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?