where is my religion?

I went to an Evangelical Church this morning. I guess you could say I went because my roommate was going, but it was really more out of curiosity. In the back of my mind I could hear the crooning coming out of Evangelical churches in Guatemala and I wanted to see if it was the same here.   Three steps into the air -conditioned worship area and well… no crooning. It was by far the best singing I have yet encountered in Cambodia. Plasma screens with Jesus songs written in Khmer and a rock band center stage. I didn’t know church could be this fun. Don’t worry Mom… I didn’t convert over to Evangelism, all the singing, clapping, and head banging didn’t win me over. Maybe if there had been crowd-surfing….

Just Kidding. Putting aside how completely nuts the thing was, I do have to say this… On a purely cultural level, there need to be more things like this for Cambodians. I don’t know what they are preaching, but there was natural sense of community there that is missing from the general society.  Maybe we need to get the monks some rock band guitars.

what September brought

I can’t sleep again. It could be because I have a bad cold/cough or it could be something else. Through my half-open window I can hear another woman coughing into the night as well. That’s the thing about aluminum siding pushed up against other buildings. You can pretty much here everything from the tele to your neighbor’s various illnesses. How is it possible to catch a cold in 80-degree weather?  Maybe she knows. The Cambodian doctor said it wasn’t bronchitis, just a bad cough. He then went about prescribing three different types of pills all the while conveying the historic importance of the “golden Cambodian land” and its attractive lack of catastrophic weather disasters that draw tourists in. I wonder if they teach 'How to Not Scare Western Tourists 101' in Cambodian Med-School.  Seriously though… I felt like I was listening to a commercial for Cambodia the blessed land instead of a medical practitioner. Anyways, I really need to get one of those mouth-mask coverings you usually see stereotypical Japanese people wear when the Asian-Flu descends upon their city. People here wear those all the time when they are in transport. I should probably get over it and just strap one of those blue flimsy things on. I spent the first five years of my life getting sick from Mexico City smog and twenty years later I’m fighting to clear my lungs of Phnom Penh. Perhaps I should reconsider moving to cleaner, greener pastures.

Two weeks ago I visited such a pasture outside of the city. Actually, it was more of a soccer field, and a really muddy one at that. My flatmate Nora’s NGO whose name continuously escapes me, organized a Futbol 4 Peace soccer tournament for kids, with teams from various “eviction” settlements fighting for a giant plastic gold trophy. It reminded me of my youth soccer league days, the only difference being there were no girls playing and all the players took the field sans cleets.How beautiful-- just the bare foot to the ball—futbol at its most basic. 

 

While I watched from underneath a small shelter, hiding well away from the sun, the kids ran around in that scorching heat, trading tee-shirts when the subs went in, rinsing their feet off with cool water, and cheering on fellow team mates with white plastic-bucket drums.

  I really wish there were more events like these around here. It makes me feel a little bit more hopeful—a feeling completely absent last Wednesday.

 

That’s right- the monstrosity that is Bavet’s Titan King Casino completely robbed that cheery positive NGO feeling out of me when my boss and I took a promotional marketing video (pre-production) surveying trip to visit the gaudy Chinese-built palace along the eastern border with Vietnam. One trip to Casinoland is all it takes to understand the complete misdirection of investment in a developing country.  I suppose I shan’t disclose too many details, but let me tell you that if in this world I ever build anything, it will not be a casino, and if for some ludicrous reason I do decide to build a casino, I will make every effort to make sure that the builders are not Chinese, that they have taken proper measurements of all doors and doorways, I refuse carpet installations in hot temperate climates, and I employ a proper accountant. I felt really bad for the young eager, chain-smoking five-coffees in three hours, new Malaysian manager that showed us around and confessed every detail about his first 22-days in hell (on the job) to us.  Poor guy.  Phenomenal challenge though for any person willing to subject themselves to Cambodian business politics and dealing with Chinese sub-contractors— equally phenomenal challenge for the creation of a 30-minute regional marketing video on this place. 

Photo snapped as we drove away- proof that the golden monstrosity exists. 

 

 

falling off the development bandwagon

I confess. I’m almost at the point of hitting my six-month mark in-country and I’ve been hiding out from Cambodia the last two weeks. The heat, the dust, the garbage, it’s getting to me, not to mention the work politics, the country politics, the same conversations with Westerners...  

The interviews with the young rape victims are the worst though.  They make me feel like a useless observer offered a peek into the horrendous past of an innocent girl in exchange for nothing. I can’t comfort them in their own language; I can’t provide psychological treatment; I can’t even operate the damn camera. I just watch from a distance until the director translates what she’s said later. Seven men in one night… gang raped… sold… brothels here and there… uncle abused… pregnant from young western male…left behind. I hear some of this and more on a recent visit to the Somaly Mam Centre tucked away down a country-like road, underneath a bridge, past the banana stand, down the lane where a lady swats flies away from old meat, around the house with the naked kids playing by the dump in the yard. It could be anywhere in Cambodia really. The stories the girls tell could be told anywhere in the world really, except that I’m listening to them here and they tend to be shockingly brutal crimes.  The rehabilitation center is actually quite nice though. Its open-air buildings and garden area make it a welcoming environment for girls that have been sexually abused and trafficked. I keep staring at the black concrete and marble signs out front detailing such and such funds donated by Queen Latifah and Barbara Walters.  I say the names out loud. I wonder if signer and the reporter have ever been here. 

