A Final Word... (Part 2)

Well... I fell off a ladder Thursday morning. It was pretty exciting, in a negative sort of way. My awesome boss took me to the doctor to get mended - he was the measure of cool under pressure, my boss that is, not the doctor. The doctor asked twice if I was sure I wasn't in a motorcycle accident, as though those are two things one might confuse. "Let's see... I think I fell off a ladder, but it could have been a motorcycle accident. I'm just not sure." Basically, a fence broke my fall but scraped all the skin off the front of my right leg. Since walking hurts, I've got lots of time to sit and do nothing, and since it's keeping me up this early in the morning I decided to finish Part 2 of this note.

I'll be less long-winded than in the last one, at least I hope so. Let's see...I left off having covered Cambodia in general, the educational system, and the fact that I had little to do in the first couple months. I promised elephants and soldiers and such, but I was just kidding. Here's more of the story...

I mentioned that I'm a Christian and want spiritual wholeness for Cambodians beyond just economic and social prosperity. I'll clarify that a little more. I wanted and continue to want Cambodians to know Jesus, not because it's the American thing to do or because I think they'll be better people if they're more like me. Jesus is just as much theirs as He is mine. He was Asian after all. And that's the great thing about the gospel - God threw open the doors to all nations in His creation. He's calling His creation back to what we were meant to be so we can be fully human again, fully free to live and love and be at one with nature and each other and the One who created us. Everywhere I've been on the planet I get a sense that different people of different backgrounds and cultures and social statuses are all longing in one way or another for things to be better. There's a general sense among all people that things aren't the way they should really be. "The tension is here, between who you are and who you could be, between how it is and how it should be," to quote the song.

Nowhere is this more evident than in a country like Cambodia where things have been devastated by violence and greed. When you share the good news of Jesus in a place like Cambodia, you don't even have to really explain much. It's kind of like 1 Corinthians chapter one that speaks of "the foolishness of the message." Just when you think that you have to break out the metaphysical arguments for the existence of God, you soon realize that people are responding joyfully to the simple news that there is a God who created them and loves them, and that His Son Jesus came to make things right. One woman in Cambodia said once, "I always knew there had to be a God like that. I've been waiting to find out about Him." Now that's good news.

I think we in America don't realize what it is to be spiritually free. It's all sort of intellectual for us. In Cambodia freedom through Christ means freedom from the endless struggle to please spirits who might curse you and your family, freedom from the intricate calendars of Chinese mysticism, freedom from the daily grind of trying to be better than you are so that you might have a better shot in the next life. Also, for many on the lowest rung of the economic ladder it means freedom from complete hopelessness and despair.

My boss at the university is a good example of some of this. He was so wrapped up in the Chinese zodiac, combined with duties to the Buddhist temple and to his dead ancestors. In conversation it emerged from time to time that he planned and structured everything in his life around the zodiac and the perceived luck it would bring. He used to tell me that if he respected these things enough then his dreams for a private business would come true. While I was there he got engaged and then married, but all the ceremonies were structured around the lunar calendar down to the day. His wife's birth year was what led him to her, and he also choses his friends accordingly. In fact, he wouldn't do anything with me outside of work until he learned that my birth year was favorable for a "lucky friendship." One day he randomly asked what year I was born. "1983..." I replied. He just nodded and continued on at his desk. The next day he came up to my desk and said, "Oh, Bryant! I have some good news. You told me about your year of birth. So I checked to make sure, and we can have a lucky relationship." It was another one of those "smile and nod" moments. I mean, seriously, what do you say??? He would fret to no end if he missed a visit to the temple, or if he got sick he would tell me he had to pay more respect to his ancestors. I used to listen politely and respectfully, but sorrowfully. Such bondage... He would ask me, "Do you follow the stars? You know, Bryant, they have a real influence on our lives." I could only say I didn't follow them but they did tell me a lot about God and how big He is to have created all of them. We were respectful of each other and developed a great friendship. In emails he still calls me his "best partner", which I think is Cambodian English for "best coworker." I love him a great deal and want so much more freedom for him and his wife and their new baby that's on the way - the pregnancy, he told me, was scheduled for a specific month for the best possible luck.

What's sad to see is that so many well-intentioned Christians have gone to countries like Cambodia and replaced one sort of bondage for another in the name of Christ. So many people hear the gospel and rejoice at the good news of freedom and abundant life - imagine a dehydrated man lost in the desert who comes across a well, if you're the type that likes metaphors. Many American Christians come in, though, and say, "Well, in order to really be a Christian you're gonna have to straighten up and build a church building and sing songs like this and behave like x, y & z, and if you don't then you just aren't good enough for Jesus." Now, of course they don't really say it like that, but for all practical purposes they do. I've cringed to see missionaries, as if from Mt. Sinai, basically policing poor Cambodian Christians who want to follow Jesus because they know He loves them, but they just can't seem to "get it right." What was that part about removing the two-by-four in your own eye before you pick at the splinter in your neighbor's eye??? Man, that's a hard lesson. Shame on us for binding the people of Cambodia with a law of our own making.

Of course that's only a small number among a greater number of Christians who really want to serve Cambodia. And I mention it only to tell by contrast my view of what it means to share Christ in Cambodia. The last time I checked, God is perfectly capable of convicting people of their sin without my help, and Lord knows I've got enough of my own to occupy my thoughts. You do too. And it's really refreshing and freeing to know we can leave that up to Him, isn't it?

I think about what the angels told the shepherds at the birth of Christ, "Glory to God in the highest; peace on Earth and good will towards all men." Why? The Prince of Peace was born. The apostles - Christ's commissioned missionaries - often addressed letters with salutations of grace and peace. It's the gospel. Grace - goodness - has come to you. Be at peace. Be at peace with God and with yourself and your neighbor. It may not mean much to us even though it should, but it certainly does to those in a war-torn country, to those who live in spiritual fear, and political paranoia and the despair of poverty.

I don't think I ever really understood the power of the gospel until I saw those it had changed in Cambodia. One of my students was a pastor's son. There were a handful of Christian students at the university, and this particular guy was the most outspoken of the bunch. He took a liking to me, and I grew pretty fond of him. He's a good guy. One time I went with him to visit his home village a couple hours north of the capital where we our university is. His pastor father began talking to me about his personal story, and once again, as so many times before, I found myself humbled and speechless. This man who is now a leader in his community, in and outside of the church, was once a Khmer rouge soldier. I've never seen a look on a man's face quite this the one he wore as he told me in careful generalities of the things he did. "Even before I knew about God, I knew it was horrible to do these things. I had no peace. But when I heard about Jesus I knew God could forgive me."

In Cambodians over the age of 35 you have two groups: Those who were soldiers in the Khmer Rouge regime and those whose families died at the hands of the regime. Often those two even overlap, and, horribly enough, there are those responsible for the deaths of family members and friends. There's so much pent-up hatred and hurt, yet the peace of Christ has made forgiveness possible, reminiscent of the testimonies of Corrie ten Boom, Elizabeth Elliot, and Steve Saint. In a remarkable story of the gospel's power for reconciliation, a former political prisoner of the Khmer Rouge came to know Christ and made it his mission to reach his former captors. Just a handful of years ago he braved the last stronghold of the Khmer Rough in Cambodia's mountainous Northwest border with Thailand. He was able to share the same message of peace and goodwill with the same ones responsible for tens of thousands of deaths. They themselves report receiving such good news with a certain sense of relief, and today that area of the nation is starting to see a peace it hasn't known in decades. Over 70% of the Christians in churches in that particular corner are ex Khmer Rouge.

