lessons, some ongoing, some more recent. Today alone, I was in on three different conversations with either staff or students that involved communicating your needs and hurts. Each individual problem was seemingly minor: a delay in transportation, a choice in phrasing, a disagreement in planning an upcoming event. Each problem provoked a significant reaction: tears, violence (by a student), feelings of worthlessness. Each injured party refused to bring it up to the offender at first, and yet found it impossible to just let go of the incident. Each reminded me of recent issues in my own heart.

I’m convinced these events are anything but minor: they can quickly become destructive. Communication is hard, especially when you’re stressed and tired. It’s getting hotter and schoolwork is piling up, and I’ve heard that this is the season for strained friendships. But disunity cripples you rapidly when you’re away from your normal supports and routines. In fact, disagreements with teammates are the #1 reason that missionaries leave the field. That scares me so much. It seems to me that Satan would love for us to chalk them up to the individuals involved: I must be oversensitive, she must be a control freak, he’s just so overbearing. We’re Christians; we should be nice. I tend to think I should just get over it, or they should just know better, and so it festers and accumulates in me. But doing that doesn’t acknowledge the discord as a spiritual battle and as a significant test of our faith.

The way I see it, God shows us off in the heavenly realms when we honor Him in the seemingly small issues. Just as Satan sees in these events the potential to shatter unity and interrupt ministry, God sees in them the potential to reveal beautiful selflessness and joy. It’s one thing to trust God in the “shark attacks” of spiritual tests; looking to Him for grace and truth in the “mosquito bites” is quite another. But I think learning to be honest and humble and gracious in the dozens of insignificant moments actually says more about God’s faithfulness than the most extreme crisis we could ever face. I want to be transparent with everyone around me and live drenched in thankfulness for God’s goodness.

And Lord, when you listen for the song of my life,
May it be, may it be a song so sweet… - Caedmon’s Call

Field Trip?!?

2010-01-28T17:55:00.000-08:00

There's a simple equation that every student teacher learns:
First-year teacher
+ Field Trip
__________________
Failure

OK, so I made that up, but it seems logical. There are plenty of variables to manage in the classroom; leaving the school multiplies them by about 50. So when my dear friend and fellow BBC period drama lover Suzanne Johnson suggested incorporating a tour of Vissot Food Corporation, I knew I was out of my league, but I was intrigued by the challenge.

Field trips are hard to come by here. Dan, the principal, encourages us to take students on trips whenever possible, even if it's a non-traditional destination. There's a zoo that's a bit frightening for animal lovers, a water park that lends itself to causing open wounds, an art museum composed almost exclusively of ancient statues of Buddha. Performances and exhibits are relatively rare; movie theaters only show horror films.

So our trips tend to be a bit creative. So far this year, various Logos students have gone to: a Christian-run village for AIDS orphans and elderly widows, the genocide museum, a remote village near the Thai border, and a brothel. Yes, you read that last one correctly. The Service Leadership class sent its girls to a brothel (one of three just down the street from the old campus) to distribute leaflets in Khmer about God's love to the workers. So, comparatively speaking, it seemed normal to go to a factory for an English field trip.

Vissot is a Cambodian-owned health food company, started by the Seventh-Day Adventist church about 10 years ago. Their original product, the delectable Peanut Crumble cookie, is composed of two round crunchy cookies (peanuts and cane sugar baked together) fused together with their all-natural peanut butter. It's available at most grocery stores here. They've since expanded their line to include various jams, curry pastes, rice snacks, and granolas. They employ mostly students and disadvantaged women, seeking to give them a leg up. Suzanne loves to sing their praises, and our colleague Sokcha (the physics/math teacher) once worked in peanut quality control for them. It's located between my house and the school, in my neighborhood of Toul Kork.

I realized that as part of the 8th grade nonfiction unit, we could do a "complex process" paper describing the journey of various products from farms to stores. So I scheduled a visit, handed out permission slips, booked a van, and had students brainstorm prior knowledge and questions about the production process. (That was a revelation: one pair, trying to guess the ingredients in jam, could only come up with "powder." They were shocked to learn it had real fruit.) We were told that since the plant is small, half of the 25 students would tour, while the other half sat outside (in the 2 PM sun) and asked questions of a Vissot representative. As a treat, I let students pre-order smoothies and iced coffees from Sovannary's restaurant for their outside segment. We had them all lined up to arrive when students were outside. I scoped out the factory in advance and clarified expectations with students twice. Sounds organized? Not really. I was a mess trying to figure out these few factors and how to use wisely the mere hour between departure and return. (The vans had to be back early for school dismissal, or we'd have had 90 minutes.)

The day of the field trip, one student said he'd lost his permission slip and hadn't gotten another. Could he just have his brother sign for him? After all, they'd lived together without their parents all last year. One of the girls had a signed form, but I didn't ask who signed it: probably her house helper, because her parents live outside the country. At least one other student was here without his parents for a month in the fall. Permission slips don't seem to fit Cambodia.

I also got a call from the guy who had arranged the vans for me. "Did you mean next Thursday? You told me 11:30 and you're still not out here." (I had watched him write down the real departure time, 1:40.) Thankfully, the vans were still available.

When we arrived at the factory, several minutes late, they wanted everyone to take the tour at once. By the time my students got their drinks (I felt so bad bringing them inside!), found a seat, and waited for the PR guy to begin, it was 2:15. We jammed in there while a hesitant PR rep gave his first-ever student tour. "Tour" is a stretch - we couldn't go near the machines without special gear, so we looked through the glass from a waiting area the size of my bedroom.

After that, we split into our two groups for student questions. They barked out the questions they'd written in class, sounding like journalists. At least my tour guide was Australian and had the upper hand over them in English fluency, unlike the Khmer tour guide in the other group. Students in my group were respectful and attentive; the other group needed some redirecting. But they all thought it was cool that the peanut butter doesn't actually have butter (or even oil) - just ground peanuts and salt. And watching the workers stamp the round cookies held their attention for at least 30 seconds. At 2:45, they were surprised we had to leave already. (Which is good, I guess, that it wasn't too long, although using the first 15 minutes might have been nice.) On Monday, we'll talk about showing respect to those with faltering English and acknowledging the greatness of what Vissot is doing.

So, with my first field trip under my belt, I think I can safely claim it as a learning experience, at least for myself. I learned that "paper wars" are really exciting for 8th graders in vans. I learned that 1 hour is not enough time for a trip anywhere, even one mile away. I learned that if I want strangers to work together, I need to clarify expectations a zillion times more than seems necessary to me. And I learned that Suzanne can put magic and perspective into anything. Most of all, I was reminded that what you want students to learn and what they actually learn are not always the same, and sometimes that's OK.

Chimps, Piranhas, and Tarantulas, Oh My!

2010-01-16T20:16:00.000-08:00

My trip to Thailand between Christmas and New Years was delightful! See photos here.

The Notorious Bong Nath

2010-01-09T19:53:00.000-08:00

Sarah with Bong Nath and her family

I finally got to meet her this week. For months I've heard stories about this woman, known for her perseverance and boldness that are sometimes beautiful and sometimes aggravating. I don't understand everything about her, but she embodies a lot of my questions and musings.

