Out of my bondage...

A Final Word... (Part 2)

2009-09-06T16:57:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-09-03T22:17:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-04-25T22:10:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-03-26T06:35:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-07T03:21:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-01-24T23:55:00.001-08:00

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...

2009-01-24T22:38:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-24T20:09:00.001-08:00

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

2009-01-23T17:53:00.001-08:00

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!

2009-01-09T18:57:00.001-08:00

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...

2009-01-08T23:36:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-01-02T23:26:00.000-08:00

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...."

Technology in the Third-World: It's implications for the American English teacher abroad...

2008-12-26T02:41:00.001-08:00

What that title basically means is that my laptop has been broken for a long time, and getting it fixed was far less easy than if one lived in oh......I dunno, lets be generous and say North America.

First the power connection port was broken. No power = no typey typey...

They fixed the power after two weeks of meddling with my motherboard, but my internet port didn't work when they were finished. Of course I didn't find that out till I got back to campus.

Keep in mind I don't live in the city - I live on campus. It takes an hour on Smash (my moto) to get into town. So when I discover that my computer has all these problems I can't just turn around and head back in. Well... I could, but who would want to???

Anyway, then I figured while they were fixing all these various odds and ends, why not upgrade my hard drive??? My first computer, the family computer back in 8th grade, had a hard drive of like 538 MEGAbytes - most wristwatches now have more storage than that. My laptop had 37 GIGAbytes, a drastic improvement no doubt, but it had run out of space due to all the killer photos I've been taking and uploading. So....back to the computer store to get a new hard drive - 120 gb - heck yeah! Then, after installation, the internet port was not working AGAIN.

If you're still reading, rest assured I'm done talking about my laptop woes. It's fixed. Now I can blog.

Well, I finally started teaching, and just in the nick of time - I had almost forogotten why I moved to Southeast Asia. Most of the new team members, myself included, were PRETTY upset that we didn't start teaching until mid-November. That would have been great information for the organization to include in it's pre-field training.

The general letdown is like this, "WHYYYYYYY did I come here so early when I could have stayed home with family and friends????" It's a normal response. The answer isn't an easy one. ELI/C does all of it's training for Southeast Asia at one time. Other places like Vietnam and some schools in Laos start their school years at a more reasonable date. Cambodia has a late academic calendar, so there's always been this tension for ELI/C teachers here in The Kingdom of Wonder (yes...that's actually the offical country slogan for tourism purposes). "Blunder" rhymes very conveniently with "Wonder," so I don't hesitate in substituting whenever I get the chance.

So what do you do when you are and English teacher in Cambodia with no students??? Well...you find some, or find SOMETHING you can do to be productive. After all, I'm here on other peoples' dimes, people who sent me to help out those in need. With that weighty mission in mind, I set out to find an organization with whom I could partner and work in order to be productive and stay sane.

There was a neat little solution to my problem, in the form of an organization called Kone Kmeng. This group partners with local churches to identify and resuce children at risk from poverty, malnutrition, sexual & physical abuse, sex trafficking, lack of educaiton, etc. This is a Cambodian-run organization, but their support comes mostly from Britain and the US, so they really needed a native English-speaker to do their writing and publicity work. I've been blessed to work with them lately as just the guy for the task. I get to travel one weekend a month to one of their project sites where I take pictures, collect stories, and then write reports for a monthly e-newsletter. Their hope is that this letter will generate more funds for the organization. Another project as of late is the org's website. It's in bad need of updating and reorganization, so I'm going to be working on that.

These kids above and to the right are in a very poor area of Cambodia on the Thailand border. If you're interested, google Banteay Meanchey. It's the province where the communists held out the longest. Really, many of the people 40 and older were part of the old regime, and while I was there I saw many wearing the old black pajamas and red neck scarves, the hallmark outfit of the Khmer Rouge. It was chilling to say the least. In case you're wondering, this little baby is being pulled by his older brother in a little cart made out of wooden wheels and frame with an old tire as a......hmmm.......container? basket? carriage? I dunno... It was cute, and that's all that matters. I loved how the baby was like, "What is this guy doing???" His eyes didn't leave me the entire time I was within the vicinity. Oh the joys of being a white man in Asia...

Well, I'm teaching now. Just finished my fifth straight week of unadulterated, univeristy-level English teaching. It was like, "Oh, yeah... this is what I came here for. Now I remember." It was well worth the wait, and I'll talk more about that next time.

Bryant

Quick Updates...

2008-10-13T20:20:00.000-07:00

I've been super busy and super tired! For some reason I have no energy lately. Lift me up in your thoughts that I would have strength to continue the work here.

I'm not sure if I mentioned this or not, but I started volunteering my spare time with an organization called Kone Kmeng. That's Cambodian for "Little Children." They assist local communities in rescuing abused children or those addicted to drugs or infected with HIV/AIDS. Kone Kmeng also digs wells and tests water quality in many poor villages around the country. I've been asked to head up their monthly newsletter. I'll be traveling one weekend a month to a project - usually quite far away from the capital - and collecting stories, taking photos...that sort of thing. I'm excited. Anyway, I just finished the first edition. Check out www.kone-kmeng.org. I'll also be revising/updating the website.

I'm continuing to teach Spanish in the afternoons at the student center, and I just started tutoring a guy for his TOEFL test. This is like an English aptitude exam that many students must take before being accepting into foreign, English-speaking universities. Think of it as the ACT or SAT only just for English. This guy I'm tutoring, Nary, is a former student from Kampong Thom (I still need to blog about my week there!). He's wanting to attend a seminary in Singapore, but he'll need a much higher proficiency in English if this is gonna happen. I'll be traveling out to his school twice a week to tutor him. It's about 45 minutes away on a good day, and I have to drive through mud and muck to get there, but I enjoy it 'cause many of my former students are studying at the same school. Sina is out there, so I can catch up with him some.

That's all from the Asian front. Drop me an email somtime. My pics are up-to-date finally. Check those out.

Grace and peace,

Bryant

Scorpion Women

2008-10-08T10:37:00.001-07:00

I'm compelled to briefly share a funny moment from today. In the ongoing saga of crazy t-shirts in Cambodia (see "No Money No Honey" below), I ran across one today while driving to the....uh....somewhere. I forgot where. Anyway, I was driving on my moto, looked up, and the back of this girl's black t-shirt said, in big pink letters, SCORPION. Intrigued, I glanced at the front - it was blank. I thought to myself, At least they label themselves here! Seriously, folks, you can't make this stuff up.

What a great week...

2008-10-02T06:14:00.000-07:00

I just spent the most relaxing, refreshing week in Kampong Thom (see previous post). In contrast, I'm now back in Phnom Penh in an American bar that is run by Cambodians and currently filled with British people. You can't make this stuff up. Consequently, I'm in a bar because they have free wireless... the sacrifices we have to make. Anyway, so much happened last week that I'd like to share, but I'll have to break it up into different posts for my sake and for yours. Right now, let me tell you about why I went and how I got there...