Beyond redemption from political violence, many Cambodian Christians today are displaying the peace of Christ in the midst of personal persecution. One story that still brings tears to my eyes is about a pastor living in a community that was staunchly opposed to Christianity. Usually, Cambodian Christians can meet without much societal rejection. Some communities, however, view Christianity as a rejection of traditional practices. Going back to the spirit worship I mentioned earlier, this perceived rejection would mean that the spirits of that community would be angered by those Christians who don't make the necessary offerings at temple and in spirit houses. Sometimes this leads to violence towards followers of Christ. This particular pastor was reaching out with a spiritual message but was also promoting community development. A local group of men saw this as a challenge to their power in that community and decided to harass the pastor and his family. He was beaten in front of his wife several times, their house was set on fire once, and in the height of the violence, while his young son was walking home from school, they buried a meat cleaver in his back. What would you do? What would I do? I can't really say, if I'm honest. This man continued to carry the same message of peace to those men and the rest of the community, and the gospel spread with great power. We know Jesus said, "Love your enemies. Bless those who curse you." It's rather shocking to realize He meant it.

The stories like that pile up. One more before I end this... I mentioned working with a group called Kone Kmeng. Every six months or so, Kone Kmeng sponsors an event they call "Children's Prayer Movement." I've always been prone to distrust anything with the word "movement" in the title, but the Spirit chastised me with a quick remembrance of that little story in the Bible where Jesus ignores the religious folks around him so some little children can come see Him. Imagine a rough, burly Middle Eastern carpenter with a thick beard sitting on the grass playing with kids. Then he turns to the religious folks and says, "You better be more like them if you want in the kingdom." Another time in the middle of another religious debate about who's the most religious Jesus put a child in the middle of the group and said, "You want in the kingdom you gotta be like this child, and if you keep a child away from me you'd be better off dead." So in light of the importance Jesus placed on children, Kone Kmeng decided it would be a great idea to get children together to pray. I'm really ashamed to admit I was a bit skeptical at first...really ashamed, actually. It turned out to be one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had. The adults organize the boring details like food and music and what not, but the children are left to lead through personal stories about God's grace in their life, and in small groups on big sheets of paper they would write down things they wanted to pray about. Here's a brief sample and I'll include a picture at the end of this note:

1. Please let my family know about You.
2. I need air in my bicycle tire.
3. Please stop my father and mother from drinking alcohol.
4. Please give me school supplies.
5. Please give my village a school.
6. Help my friend's father stop drinking alcohol.
7. Please make me smart in school.
8. Please help me remember Bible verses.

Jesus said to humble ourselves like children, and, well, there it is. At the end of this time of writing, the children prayed in groups and then prayed over the adults in the group. We in turn had a chance to pray for them. During this last time, a little girl broke out in violent sobs. She was crying out to Jesus to make her father stop drinking. Apparently it was leading to a lot of violence in her family. Then, like nothing I've seen in the church here in America, the other little girls surrounded her and hugged her and prayed with her while the rest of us sang some hymns. I'm not sure what others were thinking, but I was praying for a heart that could be moved like this more often.

I'll be writing some more stories later. In the meantime, if you think about it during some downtime, please pray for these things I've mentioned here, for the continued reconciliation in Cambodia and for continued strength for those there proclaiming peace.


Bryant

A Final Word... (Part 1)

Dear friends and family, I want to write and thank everyone who walked with me through the entire process of serving in Cambodia. Well, even if you jumped into the process towards the end :-) , you have my deepest gratitude. It's almost surreal to look back and take in what transpired in my life from beginning to end, but one thing is certain - I couldn't have made it without all of you, whether by monetary support or prayer or letters of encouragement or care packages or just the daily Facebook updates and discourse that made some of the lonely evenings (when I actually had internet) a little more bearable. For all of this, thank you so much. Special gratitude also goes out to my church family at Grace Community. Y'all are the bomb dot com, no lie! This is "The Final Word..." because I wanted to kind of sum up the year as I see it now, looking back. At this point I've been back in the U.S. for a solid month, and I've finally had time to sort of "calm down" and collect my thoughts in a meaningful way that, hopefully, makes sense to others. It's so, so difficult while on the field to communicate all the little daily things that, at the time, are so meaningful. One thing turns into another and another and soon it's hard to remember what was what, but hindsight, I've learned, can provide a little clarity. So, with that in mind, here are the most memorable points; please enjoy any silliness for what it is, and claim the acts of service as your own because you were half of the equation. I went to Cambodia because of a burden the Lord put on my heart for that country years and years ago. People always ask, "Why Cambodia?" But to me that's like asking someone, "Why's your favorite color blue???" I dunno... I grew up around Cambodians, went to school and church with them, and cried when I heard their stories of exodus from a beautiful homeland torn apart by communism. I was genuinely humbled to be around them, and, finally, was invited to visit their country. The Var family, one of my favorite families outside of my own, took me in and shared their culture and time and experiences with me. Their story is a remarkable one that never ceases to amaze me when I think about it. So through them Cambodia entered my life, and I became all the better for it. And after my first visit I knew this place had stolen a part of my heart. The Cambodian people are truly some of the best in the world. Obviously I'm biased, but you can ask any person that visits - relief worker or tourist alike - and you'll hear the same thing. Every year people travel there and get hooked and find ways to stay or come back. In the midst of such an ancient culture that values family and hospitality and hard work, it boggles the mind how it could be destroyed by such violent ideology as happened in the Seventies. A quick history lesson will reveal the hand America played in that tragedy, both through action and inaction, and politics and patriotism aside I felt a sense of personal responsibility as an American to at least do something to help restore some of what was lost. As a Christian, I really desire to see Cambodia's economic recovery and educational development coupled with spiritual freedom and wholeness. The only way to really do something about any of this is to go, so I went. The first couple months were hard. Leaving family and friends wasn't as easy as I wanted it to be. The first month away I spent in Hanoi doing training, and then the first two months in Cambodia were structureless because, as we found out upon arrival, university wasn't taking in until November. That made transition so much harder. I changed houses twice before settling in on campus. Not a huge deal... But adjusting to another culture seems to magnify every little stress in life. The hardest part was trying to find some way to be useful other than just feeding the mosquitoes. Remarkably enough, the door opened for me to teach some Spanish classes at an after-school club. It was...well...it was weird...but fun. During that transition time I also connected with a Christian relief group - Kone Kmeng - that really blessed with me opportunities for service that continued throughout the year. They basically work through local churches in communities that have the most need. Specifically they try to intervene in the lives of children who are at risk of poverty, neglect, and abuse. The sex trade is rampant in this part of the world. Cambodia remains one of sixteen countries blacklisted by the US and other nations for sex trafficking. Kone Kmeng has stepped in on a grass-roots level to help solve this social problem by equipping and educating Christian communities around Cambodia. I was blessed to be a part of their work through newsletter writing and some other media projects. Now that I'm back here in the States I'm still able to help and hope to do so in greater ways in the future. Once university took in, I and my teammates moved on campus and began our teaching. I'm going to make a harsh statement here but I'll explain it - working in the Cambodian educational system is like being center act in a three-ring circus. To begin with, many of our students hailed from very rural corners of the nation and as such had never seen a foreigner. Combine this with the fact that there were only three non-Asians, i.e. us, on campus, and it made for very long walks through gauntlets of stares and hushed tones every day....literally until the last day I was there. My teammate Ben and I used to speculate as to what they might be thinking, and we discussed strategies for dealing with our newfound celebrity. I think we were both a little relieved to discover each of us felt equally ridiculous. "Do we smile? Do we return the stares? Do we just keep our heads down?" I tried all three, sometimes in combination. Sometimes for a diversion I would do weird things like smile at every third stare, and my favorite way to walk the gauntlet was to imagine little thought bubbles with what they might be thinking - "Hey, get a load of this guy!" The best was when I'd see a group staring at me and then one of them would turn to the others, followed by muffled laughter. When I say circus act, I mean it. As for the administration, schedules are more like suggestions, assemblies are an excuse for The Powers That Be to blow hot air about academic excellence and border conflicts to the north, and mandatory forms in three languages turn out to be completely unnecessary once you've taken two hours to fill them out. As for the students, well... Let's just say attendance is more like a hobby for most (I mean, why go to class when you can play soccer???) What we call "cheating" Cambodian students call "helping", and boy do they like helping each other. There was always that five percent that seemed to care about at least some of the things we said... They made it worthwhile. I can probably sum up the educational system with these two stories: One day I was complaining to my Cambodian boss about all the cheating. He reassured me that this must not be allowed. "Take their test away if they cheat!" he exclaimed. So...well...I did. The student-victim was warned......five times.....didn't listen......I took the test. He threw his bookbag out the window and stormed out in a rant. The rest of the students looked put off. I was pleased. Then I realized they were stunned with me. It was like, "Hey! White guy! We're trying to take a test here!" When I relayed these happenings to my boss, he looked sad and started shaking his head. "Oh Bryant," he said. "We musn't take their test but only inform them that we will take it." Did I miss something? "But you said to take the test..." "Yes, but we have to understand their situation. Sometimes they cannot know all the answers because it is so difficult for them. So we just warn them." Moments like this...well... I didn't know what to say then and I still don't. Another Moment of Excellence in Cambodian academics occurred around the time of Cambodian New Year. It's a three-day holiday in April. Keep in mind we already had a holiday for January 1st, and then another for Chinese New Year. Now with the Cambodian New Year, it's no holds barred. Ok, so there's three days on the calendar. The school was supposed to take ten days off, and I kept asking my boss, "When will we break for the holiday?" His reply: "Oh Bryant, maybe a week or two before the new year. I don't know. We have to see when the students will stop coming." Sure. Whatever. "So when will we start classes again?" A logical question. "Oh Bryant, maybe it will be a long time before they return to school." Hmmmm.... "Ok, so when do you think?" I felt pushy. "No one is exactly sure, but I will inform you, ok?" Turns out we had the entire month off. My brief journey in Cambodian academics saw all sorts of weirdness from questions about 50 Cent lyrics to classes not showing up because of rain (it rains every day for half the year) to being told I was the most beautiful teacher a student ever had (he was particularly enthralled) to playing American football in class (you gotta get creative sometimes). But I said I would explain my statement, and here it goes: Despite the circus-like conditions, you have to consider that these folks had everything, and I mean everything, taken from them just thirty years ago. All educational institutions were emptied or destroyed, the educated were executed in the hundreds of thousands (today the highest number of the best-education Cambodians live in either the US, Australia, or France), eighty percent of the population was relocated, families separated, forced labor, communist indoctrination... Paranoia and fear dominated the psyche of the people for years. When it was over, a quarter of the population was dead, and the rest were left to make something of the rubble. Things don't change over night. In America we can't imagine that sort of nightmare. Not that we remember it, but even our own revolution, bloody though it was, was fought on the battlefield while our social infrastructure and ideals and values remained, strengthened and even defined by the fight. For the last century we've fought wars only on foreign soil, and today we have no idea...haven't got a clue what it's like to have our way of life seriously threatened much less destroyed. So if things were a circus over there, if they got a little weird, I could at least see the Grace in there even being a university at all. Rebuilding takes time. Ok folks. If you've persevered through this, God bless you. I'll wrap up the rest of the year with specifics in part 2. I think I've adequately set the stage for the rest of the story at any rate. What's next? Elephants, soldiers, drunken tourists... Stay tuned. Grace and peace, Bryant

