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!
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Who Needs Normal?
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.
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!
The semester ended today (Friday the 18th), 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
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
Friday, December 4, 2009
Christmas...and not a fried banana in sight.
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.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Cool Season
...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.
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.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Samto Cookies
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.)
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Hitler on my kitchen counter
Can you identify the golden-brown object in the center of this photograph?Read on for the answer.
"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!
Monday, October 19, 2009
Teacher Retreat at Koh Kong
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.
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 poolIt 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 Thursday, October 1, 2009
Your creativity needed!
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?
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?
Monday, September 28, 2009
Portrait of a Phnom Penh Tourist
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
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
Saturday, September 19, 2009
The World Tetris Championships...
...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.)
"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
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.
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.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Sureyah's off to Canada!
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.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
New Friends
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!Sunday, August 30, 2009
Rags alongside Riches
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.Saturday, August 29, 2009
Dinner at Sovannary's
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
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
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
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.
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.
Friday, August 14, 2009
One week into classes...
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.
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.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
The Newbies
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!
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!
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 – Westerners 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 shopping mall. 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 oncoming 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.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Barbie Dreamhouse
My house is quite pink, both outside and in. It is super-convenient for helping people (including myself) find it. It's long and skinny on the outside and part of a long line of long, skinny houses. (Phnom Penh has this kind of house, fancy villas, shacks, and is starting to get some Western-style apartment buildings. There is almost no variation within each type of house.) I live here with Sarah, another new Logos teacher. Our landlord and landlady live just below us (pictured above); their kids and grandkids live either with them or above us. Look at the bottom of the door: I'm always afraid their three tiny dogs will fall out, either one foot down to the nearest stair, or a whole story to the ground level. 
My bathroom is typical in that I have my own, it has 2 doors leading to different rooms (my room and the kitchen), and water from the shower falls directly on the floor. At first I thought the wet floor would bother me, but although we're in the rainy season, it's dry and dusty here, and the floor dries in under 90 minutes.
Sarah and I are in a new apartment within the house. You can tell that the house was just remodeled, partly because of things like this: the banister that shows where there used to be more stairs. There is now some thin plywood tacked over the area; we can hear almost everything in the apartment below us. (Mostly Khmer pop music.) Sarah's room and the "spare room" are both upstairs; the rest is all on one level.
Our kitchen was well-stocked when we arrived with a fridge and washing machine (we dry clothes out on the balcony), gas for the stove, and some basic groceries and utensils. The pastel letters on the fridge were not included. (They'll be for Sarah's first-grade class.) We were also given several of the woven mat in the corner, which is apparently ubiquitous and quite cheap.
We love our airy living/dining room, which still needs some furniture. A huge 5-gallon container of water, like the one on the left, apparently costs about $1 if you sign up for the delivery service. Not bad, since not even locals drink the Phnom Penh water! You can see hints of the two-toned pink paint, accented by a lovely periwinkle and teal. (We've heard Cambodians don't pay attention to shades and hues: pink is pink is pink.) Sarah's room is on top; my room is below; both have green-tinted windows into this room for ventilation. (But only mine has jail cell bars.)
The living/dining room is long and skinny. We're looking for a wicker couch that will use those maroon cushions. The tile floor stays wonderfully cool, even though we're on the second floor.
Sarah (pictured above) and I love the balcony, where we eat, read, and chat. We can see all the goings-on below, and it's typically the coolest and breeziest part of the house.
Hello Kitty x McDonalds?!?