It all started two weeks ago when I met up with an old student, Thydeth (tee-det), from Kampong Thom. Thydeth is studying architecture here in Phnom Penh, and knows some mutual friends. It was great running into him. I said, "Thydeth, I wanna go visit K.T. again soon." When he invited me to go with him during the P'chum Ben holiday (puh-choom-bun), I couldn't resist. At any rate, what was I gonna do besides stay here in the city and spend money on food and gas??? Like I said before, if you have a burning passion to understand the intricacies of P'chum Ben, google it. Here's a synopsis for the lazy folks:

Khmer (Cambodian) Buddhists believe in a heaven and hell - despite Buddha's teachings to the contrary - where spirits of the dead go when....well....it gets really complicated. For the sake of brevity I'll say this: Dead relatives can end up in hell where they are subsequently starved. Once a year (during the time of P'chum Ben) they are let out of hell by the Keeper. These spirits will seek out their living relatives in search of food, and if they don't find any food they will curse their families. To solve this quandery, the Khmer make decorative sticky rice balls and take them to Wats (Buddhist temples) where the monks bless the rice, naming it for the family. The family will throw the rice into big pits dug in the yard of the Wat. Spirits, called by the monks, will then "eat" the rice and return to hell will full bellies. Families must do this in the morning before daylight, because spirits, as everyone knows, can't come out in the daytime. For 15 days this takes place, culminating in the 30th-ish of September. I say, "30th-ish" because the Buddhist calendar follows the moon and not our Gregorian system. This culmination is a huge, two-day holiday here. An easy way to think of it is our Halloween meets Mexico's Day of the Dead. I've really discovered that, much like Mardi Gras back home, it's just an excuse to get off work and school. I'm not complaining! (Even though i think it's a dumb concept. Ironically, Buddha would too.)

So, during P'chum Ben thousands of students migrate to their home towns and villages to either feed grandma and grandpa's spirit, or just to chill and enjoy a week off. Speaking of dead spirits, the roads become highways of death themselves as traffic nearly doubles with motos, taxis, and overloaded busses tearing up provinical roads and national highways. Thydeth wanted us to take my moto for the 200 km journey, and I nearly agreed (the Indiana Jones in me coming out), but thankfully at the last minute I said, "You know, let's not." I'll have to admit that the idea of a cross-country moto trip is just the sort of thing I'd normally jump at, but I think Providence stayed my hand. Ok, I know Providence stayed my hand. Turns out Mrs. Sue, the lady I used to work under in Kampong Thom, was in Phnom Penh and was going home on the same day as Thydeth and I. She offered us her taxi, and we glady accepted (especially since she was paying). On the way there, it rained like I've never seen it rain before. Thank the Lord for deciding against the cross-country moto thing. I'm talking tropical storm proportions of rain and wind. What should have been a 2 hour taxi ride turned into a 4 and-a-half hour ride.

On the way there I noticed for the first time how much of this country is under water most of the time. I've never been here after the full brunt of the rainy season. I've only experienced its initial onslaught. To give you a picture of what I saw let me describe the road to K.T. National Road 5 leaves Phnom Penh and virtually bisects the country vertically, eventually ending up in the Northern city of Siem Riep where the famous Angkor temples are located. National Road 6 is a two lane highway built up from the terrain a good 6-8 feet, with about 5 feet of shoulder on either side. Traveling this road in years past I've always wondered why it's built up so high.

This time around I saw why. The Tonle Sap River and Tonle Sap Lake lie to the west of National Road 6. During the height of the rainy season the Lake breaks it's borders and floods downriver for thousands of square kilometers into rice country. The road is built up because it acts as a sort of dam, holding the Tonle Sap at bay. Periodical flood gates along the road allow controlled irrigation on its eastern side. It was amazing to see that much water after only a couple months of rain. Interestingly enough, the Mekong River will reach a capacity at which it causes the Tonle Sap to reverse flow, increasing the floodplain even more. Families in this region who, during the dry season, live on solid ground and farm become boat-living fisher families during the wet season. Traveling Road 6 I was so amazed by this because the Tonle Sap is not some river just around the corner; it's a hundred kilometers away, and here we were traveling on a raised road that holds it at bay from flooding the rest of the country.

At any rate, we pushed through the rain and winds, passing hundreds of motos stopped on the side of the road, their poor drivers waiting out the pelting rains under flimsy ponchos. I must admit, Indiana Jones tendencies or not, I was thrilled we had taken a taxi, and I told Thydeth he was lucky we didn't or I would have never spoken to him again. (Ok, not really.)

Arriving at Sue's house was the best feeling ever. Students, many I remembered from years past, were there playing cards in the downstairs student center. Some things, I thought, really don't change. It was probably one of the only times in my life I've felt like I stepped back in time. Things in the room where exactly as they were three years ago. Even books and games and knick-knacks on shelves were just as they were the last time I was there. It felt like Christmas. Seeing such consistency made me realize how much and how often things back home change, and I realized how precious stability is, at least to me.

In America, I fear we've grown to a point where we can't live without constant change and what we would consider "progress." In a certain light it's almost a disease. We trample underfoot the things that are precious and worthwhile in order to advance, to make an extra buck, to have an bigger house, or a larger pension. I tried to think of one place back home that was special to me from my childhood that remains as unaltered and unchanged as I found Kampong Thom six nights ago. There aren't any. Yet here, the same students gather and laugh as usual. The night I arrived they played and talked of the same sorts of things they always have without boredom, and they played card games and watched the rain like no time had passed since I saw them last. Refreshing doesn't even approach an accurate description. It was reassuring and comforting. I said to myself, Ok...this is still here. And then I took a deep breath.

Sorry for going all introspective on you. It was a great night, playing games and talking and catching up and letting the students praise my improved Khmer while laughing at the mistakes I still make. That was just the beginning of an incredible week. More next time...

Bryant

Quick update

2008-09-30T18:20:00.000-07:00

To reassure people that I'm still alive (several have been asking), I'm house sitting for a fellow "worker" out in the countryside. If you want to know where, specifically, google a map of Cambodia, look dead-center in the country, and you'll see the provincial town of Kampong Thom. This is truly like the Mayberry of Cambodia - I love it. It's where I taught and worked during summers of 2003-2005.

I'll post again soon with pictures and details of my time here. It's been a blast, including activities like boat races, swimming in the rice fields, long moto rides through the countryside, visiting the local "mountain." Yesterday I went to the market and bought an onion, garlic, tomatoes, and basil (the asian variety) and made myself an awesome pasta sauce. Noodles are easy enough to come by here. When all was said and done I had spent $1.25 and had myself an incredible dinner.

Ok, that's all for now. Peace out everyone!

Bryant

No money no honey...