The rest of the story...

I need to finish telling you about the rest of my beach weekend so I can start writing about other things that have been going on...

It was one of those trips where all things come together in such a way that you have to realize, on some level, things don't just happen randomly. My very first hour on the beach, after securing a room, I went for a walk. I try to avoid tourists at all cost, especially those at the beach. Tourists in Cambodia generally look like they've washed up from a shipwreck. Just think Jack Sparrow and you're not far off, and many have the bodily aromas to match the appearance. Don't get me wrong.......some are nice. Anyway...

I went for a walk seeking solitude and a place to eat, hoping I could marry those two goals. I landed in a little hut-on-the-beach establishment called PURPLE. It may sound like a shady name, but Cambodians often use English is strange yet innocent ways - I didn't think anything of it. Had it been in the States I would have kept walking. The place looked great - papasan chairs on the beach, large umbrellas, a nice menu and pleasing smells wafting from the kitchen, and no white people... I plopped down and ordered a plate of fried noodles. Quickly, two Cambodian girls I assumed to be employees were at my table asking questions - the usual, "What is your job? Are you married? How old are you? Did you come here to find a wife? What do you think of Cambodian girls? how big is your salary?" They enjoyed my Khmer-speaking in much the same way one might enjoy a five-year-old's piano recital. "Awwww! Isn't that cute!"

I ate my noodles and ignored embarrassing personal questions for about 30 minutes. Eventually, one girl left and the other started to get that look in her eye, so I feigned sleepiness and split. She made me promise to return that night, so I did. It was the best thing I ever did.

When I came back that night, having rested on the beach all day, I was quickly introduced to the proprietor of PURPLE. He looked like any other Cambodian 30-something male, wearing dress pants and a Mao-ish buttondown. "You're at the beach, people! Lose the flat-front slacks and live a little!" Anyway, this guy had been informed that there was a white, Khmer-speaking guest from earlier, and he put my language ability to the test. After an hour of question-answer time with yours truly, he was more than satisfied and even told me I was the best Khmer-speaking foreigner he had ever met. The French, he said, were horrible Khmer speakers. I decided at that moment I liked him.

This guy, Sophiep, the shop owner, turned out to be a soldier. In that first night we met he taught me about soldier/military vocabulary, including "paratrooper" which turns out to be his profession. The idea of Cambodians with Cambodian equipment jumping out of Cambodian planes flown by Cambodian pilots is the stuff of nightmares, yet Sophiep showed me video and apparently has made hundreds of jumps safely. I never knew the Khmer military had a paratroop division. Sophiep has promised me I can come watch, maybe even fly up in the plane. I'll have to pray about that one...

Sophiep is like any other secular individual in our own society. He's after money and happiness. After the getting-to-know-you phase was over, he wanted to know who I was sleeping with while at the beach. This isn't so uncommon a question among men here. Sex, and very often promiscuous sex, is just a given, and Cambodians see that most of the foreigners here are here for the easy sex. I told him I was sleeping alone. He wanted to know if I have a girlfriend. To avoid being put in the frequent and awkward position of "Hey, will you marry my sister?" I told him that I have a girlfriend in the States. Though not exactly true, it's easier that way, I've learned. He wanted to know if I missed sleeping with her. "I don't sleep with her," I replied. "What? Why not?" he demanded. "Because I'm waiting until I get married. This is God's plan for our happiness." He didn't seem to relate but was impressed none-the-less. He also assured me he could get me a women should I need one and wouldn't tell my girlfriend. "Thank you for your kindness." Also, he wanted me to know that the girl from that morning was a "taxi girl," Cambodian slang for "prostitute." She apparently was searching for new clientele on the beach. "Be careful..." he told me solemnly

Our talks turned to topics of salary and material possessions. He was shocked to learn I don't make a salary but volunteer. He wanted to know how I live. I told him I live on the charity of people in the United States who give so they can help me help Cambodia in its educational development. He was really shocked. Now, when he introduces me to people he says, "This is my American friend. He works for free in Cambodia because he has a good heart and wants to help. He has no salary." Every time without fail....

