There I was, sitting in the office at the Cambodian Center for Human Rights when I get an emergency phone call from someone who needed my assistance, but it’s noon and I’m hungry. Stacey and Sana head off to Russian Market, where we’d planned a nice scrumptious lunch of no Khmer/Thai (i.e. what we eat everyday) and I had my heart set on salad. Then there was the phone call and I had to change my plans. I decided I’d grab a moto and head to Russian market; pick up something to eat/head back to my apartment for money, and head over to assist this person.
When I got to Russian market I sprang off the moto and looked for my co-workers. As I crossed the road— in the slow, snakelike pattern in which one can only cross the road in Cambodia, I saw her but only too late. Or maybe she saw me first.... The point is she collided right into me and I looked down and felt the push of the motorcycle right up against my right thigh. Let me tell you, GOOD thing I was wearing pants. As I flew sideways and crash-landed on my butt, my brain tried to catch-up with what had just happened…
[Thought process]
Did a moto just hit me?
Uuuhh OMG what if I broke my tailbone! I can’t get up... I’m going to die!!!!
Why is everybody staring at me and nobody is helping me up? Cambodian’s are brutal man, they leave road kill to fend for itself.
Looking up, I felt my palms burning on the black asphalt but simply stared straight at a foreigner I had seen right before I crossed. I think he sensed that all I wanted was for someone to help me up, and this forty-something family man left his kids to come rescue me from the middle of the road.
“Just put your arms around my neck honey.”
I think that’s when I started to tear. As I crossed over to the shaded corner, a little Cambodian couple offered me the tiniest little plastic chair to sit in, and I really started to stifle back those tears then.
“Do you have everything, your purse? The girl is gone, they just get scared,” The man explained. Was he apologizing for her? I’ve been here long enough to not expect anything back. Luckily when I was hit, I had miraculously managed to clutch my little wallet the entire time. Usually road kill lose their precious goods- backpacks, laptops, purses, limbs, the works.
Anyways.
The man disappeared and the little Cambodian couple noticing my state of shock pulled out a little red container of Tiger Balm and the woman began holding my hand and spreading it over my bare arms. Note: I had no scratches on my arms, just incredible butt pain. Tears started streaming out. Ugh.
Usually I never cry so clearly I’m in shock. I process this and try to decide what to do—food? I want to throw up. Help that person I was supposed to be helping? I need help. I began to tear again and then the American guy showed up on his motorcycle, after dropping off his kids. He offered to take me to his shop where I could sit. “Actually, do you mind taking me to my flat?” I wanted to go cry somewhere. Plus, I couldn’t stop shaking. “No problem, honey.” Awe, Americans are so nice.
When he dropped me off, I ran up the stairs and started bawling my eyes out. You know when you just need a good cry (or your mom)? This was the moment. I cried as I made tea, I cried as I made spaghetti. I even cried while slicing carrots and then into my bowl of noodles. I swear I broke the record on senseless crying. Between sobs, and incredible pain, which I tried to sedate with Celebrex, I got a phone call from Bijan:
“Wheeeere are you?” “Um, I’m fine (sniff), I’m home actually (sniff).” “Are you okay? You sound ill.”
“I got hit by a moto- but (sniff) I’M FINE. I’ll be in the office in an hour.” “Fucking hell, are you alright?” I love the British. Great respectable accents in moments of crisis. Naturally, I laughed and this made me feel 100% better. Minus the pain in my “arse”.
After washing myself, checking that no major damage was done— just nice purple bruising on my thigh to add to my collection of Cambodian-acquired beauty marks— I headed out the door to run my errand. Ah life. Sometimes you don’t see things coming and even if you do, it’s too late. BAM. Just get up again. Now if anyone knows where I can get the Girl Scout patch for getting hit by a moto and surviving, let me know…
[Thought process]
Did a moto just hit me?
Uuuhh OMG what if I broke my tailbone! I can’t get up... I’m going to die!!!!
Why is everybody staring at me and nobody is helping me up? Cambodian’s are brutal man, they leave road kill to fend for itself.
Looking up, I felt my palms burning on the black asphalt but simply stared straight at a foreigner I had seen right before I crossed. I think he sensed that all I wanted was for someone to help me up, and this forty-something family man left his kids to come rescue me from the middle of the road.
“Just put your arms around my neck honey.”
I think that’s when I started to tear. As I crossed over to the shaded corner, a little Cambodian couple offered me the tiniest little plastic chair to sit in, and I really started to stifle back those tears then.
“Do you have everything, your purse? The girl is gone, they just get scared,” The man explained. Was he apologizing for her? I’ve been here long enough to not expect anything back. Luckily when I was hit, I had miraculously managed to clutch my little wallet the entire time. Usually road kill lose their precious goods- backpacks, laptops, purses, limbs, the works.
Anyways.
The man disappeared and the little Cambodian couple noticing my state of shock pulled out a little red container of Tiger Balm and the woman began holding my hand and spreading it over my bare arms. Note: I had no scratches on my arms, just incredible butt pain. Tears started streaming out. Ugh.
Usually I never cry so clearly I’m in shock. I process this and try to decide what to do—food? I want to throw up. Help that person I was supposed to be helping? I need help. I began to tear again and then the American guy showed up on his motorcycle, after dropping off his kids. He offered to take me to his shop where I could sit. “Actually, do you mind taking me to my flat?” I wanted to go cry somewhere. Plus, I couldn’t stop shaking. “No problem, honey.” Awe, Americans are so nice.
When he dropped me off, I ran up the stairs and started bawling my eyes out. You know when you just need a good cry (or your mom)? This was the moment. I cried as I made tea, I cried as I made spaghetti. I even cried while slicing carrots and then into my bowl of noodles. I swear I broke the record on senseless crying. Between sobs, and incredible pain, which I tried to sedate with Celebrex, I got a phone call from Bijan:
“Wheeeere are you?” “Um, I’m fine (sniff), I’m home actually (sniff).” “Are you okay? You sound ill.”
“I got hit by a moto- but (sniff) I’M FINE. I’ll be in the office in an hour.” “Fucking hell, are you alright?” I love the British. Great respectable accents in moments of crisis. Naturally, I laughed and this made me feel 100% better. Minus the pain in my “arse”.
After washing myself, checking that no major damage was done— just nice purple bruising on my thigh to add to my collection of Cambodian-acquired beauty marks— I headed out the door to run my errand. Ah life. Sometimes you don’t see things coming and even if you do, it’s too late. BAM. Just get up again. Now if anyone knows where I can get the Girl Scout patch for getting hit by a moto and surviving, let me know…
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