2008-09-24T11:57:00.000-07:00

This is a post that is long overdue. I started it a week or so ago and didn't finish. I'll just pick up where I left off, and I'll add some more funtimes blogging at the end.

My morning, nay, my entire quasi-month of living in Cambodia was made entirely better this morning when I saw a young dude walk by with a shirt on that said, in giant letters I might add, "NO MONEY NO HONEY." After spraying coffee all across the crowded breakfast stall, I grabbed for my camera only to realize in a gasp of horror that I had left it at home. This was not the first time I wanted to take a picture of something hysterical (usually involving Asian use of the English langauge) and didn't have my camera handy, but I assure you it will be the last.

Oh, wait, nope... I lied. It happened again. I was in the same breakfast stall three days later. ONLY THREE DAYS! And I was once again treated to Asian-English gold when another young guy (could it be the same one???) strolled by my breakfast stall - stall is really the only justifiable word for it, hence the continued use - with a shirt that said, in the same ginormous letters, "I COULD BE YOUR DAUGHTER."

............................................

Seriously? That's too good to be true... But I yet again disappointed myself - no camera. And, unfortunately, the google image search did NOT reveal any appropriate examples like it did for the other shirt.

The question I want to know is, "Where are they getting these shirts?" I want one! Funny thing though, this guy probably doesn't even know what it means. It's just cool 'cause it's in English. Well I'm certainly glad he wore it.

Another wonderful use of English waylayed me today at a Chinese restaurant. On the menu, they offered many delectable items such as roast duck, sauteed noodles, and real sesame chicken, oh and steamed dumplings, can't forget those. There was one item, however, that caught my attention. I think it deserves a return visit with a camera - "Stirfry with rape mixture."

Hmmmm I'm not sure if I want the rape mixuture stirfry or the steamed domestic abuse sampler....

Well, these things happen to the best of us. Ok, so they don't; they only happen to Asians, but you just gotta roll with it man! It's awesome, and I thoroughly enjoy laughing and smiling. I've been laughed at enough with my use of the language here. Yes, indeed I've done my time. It's my turn.

It's hard to have legs here...

2008-09-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

This will be a straight-forward update on what I'm currently doing, but first I want to tell you about how hard it is to have legs here in Cambodia. I'm not making light of people who have no limbs - there are tons here who have lots a leg or both legs to land mines... Their plight is not a joke to me. Fortunately there are NGO's (Non-Government Organizations) established to help them get established and cope with life.

Ok, so back to my point about how hard it is to have legs here. I feel like mine have taken an absolute beating and then some. I haven't stepped on a mine, granted, but I've definitely taken a beating. In my first moto "incident" I scraped the skin off my left calve (not badly). That's pretty much healed up. But, in trying to jump-start the moto for the first time I had to really kick it, and my foot slipped and the kick stand totally ate up my right shin. That is still red and scabbed over. I mean the kick stand dug in good....

Then, in a soccer match, I was trying to slide tackle a guy and ended up scraping my left knee up really bad. The funny thing is, I did it again on the exact same spot in the next match. Moving on, I pronated my right foot in a soccer match - you should have seen the "field" we played on...try cow pasture instead - and now I think I may have planar fasciaitis or something like that. It hurts really bad. I need to stop playing soccer for a month but just can't let go. Then....let's see.....oh yeah the constant heat here makes my ankles swell for some reason. I think it's combined with lack of water or too much salt in the diet or something like that, but by the end of the day I got some major cankles going on.

Also, I've burned my leg twice on hot moto exhaust pipes. Once on that of my own... Oh yeah, and at all-country training I rented a moto to check out the surroundings. Turns out the front brake didn't work - thanks for telling me, Kep Lodge! - and the moto went flying down a gravel-covered embankment, ejecting me at just the right angle to run a half-inch gravel burn down my left leg. Oh yeah! And then on the way home from all-country training our taxi broke down (read two blogs previous), and we had to stand on the side of the road for an hour-and-a-half and my legs got tore up by the Cambodian version of fire ants. There are red whelps all over them, some on top of previous injuries.

I supposed the moral of the story is don't play soccer and don't ride motos if you want nice-looking legs. Otherwise.... I dunno... I forgot what I was going to say.

On to more important things.... I've been playing the waiting game with my school. The school year was pushed back a month because of the elections, I found out. I can understand why; two elections ago they had tanks in the streets. We really can't relate to that kind of uncertainty. Lots could be said about that, but in realtion to me it means I don't start teaching until November 15th. We've been living in a team member's house - by we I mean my two team mates for the NPIC campus - and it turns out we will continue staying in his house on the weekends. I've made a sweet pad out of the roof-top room. I'll blog just about that soon, with photos for sure. I love it and wish I could stay there permanently. But alas, to stay there would violate my #1 rule for Southeast Asia: If it's convenient and/or would make you happy, it's probably not gonna happen. Many would chide me for my pessimism, but you'd be surprised how true that rules holds. Besides, if it's occasionally broken then you're pleasantly surprised.

So back to what I'm doing. Tomorrow, the Peters and I will - fingers crossed - move all our belongings onto campus. We bought some cheap, wicker furniture a couple days ago, and will take that along with clothes, groceries, and household supplies to our little campus apartments. My first night there will be interesting, to say the least.

In other news, this week begins the Khmer festival of P'chum Ben. It's basically their version of Halloween. To learn more, google it. I'll try to take some pictures this coming Monday when the big event takes place and maybe blog about the goings on. My point in mentioning P'chum Ben is that I'll be taking the holiday weekend to visit the town I used to work in here - Kampong Thom. This is one of my favorite places on earth, and it will be interesting to see how it is after three years. To see Sue and the orphanage again will do me worlds of good. Or, actually now that I think about it seeing Sue and the orphanage might make things worse. I could end up wanting to stay.

Well...that's all from this end. Lift up my soon-to-be students and our move to campus. Keep me in mind and don't hesitate to email! pmeredith@elic.org

Grace and peace,

Bryant

To kill a dog...

2008-09-21T08:47:00.000-07:00

Today on the way back from the coast we piled into two taxis. I was in taxi number two, and we were a little late leaving because I left my iPod at the guest house. That misfortune delayed our departure by about fifteen minutes. The ride, for the first hour, was really enjoyable albeit bumpy. I mean, the thing had AC so there's nothing to complain about.

Half way into the trip, I hear the driver honking and fussing about something and feel a sudden swerve. Looking up, I had just enough time to see a large dog disappear behind the front bumper - thud clunk rattle rattle clunk clunk - the dog goes under the car... Driver pulls over to check the damage... I was thinking, "Eh...It's just a dog. We'll be fine. Let's get going." You may think me heartless. Believe me I didn't like seeing the dog get hit, but there are dogs EVERYWHERE here, and as you can see from the picture above, they all look like dingos. In fact our dog looked exactly like this one only tan like a dingo. In fact, I call them the dingo dogs. Does that make their untimely death any easier? .....I have to say yes. Trust me, they're nasty.