Last Sunday, I visited the Khmer-language Bible study Sarah's been attending at Bong Nath's (pronounced Bong Not) house. While Sarah taught the kids and led a Christmas program for them, I sat with Bong Nath and others, looking at photos of her kids growing up. Then I gave them a small talk on Luke 3, the Christmas story, which Bong Nath's daughter Samedi translated. Bong Nath was a gracious hostess as always, cooking a big pot of mouthwatering chicken curry with rice noodles and French bread. (The surviving chickens ran around us during the whole Bible study, as we sat in a circle just outside her house.) She sent us home with leftovers, as well as several mangos and two pumpkins that she had grown.

Bong Nath is connected to Logos in that she used to cook and clean for several of the teachers. She's been unemployed since they moved back, and is fighting hard for another job (she gave me her CV to pass along to friends). She's a master at networking, and knows a Khmer TA well, in addition to a number of teachers and students still at Logos. Her family is among the poorest in Phnom Penh - they have two rooms in their house with walls made of scrap tin, and they have often lived hand-to-mouth, including likely right now.

I asked Bong Nath about her faith story, and instead heard a rambling 20-minute tale involving her family's many years of dire poverty. It was in the midst of fruitless job hunts, wandering door-to-door with her CV, that Bong Nath stumbled onto her first Christian church service in the 1990s. The white missionary leading the meeting agreed to hire her in his home, and at some point Bong Nath accepted Christ. Since then, foreign Christians have been directly involved in every good thing in her life. Through them, she's received a steady income for a while at several different jobs, Bible teaching, training in cooking and medical work, scholarships for her two sons (now 8 and 10) at a modest Khmer-language school (public schools are essentially worthless here), and trips to the countryside for her teenage daughters. She's grateful, and proudly showed photos of all the expats she's gotten to know over the years.

Without knowing those foreigners, I doubt that Bong Nath's four kids would have all survived until now. So it's not too surprising that Bong Nath has grown to rely on foreigners for everything she needs. When Samedi graduated high school last year, Bong Nath dreamed of her attending an American university for medicine. A generous and dedicated former Logos teacher arranged for sponsorship at a local Cambodian nursing school, but Bong Nath was not satisfied. She began to rant against this woman, and against the missionaries currently leading a Bible study in her home, who made it clear that they would not give her money. She eventually told them they couldn't lead that Bible study there anymore, causing a split in members.

Now her Bible study consists mostly of non-Christian and new Christian neighbors. It's a neat opportunity, and she's fighting hard for a foreigner to come lead it. (She told me at least a dozen times that I should come every week and teach, despite my flat refusals.) But many Westerners are drained by her incessant "prayer requests" for a job, a scholarship, money, a better life. There's no guarantee that the new teacher wouldn't be similarly kicked out once Bong Nath realizes they won't be her financial savior. Sarah has avoided most such inquiries by explaining that she is paying college loans - a difficult concept for Bong Nath, who pictures everyone having sponsors as her children do.

It makes me wonder: how do you help someone with practical needs in a way that embodies the Gospel instead of replacing it? I think Bong Nath really does love Jesus. She's devoted to other Bible study members and compassionate about their personal struggles. Neighbors know, when they're in need (as they often are), she'll help them if at all possible. But many Khmer and expat Christians have confronted her about trusting rich people rather than God for her finances.

It's hard to deny that for her, as for many Christians, conversion to Christianity has brought significant economic opportunity. In modern Cambodia, where getting a job is all about who you know, her Christian faith is still one of the most marketable things about Bong Nath. Is that a bad thing? Is it always better to give to an impersonal organization than to someone you know? Because the Bible is pretty clear about Christians' responsibility to help when we see someone in need (Isaiah 58, Matthew 25). And it seems hypocritical for someone comparatively wealthy to sing praise songs next to Bong Nath in church while her kids faint from hunger. So what's the answer?

Thankfully, Bong Nath's behavior is not typical among Cambodians. I've heard that many Cambodians' faith in God's provision puts expat missionaries to shame. But the vast economic divide between Cambodians and expats, even those on missions support, creates a dangerous imbalance of power. It takes a lot of wisdom to help Cambodians without creating dependence. It's a question as old as colonialism, but one I certainly haven't figured out. For now, I'm dodging the question by not giving directly to anyone.

Isn't it beautiful?

2009-12-20T03:46:00.000-08:00

I love the new school! Everyone does, really. I'll try to get pictures of my new classroom on here once it's set up. I should've taken pictures of my old one before dismantling it! The new one is about double the size. Click here to see photos (not mine, sorry) of the new school.

And here are photos from the elementary and middle/high school Christmas concerts!

Who Needs Normal?

2009-12-18T05:21:00.000-08:00

Logos is not normal, as any of my students will tell you. (Most have transferred here.) In so many ways, Logos is an anomaly. It is unusual by any standard I can think of, in any culture. And after a semester, I'm still astounded by it.

Logos is a place full of students from broken families, from adoptive families, from single-parent families, from non-nuclear families. (Non-nuclear is normal here: living with your aunt or grandpa doesn't mean that your parents are totally absent or have passed away, although that's the case for some students.) I have students who live by themselves and students who might as well live by themselves because their parents work nonstop. I have students who have witnessed a murder, been kidnapped for ransom money, been a victim of rape, whose birth moms worked in prostitution. Then I also have students from super-inspirational missionary families, whose parents have done incredible things.

Logos is a place of privilege and financial need. One student's dad is close to Prime Minister Hun Sen. I have students whose families have their own chauffeurs, who stay at luxury hotels during their trips to Hong Kong and Bangkok, whose homes clearly fall into the "mansion" category. And I have students who have never taken a vacation, for whom $3 shirts at Russian Market seem exorbitant, whose recent grocery trips have come back a little lighter than they'd like. One of my co-workers used to work on an assembly line at a garment factory.

Logos is a place full of outstanding students. It's easily the toughest school in all of Cambodia. Coursework is roughly as rigorous as State High, the school full of professors' kids where I taught last year. It's 100% in English, although about 90% of students are non-native English speakers. Their English is incredible in most ways, so that I'm taken aback when they've never heard of a toddler or a porch, or when they ask me to plug out an appliance. They work hard to understand physics and government and sonnets, and to communicate about them in a borrowed language.

Logos is also a crazy place spiritually. It's almost like a youth group in terms of teachers' close relationship with students. When a student cheated, I prayed with him. Students freely include Bible verses in their essays. And the faith of many students is truly amazing to me. But not all students are Christian or even know what they believe. A few have fallen out with their Buddhist families because of their Christian faith. Some, who are definitely Christian, struggle with obvious sin issues like rage and theft and sexual sin. These students are still very much a part of the Logos family. And I've seen spiritual fruit in them even as they deal with ongoing stuff. I've seen students show each other grace, support each other, and be real with each other in astonishing ways.