While at the beach I had breakfast with Sophiep every morning. He and I share a passion for Cambodian noodle soup and iced coffee. It's $1.50 worth of pure goodness. Sophiep would get a coffee, eat, and smoke three cigarettes back-to-back while updating me on the demanding life of being a soldier and shop-owner. I was surprised to find out he has two homes - one near his shop at the beach and one in Phnom Penh that just so happens to be ten minutes from where I live. More about his houses in a later blog...

My daily ritual included breakfast with Sophiep, catching some sun on a giant boulder at the end of the beach, reading, sleeping, reading some more, eating grilled squid and shrimp for a $2 lunch, walking down to the shop and talking to Sophiep...

Serendipity beach is quite possibly one of my favorite spots on the planet. It's not as glamorous as other tropical resorts, and it's in no way large-scale, and it's certainly not populated with attractive tourists. The beach curves into a rocky point and the land rises to around 40 feet in a little prominence at the point. Every day I would walk down a little path to this point and climb the rocks that sit in beautiful, clear blue water. My room was a little wooden bungalow up on this prominence, complete with private balcony and indoor plumbing. The balcony had a hammock which was perfect for after-lunch naps or for reading. At night, the beach turns into dining and partying at various spots, but the point remains calm and serene. It's fun to walk down the beach, checking out the night life, and then coming back to the bungalow and watching the moon rise. All for $10 a night.

While hanging out with Sophiep at his restaurant, I met two Asian-Americans who were just opening a little kayak rental shop next to Sophiep's place. John, a Laotian-American, and Dara, his Khmer-American wife, were very nice people. Having grown up in Oregon, they spoke great English and were fun to be around. They had adopted a little Khmer girl a couple years ago, not knowing it's illegal for Americans to adopt Cambodian children. (Remember that "Khmer" means "Cambodian," it's just the proper name for the people here.) So Dara and John are now "stuck" here because they can't get a visa for their little girl. The Cambodian government recognizes the adoption, but the US embassy will never grant a visa for the child as long as Cambodia remains on a list of nations where adoption is not recognized by the US government. She was cute as a button running around in her little sun dress and white hat. Samnang - meaning "lucky" in Khmer - is her parents' pride and joy, and even though they can't return home they say they wouldn't give her up for anything, not even life back in the States. During my stay, John and Dara let me take out one of their kayaks for free. What a great time!

The providential encounters didn't end with Sophiep or John and Dara. My last day at the beach I was wandering around on the road behind the beach, and I discovered a little hunt that claimed it had "real" pizza sold by the slice. I decided to try it for dinner. The little hunt had a nice tall bar under the thatch roof and a kitchen in the back. I walked up - the only customer - and started to regret my decision when the white girl behind the counter just stared at me. It's not uncommon to see white folks working at such places in and around the beach. Many of these "shipwrecked" tourists I described earlier kinda wander in and end up hanging around, doing odd jobs to make spending money so they can party and chill for an extended stay. This girl with short-cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes grabbed my attention. When she finally asked me what I wanted, I decided from her accent that she was Irish.

I'm usually the sort that sits, eats, watches, pays and leaves. In an effort to break out of that mold I've started making myself speak to total strangers. With the girl behind the pizza bar, it turned out to be worthwhile. I asked where she was from and was surprised to hear Finland. The only other person I've ever known from Finland was an exchange student from back in high school. When I asked her name, this girl said, "My friends call me Nero." I thought it sounded a bit like a drag queen's stage name, but....you know....whatever. I said, "You mean like the crazy Roman emperor?" She laughed, and we talked for two hours the rest of the night.

There seemed to be a great deal of sadness and a bit of longing in this girl. Once she opened up, she told me about how she was raised in Saudi Arabia as her father worked in the oil business. In Finland, she said that she was a welder on an oil rig. She was a bit boyish, so I wasn't terribly shocked when she told me about her being a welder, but it's still an unusual trade for a woman. In Finland, she said, many women work on oil rigs. She also told me that in Finland violence and suicide are such social problems because of the perpetual darkness for half the year. Apparently, she saved her money for years and in an effort to escape the darkness and depression she made her way to Southeast Asia where she's been wandering around for months. In Thailand, she met up with a British guy who told her about this beach in Cambodia where he was going to open up the pizza place. Now, for $60 a month, she watches the bar for this guy. She sleeps in a little room on top of some one's house in an obscure part of the town. The simple life and the sunshine are all she wants, and she's not leaving, she says. I asked her about money, and she told me that life was better without it. "I get to eat from the kitchen or I'll eat a cheap plate of Khmer food. Other than that, I have clothes and a roof and a fan to keep me cool at night and that's all I need. Life is much better this way. It's simple. In Finland I could only afford to pay my taxes and live in a tiny apartment with none left over for any kind of life, and even if I could there's nothing there I want to do because people are so rude and depressed. There's no happiness." She did tell me that her saved money will run out eventually and she'll have to find something that paid more than $60 a month.

Through all our talking about life in Finland and Saudi Arabia, I was struck by the pervasive loneliness that was woven throughout this girl's story. She seemed disconnected from family and generally friendless. She knows her family will never come see her, and she doesn't want to ever return home. "I'm never going back there!" she said in her near-perfect English. In all my efforts to identify with someone who wanders the third world simply because their own country is so depressing, I can't seem to fathom what it must mean to be this girl. I'd have as difficult a time trying to grasp life on Mars. What a blessing it is to have roots, family, sun, warmth of weather and of friendships... My heart went out to her as I realized I am the antithesis of what she represents. As she escaped home searching for that ever elusive something, I left home longing to keep what I left but taking part of it with me to give to others.

It all sounds so existential and reflective, but a lot of the conversation was good-hearted joking and laughter. I learned much about Finland. It's the sort of socialist nightmare I fear our country will become. High taxes, endless social programs that fail to accomplish much, government involvement in all aspects of life yet a depressed and socially bankrupt population remains. Finland is actually not part of Scandinavia - did not know that - but is considered part of the Russo-European landmass. Unrelated to neighboring languages, Finnish is closest to Hungarian to the point of limited mutual understanding, much like Spanish and Italian but perhaps a little closer to each other than those. The Fin's also have Swedish as a second language, but there seems to be some resentment there. Oil and oil rig production are the life's blood of the nation.

I left Nero with my phone number and a nice tip and half my pizza. She has never been to the capital, but I promised to show her around should she ever venture that way. If I can provide any sort of brightness in her life then I want to make an effort. Since then I've heard from her once. She hopes to make it in to town soon.

I left the beach relaxed and refreshed. Although I went to get away from people I was actually more social during those five days than I usually am during any given week, and the better for it. On my last morning, I had breakfast with Sophiep who then took me to the bus station. Since meeting, we've spent some cool quality time together, and I'll save that for another blog.

To see pictures of the beach, please follow the link up top to "My Photos."

Grace and peace,

Bryant

The week that had to happen... (Part 1)

Somewhere between grading papers and teaching five different verb tenses in 95-degree heat and sleeping every night on a hard bunk in dorms three shades removed from a Soviet insane asylum, I had to get away...

Cambodia is moving into a time of New Year celebration. "You fool! New Years was three months ago!" Yes, touche, but in Southeast Asia there are three New Years celebrations. "World New Years," as it's called here, is just as big as New Years numero dos, which would be the Chinese New Year (also the same in Vietnam). Chinese New Year occurs around the end of January. It's pretty cool - dancing dragons, beating drums, fireworks.