"Kitty Lab: Hello Kitty x McDonalds"
The sights of Hong Kong between 10:30 PM (my arrival from Tokyo) and 9 AM (my departure to Phnom Penh). I was so glad to hang out with Adriano, who forewent (?) a decent night's sleep to show me around his high-class hometown between 12 and 5 AM. We know each other from PSU through both International Christian Fellowship and Rescue Childhood. We were both pretty giddy by the end of the night! When we stopped by McDonald's for their free WiFi, we got more than we had bargained for.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Finally here already
I arrived in Phnom Penh, Cambodia safely and as scheduled Saturday morning. It was a shock to be here so soon, and yet it felt like the culmination of six years of dreaming. I wish I were able to sit down with each of you and tell you my initial impressions. I certainly plan to include more descriptions on here soon (although Internet is always iffy here). But the 2-word description of Cambodia, as the elementary principal put it today, is "never boring." From my pink pink walls to the (American) family with 10 kids who hosted my roommate and me on Sunday to my futile attempt to mime a can opener to the sight of a 6' cubic pile of books today, life here has not yet contained a hint of boring, nor do I expect it to anytime soon. I'm excited for all that's in store!
Monday, July 20, 2009
Savoring the Shire
Since The Hobbit is in the eighth grade curriculum I'm teaching, I've been re-reading it this week. I realized that my trip this Thursday echoes in some ways the epic journeys in The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Bilbo and later Frodo, who have always enjoyed their clean, comfortable, close-knit Shire, are suddenly challenged to exchange it all for an enormous unknown, filled with perils and discomforts to match every joy and triumph. And yet both Bilbo and Frodo accept their quest, and find hidden strength, dear friends, and the chance to accomplish something great. I suppose the major difference between them and me is that I signed up for this adventure. Unlike Bilbo and Frodo, who departed within hours of hearing about the quest, I've wanted this for as long as I can remember. My advance notice has given me the chance to savor my own Shire. Some examples:
-Quiet roads: as opposed to dusty traffic 6 motorcycles deep on a 2-lane street (and where few motorcycles feature solo riders - see above photo)
-Drinking tap water straight from the faucet...with no fear of exotic diseases like cryptosporidiosis
-Sounding normal: nobody here teases me for my Southeast Pennsylvania accent or asks me to repeat myself
-Viewers like you: I've been spending quality time, either face-to-face or using free phone minutes, with dear friends and family, not knowing whether my Internet connection there will be strong enough to support a full-speed conversation on Skype-Chocolate and dairy: I think they're both available there, but harder to find and pricier
-Being cold: the highs in Phnom Penh and Doylestown are similar this week (around 83), but the low is rarely ever below 75, and the high can be pretty toasty:"We have had lots of heat, over 40C/104F most days (in the shade according to the school thermometer). This increased heat means that more people try to use the aircon and therefore we are losing power more often. We are losing power anywhere from 1 to 10 hours per day. Not having a fan during that time is even harder than not having aircon."
-Swiping a card: 80% of transactions in Cambodia take place using cash, specifically the American dollar ($1 = 4200 riels)
-Functional drains: rainstorms can flood Phnom Penh streets with more than just water
Still, it's almost time for me to leave. There'll be many positive things about Phnom Penh, and I can't wait to chronicle my discoveries for you, my enraptured audience.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Cambodia Prayer E-mails
Well, I'm off to Cambodia this week: Thursday, July 23, to be precise. Many of you have asked how to pray for me, and I am so grateful! If you would like me to send you prayer updates, please write your e-mail address below. How to know if YOU should write your e-mail below:1. If you want stories and photos, but not necessarily prayer requests, read my blog: www.cranniesandnooks.blogspot.com I don't want to put you in a conundrum regarding how to cease without praying.*
2. If you asked me in person to add you, I'll try hard to remember, but no promises. You'd better write your e-mail again. (If you wrote it down on paper, you're probably safe.)
3. If you were on my e-mail list for France/Germany stories, write your name below anyway - I don't have those lists anymore.
4. If you are a member of ICF at Penn State, I'm sending my e-mails to the whole listserve. You don't need to send me your e-mail.
5. If you were not tagged in this note, I apologize. I'd still love to send you e-mails. Please write your e-mail below.
Thanks guys!