So picture a road much like the one above and a dog like the one in the pic (only tan) getting bowled over by a late 90's model Toyota Camry. I got out with the driver to check the damage, mostly to stretch my legs thinking there couldn't be anything wrong. Well....turns out this dingo packed a punch. He totally smashed the front end up and busted a hole in our radiator, water spewing everywhere all over the road.

Now, keep in mind, we are an hour away from the coast, which is remote jungle despite being a tourist destination, so we're really, really remote being this far down the road. It's like rice fields and...well...that's it. I knew we were in for a wait. Fortunately, like everyone else in Cambodia, taxi driver dude has a cell phone and, like every spot in the country no matter how out-of-the-way, he has a clear signal to call. (How many spots in Mobile can I NOT get a signal????) Anyway, having dealt with lame taxi rides before in this country, I knew we'd have to sit it out and wait for a replacement. (Laura, it didn't even approach our taxi experience in '05!)

Indeed we did wait. Driver said an hour, but I knew better. We waited for nearly two. In the mean time, I mulled over the destroyed radiator with the driver. He had no idea what he was doing. Another taxi stopped to offer help - unprecedented here, I assure you - while we wasted away in the tropical heat, our lower extremeties being devoured by the Southeast Asian version of fire ants. He and I actually managed to get the radiator detached, only to find what I told him already, "The bottom corner's missing." I mean, it's not like the guy was gonna weld a new bottom on the thing out there. And he certainly didn't have enough chewing gum to plug that crater. What threw my mind for a loop was when this guy continually went into the rice paddy to collect water to fill the radiator to watch it all leak out - he must have done that ten times. Um...dude...it's got a hole in it. I'll admit, however, that I did have fun playing around under the hood. It reminded me of the good ole days with my grandpa, workin on cars. Here's an insight for you ladies. We men really like doing things like looking under hoods of cars, even when we have NO idea what we're looking at. It makes us feel manly and somewhat in control. Ridiculous, perhaps, but true.

Anyway, the Peters and I waited. They are troopers. How many pregnant ladies do you know willing to sit in the hot sun for two hours without complaining? To pass the time, Ben and I played a game called, "See who can throw a rock between those two palm trees." Neither of us ever did, but it was fun. I think it really confused the rice farmers in the adjacent field; we already gave them something to gawk at merely by our presence, much less by chunking rocks at trees for no good reason.

All in all, I'd have to say it was a typical Cambodian day. "Does that happen to you often???" someone might ask. I'd say, "Well...yes and no." Things LIKE that happen all the time. Now have I ever been in a taxi that hit a dog and busted a radiator? No. Yet it was still very, very unsurprising...

I wonder if they ate the dog??? (seriously...)

RETREAT!

2008-09-19T22:56:00.000-07:00

This weekend has been an in-country retreat for orientation and getting to know the team. We're in the coastal town of Kep. I've never been here, so it's refreshing to be in a place in Cambodia that's new and different.

It's also beautiful. Kep is the least disturbed town I've been to in Cambodia since 2002. The absence of development and things western makes it feel like you're genuinely in the middle of nowhere. It also provides a nice perspective for Phnom Penh - as overwhelming as it may seem at times it's way more convenient than living in the jungle.

Speaking of Jungle. I've been getting to know the natives. For a full photo record of my encounters check out the MY PHOTO GALLERIES link to the right. Here is one of them. This guy to the left lived in my room for a day. We hung out for a bit, took some photos... I named him Buster.

Other roomies included a tarantula behind the toilet, a giant gecko in the thatch roof, and 8 inch long milipedes - or millipedes - however you spell it.

So our in-country orientation has been fairly productive as far as getting to know eachother and realizing where we'll be going as a team this year. Ben, Andrea and I constitute the team at the National Polytechnique Institue of Cambodia. We discussed some avenues for connecting at the school and for reaching out to our students.

Mostly, this weekend has been good as a time to relax and take a breath from city life (and smog) and just chill. I like Kep better than other parts of the coast I've visited here for the simple reason that it's remote; you don't find much of that anymore, and it's a much-appreciated quality for this Southern guy.

Are we there yet?

2008-09-14T05:37:00.000-07:00

I so wish I could start teaching. It would give me something specific on which to focus. I'm the kinda guy who likes a routine. Seriously, I wouldn't mind, for the most part, doing the same things at the same places at the same times day in and day out as long as A) It's productive & B) It's enjoyable. Here I take a certain amount of pleasure in frequenting the same breakfast place, and using the same money exchanger, and getting my moto tuned up at the same mechanic, and using the same internet shop, and knowing that on Saturday's I'll be playing soccer. I just wish that I could go ahead and incorporate full-time English teaching into the schedule. But who am I to argue with the Buddhist calendar?

If you need an update, I haven't started teaching yet because the school year (this year) doesn't begin until Nov. 15th. We discovered that school schedules here are very flexible things. They may start earlier or later depending on the Buddhist calendar and on the politics/enrollment numbers going on within universities. For example, the administration may say, "Hmmm... Buddhist holiday such-and-such is rather late this year, let's start school late." Or they may say, "Well...we haven't got a full enrollment yet. Let's start school a month later to see if we can get some more students." I know this is bizarre to our Western way of thinking, but it's totally normal here, and I assure you no Cambodian gives it a second thought.

In my haste to have something "more productive" to do, I think I'm forgetting that people/situations/opportunities are being placed right in front of me right now for a reason. My soccer team is such a highlight during the week, and I want to make an effort to get to know those guys better - yes...even though they're French. Today we played in the monsoon rains. It was killer. I'm so into soccer right now. Ben and I will have tons of fun on our campus, as they have a really nice field (in our backyard!).

There are other things going on that make my time productive. I'm teaching Spanish and piano at a student center. That's really fun and makes me feel useful. There are some other things too, but they're too sensitive to discuss over a blog.

Here's some random info. Today I got into a moto accident. I was driving Ben and me to our match when this guy pulled out in front of me. I swerved as much as I could without totally laying the moto down, but I still clipped him. What killed me is he not only pulled out in front of me, but was looking at me the whole time like, "GET OUT OF THE WAY!" It bent my foot brake back onto the foot rest, so now that's totally unusable. I'll have to get it fixed tomorrow. Another funny thing: When I hit the guy, he toppled over slowly, but I kept going albeit a little wobbly. The rule in Cambodia is the foreigner always loses. If I had stayed he would have insisted that I pay for the "damages." Other people nearby started yelling at me to stop as soon as it happened, but I kept going. I knew he would accumulate a crowd of "witnesses" who would attest to the foreigner's guilt. Running away from an accident seems atrocious to a Westerner, but there are no police to speak of here, and if you can get away it's in your best interests. Ben kept looking to see if we were being followed, but we weren't. I kept thinking, "If I can just get to my team they'll be able to back me up!" Fortunately we didn't reach that point. I can get the brake fixed for about $3 - no biggie!