Then, oh but then, Khmer (Cambodian) New Year happens. We're talking a month of slacking, merriment, and general celebratory revelry. Technically, the Cambodian New Year is something like April 13 or 14 depending on the lunar calendar. What I love about this culture is they know how to make something last. The school vacation is technically only ten days, taking place between the first and second semester. Here's the magic: days before, students and teachers and administration just kinda stop coming to school. In fact, last week my boss came up to me and said, "Bryant, I want to inform you that this week we will finish English classes. The final exam will be on the 31st."

Uhhhhh....... Cool? No, wait.....yeah......that's very cool. Ok, see ya on the 31st. A whole extra week off work BEFORE the vacation starts. Amazing.

It didn't take me five seconds thought as to what I'd be doing with all this downtime: beach.

Being from the Gulf Coast, I have this thing about the water. When I'm not around it I really miss it, and something about blue/green saltwater and white sand makes me really happy. The combination of sun, wind, and salt spray are intoxicating. Combine that with the cheap accomodation and tropical setting of the Cambodian coast.......viva el mar. The only thing that can ruin it is sharing skin with a large jelly fish, or a category 5 hurricane, or perhaps a fat man in a speedo. In Alabama the latter is a rare encounter, but I've discovered the rest of the world's beaches aren't so fortunate. Once in Pensacola, a five-year-old boy was in three feet of water and had his arm bit off by a bull shark. His uncle, a firefighter, grabbed the shark, threw it on the beach, got the boy's arm out, and they were able to stitch it back on. That story has never ceased to amaze me (or allowed me to swim in the Gulf without looking behind me every 20 seconds). I digress....

Three days later, $5 bus ticket in hand, I headed for the coast. My boss and some other Khmer friends were surprised I was going by myself. Truthfully, like most people, I'd love to be there with good friends and family, but I every now and again need solo time. I was telling a friend recently, "It's like I need to allow myself time to think through all the things that pile up." Think of it as the defrag option in your Windows system tools, only for the brain.

The past year - leaving home, another dead-end relationship, the election of Che Guevara Obama, inter-team conflict and disappointment from the administration, Grandma passing away barely two weeks ago - I've got plenty to ponder and sort out, "process" as the shrinks tell us. Those things are balanced by positives like good friends back home, my awesome family, wonderful Cambodian friends, and great times teaching and getting to know my students, not to mention the relief work I get to witness in the countryside. It all stacks up and each needs to be picked up, analyzed a bit, and then put on the shelf in its proper place. If this makes no sense just roll your eyes and move on. I won't hold it against you.

And so......... The math is simple. Private bungalow + beautiful beach = amazingly better option than staying in the Soviet dorms all week. I'll leave you with a preview from part two: Paratroopers, kayaking, noodle soup, and a Scandanavian bartender...

A, An, The...

Even as I become more and more at home here, it is increasingly apparent to me that this is not home. Nothing will ever compare.

Wading through the heat, pushing through it like a man pushes through jungle leaves, I made my way across the campus of Royal University of Phnom Penh. The sudden change in season this past week or two has reminded me of home. The days now have the same quality as Mobile when the heat first arrives and you really, really know that Summer is not just around the corner but has made the turn and parked in the front drive for awhile. It makes me excited and leaves me longing for home a little bit more than usual. Waves of heat trigger memories of sand dunes and cut grass and watermelon and the smell of bleach when you first dive into a swimming pool.

I was meeting some students at this campus for a weekend study group. These three guys are what I would call a "core group" if ever there was one. In fact, in the future their three, soft-featured faces might pop into my mind everytime I have cause to say or hear "core group." Their names are Odom, Saokim, and Seiha. They're 3rd Year Civil Engineering students, and for reasons beyond my comprehension want to study extra with me all the time. We've done two weekend sessions already, and today's at RUPP was the third. The first time they came to my kitchen to study, and I made tacos. They weren't too impressed - no rice... It meant more for me, so I wasn't terribly offended. The next time we met in my kitchen again, but they politely refused lunch that time.

Today we were meeting at this campus just on the edge of the city proper. It was so peaceful. Students had finished studying and were just hanging out, talking, eating, and laying around on grass (this place has real grass). The campus is highlighted by three large, rectangular ponds and lots of shade tress and benches. These features combined with Soviet-area communist-constructed buildings gives the campus a unique feel. It struck me today as I pulled up on my moto that this was a place where I'd like to spend more time. There are several foreign teachers there, so I didn't receive the gawks and whispers that normally accompany the presence of a bald American in the middle of a "tourist-free zone."

My students gathered and had brought a friend from another class. For some reason I'd made four copies of today's lesson instead of just three - I didn't really know why I made four, but it turned out great because this new guy showed up. It was 4:00 by the time they had all assembled in front of our parked motos, and I let them choose a site to study. We plopped down under a shade tree on - again I have to say it - real grass. It was perfect. The sun was present but diluted by the trees and the breeze. The campus had that perfect college-ish feel to it and made me miss being a student. We sat in a circle and studied the definite and indefinite articles (a, an, the). These seem simple to Westerners, but for speakers of a language without the concept of these three little words they can be quite an obstacle.

We practiced and practiced and laughed and told jokes. I made fun of their pronunciation and then spoke some pretty awful Khmer so they could make fun of me. I learned a new phrase in Khmer. "It happened by accident" has a slang phrase in their language: "A ghost gave it to you." One of my student's could copy my pronunciation almost exactly so that if I closed my eyes he sounded just like an American sitting there. He laughed and said, "A ghost gave it to me." A few more questions and I'd learned my self-mandated "phrase of the day."

What makes me most excited about The Core is their collective attitude. Many students here are now leading complicated and shallow lives, influenced by Western values and materialism. Kids in the city are only interested in new clothes and gadgets and "looking cool." It's gotten noticeably worse since the first time I came here in 2002. It makes it harder to connect with many students. These guys, however, are very uncomplicated. They come from a very rural area but have the education to relate well to life outside of the village. They're dependable, reliable, curious, friendly, and often hilarious, and sitting down with them today under the setting sun and studying English made the perfect ending to my week. As I was leaving they asked me, "Teacher.... Where will you go tomorrow?" (This is Khmer-English for "What are you doing tomorrow?") "I'm going to church," I replied. They looked interested as I waved bye and drove off.

It's not home, but it's good being here.

Fair and balanced...

For those who think, in light of recent notes, that I'm a racist, here are a few thoughts that might appease your troubled souls.

"True peace is not merely the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice."
In a 1955 response to an accusation that he was "disturbing the peace" by his activism during the Montgomery Bus Boycott in Montgomery, Alabama, as quoted in Let the Trumpet Sound : A Life of Martin Luther King, Jr (1982) by Stephen B. Oates.

I recently taught a section on MLK Jr. to my 4th-year Cambodian students. I did so during the holiday. It's good for them to learn about foreign holidays, and it's good for them to learn about other races, because they are inherently a very racist people. We talked about MLK Jr. and what he accomplished - quite amazing, really - and about how he was such a tremendous speaker. I left out all the nasty bits about his shady home life and sexual indiscretions.

It was great to talk to the students about how a subculture in my own nation had overcome adversity. It was also neat to see how that particular situation in America was able to influence them a little. They have many, many obstacles to overcome in their culture: poverty, infringing Asian powers, corruption in the government... We talked about the above quote, one of my favorites. We also talked about this one:

"Ultimately a genuine leader is not a searcher for consensus, but a molder of consensus." "Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution", an address at the Episcopal National Cathedral, Washington D.C. (31 March 1968)

What a profound thought. "Molder of consensus..." It's very true that leadership needs to rally consensus and not simply seek it. For one thing , you won't find a consensus in this country today. I'm interested to see what kind of consensus Obama creates. I hope he goes moderate so we don't swing too far left.