Logos was started haphazardly and has experienced much chaos. It was and is staffed by inexperienced and sinful and issue-filled people. It doesn't deserve to be anything special. And yet it is a place where God is so present. It's a place that is dear to many hearts, mine increasingly so. It's going to be a shock for me to go anywhere else after here...I'm hoping I won't have to for a while.

Moving!

2009-12-18T05:05:00.000-08:00

The semester ended today (Friday the 18^th), meaning that exams were given this week (in high school only – middle school still had normal classes, in theory) and report cards were handed out this afternoon. Today was also our last day in our current location, so we recruited all middle and high school students to help the teachers label the desks, pack the books, take down the posters, and load the trucks. Tomorrow, we’ll begin unpacking in our gorgeous new facilities on the outskirts of town. Students and teachers worked HARD today and got a lot done! Many of them have never really done chores, so they have limited experience with this kind of manual labor. It's child labor, they cried! It's character building, I retorted.

It’s been neat to get a glimpse of the building process, albeit only toward the end of it. For example, in Cambodia, the construction crews are generally from the provinces (AKA rural areas). They move around for different jobs, bringing their families, and sleep at the construction site. So when I went out to visit the school about six weeks ago, I found the ground level full of hammocks, cooking areas, small children, and roosters. Another interesting tidbit is that we got to pick our paint colors for our new rooms! I picked a sage green for two walls and cream for another two walls, but a few teachers went bolder, with salmon or bright red on some walls. Because paint jobs don’t last very long here, it’s not a big deal to have a color not every teacher would love: they’ll be painted over in a year or two, anyway.

Many students’ first official tour of the school came last weekend, at the middle and high school Christmas concert. It was Logos’ first-ever band concert (for middle school only), and it was a labor of love to acquire instruments for the band! You can buy guitars and local traditional instruments here, but I guess not things like flutes and trumpets and keyboards. So they arrived very piecemeal, from donors overseas or in suitcases. I was quite impressed by their sound! It was a step above my memory of middle school band concerts, partly because of strategic placement of several musically gifted students. The choir concert also sounded lovely. Everyone wore black clothes, which is strongly associated with mourning here, so the girls also wore the beautiful scarves available at markets here. It looked so nice together.

I’m quite excited for my new classroom! It’s considerably larger, and I'll actually have options in arranging the seats. (Right now, the rows are packed in, and students in the fifth row always complain they can't see to the front in my long, narrow room. There, I can have twice as many front-row seats, since that's where many students prefer to sit! I never had this problem in the US.) All that I’m dreading is the distance (about a 10-minute car or moto ride, or 15 minutes by tuk-tuk). It’s been so great to dash over to school on foot to grade on the weekends, or swim in the pool, or use their Internet. Now I’ll need to be more organized, especially since Sarah and I are hoping to share a moto. Many Logos families are moving out to that area: housing is cheap, and almost all expats in Cambodia rent properties, so it’s not hard to move. Logos will really shape the neighborhood, where no homes even existed a few years ago, and many new ones are still being built. But it’s pretty isolated from markets, farther from downtown, etc. I’m also really attached to Sovannary and a few of the neighbor girls. So I’d consider moving after next summer, but it’d be so nice to stay here in Toul Kork.

Christmas...and not a fried banana in sight.

2009-12-04T21:27:00.000-08:00

The Logos staff Christmas party was last night, and I did my part as a verified Sunshine Committee (aka Party Planning) member by...
1. Arriving early to help decorate the pillars with festive ribbons
2. Providing many people's first-ever taste of buckeyes (balls of peanut butter and powdered sugar dipped in melted chocolate chips) - who knew they were such a regional dish? By the way, I used some precious US chocolate chips, since only one grocery store here carries any. Since even those wouldn't melt properly on my overactive stovetop, it was a labor of love by Sarah and me.
3. Playing the Yankee gift swap game, using the gift Sarah wrapped: a free Rudy DVD that we found in our apartment when moving in. It had the dubious distinction of being the last of 26 gifts to be chosen from the pile. At least it went to Shirley, another Philly native, and not one of the guards or cleaners who speak next to no English and have never seen a football game.

By the way, the big joke in planning the potluck dinner was how many fried bananas there would be. Last year, apparently all 8 or so of the guards decided that fried bananas from street vendors (delicious and cheap) would make an excellent addition to the feast. This year, we instituted a signup sheet for various categories, in part to impede a similar glut of fried fruit. It seems fried bananas here are Cambodia's answer to Doritos.

Click here to see photos of our rooftop festivities at the principal's house.

Cool Season

2009-11-17T23:56:00.000-08:00

...was this morning! I know for a fact, because I experienced it. Today's low was a paltry 74, the lowest so far in October/November. When I walked to school at 7 AM, I did not sweat. I had no desire to jump in the pool. In fact, in my T-shirt and capris, I almost shivered during one particularly fierce blast of wind. It was dry. It was cool. It was refreshing. It was real. And it might even happen again in the next few months.

It was so cool, I didn't even want to turn on the air con ("air conditioning" in Asian English) in my classroom. Unfortunately, while half my students huddled in thin cotton zip-up sweatshirts, the other half insisted air con was still necessary - a point not entirely irrational. Because cool season or no, the high today was 87. (We've had one day below 86 since October 1.)

I had nearly given up on cool season as a myth with which to lure unsuspecting foreigners. Supposedly, it started a month ago and will continue through February or so. Khmer people even claim that it's noticeably less sweltering than a few months ago, though they concede it's been extra-humid. But all this week, as usual, my subdued evenings of reading and grading have left me uncomfortably sticky. (Outside was a bit cooler, but I was too far from the window.) I keep trying in vain to sleep without my fan. That's why the cool season came as such a delicious gift.

As for winter? That, for me, starts next June, when I arrive back in Doylestown for two months. Bring on the blankets, the cardigans, and the wool socks! I'll be ready for those unseasonable blizzards...or just for Pennsylvania's typical temperature mood swings.

Samto Cookies

2009-11-14T18:45:00.000-08:00

I'm being lazy and just linking to the Facebook album. (You can view it even without a Facebook account.) There, you can read the story of a mouse, a small river of dirty laundry water, a disapproving landlady, and the thumbprint cookies by which we sought forgiveness. (Sorry for the delay...I tried to post this a while ago, but Facebook wouldn't display the link that works for people without accounts.)

Ludicrous!

2009-10-25T23:54:00.000-07:00

This flooding issue is really absurd. For one thing, I was told that Pchum Ben usually marks the end of the rainy season, but that was over a month ago and it rained for hours last night. I like rain, but not when it ruins people's lives.

Sarah attends a Khmer-language church in Russey Keo, a poorer area where the floods have been especially bad. Often, the church can't meet in its normal location due to flooding, so it meets on the side of the road, several blocks away. Often! Last night, she wanted to go to Bible study at someone's house, but was told that motos can barely get through there because of the knee-deep standing "water." (Don't even THINK about the diseases in it.) Anyone who can has moved in with friends or even found a new house. This neighborhood is only two or three miles from my house!

