Partying like it's 2019

Panny was the gateway to my new neighborhood three years ago. Now she's no longer my neighbor.

L to R: me, Panny, Socheat

I first met her when I visited her little shop for a Coke. I nervously asked the women playing cards out front if someone could briefly help answer a question for my Khmer homework. Panny was grumpy that I'd tried to interrupt the game and suspicious of me, not realizing I'd recently moved onto her street. She made me interview the only guy present, teasing him that since he was single, he should talk to the foreign girl. I almost didn't go back. But I knew the people gathered around her table were the kind I wanted to get to know: not tempted to switch to English, not friends with many foreigners, not especially rich or poor by Phnom Penh standards, sort of "average" urban Cambodians. I wanted a place at that table, so I returned each week, buying more snacks and drinks and asking for permission to listen in on their conversations. 

Panny and her twins. I've spent countless hours sitting at this table.

At first she couldn't understand my Khmer well, plus she's introverted and not a people pleaser. (She and another neighbor, Socheat, came once for dinner, but she refused a second invitation because "I can't eat your cooking.") So my visits' success depended on her customers and her former next-door neighbor who sold rice porridge. But she slowly warmed up, exposing me to dozens of neighboring customers. When she had twin girls last summer, she let me enter her home (one simple room behind the store) to help alongside Socheat. At Panny's request, I occasionally helped her older daughters, now around ages 11 and 7, practice English. We especially enjoyed reading children's books together when Covid closed schools in March.

She and her family moved in April into their own house, 8 km farther from town. They've been paying bit by bit to build it, and moved into it still unfinished. She promised to have me over once it was done, but without an address or specific directions, I wasn't sure how that would happen. In the meantime, I've been delighted that her friend and fellow neighbor Lida took over the shop. Lida used to hang out at Panny's shop a lot, but I think she gets bored being there alone now, so she's been eager to chat with me.

One day, Panny left me a voice message on Facebook. "Come to my housewarming party next weekend! Lida and Socheat and everyone will be there." Later I learned it was timed to coincide with the twins' first birthday, a big deal here. Showing up to events is a key way to show you care about someone; I even delayed my vacation to attend. On Sunday night, five women and two kids got dressed up, piled into Socheat's 5-seater car, and sought this elusive home, bouncing down a series of muddy roads. 

I got advice from Lida and my landlady on the dress code, since I don't have much experience with housewarming parties. They told me I could go simpler than the bling and professional hair/makeup expected for wedding guests (similar to Panny's style here). Black and white clothes were also OK, though these funeral colors are taboo at weddings. I straightened my hair and wore a simple dress with dangly earrings and a bit of makeup. On the way there, they were chatting about how they don't usually wear much makeup these days and this party was a rare exception. I told them, "Yeah, I'm not very good at makeup," and one of them looked at me and said, "You look better without it." Unfortunately, it felt less like "You're too pretty to need makeup" and more like "What made you do that to your face today?" Laughing, I asked if I should wash it off, but the conversation had raced on and no one replied. At least I got compliments on my dress!

L to R: the male MC, Mr. Panny (I still don't know his name!), and Panny

Besides the guests' appearance, it was almost exactly like a wedding. The same colorful canopy tent with fake flowers in the street outside their house. The same round tables with family-style dinners served course by course on a lazy Susan: nuts and fried snacks, processed meat, salad with pork, fish with bok choy, fried rice, and corn pudding. The same silly string spraying everywhere at a pivotal moment: in this case, when we sang "Happy Birthday" with a soundtrack boasting multiple verses. The same karaoke, mostly by neighbors I've often heard out my window. The same dancing counterclockwise around a table near the stage, two steps forward and one step back, slowly rotating your wrists and waving your fingers. The same frequent toasts, with free-flowing beer for the men, and soda or other sugary drinks for most women. The same giant amps, making my right eardrum throb in pain at the screechy high notes as I danced. (I'm still not sure how the birthday girls weren't screaming... maybe early hearing loss?) The same relative sitting at the entrance collecting cash gifts: $20 per person seemed the norm, a bit less than a wedding. The same MC's cracking jokes, doing funny voices, and moving the evening along. And guess who the male MC was? The guy who answered my questions the first day! He must have moved away, because I haven't seen him in a while. 