"Molder of consensus" also has many negative, Orwellian connotations as well. Some of the greatest molders of consensus were Hitler, Guevara, Lennin, Mao... We all know how badly these ended (or are continuing)... I think we saw a touch, a smidgen of a taste, of Orwellian behavior during the past election. Dear Haters, please don't come back with accusations of me comparing Obama to Hitler or Mao - I'm not. No one can deny, however, the bizarre robot-like ferver with which his empty rhetoric was met.

I mean, I keep saying "pass the soma" until it's become trite (at least to me). If you don't understand this reference, I'm speaking of Aldous Huxley's novel "A Brave New World" in which the people were mandatorily given a mind-altering drug called "soma." They would pop various amounts to wash away the awful cares of the world, i.e. reality. Any malcontent or anxiety or sadness or disappointment could be removed, consequence-free, with the magic little pill. Huxley was your quintessintial, post-modern hippy (hippie?) intellectual who back in the 60's promoted the experimentation of psychadelic drugs to further the evolution of our consciousness as human beings. Anyway, as you read the book you become incensed at how these people are dumbed down by these drugs and how it allows the hidden world power to control the population. Some of the mania surrounding our new president reminded me a little of this. The people crying and chanting at his mediocre, redundant speeches... It was like someone had passed out the soma.

"Don't worry about what he's saying! Just listen to the pretty sounds! Isn't he dynamic? You don't know what 'dynamic' means??? It's not important."

I wonder exactly what MLK Jr. would have to say about it. I'll have to ask Rick Warren to get in touch with the Cloud of Witnesses and get back to me.

Until then....

Bryant

More feedback...

IN RESPONSE TO AN ANONYMOUS COMMENT ON MY FACEBOOK NOTE ABOUT RACE, ABORTION, AND BARRACK OBAMA...

Dear Jane Doe,

You are not out of line and I appreciate the input.

I've gone down the opposite path as you, it seems. I went from championing minority causes in highschool, believing the white man was the source of all evil, to silence in college, and now that I've experienced 20 years worth of the race issue I'm finally coming out of this particular closet. I don't think that capitulation on the part of white people TODAY will do any good. It certainly would have a century ago, but ignorance takes time to disappear. What is needed is responsibility from both sides, and we're just not seeing much from the African American community.

The very fact that a comment about Kwanza decorations in the White House makes you ill bothers me. I think it says something of how we've been conditioned by the media and liberal scholastics to believe that such comements somehow represent racism or lack of taste. Jokes were made when Bush moved into the White House about how he was going to turn it into a red-neck, Texas ranch paradise of sorts with shooting ranges and rodeos and animal heads everywhere and such. No one cared. No one was offended. These were untrue characterizations about our then president. I thought they were kinda funny. Why should characterizations about Obama be any different? Is it because they were African-American themed??? Why then should that be different?

One reason I was so blunt in that note is to prove a point that white people can no longer speak truthfully about their feelings on such issues. Your new-found, East Coast sensibilites may be easily unhinged by such comments, but you should know that for every person like myself who will be open about this issue, there are hundreds upon hundreds more who sit in silent agreement, too afraid to speak out lest they be branded racists and bigots.

I was talking to my friend about this subject today. We were talking about how people will probably react to what I wrote I'm actually not a racist person at all, and I can't stand TRUE racism. I've gotten into fights in gas stations before when illegal immigrants were being berated by stupid red necks behind the service counter. I've been thrown out of a Chevron, of all places, because I felt it necessary to make an issue of defending those poor Mexicans. When I was young, one of my best friends in our apartment complex was Anthony, a black kid. My parents - ignorant, southern rednecks by New Jersey standards - taught me early on that we should treat all people the same no matter what their skin color. One time some kids in our apartment complex started picking on Anthony, calling him the N word. I rushed to his defense at my own expense that day, and I'll never forget being consoled by my parents and having to understand the cold, hard reality of what true ignorance really is. I'm not saying this to toot my own horn, but I will NOT be called a racist, directly or indirectly, by you or anyone else.

For the black community, I would say the people of this nation aren't doing enough to lift them up and promote their well being. I think the worst treatment they receive is from their own leaders who want more hand outs and more special favors for their people than they want real change. It will mean the men of that commnity pulling themselves together and getting to work, figuratively and literally. We'll see what Obama does with this. If he can pull something intelligent and responsible together, I just might get on board because I want to be a part of the change too. Maybe I'll go teach in a inner-city Chicago school when I get home. I was looking at some really cool programs they have there.

As for representing Christ, you're probably right. I always come up short in this department. I'm currently of the opinion, from what I read of Him in Scripture, that he wasn't as sugar-coated as we have made Him out to be. I'll bet he was a pretty tough guy, yet full of grace and truth..... I should probably lean more towards the grace side of things than I do, but sometimes all smiles and handshakes doesn't accomplish much. Hard issues require hard stances, and I'm really worked up about this one.

Was what I said hurtful and alienating? I'm sure it was, because these are hurtful and alienating topics. It's NOT OK for African Americans to get a free pass because of their race. Their behavior during this election has been SOOOO irresponsible it makes me ill. In interviews and through personal interraction I've had with them, they can't really articulate why he'd be a better president or for what they are casting their vote. It's really just because he's a black man. One of my friends was talking to a black coworker who said, "He grew up poor just like us and knows where we come from!" That is a LOAD OF GARBAGE! He grew up more affluent than me and most of the people in my circle of influence. Private schools, Harvard.... His madrasa education in Indonesia wasn't cheap! Poor blacks on the streets in Harlem can't even relate, and they're gonna act like their blood-brother has arisen from firery trials of poverty and racial oppression.... Give me a break.

People need to think, really begin to think about these issues and stop vomiting back Oprah's and Katie Courrick's and Bernard Shaw's latest garbage, because all they're doing is moving the nation's perception of things according to their own, left-wing persuasions.
Anyway, try not to be so sensitive. It's not going to help anyone; it's not proactive enough to make a difference. It only permits the unfairness to continue. What we need is the honesty and fortitude to confront these issues head on. If you disagree with me, feel free to let me have it. I don't mind. That's what makes this country great.


Grace and peace,

Bryant

THIS IS IN RESPONSE TO A COMMENT ON MY LAST POST

Nathan,

I largely agree with what I think are your intentions, but I disagree with some of your reasoning. I’m going to respond to what you said from the bottom up.

To say that the church is too involved in politics makes me wonder if you’ve bought into the lie that church and state should be completely separate in all aspects of American life. This is not so, historically or constitutionally. I also feel, as a Christian, that we should be involved in all aspects of our community, locally and nationally. We must not create a false dichotomy here. Local communities aggregate ultimately to form the nation, so to say we shouldn’t be concerned with national government and only community is, as I said, a false dichotomy. Whatever your political persuasion may be, we must face facts: The nation today is run federally regardless of the founders’ intentions. National decisions pervade even the smallest of American communities. To be concerned with national politics is, in a way, to be concerned with the politics of the community, and I am convinced this is part of the holistic duty of the Christian citizen.

Now, having said that, I agree with you one hundred percent that it must begin in the community. Beyond that, if we are to be biblical, it must begin in the home, with the family – this, and not some backwards, fear-mongered homophobia, is why conservatives should oppose gay marriage and abortion. Community, as you have rightly indicated, should be the daily concern of the church. I think if we focus our gospel living and gospel service in the community the outcome will be far better than trying to legislate morality from the top down. But we must not shirk our responsibility to vote responsibly while waving the community service flag.