So...Ben and I are sitting in Freebird's American Bar & Grill. It's less glamorous than it sounds, and far less American. It is, however, a nice reprieve from Asian life outside, and there's free wireless and Johnny Cash and something that approaches a cheeseburger.

Tomorrow I think I'll go to my breakfast spot, get some noodle soup, buy some postcards in the market, and see if I can't find a post office. Be checkin your mailboxes folks!

Grace and peace,

Bryant

My day-to-day scene

2008-09-08T05:28:00.000-07:00

Today was a rather exciting day. Instead of meandering around the city in endless cycles of sweat, food, more sweat, language faux pas, and more sweat, you get the picture... Instead of all of that, my two team mates and I moved the first bunch of our stuff out to where we will live and teach. I'm now considering how best to communicate the significance of this event. Oh, wait, first let me say the picture above is the main highway out of the city, towards the airport, that takes us to our school. This is the last vestige of anything urban before we hit the real Cambodia.

Ok, now on to why this first move was so significant. Let me start by saying I've been living out of suitcases for about a month-and-a-half now. No large sacrifice, I know. It's not like I was climbing a mountain barefoot in zero degree temps. But...such things get old. It would be different if there was a really good reason, but as of now a really good reason eludes me.

Why can't I move in yet? Many factors come into play. First you have to consider that I'm going to a new school with a team that is the first foreign-teacher team at the place. The school administration has been doing the best they can with the information they were given by my organization. Something got lost in translation... At any rate, our apartments on campus weren't ready today, so we had to come back to the city.

Two good things came from the quasi-move today: 1) We learned what we'll need to really settle in and make it home, which is great because it will be home for a long time to come. 2) A small attraction for the place was kindled inside my, as-of-late, indifferent heart.

The scene to the left here is what I see from my balcony, only imagine a small mountain off to the left. Seriously, how many people get to see something like this every day? Ok...so...100 million Southeast Asians get to... I guess I should say, "How many guys from Alabama get to see something like this every day?"

Most of you are probably thinking, "Hmmm... I'll take suburbia any day." Granted, rural Cambodia isn't for everyone, but I can't help admire the beauty and simplicity of it all. It rains, people plant rice, they till, uproot, replant, harvest... It's hard work, but the cycle continues and something about it makes me envious.

Until I have more stories and pictures, I will say adios. Or, as they say here in Cambodia, "Lia sin hauy!"

~ Bryant

Motorcyles & Museums

2008-09-05T07:05:00.003-07:00

I've spent the past week wandering around the city, getting my bearings, honing my language skills, and trying not to kill small children with my moto (or myself for that matter). Ok I need to clarify something from the start: What you see me on in the picture is called a "moto." It's not a moped; much to my mother's consternation it's not a scooter (she still calls it that) and...........ok..........it's not a motorcycle. I'll admit it. It's not a motorcycle. It has a basket on the front for crying out loud. But it's definitely NOT a moped. I call it "Fun On Two Wheels" cause I have a blast on it (with helmet, of course).

The problem is we won't start teaching until MUCH later than we thought. Such is the nature of Southeast Asian culture. Things like school schedules are seen as flexible. The students will always study the same length of time, but when that length begins is up to interpretation. Things like weather patterns, the lunar calendar, and plain-and-simple bureacracy come into play. We won't start until the end of October.

What will I do until then? I'll learn language, make friends in the city, meet some summer students, teach a couple seminars.... I'll be as productive as possible, you can believe that. A friend - Will Rope - and I are memorizing the New Testament together. That's been crazy encouraging to me. I enjoy doing that during my mornings and evenings.

I've also been spending time with the new teammates who are going through in-country training under the capable tutilage of Trisha, a 3-years-accomplished English teacher here in Phnom Penh. She has been getting the new guys acclimated to Khmer culture and oriented around the city. She's made my readjustment so much easier, so props to Trish.

One thing the team did lately that I got in on was the Toul Sleng Genocide Museum. I've been four times already, but I really wanted to go and see what's been updated and maybe this time take some serious photos (as serious as photos from yours truly can be).

I was onced again moved by the humanity on display at this place. Thousands of photos of the victims plead with you as you walk the halls of this school-turned-prison-turned-memorial. You somehow have to come to grips with the fact that they were all murdered; they're all dead. I don't think I've ever really given it the amount of thought I did during this recent visit. I decided to focus on the faces individually. There are too many to count - you have to look at a section and focus on the few that jump out at you.

There I was in this solemn place staring into the faces of the dead, wondering what they were thinking and feeling. What were their last moments like? Do they have family still alive? Which were the ones that made it out alive?

Out of the some 17,000 prisoners, only 14 made it alive. This is only the prison where political targets were taken. Out of the country's 8 million + population roughly 2 million were either exterminated or died of starvation, disease, and malnutrition.

My big problem is how to process all of this as an American. I've undergone NOTHING in my life approaching the total upheaval, violence, desperation, and destruction that these people have experienced. I've not experienced any hardships at all....period. The only medium I have for relating to this is a movie. How pathetic is that???

All I can do is be here and try to contribute to the rebuilding and regrowth of this nation. I feel like, in many ways, the United States is responsible, even indirectly, for what has happened here. (I'm still patriot, don't worry.) But....that's for another time and another blog.

If you'll look at my links page up top and to the right, you'll see one that says "My Photos." There you can view all my pictures from the museum as well as other photos from Cambodia. To see the museum look under "Phnom Penh - Genocide Museum."

Grace and peace,

Bryant

Bienvenidos a Cambodia!

2008-09-02T23:39:00.001-07:00

So we finally made it! I'm in Phnom Penh once again, and ready to get going. The only problem is I can't get going just yet. The past couple weeks have consited of some orientation and acclimation and, for the most part, just waiting.
Classes don't start until the middle of October (possibly later). You may ask, "So why are you there so early?" That's a very good question, and I would answer it by saying my organization does their training based on the earliest semester date. In other words, some teachers in other areas will begin teaching in the next week or so. ELI/C can't do three or four separate trainings. Therefore, those of us who start teaching later in the year come to our respective countries/cities and do things like learn language, get used to the food, set up our living spaces/apartments/houses/what-have-you... We begin to make connections with locals and learn our environment. It's good to have a large space of time in which to do this, but at times it gets really lonely and monotonous. I'm being fruitful with my time, though.

I don't have much time left for this blog, so here is a list of things that have happened since I've been here. I'll try to comment on them individually later. I'm a big fan of lists...