Chelsea
*Taken from the blog Stuff Christians Like:
"This chapter is about when you somehow find yourself on an email prayer chain that you don’t remember signing up for and you’re almost positive that you don’t know anyone in the Nantahala River Gorge region and you’re not sure you’re committed to praying daily via email reminders for the river people. How do you quit a prayer chain like that without looking like you hate God and river people and maybe even gorges which doesn’t even make sense?"
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Defining "in the boonies"
Preparing for life in Phnom Penh has brought to my attention some issues that would never have entered my Pennsylvania mind. Case in point: Logos School offers great health insurance through a company designed for those in overseas missions. The Q & A section of the web site made me quite thankful that I'm traveling to a capitol city. (By the way, the answer was "yes.")
Q: We are serving in a remote village, a 5-day walk from the nearest airstrip, plus a plane journey away from the nearest doctor. There is, however, a police post with radio contact, which could be reached in one long day's run by a local villager. We are therefore concerned about what happens in an emergency. The program wording says it covers emergency medical airlift upon the advice of a registered practitioner. However, in our situation there are no doctors available. We would have to assess the situation ourselves, and if we thought it was an emergency, send a local runner down to the police post with a message to radio for help. Please can you give us a definite 'yes' or 'no' as to whether the policy would provide emergency helicopter lift out under these sort of conditions?
Q: We are serving in a remote village, a 5-day walk from the nearest airstrip, plus a plane journey away from the nearest doctor. There is, however, a police post with radio contact, which could be reached in one long day's run by a local villager. We are therefore concerned about what happens in an emergency. The program wording says it covers emergency medical airlift upon the advice of a registered practitioner. However, in our situation there are no doctors available. We would have to assess the situation ourselves, and if we thought it was an emergency, send a local runner down to the police post with a message to radio for help. Please can you give us a definite 'yes' or 'no' as to whether the policy would provide emergency helicopter lift out under these sort of conditions?
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Where grief was a luxury
I mentioned in my previous post that I was moved by Loung Ung's memoir, "First They Killed My Father." Loung was 5 when the Khmer Rouge came to power in 1975, the second-youngest child in a wealthy family in Phnom Penh. She recounts their rapid descent: in weeks, she changed from the girl in the red dress who loved trips to the movie theater, to the hungry skinny girl on forced marches, to the silent girl who only seeks anonymity, who couldn't afford to cry.
I'd love to think that victims bond together in their suffering, that they bear one another's burdens. But that's often not how it works, and in Loung's case, her fellow victims increased her sorrows rather than sharing them. She spent the years from age 5 to 10 channeling her terror and grief into rage and anger. Amazingly, Loung overcame these patterns and now works from the US as an advocate against land mines, testifying to their destruction in her native Cambodia.
In one pivotal scene, her mom splits up the family, hoping that it will increase the chances one of them will survive. She convinces her kids that she's too spent by grief to love them anymore:
“Remember,” Ma whispers, “don’t go together and don’t come back.” My heart sinks as I realize Ma really is sending us away.
“Ma, I’m not going!” I plant my feet to the ground, refusing to move.
“Yes, you are!” Ma says sternly. “Your Pa is gone now, and I just cannot take care of you kids. I don’t want you here! You are too much work for me! I want you to leave!” Ma’s eyes stare at us blankly.
“Ma,” my arms reach out to her, pleading with her to take me into her arms and tell me I can stay. But she swats them back with a quick slap.
“Now go!” she turns me around by the shoulders and bends down to give me a hard swat on the butt, pushing me away.
Later, Loung tries to obey the family who has temporarily taken her in, by bringing food to their dying grandmother:
When the nurse leaves, the grandmother’s face darkens and she turns her attention to me. “What are you doing? Give me my food!” she barks at me and unwraps the banana leaves to find rice and salted pork. “Stupid girl! I know you ate some on the way. I am old and I need this more than you.” I say nothing and continue to stand there. “You are a little thief – I know you are. You are not even grateful we took you in. Stupid little thief!” Hearing her hateful words, I cannot find it in my heart to feel sorry for her anymore, and I leave her with her cries and moans and the stench of impending death.