Let the above be an umbrella for what I say next. I don’t care if Obama and his family make the Cleavers look like petty thugs. I want a president with family values; I want a leader with a decent home life; I want a Commander in Chief who values community (i.e. what we had in George Bush). I, however, rightly question the man’s values and sense of justice when he consistently stands for the murder of infants. There is something fundamentally skewed within a person who shrugs their shoulders at the idea of hacking an unborn infant to pieces in the womb. That’s what abortion is. It’s not a quiet drifting off to sleep for the baby. The reality is babies are slowly, chemically disintegrated in the womb, or they’re cut up with knives and flushed away, or their skulls are punctured and their brains sucked out. Do a google image search, type in abortion, and you’ll have more than enough proof of the atrocity. Actual, scholarly research on the subject is even more gruesome. Anyone who shrugs their shoulders at such practices has a hideously distorted view of social justice – abortion is the height of INjustice and not the behavior of an enlightened society. Obama is not merely a shoulder-shrugger; he is a proactive, vehement supporter of abortion. His words of reduction policy are empty; his actions speak volumes.

President Obama’s voting record holds many disappointed moments for me, but the two most disturbing are his opposition of the Born Alive Treatment Law (Illinois Senate) – requiring medical attention be given to babies born after failed abortions – and his no vote on a 1997 proposed ban of partial birth abortion in Illinois. Here is what he had to say about it during the debates:

“I think that most Americans recognize that this is a profoundly difficult issue for the women and families who make these decisions. They don't make them casually. And I trust women to make these decisions in conjunction with their doctors and their families and their clergy. And I think that's where most Americans are. Now, when you describe a specific procedure that accounts for less than 1% of the abortions that take place, then naturally, people get concerned, and I think legitimately so. But the broader issue here is: Do women have the right to make these profoundly difficult decisions? And I trust them to do it. There is a broader issue: Can we move past some of the debates around which we disagree and can we start talking about the things we do agree on? Reducing teen pregnancy; making it less likely for women to find themselves in these circumstances.”
Source: 2007 South Carolina Democratic primary debate, on MSNBC Apr 26, 2007

I will never in any way support a man who couches this despicable behavior in terms of “profoundly difficult decisions.” Deciding whether or not to have corrective surgery on your child’s heart condition is a “profoundly difficult decision.” Deciding whether or not to have a doctor puncture your child’s skull and suck the brains out is infanticide.

So he can play with the kiddies at home and remain faithful to his wife and pick up litter in the park and rescue baby seals from oil spills and build homes for Katrina victims and rally the community for better and brighter days, but I feel it’s fundamentally all for naught. Our society cannot continue or progress towards better community and stronger moral fiber if we deny life from conception.

Working my way up to the top of your comment, Nathan, let me say that I believe you’re completely wrong about Sarah Palin. The media tore that woman to shreds, and what a decent woman she is. She didn’t make a mockery of herself; CNN and NBC and CBS did a wonderful enough job. The GOP spent a ridiculous amount of money on her clothing…. Ok…. Michelle Obama spent ridiculous amounts of campaign money on clothes and food, yet because she’s the democrat candidate’s wife she gets the pass. The media quickly recognized Sara Palin’s appeal to middle america and rushed to snuff out that opportunity beforer the McCain campaign could jump ahead in popular opinion. Greta Van Susteren (who usually grates on my last nerve) did a wonderful interview with Palin, post election. You should check the Fox News archives if you ever have that much time to kill. Personally, I don’t think it matters now, anyway. And I think anyone who wished for McCain to die so she could ascend to office is disturbed on many levels.

I want to know why you think it’s interesting that I don’t want to be conservative for the sake of it. All I’m saying is that there’s a time for being what you’re raised to be and then there’s a time to own or disown it, and the latter requires an intellectual journey of sorts where you question your parents and your teachers and your upbringing and you listen to other opinions and wrestle with the big questions. I think this is true politically as well as spiritually. At any rate, we may indeed find ourselves having to abandon the “conservative” label in years to come, but that doesn’t mean you have to get onboard the left-wing agenda either. How about let’s all shoot for sensible, constitutional-driven politics? Let’s shoot for substance, people! All races in America, hand-in-hand, practicing the politics of substance. I’m gonna make some t-shirts.

Having said all of this I’ll close by saying I’m not afraid of the future, even though I believe it bodes ill for we who seek some semblance of morality upheld both locally and nationally. Yet we should all press on joyfully and expectantly for we know Whom we’ve believed, and we’re convinced that He is able… Not Washington, not republicans, not Barrack Obama… (and not even Itzhak Perlhman)

Grace and peace,

Bryant

Goat Thief

Please, please go check out this article:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090123/ap_on_fe_st/odd_goat_thief

Somebody call an ambulance!

Last night, Ben and I were cooking dinner. It was particularly exciting because we had splurged on some "steaks", and were also gonna do some mashed potatoes and saute'd carrots and onions. Now, when I say "steak" imagine a piece of beef about an inch think and 7 inches long and maybe two inches wide. Normally, such a piece of beef would feed a family of four Cambodians, but we fat, greedy Americans eat about four times that much in a sitting. Ok, so Ben was cooking the $4 beef strips - strips is more accurate - and potatos, and I was taking down the Christmas tree and cleaning the kitchen, when we heard this moaning/crying like a little kid who had his toy stolen. Then...commotion could be heard outside on top of the crying. I waited about three minutes for it to subside and finally realized that it wasn't going away.

I put the broom down and went outside on the walkway. Looking down I saw a crowd of about 40 people gathered very closely around a moto, parked on the sidewalk. On top was a woman who looked about like she was gonna give birth. Two women behind her were holding her, trying to keep her still as she swayed back and forth in pain. One man was holding her right leg up. Women were fanning and patting her face. People in the cirlce were hollaring and laughing and carrying on. Others were running back and forth like something was on fire. I really couldn't figure it out.

I didn't know what to do. I wanted to run down and see what was going on. I mean, I am a teacher here... But sometimes it seems that the Cambodians should be left alone. I mean, they function just fine as a nation without my supervision. I have no first aid here beyond bandaids and ibprofen, so barring a faith-healing I don't have much to offer. I probably should rectify this. Anyway, I didn't see any blood, so I left it alone.

Well, later that night my friend Young Hoon came over to do some language exchange. He was thirty minutes late, he said, because he had been tending to that woman. Young Hoon said she strained her ankle. I think he meant "sprained", but I can't be sure. I went down with him to the bottom floor common area where she was sitting awkwardly on a couch with about 20 people mulling around her and the same two girls holding her from behind. She was sobbing uncontrollably and her right leg was convulsing. It was really weird. I've had sprains before, and they don't make your leg convulse. Anywho, we waded through the crowd - mostly of gawking, slightly amused men - and when I finally looked at her leg/ankle I couldn't see anything. There was no mark, no scrape, no swelling, no redness of any sort. It was strange. Young Hoon said he had given her some "pain killer."

The guys standing around this girl presented one of the goofiest scenes I've ever witnessed. In America, if this happened, guys would be jumping hurdles and lighting fires to make sure this girl was taken care of. They would have carried her on their back to a doctor or built a stretcher or SOMETHING. Not these guys. If I took a snap shot of them standing around this girl and turned it into a Farside cartoon, it would read like this: "Hey Bob! Check this out. Let's poke it with a stick and see what happens..."

Anyway, the women in the crowd collectively decided that she should be brought up to her room on the 4th floor. I start thinking, Ok. I can easily scoop her up in my arms and... Too late... A guy came over, half laughing, and crouched down in front of her. She put her arms around his neck, and in one far-too-swift motion he reached behind and grabbed her under her knees and stood up, she screamed bloody murder, the men all laughed, and the guy took off up the stairs like it was a piggy-back race.

