Raindrops keep falling on my...bed?

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

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

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

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

"What was great about all that?"

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

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

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

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

My late-night grocery run

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

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

"Now? It's late!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Worlds Apart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reasons to smile – Cambodia edition

More and more Cambodian songs that I really enjoy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book three head

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Language study

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caution: flying rocks

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And the teachers don’t care?”

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

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

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

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

“So why do you need my help?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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