1) Met the Korean staff from my school
2) Had impromptu acupuncture in a public place
3) Joined a French soccer team
4) Played in my first ever soccer match
5) Bought a moto
6) Had a moto accident (not my fault and nothing drastic)
7) Relearned the streets of Phnom Penh
8) Attended a Khmer "service"
9) Memorized the first two-and-a-half chapters of Philippians
10) Created an international incident just by showing up to to local Cambodian gym
11) Went to two birthday parties
12) Eaten a baby duck (it was gross) to prove my manhood (don't know how much I actually proved...)

There's my update. I invite you to check out my photos on phanfare.com. I'm guessing the easiest way to do that, for now, is to either look at my phanfare application on facebook, or to sign in to phanfare directly. I'll try to put a link on here, but such skills are not my strongest. You can always email me at pmeredith@elic.org.

Grace and peace,

Bryant

Ha Long will this blog be???

2008-08-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

Ok, so back to Ha Long Bay... Where to begin??? Let me start by saying something. (I feel like most of my blogs come with disclaimers...) The one lesson I've learned from traveling aroung the world is this: The world is amazing and full of cool stuff, but it's never as cool or as breathtaking as you think it will be. Now indulge me as I wax philosophical:

My thoughts are as follows: Americans are spoiled by Hollywood. Take any adventure movie - Indiana Jones, Tomb Raider, Bon Voyage Charlie Brown! - and you will see beautiful, exotic scenery that appears remote and larger-than-life, what-have-you. Ok, so I'm kidding about Charlie Brown, but he did go to France in that one... My point is we see these movies and get an idea in our head that is a little mas grande than real life. A beautiful example is a comment made by my new friend and team mate, Erin Gripper. In our taxi on the way home from Highland's Coffee (so good!) Erin was telling Megan and me about going to Egypt. She said the pyramids were, "very cool but not as big as I'd thought they'd be." That's a fair sentiment, I think. Honestly I expected her to say something like, "It was the coolest thing ever!", but the more I thought about her response the more it made sense to me. It's really easy to make something on film or in pictures seem larger than life or more exotic or more remote, and then when you show up you find out that it's really not any bigger than a warehouse and there are tourists running around everywhere and, "Oh look! A Starbucks!"

So, back to Ha Long Bay. I went into this expecting less than what was offered, and I honestly still came up short. I'll have to explain what I mean, and in all honesty I want to be fair. It's a part of the coast east of Hanoi (in the North) where there are literally over a thousand of limestone islands of various shapes and sizes. Some are as small as half a football field, while others are miles in diameter. Most are jutting sharply and steeply out of the water. The pics below was taken by my friend Berkeley, a teacher going to Laos. In fact many of these are his 'cause he has a killer camera and mine camera went dead after the first night.

As you can from these and the one in my previous post (that pic was actually mine) there is some really cool geology/geophraphy to check out aroung the place. Here are a couple more to give you an idea of what it looks like:

So the one on the left is Berk's pic. Mine on the right here is a view from our boat. More on that later..... I have to go to bed. I'm a little under the weather and just took a couple nyquil. They're kicking in big time. Next time I'll put up some more cool pics and talk about how my disclaimer ties in to Ha Long Bay. There will also be some funny commentary via me as our bizaro tour guide.

Grace and peace!

Ha Long Bay

2008-08-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

Last weekend my team took a little trip to one of Vietnam's natural wonders. I'll have to tell you more about it soon because something just came up, but I'm gonna go ahead and post this and get back on here later for full disclosure.

In the small things...

2008-08-12T08:52:00.000-07:00

****DISCLAIMER***
The main purpose of my blog is to communicate with whatever poor sap accidentally stumbles upon it (my apologies in advance). One function of this blog is to let people back home know what's going on with me, specifically about exciting news and positive themes and encouragment concerning the work here in Cambodia. Other posts will not be so cheery. I fully intend to write down some of the bad stuff too, for it is both the bad and the good that constitute our short lives in this fallen world. Out of the bad comes Hope. In desperation Redemption comes. That is the message I've brought with me from home; why should it be any different here? If you are one of my supporters I want you to know you are supporting a real human being who has bad days sometimes, but I'm here and I'm more convinced than ever this is where I'm supposed to be right now. I'm not going anywhere, and in the mean time you get to read ALLLLL about it! :0)

I've spent the past few days pining away in my own bubble of cultural depresssion. I miss home. I miss good food. I miss my gym. My body has been attacked by Southeast Asia and it's fighting back, albeit a losing battle. The memories of my family are being relegated to further and further back in the ole brain, and this time around there won't be any going home in a month or two for a refresher. A group of 18 that three weeks ago were relative strangers have now become my only friends, coworkers, and classmates. I've come to love many of them and value their friendship; they are a refuge of community and like-mindedness in an onslaught of crazy. There exists little doubt I'll continue to stay in touch with many of them in the years ahead and will see them on the other side of Glory, yet two weeks from now has a sad goodbye in store as some go on to Laos and other parts of Vietnam while my three team mates and I go on to Cambodia.

I've been shocked how small things are what make me miss home most, and how the small things are fueling culture shock. Today a random smell (and there are plenty here) reminded me of my parents' living room, the mental image of which brought a hundred sights, sounds, and memories to mind. It could be a play of light on the sidewalk, or the sound of traffic that reminds me of Mobile. A young child playing with a toy car might remind me of my godson Bailey, or the laughter of someone on the street might pass for my brother's laugh.

It's almost impossible to handle crazy without wanting to share it with your friends. ("Crazy" is my new noun for the week, and yes I know it's not really a noun.) If you're having trouble with this vicariously, imagine you're driving by a corn field, see aliens land, stop, meet them, they look cross-eyed at you and leave. What's your first inclination??? You want to tell people, of course! I'm not yet sure if I believe in aliens, but Vietnamese people are coming close enough lately. And when they throw crazy at me all I want to do is tell someone back home. It's usually Craig, sometimes Kristen, although I tend to want to spare her somewhat as she'll be experiencing all of this for the first time soon enough. (Love you babe!)Unfortunately I can't tell anyone except through this blog.... GET ON SKYPE, CRAIG!

Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, it's the little things that make the difference in life. My dad always told me that if you paid attention to the little things that you'd get the big things right. Great inductive advice from a guy who is great at the small things, that's for sure. Or is it deductive? I can't remember which one, anyway... It was a little thing that brought me out of my stupor of culture shock this evening and put me back on track, returned to me the perspective and focus I so desperately needed. And you probably thought this was going to end negatively, didn't you? Maybe next time...

It all started when Ben and Andrea, whose blog is linked to the right here, suggested we go out tonight for Chinese dumplings. I'm a fool for Chinese dumplings and didn't have to think about my answer. As is typical with the group of teachers here, our small trio turned into a sextuplet which snowballed into the 8 or 9ish range... We piled on a crowded bus and headed for a tried-and-true Chinese dumpling street restaurant. Once there we realized the menu was all in Vietnamese and Chinese - strike one and two. My phrase book didn't provide much assistance. Frustrations built. To stall for time we ordered drinks (coke translates well in most cultures). I frantically tried to translate the menu to make sure we got pork dumplings instead of squid and rice....