We chased the guy up the stairs to the girl's dorm room, where she was quickly deposited on a mattress on the floor. The 10 or so girls in the room were buzzing around screaming "give her air! turn on the fan! rub her back!" It was sheer madness. A couple guys came up to the door to continue their gawking and snickering. Young Hoon was giving suggestions in Korean, to which the Cambodians were replying in a severly mangled form of his language. Then the girls finally turned on us, demanding we leave. I was more than happy to oblige.

I've never in my life seen anything like it, and I still don't know what happened. I have to revert to my favorite metaphore - Asian circus - to describe the evening. My only conclusion is as follows: I hope I'm never incapacitated in this country while I'm without fellow Americans. I think my friend Maly's family are the only Cambodians here I trust to get me to proper health care. Back in 2002, I passed out once. They were with me and made sure I was ok. Here on campus, I'm not so sure I'd make it out alive.

Son of bitch...

If you have Asian friends trying to learn English, do them - and yourself - a favor and steer them away from movie watching as a learning tool. At the very least, steer them away from movies with bad language.

A Korean friend of mine recently came to me for English help. Two of his questions were, back to back, as follows:

"What does mean, 'son of bitch', and how can use phrase, 'Let's get out of these clothes.'?"


If you're angry at me for repeating his questions, I'd ask you to please be an adult. This is real-life stuff, and I feel like sharing it. He was sincerely and quite innocently asking.

So, how does one begin to answer? I was like, "Uh...Young Hoon...well... The first one is not very nice. You probably shouldn't say it until you understand the language better, and then you still probably shouldn't say it. The second is, well... When you get married you can say that to your wife, but you shouldn't say that to anyone else.................ever."

He looked around, eyes darting back and forth around the room, mouth expressionless... Suddenly he lit up and gave me his usual rapid-fire "ok ok ok!" Which always lets me know that he gets something I'm explaining. Then he grinned and said, "I will say this, and then my wife will take off her clothes and then we will have sex!"

"Uh...yeah, sure Young Hoon, that's the idea. Good job." I'm the best English teacher Asia has EVER seen!

Helmets...

Phnom Penh - all of Cambodia, actually, but mostly just the city - has a new "gotta wear a helmet" law. I think it speaks much of a country when people have been zipping around on motos for decades, and they just passed a law requiring helmets.

But that's neither here nor there.

So, this new law went into effect New Year's Day. I found it amusing to watch the dramatic increase of helmet-usage on January 1st. People previously wouldn't wear them. Heck, there were many times I'd neglect my helmet because it's confining and hot, and if just going down the street why bother??? But seriously, motorists dart all over the place here like flies on a corpse, and they care little about their noggins. It's nothing to see a family of four or five piled on a motor bike, maybe with a toddler between the father's legs and a mother in the back holding an infant and maybe even a young kid straddling the back behind mom, hanging on for dear life - none donning the head gear. It's a pattern of behavior so foreign to me, that I've yet to grasp the implications. I often have trouble driving myself around, much less two people, and certainly giving no thought to the idea of three or more.

So, the past couple days I've been amusing myself by checking out the plethura of helmatage on the road. There're types of helmets, as I've classified them: There's the classic crotch-rocket helmet, looking all sporty and fast. It's kinda funny to see people on what is essentially a glorified moped wearing such speed-sensitive head gear. Then there's the skull-cap, harleyesque helmet. These are the sorts of helmets that should typically be accompanied by a 1200cc engine and leather jacket, even more humorous for the moped driver. Finally, there are what I call moped caps. These are little plastic bowls with a chin strap and dorky plastic visor that looks like something added as an afterthought. It fits the bike, that's for sure.

Then, within these three categories there are options. The sporty, speed-suggestive helmets have an average-Joe variation that most people wear. These have cheap-looking plastic designs that scream 1980's. If Zach Morris wore a helmet in Saved By The Bell, it would look like this. And then are are the cool, sleek black ones that have the mirrored front and fire-truck-red phoenix on the back. If a young man wants to be cool, this is his helmet of choice. I want one. The skull caps range from plain blacks and greys - what you would expect - to Hello Kitty and daisies. You'd be surprised how many men don the latter. These strike me as pointless because a person's entire jaw & chin & face are open to whatever damage results from a collision. The moped cap variety of helmet comes in an assortment of primary colors, and people tend towards little decoration with these. It's like they know they're not cool, and there's no point in pretending.

So now people are buzzing around all protected, or at least trying to be protected. Another bonus-humor of sorts is the police trying to enfore the law. See... The police here are goofballs. I've yet to see them preform any real useful purpose other than to block traffic whenever a "dignitary" drives by. When this occurs entire intersections, major ones at that, are shut down for ten minutes plus while His Excellency So-And-So makes his way through down in a black windowed Lexus or Mercedes. I find it completely inequitable and unnecessary. If His Excellency wants to move quickly through town, try writing some real traffic laws and hiring some civil engineers to design real roadways. Why should I have to stop for ten minutes waiting for the big cheeses of Phnom Penh to make there way through? The people here seem unaffected by it, and they actually take the down-time as a chance to socialize and get to know their fellow motorists.

Ok, so back to the police and helmets...

Police here are not what you're thinking. We think car, blue lights, sirens, side-arms... Get that paradigm out of your head and go for three or more Barney Fife's standing on a street corner with billy clubs. They can't really do anything. Even if they happen to have a motorcycle, which is rare, they won't ever give chase. And they don't even inforce all the laws. I'm baffled by their approach really. What they do is pick a "Law of the Month" (as far as I can tell) and enforce that one. It's like they can't be bothered with remembering them all at once. Last couple months it's been mirrors. They decided that all moto's need mirrors. I'd guess only about 50% of the driving population capitulated to this one. So what you had were cops stopping motorists without mirrors when they'd stop at a red light. They'd stand out in front of the moto and force the driver over the curb where he or she would be fined the standard $1.25 ($2.00 or more for foreigners). I thought for the longest time that mirrors must be really expensive for so many people to avoid getting them. I thought this way until one of mine broke and I had to buy a new pair - $1.75. Price couldn't be the reason, so why not just go buy some??? The enforcement of said mirror law reached an all time high before Christmas to the point that you'd see people doing u-turns before intersections where cops were waiting. I mean, get some dang mirrors...seriously, people.

A really fun law is that your lights can't be on during the day. This, apparently, is a severe hazard to motorists' safety. Let me make clear how insane this is by pointing out that even at night when you've got your engine revved all the way, your moto headlight is about as bright as a small Mag Light. I've been stopped once for this. If you really want some great entertainment, drive out of the house with your headlight on during the day and watch how many motorists almost break their neck trying to tell you your lights on. At least they care...

Now that there is a helmet law, the mirror thing is old news. Today I saw at least a dozen go past cops without mirrors, but by gosh they had helmets. I got a kick out of the men in blue trying to decide which helmet-less victims they'd stop, because at least 3 out of 10 had no helmet. Somtimes you'll see them hurriedly conferencing at a red light. I can just imagine them saying, "He looks like he has money! No, no! That one over there! But I don't think we could take him if he tries to run! Chang, get your club ready!"

So I watch and I laugh, and then today, at a red light, I looked at my reflection in a car window and decided I have the most uncool helmet of them all. It's a monstrosity, about ten-times too big for my head, with this goofy visor guard that sticks out in the front a good 12 inches. I'd never even paid it any attention. It has to go. It doesn't fit any of the three categories. I can just imagine the Cambodians saying, "Hey, get a load of that guy! Americans...."