This is not a new problem. But it's been vastly exacerbated in the last year or so by a building project that involves filling in a lake with sand, along with forced evictions. Many locals protested the project to the government. The government now drains downtown runoff water into this neighborhood as well. See a connection? It's hard to say, but they think it's to punish the protesters. Brilliant, eh? "It's already flooded. Let's send more water that way." Last year, a high school closed for months in this area because it was under four feet of water. Thousands of residents saw an improvement when the city paused in filling the lake, but now the project has begun again. Japan is helping Cambodia plan an adequate sewage/drainage system for the city, but I have no idea how long that'll take, or how many officials will get rich off the funding.

So, just to recap:
1. Heavy rains => floods
2. Building new developments => filling in a lake => floods and protests
3. Protests => draining other parts of the city here => floods
4. Japanese aid => rich officials and hopefully improved drainage in the future

If my blog is shut down next time you log on, you'll know that Prime Minister Hun Sen found it and that I'm on a plane across the Pacific.

Hitler on my kitchen counter

2009-10-20T00:06:00.000-07:00

Can you identify the golden-brown object in the center of this photograph?
Read on for the answer.

Because Logos provided us with many dishes and utensils before we moved in, it took us a while to notice it on the kitchen counter. By the time I arrived on July 25, Sarah had been there for several days to get set up, and both of us never thought about it. One day, though, Sarah approached me.

"So I was looking at our neighbors' balcony," she commented, "and they have a tiny wooden house on it."

"Oh, really?"

"It looks kind of like our little house, but it has incense in it. Do you think it could be...?"

Oh, dear, I think she's right. I had just noticed it for the first time that week, because Sarah had started to leave her keys on top of it. Brilliant!, I thought, you'd never lose them that way. I hadn't thought about its intended purpose, though, except maybe as a souvenir. Wow, I felt slow.

"I can't believe I've been leaving my keys on the spirit house!" Sarah groaned. "What must the neighbors have thought, if they noticed it through the glass door? What should we do with it?"

We knew that most Buddhist families had some kind of spirit house inside to honor their ancestors, similar to the shrines we'd seen outside, but we'd never seen a spirit house. We concluded that since Logos wouldn't have bought it for us, it must have been a housewarming gift from our landlords. One which we had obviously failed to properly respect. But did it deserve our respect? Or is it creepy, even dangerous, to have a home for whatever spirits drop by, sitting right on your kitchen counter?

We concluded that it was time to get rid of it. But how? A spirit house isn't something you just regift. No, throwing it out was the best option. We prayed nobody would find it in the trash and feel offended. Picking it up, we noticed a large, disgusting bug clinging to it. "Hey, doesn't Buddhism teach that evil people reincarnate as bugs?" We decided that, if Buddhism is true, we must have Hitler's spirit clinging to that cute little house. No, thank you!

Tossing it in the trash, we heard the house crunch as we closed the lid. Good riddance!

Teacher Retreat at Koh Kong

2009-10-19T23:11:00.000-07:00

This is how much Logos loves us: they gave us a three-day all-expense-paid retreat at the lovely town of Koh Kong! This is what a bad blogger I am: it was nearly a month ago. But better late than never, right? It was my first trip outside Phnom Penh since I arrived three months ago, and a meaningful time for me in many ways.

Bathing suits are not big here: you wear your clothes in, or if you're little, you skinny-dip like the boy in the center. We didn't know this family, but they were tickled to be photographed.

One thing that it showed me is that the Logos administration is flexible. At first, they envisioned the retreat as a seminar for expatriate (foreign) teachers on handling stress. But some of the teachers approached them about including the Khmer (Cambodian) teachers and assistants as well. The administration extended the invitation to them, even though it meant exceeding their budget, and I was so glad. The time I spent with Khmer staff on the retreat left some of my most significant memories.

Chenda and Srey Roth were in my small group. They were so much fun at the waterfall, too!

We all crammed into three vans on a blazingly hot Wednesday afternoon. When we arrived, though, it was blessedly cool and damp – typical for this town on the Thai border. The chilly weather all three days was a welcome respite from the constant sweat of Phnom Penh, although by “chilly” I mean “I wished I had brought jeans.” It rained a good bit: enough to turn the dirt roads into mush, but not enough to stop us from hiking to a “waterfall” (aka stream). The hotel provided the only hot showers I’ve had since July, which are also the only ones I’ve wanted. They say PP will cool off soon – we’ll see.

The waterfall wasn't that impressive, but I loved the scenery around it!

The seminars included beautiful times of prayer and worship, talks by various staff, small-group discussions, and everyone performing skits on methods of stress relief. The latter were hilarious and a good exercise in cross-cultural communication. Most of the Khmer had never been in any kind of skit before, and were understandably scared about them. So when the first group (topic: saying “no” to commitments) talked about relieving stress by refusing to do the skit, it was perfect! My group had to discuss a long time to come to a consensus about our skit. Brainstorming and ruling out ideas are not emphasized in Khmer culture, so our Khmer members kind of felt stuck doing whatever the other American and I suggested, despite our urgings to the contrary. Other highlights included “Monsieur Grenouille” (Mr. Frog), explaining the French art of massage, and a big Italian guy role-playing as an elderly Khmer woman.

Gotta love the safety standards: a young boy unplugs a drain 3 stories above the pool

It was fun to get a glimpse of life in this sleepy town, and to hear about the provinces from Khmer staff. (Hardly any Cambodian today has always lived in Phnom Penh, given its recent history. And even those who have usually still have relatives in the provinces.) Passing hut after thatch-roofed hut on the trip, with vast open spaces in between, made me wonder if I'd ever live in the provinces, and how I'd like it. Honestly, I'm guessing that I will at some point - albeit maybe not in one of those little huts. All I know is that when I returned to Phnom Penh, I was glad to be back. It may be hot and crowded, but it's familiar, and it felt like I was coming home.

The view from the 4-hour car ride: lush scenery = my favorite stress relief

Your creativity needed!

2009-10-01T00:07:00.000-07:00

I have an urgent request for your help. This is important. It involves chocolate for me. (And I can give you chocolate when I get back to the US sometime, if you want.)

Logos is moving to a new building in the spring. We're leaving our current location for a new school that will be starting: a Christian school for middle-class Khmer students. They're looking for a name (in English) for the school. The administrator is offering "a chocolate prize" to those with good suggestions.

So, in case you got lost along the way, let me summarize. If you help me think of a good name...
1. You could have a Cambodian school with the name of your choosing.
2. I could have chocolate.

Oh, wouldn't that be lovely?

Portrait of a Phnom Penh Tourist

2009-09-28T06:27:00.000-07:00

I need to get better at sharing links to Facebook when I post new photos there. It takes a while to load each individually on this blog. However, glimpses of my shining face - is it delight at being in Cambodia, or is it just sweat? - are only a click away. Here's my first photo album, entitled "My New Life." Others, courtesy of my roomie Sarah, are below. We and several friends declared Friday, September 18, to be our official "Phnom Penh Tourist Day." (It was a national holiday due to Pchum Ben festivities.)