One difference is that unlike most weddings, this took place during rainy season. Sitting at the edge of the sideless tent with a slow drizzle outside, my hair instantly frizzed and my shoes were submerged in an inch of water from the afternoon downpour. Another difference is that they left the front of their home open so we could walk in and out of their living room. We took a quick tour of the downstairs and I learned a new phrase: Panny's family had bought a "pig snout" land plot, shaped almost like a triangle, so their house got narrower from the living room to the kitchen. 

Besides the typical Chinese-style altar on the floor, there was a special table set up with a portrait of Buddha and some offerings. That morning, the monks had come to bless the house, just as they would come to do wedding ceremonies. Like many people I know, Panny and her husband seem more interested in covering their bases by completing various Buddhist/animist protective rituals than in understanding the philosophy or reflecting on the extent to which they believe. Panny shies away even from mentioning religion with me, and her husband has told me a common line: "Buddhism and Christianity are basically the same, because they teach you to be good." 

Lida and me, having put up our now-frizzy hair 

Panny with our carload at the entrance

To my knowledge, nobody used hand sanitizer or masks, or mentioned Covid. Someone told me recently that Cambodians are "quick to fear, quick to forget." When the news broke about Covid in China back in January, with no cases here yet, Cambodia sold out of hand sanitizer and masks. In March and early April, since most cases were imported by Western tourists, I was getting nervous looks from strangers. But by this party in late June, we'd had just 7 new cases in the previous 2.5 months, and no deaths at all. Even though schools, religious centers, and movie theaters are still closed for the foreseeable future, the malls and restaurants are as crowded as ever - with masks becoming rarer - and people are turning out again for parties like this one, seemingly unconcerned. 

A packed-out mall parking lot. When did Phnom Penh get so many cars, anyway?

For whatever reason, Covid seems to be threatening Cambodia's economy much more than its citizens' health. The government has prioritized strict immigration policies over restrictions for those already here. So nobody seemed to mind crowding 80 people into a tent, sharing buffet spoons, passing around the babies, or dancing in close quarters. Hopefully it's not foolish, but I've generally taken my cues from those around me. If they're not scared of my foreigner germs, despite the narrative that Covid is a "foreigner problem," I don't want to seem scared of their germs either. 

Birthday sparklers

Can you recognize this Khmer cover of an American oldie?

Seeing Panny and her family made me wistful. I gave the oldest girl a quick hug and wondered when she'd last been hugged, since most Khmer families aren't big on physical affection with school-aged kids. I'd been hoping to keep growing closer with them. Now Panny doesn't seem to welcome me dropping by uninvited, and on a moto, she can't easily visit our neighborhood with all four kids. I'm praying that they'll connect with Khmer believers and that this isn't our last visit. 

But the evening together also amazed me at how far we've come. Thanks to Panny and her crew, I understand a lot more street Khmer. These neighbors are the ones who taught me about Khmer money-saving groups called "tongtin," the difference between kids' official names and their at-home names, how to play Khmer-style Bingo, how Cambodians care for newborns, and much more. They've helped me get over my stereotypes of "average" urban Cambodians and see their diversity as well as their commonalities. 

I wish I could tell my 2017 self, sheepishly skulking home and afraid to try again, that I'd eventually be the lone foreigner attending Panny's party, where I'd recognize at least half the guests. I'm not sure I could tell my 2017 self how weird that party would be in a global context where social distancing is a given. But social proximity has incredible value for building relationships. I'm thankful for all those visits around Panny's table, and for this opportunity... germs and all... to be there for her.