That's when it happened... Andrea asked for a coke and an ice water, so I quickly spat out the order at the lady with too much forcefulness and very incorrect intonation. The waitress looked at me with just the right amount of annoyance to say, "You don't have to be a jerk." Suddenly, despite the absence of words, I saw the light through that well-deserved disdain. Here we were - a group of five dumb, illiterate Americans demanding drinks and hopelessly and quite erroneously making blind jabs at this young lady's national language. It's not her fault we can't speak her language in her city (even if it full of crazy). She can't help it if we don't know the difference between dumpling and toilet paper in Vietnamese. And she certainly hasn't done anything to warrant impolite customers.

Oh, if I could only tell you what good that proverbial slap-in-the-face did for me in that moment. As I wallowed in my abject shame, our friend and classmate Steven came up just in the nick of time. He and his wife Joelle have been here for 6 months studying language, and he was able to help us order our food. Plate after plate of, in my opinion, the best food in Asia came pouring out from this little street kitchen. There's something perfectly inviting and comforting about Chinese dumplings. It's the same quality shared by macaroni or spaghetti or french fries... I suppose it must be the simplicity of these meals that makes them so appealing, their very nature reassuring us that everything will be ok, just take one more bite. Even the utensils - essentially, two dowel rods - are the epitome of simple function - no bells and whistles. It's the little things...

I'm sure I sound ridiculous, but who cares? Who knew that something as basic as steamed dough and meat could do so much for this ethnocentric American guy, wallowing in his self pity? Dumplings taught me a lesson today about the small things. They often matter most. I'm thinking the tongue here, mustard seed maybe, or heck even ordering a coke in Vietnamese. The small things constitute life, and now, thanks to a little dumpling, I'm ready to get on with mine again.

Life today is like a Michael Buble song...

2008-08-08T09:37:00.000-07:00

When I think of songs I think of days past when I felt like a particular song or was listening to it. I have really vivid memories from odd times simply because of particular songs linked to the memory. But I'm not writing about the hypothoses of sensory input assocation. I just want to say - today I feel like that Michael Buble song "Home." Only, I'd have to say I probably feel more like the country version since I'm thinking of home - Alabama. The funny thing is I hate that version with all my being, but right now I'd cut off a finger to be in my truck driving down Wilmer Rd. listening to it. Go figure...

Especially relevant is the line, "Maybe surrounded by a million people I still feel alone, and let me go home. Oh, I've got to go home." There are way too many people in Hanoi. The commies should redistribute some population or something. I mean if you're gonna be communist then why not take advantage of it, you know what I'm saying? (Ok. I'm not totally serious, and no disrespect intended to the government of Vietnam. You reading, guys???)

The problem is really not food or the heat. I miss my family; I miss my girlfriend. I want to hold her and be with her, yet I can't. It's like the adult version of a kid who wants to have the new toy more than anything, but daddy keeps saying, "No."

I miss my brother, and I hate not being able to hear about his first experiences in college. He'll be fine; I'm not sure I will sometimes.

Now I'm thinking of a Derek Webb song, and it's so good I'm gonna put the whole thing on here. Please read it:

As I survey the ground for ants

Looking for a place to sit and read

I'm reminded of the streets of my hometown How they're much like this concrete that's warm beneath my feet

And how I'm all wrapped up in my mother's face

With a touch of my father just up around the eyes

And the sound of my brother's laugh

But more wrapped up in what binds our ever distant lives

But if I must go

Things, I trust, will be better off without me

But I don't want to know

Life is better off a mystery

So keep'em coming these lines on the road

And keep me responsible be it a light or heavy load

And keep me guessing with these blessings in disguise

And I'll walk with grace my feet and faith my eyes

Hometown weather is on TV

I imagine the lives of the people living there

And I'm curious if they imagine me

Cause they just wanna leave; I wish that I could stay

But I get turned around

And I mistake some happiness for blessing

But I'm blessed as the poor

Still I judge success by how I'm dressing

So I'll sing a song of my hometown

I'll breathe the air and walk the streets

Maybe find a place to sit and read

And the ants are welcome company

And you know what? I couldn't say it better...

I'll be ok. Grace my feet and faith my eyes... Bring it on, Hanoi. Bring - it - on.

A closing thought for the day...

2008-08-07T09:06:00.000-07:00

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,

Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!

What more can He say than to you He hath said,

To you who for refuge, to Jesus have fled?

In every condition, in sickness, in health;

In poverty’s vale, or abounding in wealth;

At home and abroad, on the land, on the sea,

As thy days may demand, shall thy strength ever be.

Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed,

For I am thy God and will still give thee aid;

I’ll strengthen and help thee, and cause thee to stand

Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.

When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;

For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,

My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;

The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design

Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.

The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose,

I will not, I will not desert to its foes;

That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,

I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.

Off the chart: How to fit road rage and Mexican food into your Southeast Asian Worldview

2008-08-07T07:35:00.001-07:00

There are moments in life when the unexpected happens. We could all agree on that, right? We take the unexpected as it comes and, usually without conscious thought, assimilate it into our worldview. Por ejemplo, you find yourself caught up in a bank robbery. The thief gets caught, like they all do, and you come out of the situation unscathed. You go home a little shaken up but none the worse for wear. Now, you have to fit that situation into your worldview in order for it to make sense.

"Well, I guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!"

The above statement implies you have a worldview based on fate and not one of providence. The latter would say,

"I guess there was a reason for what happened today, even if I can't see it now!"

Why am I talking about worldviews and the unexpected? Well, today was a fun day in Hanoi. The Farnums (picture on the way) had Team Lao and Team Cambodia over for Mexican food tonight. The Farnums are ELI team leaders here in Hanoi and have been serving as hosts - more appropriately, babysitters - for us trainees. They let us do laundry, show us around town, hold our hands across the street, etc. Aparently their house help can cook Mexican, so Erin Gripper (more about her and others later) dropped a less than subtle hint and, BINGO, dinner date for Thursday night (tonight) for Team Lao and Team Cambodia. Team Vietnam had already been over for Mexican, so they weren't invited.

So......

Ben Peters and his lovely and pregnant wife Andrea, Berkeley Shorthill Ph.D., Erin Gripper, Sarah Price, Melissa Tucker, and I piled into a seven-passenger van and headed for the Farnums. (Yes, there were eight of us).

On the way, our taxi driver... Wait... Lemme back up... There is a typhoon hitting Vietnam right now. It's name is Kummuri or something like that, and it's probably not a typhoon anymore. It just looks like a typical stormy day on the Gulf Coast, actually. So anyway our taxi driver was driving in the bad weather and accidentally bumped (barely nudged more like it) a moto at an intersection. The driver looks at his bike, looks up at us, looks at his bike again, gets off, comes over to the drivers side, we all hold our breath, the guy yanks the door open, cusses the driver, slaps him, and slams the door....