Just after the Khmer Rouge surrenders, she and a strange girl find a body in the river while fetching water. To avoid painful emotions, she assumes he's an enemy:
“The water is too shallow. On the count of three, you push the body and I’ll push the head,” I direct. After a concerted effort, the body finally floats down the river, his long hair spreading around. The picture tugs at my heart and knots up my stomach. For a few brief seconds I think of Geak and hope the soldiers did not put her in a bag and throw her into the river. I nearly cry at the thought of someone poking at her body, but I push the tears down. “Another damn Khmer Rough,” I mutter under my breath. “I hate them. I hope they all die.” We wait a few minutes until we believe the body fluids have all floated past us before fetching our water.
The Khmer Rouge's reign of terror ended thirty years ago, but trials for their crimes against humanity are just beginning this year. Nearly everyone in Cambodia today either endured this themselves or was raised by someone who endured this. How long does it take, after crimes of this magnitude, for justice to come? And where the average citizen was both a victim and a perpetrator, how long does it take for an entire society to find healing?
I'd love to think that victims bond together in their suffering, that they bear one another's burdens. But that's often not how it works, and in Loung's case, her fellow victims increased her sorrows rather than sharing them. She spent the years from age 5 to 10 channeling her terror and grief into rage and anger. Amazingly, Loung overcame these patterns and now works from the US as an advocate against land mines, testifying to their destruction in her native Cambodia.
In one pivotal scene, her mom splits up the family, hoping that it will increase the chances one of them will survive. She convinces her kids that she's too spent by grief to love them anymore:
“Remember,” Ma whispers, “don’t go together and don’t come back.” My heart sinks as I realize Ma really is sending us away.
“Ma, I’m not going!” I plant my feet to the ground, refusing to move.
“Yes, you are!” Ma says sternly. “Your Pa is gone now, and I just cannot take care of you kids. I don’t want you here! You are too much work for me! I want you to leave!” Ma’s eyes stare at us blankly.
“Ma,” my arms reach out to her, pleading with her to take me into her arms and tell me I can stay. But she swats them back with a quick slap.
“Now go!” she turns me around by the shoulders and bends down to give me a hard swat on the butt, pushing me away.
Later, Loung tries to obey the family who has temporarily taken her in, by bringing food to their dying grandmother:
When the nurse leaves, the grandmother’s face darkens and she turns her attention to me. “What are you doing? Give me my food!” she barks at me and unwraps the banana leaves to find rice and salted pork. “Stupid girl! I know you ate some on the way. I am old and I need this more than you.” I say nothing and continue to stand there. “You are a little thief – I know you are. You are not even grateful we took you in. Stupid little thief!” Hearing her hateful words, I cannot find it in my heart to feel sorry for her anymore, and I leave her with her cries and moans and the stench of impending death.
Just after the Khmer Rouge surrenders, she and a strange girl find a body in the river while fetching water. To avoid painful emotions, she assumes he's an enemy:
“The water is too shallow. On the count of three, you push the body and I’ll push the head,” I direct. After a concerted effort, the body finally floats down the river, his long hair spreading around. The picture tugs at my heart and knots up my stomach. For a few brief seconds I think of Geak and hope the soldiers did not put her in a bag and throw her into the river. I nearly cry at the thought of someone poking at her body, but I push the tears down. “Another damn Khmer Rough,” I mutter under my breath. “I hate them. I hope they all die.” We wait a few minutes until we believe the body fluids have all floated past us before fetching our water.
The Khmer Rouge's reign of terror ended thirty years ago, but trials for their crimes against humanity are just beginning this year. Nearly everyone in Cambodia today either endured this themselves or was raised by someone who endured this. How long does it take, after crimes of this magnitude, for justice to come? And where the average citizen was both a victim and a perpetrator, how long does it take for an entire society to find healing?
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