Our first stop was the notorious Tuol Sleng prison, converted from a school during the Khmer Rouge atrocities. It looks eerily similar to other local schools, and they've changed hardly anything inside since the prison stopped operating. But apparently it's been cleaned up a bit in recent years.

Each of its 20,000 prisoners was subjected to these rules upon arrival. Seven survived. Tearey, a Khmer-American woman who works at Logos, was with us and told us many stories from her childhood fleeing the Khmer Rouge in the jungle. It was really powerful - I hadn't expected her to open up so much.

One of dozens of torture rooms, with shackles, a box that served as a toilet, and a food dish.

Each room in this corridor held 16 cells, about 2 feet wide. The cells, like the rooms, have no doors, because there was nowhere to escape to.

Startlingly bright and cheerful after Tuol Sleng, our next stop was the King's Palace and the Silver Pagoda. Apparently the king still lives there, but tourists are only permitted to view the grounds outside.

Susie could feel her heart take wing when she discovered the shrubbery!

Left to right: Susie, me, Sarah

The World Tetris Championships...

2009-09-19T19:33:00.000-07:00

...should be held right here in Phnom Penh. We would OWN them. I'm convinced. Well, maybe not Tetris. Maybe it's that snake game that we should host the championships for. Or even speed-texting. All I know is that a cell phone is all that stands between many Khmer guys and Death By Boredom.

"Waiting" seems part of the job description for house helpers, guards, moto drivers, food vendors, and many others. One house on my way to school always has 3 uniformed guards sitting around, watching me walk. I pass probably 10 moto and tuk-tuk drivers in my 5-minute walk, waiting for passengers. Guys sit outside the car wash, which rarely has cars or motos to clean. I bet 30% of Phnom Penh males spend more than half their day sitting around with their cell phones. (Girls? I'm not sure. Some are vendors or collect recycled goods, but mostly they're not outside as much. They're more likely to be house helpers - cooking and cleaning - or to work in the schools, run stands in the market, raise children, etc. I'm sure many girls and guys also work in factories, unseen by my eyes.)

The lounging guys make it weird for me, because as a girl, I'm not supposed to make eye contact or acknowledge them at all. But I pass them every day, and they have no qualms about staring at me, as they would at any obvious foreigner. Let's face it: a white person is 60% more interesting than Round 92 of the day on Tetris. In the US, if I passed someone daily, we'd exchange a smile, nod, or quick "how are you," but that could get me into trouble here. So I focus on the road until there's a little kid or a woman for me to smile at. Sometimes they even make a joke out of it, staring at me from a few feet away so it's really unnatural for me not to look at them, then cracking up. I sometimes glance at them out of the corner of my eye, but I'm trying to be good and not act familiar with them. (This is also a challenge when I'm in a tuk-tuk facing backward, toward all the moto drivers looking straight ahead.)

State of bewilderment

2009-09-19T18:58:00.000-07:00

culture shock - a state of bewilderment and distress experienced by an individual who is suddenly exposed to a new, strange, or foreign social and cultural environment.

In France, I learned about the different stages of culture shock: first you think everything's more or less the same as at home, then you think it's fun that it's different, then you get angry with the differences, then you feel sad, and finally you grow to accept the differences and maybe even adopt some. I don't think I've been going through clear stages here: I've mixed them all up regarding various aspects of life, and I'll probably continue to for a while. But while I don't feel distressed, I have felt bewildered by several phenomena here.

For example, it's rainy season, so on most days, it rains hard in the afternoon or evening. The rain doesn't shock me. But the drain clogs do: even after a moderate storm, Logos' street is often submerged by a few inches. One teaching assistant has a first-floor apartment in a particularly low area (Phnom Penh is mostly flat): her house has been knee-deep in water for weeks now. That means she can't ever put her baby down. Her family has been getting sick as a result, so she stayed behind to teach while her husband, mother, and baby went to stay with relatives in the provinces for a week. They can't afford to move, so they just have to deal with the water several months a year.

Corruption is engrained deeply in Khmer culture, and I think it'll take me years to see how pervasive it is. But one place where it shows is in the school system. This year, as usual, test answers were for sale outside most schools on the day of the national high school exams. Unlike previous years, teachers were supposed to confiscate those booklets and fail students caught cheating. They didn't catch everyone, and probably didn't try to. But the failure rate jumped from almost zero to 80%. Yes, only 20% of students passed the exam this year. One Khmer person pointed out that it's futile to change the high school exit exam when students have never taken a test without cheating during their entire educational career. It continues in college: students routinely bribe teachers so that they can cut classes for weeks at a time and still earn passing grades. As a result, employers value experience over degrees: they have no idea if a prospective employee actually learned anything in college.

House helpers are another source of bewilderment. Most foreign families and wealthier Khmer families have one or more. Rich families have many: a guard or two at the gate, a cook, a chauffeur for their shiny black SUV with the giant "Lexus" logo, a nanny, a Mr. Fix-It guy. House helpers earn about $50-80 a month, but also expect help when they run into difficulties like illness, a moto breakdown, family trouble, etc. In this hierarchical society, they are not just employees but clients under a patron. They're often left in charge of children, but without the real authority to discipline children. So there are children who talk back to their nannies and hit them, and there are many children who do whatever they want when the parents are gone: stay up all night on school nights, watch uncensored TV, whatever.

I'm slowly discovering more about Khmer culture, but hearing about it and even seeing it doesn't mean that I understand it. And that's OK.

Sureyah's off to Canada!

2009-09-03T23:52:00.001-07:00

Have you ever felt attached to a total stranger? It's one of the cool and surreal things about life at Logos. There are a few former teachers and students about whom I've heard such extensive praise that I honestly care about them. Sureyah Tach is probably the strongest example. A full-scholarship student who commuted from an orphanage far across town, he was deemed "Student of the Month" for this past April and earned the admiration and friendship of students and teachers alike. All the teachers have told me how motivated, warm-hearted, and spiritually mature he is. He's a gifted leader, strong in academics, who aspires to study medicine and help address the myriad gaps in Cambodia's medical care. But at graduation this May, he had no money and no plans for college.

The Logos administration fought hard to get him a full ride at Trinity Western University in Vancouver. This summer, Trinity finally agreed, and Sureyah was able to start the slow process of obtaining a Canadian student visa. He arrived in Bangkok, Thailand nearly two weeks ago. After a successful interview and piles of paperwork, he had his medical forms sent to be signed in Singapore: a process that could take up to 6 weeks. Until then, he had to wait alone at a hostel in Bangkok, since he didn't have money to fly back and forth. Meanwhile, orientation starts Saturday, and his flight today was looking impossible. With funds dwindling and no familiar faces, he was getting pretty discouraged. Praise God - on Wednesday, the paperwork arrived, giving Sureyah 24 hours back in Phnom Penh to pack and say goodbye before flying out this morning! (He stopped by my British Literature class to say goodbye to my juniors and seniors, and we laid hands on him and prayed for him. I felt as though I was meeting a celebrity!)