Someone later complains that the center claims to be “saving girls” from these destitute situations, therefore immediately placing them in a category of the “unsaved”. There is no right answer.  That’s the other thing that is getting to me. The NGOs, the donor-funded projects, the rules and regulations tied to aid meant to good that could actually do more harm.  Everyone judges, everyone re-evaluates, everyone complains. I think I’ve learned that development can’t be imposed. Kind of a silly revelation really. Makes me think of old polisci theories on neo-colonialism. But whatever. Nothing is perfect. I don't really believe that corporate social responsibility, social entrepreneurship, non-profits, or UN or inter-governmental organizations have the right answer. Am I a cynic or am I jaded?  Maybe both, then again if those different entities didn't try to do something than we'd be right back at zero. I'm still of the belief that its the home government that must do all it can. Initiatives must come from local people. Not an earth-shattering conclusion at all.  Then again, when the prime minister gives a talk on how much power he has and his disapproval of OK condom adverts on TV at a Ministry of Tourism conference, I realize why all the externally funded organizations stick around. In the end, I still think what Somaly Mam has done is amazing. We can all judge and point out the flaws of the organizations we deal with, but that doesn't get us anywhere. 

http://www.somaly.org/

walking to where?

Cracked, chipped, cut -- the lady mountain city's sidewalks sigh, raise and fall flat in uneven segmentation.  Phnom Penh applies an uneven concealer of clothing scraps, cigarette butts and shattered colored glass on the bruised and broken, plastic-bottle littered pavement lining Preah Monivong.  It's inhabitants rudely camp out atop its wrinkled corners, signaling to those that daan-leng (walk/stroll)  along its surfaces, eagerly offering to sweep them away on Daelim motos or tuk-tuks.  

A small almost-inaudible "click" announces the direction I take every time my brown Beautiful tiny round-heeled sandals (visit st. 143 Beautiful Shoes) touch this crooked pedestrian terrain.  My arms occasionally swing upward, balancing my body as it squeezes past SUV and Toyota invaders accosting this unkempt path. At each potholed section I make an effort not to become Miss Trip-y, tip-toeing carefully over and around the jagged breaks. 

The steps I take lead me to insignificant places-- restaurants, copy shops, cross-walks-- yet, each time the misaligned cement takes me on a journey back to similar, occasionally tree-shaded strolls in Mexico City's La Condesa, and for that I love the rutted paths in Phnom Penh, for the repeated short resurfacing of home.

What would you do if you were in Asia?

What would you do if you were in Asia?  

Living in Asia myself, I've taken the opportunity to explore and try out things I would have never had the opportunity to do back home either at my age, or at all. Feel free to let me know what you would do if you were in Asia (aside from travel and taking a cooking class), as I'm always looking for ideas...

In the meantime, for one, I've taken on freelance writing. I'm a writer/ reporter/journalist (whatever you want to call it) for Asia Life Guide, an English-language lifestyle magazine in Phnom Penh catered towards expats. I write reviews, vox pops, cover events, and features based on what my editor wants for each issue. The job has led me into expat worlds I would have never entered-- private international schools, homes, restaurant kitchens, and on occasion, a variety of events taking place throughout the city.   

The magazine website  isn't updated yet, but here is one such "event" I covered (see link).   Pictures on this blog are of another event-- the Phare Ponleau Selpak Circus that performed at The Chinese House last weekend.

http://www.asialifeguide.com/News-Events/I-Am-What-I-Am.html?-events=

Oh "development"

"Adventure Capitalist" Jim Rogers wrote in his book that you learn more about a country from a hooker than from a politician.  I don't plan on befriending hookers, but the man has a point. What better way to know the ills of society than by speaking to someone living in it.  I've met people that work for the United States government aid organization, USAID.  They are on assignment pushing paper while living at places like The Himawari. It's a five star resort. That's right fellow American citizens, your tax paying dollars are going to a good cause-- swimming pools and rooms service. No doubt their work is contributing to the "development" of the country though. Somehow I don't think they come across too many "hookers" or Khmer people that actually show them what's going on in this country. Then again, back home we define America by what is going on Wall Street, Capitol Hill, Hollywood and our Facebook Feed.  We don't walk to the corner of a city and chill out with the homeless guy (unless you are Sebastian). 

Cambodia Caricatures

I've decided that there are 5 types of Expats in Cambodia:

1. Those who spend time shuffling back and forth in tuk-tuks between spas, restaurants, nightclubs and the airport.  Their interactions with locals is limited to their cook, driver, and house cleaner.

2. Those who work for non-profit organizations, schools, or businesses that allow them more interaction with Khmer colleagues, students, and friends. They take language lessons, travel out to the province once in a while, and enjoy a good Khmer meal now and then. We (Because I feel like I could possibly fall into this category more so than the rest) also like massages, coffee shops, and cheap DVDs. 

3. Those who prefer the local and avoid the fellow expatriate as much as possible. They tend to enjoy entering the dark dens of unknown worlds, or at least have the guts to disappear into the slums, brothels, or provinces. Sometimes they are Mormon.

4. Rich Asians that send their kids to private schools were they study in English instead of Chinese or Korean. 

5. Nigerians.   I met my first in-country Nigerian the other day at the market. His name was Eddie.  In between the rows of clothes stalls at Russian Market, he fulfilled all stereotypes involving asking my name, number, and address AND he was even wearing a Manchester United Football jersey. I half contemplated asking him his number and address and whether his occupation involved computer scams or drug deals. 

I hate generalizing, but really that's it. Five types of expats, all living, breathing, and spending in a Prime Minister Hun Sen approved expat bubble.