Christmas shenanigans

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

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!"

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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 when it comes to 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

"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...

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! OK, maybe I'm exaggerating, but everyone on screen was nude and I didn't feel inclined to watch it with my 60-something landlord. 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.

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!