Pray for Sureyah on his flights and during his adjustment to Trinity. It's miraculous to see how God has already taken him from an orphan doomed to poverty, to a high-achieving high school student, to an international at a top Canadian university. But Sureyah's needs will be great in the next few years...emotionally (apart from his siblings and the only home he knows), academically (as an English language learner), physically (he's going to freeze!), spiritually...and we at Logos will be continuing to count on God to supply his every need.

New Friends

2009-09-01T07:09:00.001-07:00

Sarah, Lorissa, and I tagged along this weekend with the Khmer teaching assistants to celebrate a birthday and a graduation. The birthday girl was Sophorn (right), who taught in Chambersburg, PA last year with the Mennonite Central Committee; we Pennsylvanians stick together, and I love her sense of humor. Srey (left) is a Logos veteran who's been wonderfully kind and helpful. They help with fifth and second grades, respectively, and even teach several subjects.

Susie teaches kindergarten at another local school, but she spends a lot of her free time with us. She's an expert at bartering, which makes her a useful friend as well as a sweet and fun one. On Sunday, when we tried to go to church together, she found she was locked inside her gate, and the house helpers with keys had gone to church! (They left her only 1 of the 2 keys she needed.) So we chatted for a while through the gate while she waited for them to return and rescue her. We were only 10 minutes late to church, since I had the time wrong and thought it started half an hour earlier.

Erin, Danielle, and Lorissa are other new Logos teachers. We've been exploring Phnom Penh together, and they're also a few of my classmates in the Khmer class for teachers. We stumble together through words and phrases like "three o'clock" and "see you tomorrow"...and feel so excited when we learn them! Every morning during orientation, Logos provided us with tropical fruit to snack on, and one day we had purple dragonfruit! Usually the outside is magenta like this but the inside is white with black seeds and tastes similar to a kiwi. I prefer the white's flavor to this overly sweet fuscia variety, but this one sure looks more fun!

Rags alongside Riches

2009-08-30T03:27:00.001-07:00

Probably my main impression of Phnom Penh, during my first few weeks here, is that there is absolutely no zoning. It was really overwhelming for me to see glitz and modernity alongside utter poverty. (My neighborhood, which recently exploded with new development, is somewhat more extreme than in other areas.) To illustrate this idea, let me show you my daily walk to school.

Every morning around 7, I leave my pink building and make the brief 5-minute trek to Logos.

I pass a small car wash filled with young guys and my small friends Bara and Pei, then this bar/cafe where the workers sleep on the tables inside the mosquito nets.

So what if this Internet cafe probably runs rampant with computer viruses, if its computers' speakers never seem to work, or if the Internet is slow at best and sometimes out completely? I love the colors and the family who runs it. (They taught me my first number in Khmer: muy poan, meaning 1000. 1000 riel or 25 cents is the price of an hour there.) And you can't beat the location, at least not unless my laptop is picking up free wi-fi in my apartment, as it is tonight.

Psar Toul Kork, the market in my neighborhood, is conveniently located at a 30-second walk from my front door. It's well-stocked with cheap plastic stuff (including kitchenware and cleaning supplies), cheap clothes, and produce. It's also home to about 12 different hairstylists. For under $4, I left with a rug, 20 clothes hangers, carrots, beans, and a spray bottle. Three of the hangers have since broken. The greatest thing about it is that it's a landmark known by every moto/tuk tuk driver, meaning they can bring me home from downtown with no problem.

Barely a block from my house is the worst housing I've seen so far: a line of wooden buildings that always seem about to collapse, backing up to a field full of trash.

The front of the recycling center, which makes it sound fancy and official, but which is really just a big dilapidated building with some extra pieces and a bunch of people hanging out with recycled materials. Notice the red sign and the ivory fence in the back left: the side of the hospital adjoins the recycling place.

The middle worker at the recycling center sports typical Cambodian accessories: a wide-brimmed hat wrapped in a krama, a multipurpose scarf that gets a lot of mileage here.

I guess recycled cardboard is a thriving industry here; people walk around every morning carrying wagons and squeaking a rubber horn so that everyone knows to come outside and hand over their recyclables, which end up on big trucks like this one.

It looks like a mansion. It's actually just a real estate office. It's about 100 yards, maybe, from the recycling center.

Reminders of Cambodia's Buddhist majority are everywhere: usually some kind of gold house like this, where people can leave offerings for their ancestors.

This hospital is spiffy and brand-new. But apparently the quality is pretty low for anything significant. This is true across the board in Cambodia; for anything bigger than a straightforward broken bone, you really need to leave the country to get adequate
medical care.

My walk ends at Logos, whose pleasant airy courtyard is usually filled with children and teens in blue, maroon, and white collared shirts. This is my building, with the principal's wife and daughter leaving the main office.

Dinner at Sovannary's

2009-08-29T00:54:00.000-07:00

Left to right: Sarah, me, Danielle, Lorissa

So when I left for Cambodia, I thought that I would get a house helper to prepare meals for me, because that's what all the Westerners seem to do. (Western groceries are expensive, Khmer groceries are hard to cook with if you're inexperienced, and getting food cooked for you can be really cheap. Plus it helps the local economy.) However, house helpers can get complicated. They want a full-time job, and might expect you to pay their medical bills, buy them a new moto when theirs breaks down, etc. Some are also dishonest and take money if you carelessly leave it lying around. Sarah and I still might hire a girl she met to clean our house a few hours a week, since she's really desperate for a job in order to continue paying for college.

For meals, though, we followed a friend's advice and headed to Slek Chheur, a small restaurant a few doors down from us. It's run by the lovely Sovannary, a former Logos cook who can make anything, from pad thai to potato soup, taste amazing. So, for $1.50 a night each, Sarah and I have been enjoying her delicious meals every weeknight, on a monthly menu rotation. Lorissa and Danielle do the same thing, and it's so nice to hang out with them and chat with Sovannary. (Plus she's installing wi fi and adding a ping-pong table and a DVD player!)

Suzanne joined us for the first time last night, sampling the marvelous banana smoothies (Cambodia's superior bananas => superior banana smoothies), and took our picture for us. She's excellent about documentation!

Things I've seen atop a moving moto

2009-08-29T00:08:00.000-07:00

Motos here are the major mode of transportation. Until a few years ago, it was bicycles, but recently the moto population has exponentially increased. Cars, virtually nonexistent even in ’06 or ’07, are also gaining popularity. But really, motos serve everyone’s basic transportation needs in surprisingly versatile ways. Not only do they carry people, but mid-sized motos can also transport:

A folded-up mattress

A family of six

Monks wearing saffron (orangish-yellow) robes, some talking on cell phones and/or carrying bright yellow umbrellas

Young babies asleep in their parents’ laps

A bicycle

A mom feeding her baby a bottle. OK, this time the moto wasn’t moving – I guess she just thought it was more comfortable or convenient than going inside. Sarah calls motos “the lawnchairs of Phnom Penh.”

People’s dogs

Giant baskets of fruit or peanuts going to market

Sarah’s desk and armoire (5’ tall thing to hold her clothes, like a portable closet) – on a single moto

A ladder

Life on the Side

2009-08-29T00:04:00.000-07:00

Since I’m living in a capitol city, if I had thought about it, I might have expected sidewalks in most places. And they do exist on some major streets near me, but in many places, there’s just a wide road. Other streets have a series of tiled areas in front of their respective homes. They’re kind of a cross between a driveway and a patio, except that they’re not private: strangers sometimes walk on them.

However, no matter the form they take, their functions are diverse. I appreciate this, because it means that even living inside the “Logos Bubble,” I get glimpses into many aspects of everyday life here. Calling these areas a “sidewalk” would not begin to describe the activities that occur along the road, even on my three short blocks to school. (Actually, Khmer people don’t like walking anywhere; you sit still or drive whenever possible.) Instead, more accurate titles might include:

The Sideweld: I often have to veer around the giant torches to weld and split old recycled metal pipes and such.

The Sidebathe: Also at the recycling center, guys in their underwear routinely soap up and scrub off.

The Sidesleep: Especially tuk-tuk drivers waiting for customers, but others as well. (See “sideplay.)

The Sidevend: Bicycles carry stands of sweet sticky rice, Ovaltine drinks, bubble tea and more to the area in front of Logos right after school (talk about strategic!) and all over the city.

The Sidepray: Gold-colored spirit houses are located outside many homes and businesses. While Khmer Buddhists are not that observant, many leave food or herbs inside the spirit houses to honor their ancestors.

The Sideburn: Hehe, I couldn’t resist! Besides, what else would I call the piles of burning trash that are in my way a few times a week?

The Sideplay: Actually not funny at all. I’m glad I only see these kids at 7 AM and 5 PM. That way I can pretend that in the hours in between, they’re going to school and not continuing to kick a broken flip-flop back and forth. Actually, the worst was two toddlers playing in the dark in front of a passed-out adult. Would the adult wake up if someone abducted the kids?

The Sidewed: Want to marry a Khmer? Just set up a colorful tent immediately outside their house. Party for days to loud music, and you’ll be ready for a lifetime of commitment.

The Sideguard: This city is full of people trying to look official and threatening while playing Cell Phone Tetris for eight hours at a stretch. Don’t let them fool you. Having had problems with theft by previous employees, Logos started its own guard company, named Lightning Security after our Logos Lightning sports teams. They took photos of other local guards and asked a tailor to copy the uniforms. Now we have about 5 full-time guards; at all hours, at least one is greeting people by the gate. It’s a great chance for me to practice my Khmer, and they do some yardwork for Logos too.

One week into classes...

2009-08-14T17:13:00.000-07:00

And I’m feeling better each day about teaching at Logos. I came out of my first week feeling tired, yes, but mainly relieved. Nearly all my students this week were respectful, eager to please, good participators, and able to do what I asked of them. On the whole, they seem quite mature, both emotionally and spiritually. I think I had more culture shock this week from the Christian school aspect of Logos than from the international school aspect…mainly the fact that my students eagerly and sincerely bring a Christian perspective into our discussions, even though I don’t ask them to make our talks explicitly Christian. I was also amazed yesterday at lunch when the seventh graders next to me formed an impromptu prayer huddle for one student’s grandpa. It’s incredible to me that this boy felt safe crying in front of his peers about his grandpa and how much he longs for his grandpa to know Jesus.

That lunchtime prayer circle testifies to another dramatic aspect of Logos: the community. Several situations I’ve been in would have been utterly ludicrous at State High. Picture this. On the first two days of class, I meet my five classes, totalling about 90 students. But I recognize about twelve familiar faces. Stephen, for instance. I got an e-mail from his mom (head of the Parents’ Association) back in May, when I first committed to Logos. It had the link to her blog, which I read curiously. Over the summer, I talked to his aunt Megan, a fellow teacher, about what to expect at Logos. Stephen’s family picked up my roommate from the airport, took her furniture shopping, and invited us for lunch on my second day. His dad, who teaches several classes, helped me with a seating chart and rescued my friend Danielle when she got lost after dark.

Another example? I already spent the night at the home of several students – and returned later for part of their Lord of the Rings marathon. Three of my students live in the House of Faith, Asian Hope’s home for girls. I recognized several from their photos and brief autobiographies, which I had seen online back in March, before even being offered a job. I hung out there one evening with several other teachers to watch Samedi, in sixth grade, while their two guardians (Beth and Anna) were out. When I got home, I found my landlord had locked the gate outside and was not answering his phone. (I’ve since gotten a key.) So I ended up returning to their house for the night and sleeping in Beth’s room. The next weekend, I was back to plan lessons with Anna, who’s co-teaching a writing class with me. But they sucked us into the last hour of “Fellowship of the Rings,” which they had nearly memorized. They also gave me my first taste of jackfruit – so sweet and satisfying, I practically devoured the whole bowl!

By the way, spending the night at the House of Faith involved THE COOLEST thing I’ve seen here yet. When Anna drove my roommate Sarah and me back to the house, she pulled up her car in front of the house but left the engine running, and we weren’t sure whether to get out yet. But she told us it would be easier now than when she pulled in. Pulled in where? We didn’t see a garage. Just then, Beth came from inside and pulled open the entire gate that forms the front wall of their downstairs, kind of a big rec room. We saw that she had dragged all the couches to the back wall. Anna rolled the car straight ahead over the tiled floor, and I realized that this was their rec room/garage! It was astounding, and I am bitter that I didn’t take a picture of it. These big square tiles are ubiquitous – there’s even a Tile Alley downtown that sells nothing else – and I can see why. They’re beautiful and indestructible, whether you’re driving on them, draining your washing machine onto them (that was me – oops!), killing cockroaches on them, or just walking with your ever-dirty feet on them.

The Newbies

2009-08-06T04:24:00.000-07:00

I’ve been in “new teacher orientation” since last Monday, and today was the first in-service day for returning teachers. The other new teachers and I have had an awesome time hanging out and exploring Phnom Penh in various configurations. I’ve met so many people in the last two weeks, and it only seems right to give you a mini-directory before the number gets too overwhelming. So, for your reference, the new teachers are:

Sarah – my roommate, from Indiana, teaching first grade. Sarah is one of ten siblings, loves creating bulletin boards, and has more common sense than I do. (Thank goodness!) She and I are both excited to get to know our neighbors, and she’s even hoping to organize some of the neighborhood kids (who always say “hello” as we walk down the street) into a little English club.

Danielle – from Texas, teaching health, P.E., swimming, and algebra. Danielle loves tie dye and has been dancing for over a dozen years (all kinds). Having just turned 22, she’s the only one younger than I am.

Lorissa – from Winnipeg, Manitoba, teaching kindergarten. Lorissa taught in Thailand last year and spent a year in China teaching English, but Cambodia has been her first love for a while since making friends from here while at college.

Erin – from Florida, teaching art and kindergarten swimming. Erin has many ties to PA: her mom’s from Philly and her dad’s from Pittsburgh, so she grew up rooting for the Phillies and the Penguins. While Danielle and Lorissa live together, Erin is staying with 4 returning teachers.

Bob + Thierai (sp? Pronounced like “Tear-Eye”) – from Minnesota, he’s teaching sixth grade, she’s helping a third grader one-on-one due to his developmental delays. (“I’m just here with him,” she always says.) Thierai is a native of Cambodia and ethnic Khmer, but came to the US as a refugee decades ago. Bob loves being here; Thierai is adjusting to life as a “hidden immigrant,” where people tell her that her accent is funny and even tell her she looks Korean and not Khmer.

Suzanne – from Vancouver (?), ESL coordinator. Suzanne has fascinating stories about her time in Taiwan, Japan, and the houseboat community of CA. Determined to master the Khmer language, she’s the only one with a homestay. She gave us a quilting class last week, which her host family’s cook, Bonika, also attended in hopes of starting a microbusiness in quilting. Suzanne is my kindred spirit in her love for Jane Austen-esque literature and period films like “North and South” (one of 2 movies I brought along).

Shirley – a South Philly native, teaching fifth grade. Shirley left her career as a social worker to obtain a master’s in education from Penn and teach reading at a special education school before coming here. As the lone African-American on staff, she has a beautiful and powerful voice that resonates, especially when talking about her passion to help kids here, or when praying about God’s promises for Cambodia.

Lyle – from California, IT specialist and computer teacher. He just arrived Monday from 2 years teaching English in Japan. His girlfriend is also working in Phnom Penh, so hopefully we’ll get to know her too when she returns in a couple months. We’ve all been eagerly anticipating Lyle’s arrival; he even missed part of orientation Monday and Tuesday to fix some server issues. He’ll have his hands full, for sure!

Danger!

2009-08-06T03:53:00.000-07:00

People think of developing countries as dangerous – one of the many reasons that some thought I was crazy to come here. The truth is, there are dangers here, but not necessarily the ones you’d expect. We’ve heard all about them in orientation:

Water – the drinking water is actually VERY clean when it leaves the purification site, but corroded pipes, etc. can compromise it, and it’s hard to tell in any given area. Everyone here brushes teeth with tap water. They wash dishes with tap water. They even drink iced coffee with ice made from tap water (albeit quickly, so the ice doesn’t melt into the drink). But nobody makes a habit of drinking it without some kind of filtration system. The real danger is rainwater if the streets flood, which carries all kinds of garbage and sewage, and can easily infect any blisters or cuts. We were told it’s vital to wash our feet frequently to get rid of street dirt.

Crime – whites are the target of robberies but generally not violent crimes. Guns are outlawed here and thus rare, but purse-snatchings are common. Khmer culture, at least since the Khmer Rouge era, sees theft as socially acceptable if you can get away with it undetected. A proverb says, “You should know when to take the straight path and when to take the crooked one.” It makes sense, given that nobody from the older generations survived without stealing.

We’ve been warned to lock our doors, not to leave valuables in sight, and to pay attention when in traffic or crowded places. Logos had trouble in the past with guards and staff stealing money and materials, and many Westerners have similar issues with house helpers before finding people they trust. At night, girls aren’t supposed to walk alone, but they said we wouldn’t be in physical danger unless someone pushes us to grab our stuff. Still not pleasant, but it beats a drive-by shooting any day.

Sun Exposure hasn’t been an issue for me so far, since I’m inside during peak hours. But Cambodians take it seriously, often wearing long sleeves and long pants if they’re outside or on motos. (Light skin is considered beautiful here.) And the heat’s not awful right now – usually mid-80s and very humid. Still, it’s important to keep cool and drink lots of water. I had never thought about showers helping to lower your body temperature, but they’re strongly recommended here for that purpose. At this point, I don’t have a water heater, nor do I want one before cool season: the water is about 80 F without one. Khmer people are not big fans of sweating: Suzanne’s host family showers three times a day! She says she feels like a slob in comparison. I suppose it’s the only way to cover up with warm clothing and still not smell – I have yet to experience body odor among my Cambodian acquaintances.

Tropical Diseases – malaria is not a risk in Phnom Penh, but dengue fever is. Like malaria, it’s carried by mosquitos, but those that bite during the day rather than at night (like malaria carriers). A recent epidemic killed a number of children, but it’s not fatal as long as you have access to medical care: it just makes you miserable for about 2 weeks. Several Logos teachers have had it. Mysterious rashes are common, but typically disappear on their own. A bigger risk is rabies: many dogs roam the streets, and while estimates range wildly, we heard that about 60% are thought to carry rabies. They are not well-trained and may be aggressive, especially if you’re running. (Joggers and playing children, beware!) People claim their dogs have had rabies shots, but often lack the paperwork to verify it. So I stay away from all dogs here, even the cute ones.

Transportation – there are no high-speed collisions in Phnom Penh, because there are no high-speed drivers: traffic usually plods along at under 20 MPH. That being said, they don’t follow traffic laws closely, except for red lights. It’s more like walking in a crowded airport terminal. You generally try to stay on the right, but it’s more important to go with the flow, and if you see an opening in the other lane, you’ll duck into it. Left turns are great because you often end up to the left of opposing traffic until there’s a break for you to switch back to your lane. The actual locations of other vehicles are much more important than the laws on the books, which are akin to US traffic laws. Thus, absent-minded drivers like me do NOT belong on the streets of Phnom Penh. Crossing the street’s not bad, since drivers are used to weaving around you. But I sometimes have to cross one direction of traffic and wait in the middle for a break in the other direction.

There are many crashes, some fatal, some minor. I’ve seen one crash since I came – it looked minor, but the driver fell off the moto. Besides internal injuries, moto crashes can lead to the infamous “Cambodian tattoo” – burning your legs on the exhaust pipe. This is why all girls sitting side-saddle face the left on motos. It’s also why you have to watch out when walking through a line of parked motos; you can’t tell which ones are still hot. Moto drivers have begun wearing helmets more often, and I'll need to get one at the market before riding with them. The joke in the past was that you should never choose a moto driver with a helmet, because he feels invincible.

Foreigners/whites have some special transportation risks. The first is traffic fines. Native Khmer can violate laws all they want, but police are on the lookout for foreigners to nab: one missionary referred to recent arrivals as “ATMs for cops.” They’re paid around $50 a month and supplement their income with bribes and inflated fines. They also know who’s new in town, and purposely target them. I was already in a car that was pulled over; the driver moved here 7 months ago and accidentally drove the wrong way on a (unmarked) 1-way street. After negotiating, he paid $4, better than the $10 he accepted last time, but a far cry from the $1.50 that it’s supposed to be. The second risk is getting blamed for crashes. We were warned never to stop at the scene of an accident (unless we were in it), since we’re an easy scapegoat and people might think we were somehow at fault. Even if they don’t blame us, they could still expect us to pay the injured parties’ medical bills.

Barbie Dreamhouse

2009-07-28T18:52:00.000-07:00

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?!?

2009-07-28T18:37:00.000-07:00

"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.

Finally here already

2009-07-27T04:32:00.000-07:00

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!

Savoring the Shire

2009-07-20T20:29:00.000-07:00

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.

Cambodia Prayer E-mails

2009-07-18T07:24:00.000-07:00

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?"