Excuse me! Waiter? A round of heart palpitations for me and my friends please!

Moving on from that adventure... wait... I need to say that I wanted to slap the jerk, because our tiny little taxi driver (couldn't have been more than 20 years old) was so embarrassed. I could tell. He just sat there and took it and didn't look left or right. I wanted to cream the guy on the moto, and I wished I could say, "Don't worry about it!" in Viet.

Ok, moving on from that adventure we arrived at the Farnums, and this part will be really short: WE ATE THE BEST MEXICAN FOOD I'VE EVER HAD. PERIOD.

So, upon reflection, I want to say that life throws you curve balls sometimes. I mean, homemade tortillas and guacamole and road rage were not on the agenda for today. How does one begin to process Mexican food, nay, outstanding Mexican food in Hanoi, Vietnam??? Much less during a typhoon.... I might point out that all this is taking place while my friends and family are asleep in bed on the other side of planet Earth, the implications of which I'm still unable to process. I think I need some tylenol.

I suppose the answer to my questions is found in knowing that, in our lifetime, little is left that is truly remote. I would also add that the more I'm around people of other cultures the more I'm struck by similarities rather than differences. Road rage? Could be Mobile, Alabama; could be L.A. or D.C. or, heaven forbid, Hanoi, Vietnam.

So what do you do with Mexican food in Hanoi??? You eat it, of course, and lots of it, and you don't ask questions.

Bryant

Hi from Hanoi

2008-08-05T09:02:00.000-07:00

The following was an assignment here in Hanoi for one of my grad classes:

Bryant Meredith
Reflective Journal: Entry 3, “Free Write About 1st Week In Hanoi.”
August 4, 2008

It’s very difficult to qualify in writing what one experiences in a culture plunge such as this. I use that phrase for lack of better description. Cliché references such as cross-cultural experience and international experience are both annoying and inadequate. Here’s a word picture:

Imagine standing at the edge of a creek. You’re at the bottom of a wide valley between two large peaks that converge somewhere in the distance. It’s a summer day, and the valley is filled with warmth and life. Staring at the creek, you visually follow its course up the valley and see it emerge from underneath a glacier that has descended from the mountain and is kissing the edge of the valley. You’ve been hiking all day and are hot and tired and the creek looks so inviting. You can see smooth pebbles lying at the bottom of pristine water, and it’s so easy to imagine how wonderful they’d feel on your feet while refreshing water cascades over your tired shoulders.

Unable to take it any longer, you drop your heavy pack and strip. Feeling a little vulnerable you quickly jump in… Breathless, in pain, unable to speak or scream you quickly scramble for the edge. Water cold as fresh snow slaps you in the face. Suddenly you realize your mistake - the glacier sourced this water, and as inviting as it looked it would always be numbingly freezing. Once at the shore you realize that some of the shock has worn off. It slowly becomes easier and easier to enjoy the water, yet you eventually will have to return to the shore for warmth and a recharge if you want to continue to enjoy the creek.

That is a real experience that somewhat compares to my initial impressions of S.E. Asia. I’m thinking back to my first trip to Phnom Penh in 2002. Being here in Hanoi reminds me of that initial impression and shock I experienced. There are things here that are simply no longer unfamiliar and shocking, and then there are things that will always continue to surprise and “slap me in the face” like a cold shower or like jumping into the glacier creek. Many naïve presumptions and wistful expectations were soon dashed to pieces during my first week in Phnom Penh that year, much like the hiker jumping into the inviting creek in the valley.

I expected Asia to be far more rural and less modern. Part of me expected a quainter Asia like I had seen in movies. I expected to be bathing at a well or in a river and sleeping in a bamboo hut (actually I did sleep in a bamboo house for awhile) and communing with workers in the rice fields. Imagine my surprise when, on the night-time drive from the airport in Phnom Penh, I saw billboards advertising Ovaltine, and asphalted streets with painted lines, and ice cream shops, and neon signs on cell phone shops. When I reached the house of the Khmer family with whom I stayed, I was floored to see semi-normal beds and a western toilet and tiled floors and chairs and a sofa.

Despite these similar conveniences I also encountered the cold-water slap through things like constant, unabated heat, “dirty” surfaces and environments, filthy smells, bad meals with no recourse to familiar food (there was not a selection of Western food in P.P. back then), and annoying Asian habits 24/7 for which I was not prepared. I lived with a Khmer family, and they were not terribly concerned with the fact that I was American and might do things a little different, leading to some very awkward moments.

My first week in Hanoi has certainly been a catalyst for a flood of memory. The sights and smells of S.E. Asia are intoxicating. I often say this when asked what the place is like. “It’s intoxicating!” I tell them. Usually this elicits weird responses and facial expressions, but that’s the truth about my impression. S.E. Asia invokes emotions that, in me, feel guttural and deep and lusty and alive and powerful, as though I’m here for a purpose and here doing what I was meant to do. Life here feels like life ought to feel, not like the packaged and commercialized theme park ride that we call Life in America. Rather it feels like you might actually have to exert some effort and take some risks and live on the edge a little…. Alive for the first time… Living life at last…

Theology in music....

2008-06-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

a favorite hym...

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation!
O my soul, praise Him, for He is thy health and salvation!
All ye who hear, now to His temple draw near;
Praise Him in glad adoration!

Praise to the Lord, who o'er all things so wondrously reigneth,
Shelters thee under His wings, yea, so gently sustaineth!
Hast thou not seen how thy desires all have been
Granted in what He ordaineth?

Praise to the Lord, who doth prosper thy work and defend thee;
Surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.
Ponder anew what the Almighty can do
If with His love He befriend thee.

Praise to the Lord! O let all that is in me adore Him!
All that hath life and breath, come now with praises before Him!
Let the "amen" sound from His people again;
Gladly for, aye, we adore Him.
Text: Joachim Neander; translated by Catherine Winkworth
Music: Stralsund Gesangbuch, 1665

The Weight Of Glory

2008-06-21T22:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I have too much to think about I like to put some of it out there on paper, or in this case screen. Tonight is a night for that. It's kinda like organizing a t-shirt drawer or something - if you've got too much stuff in it, you have to pull some of it out and see what's really in there. Then you can start to put it back in a more organized way. That's how I process... What I'm about to write is raw me. I'm not trying to be offensive or blunt, although it will sound that way. In fact this really isn't intended for anyone else to read but me. I don't mind, but that's not the purpose here. If you do read, just take everything as is and know that there's a happy ending.

I just returned from a singles fellowship. It's a group of "young adults" from my church that gets together regularly. I had a good time, but I'll have to admit my brain was light years away. The problem, and yet the blessing, is that I'm going onto the mission field in about a month. I've been pursuing this calling for more than four years, and now the time is right around the corner. I call it a problem, not because it's getting in the way of anything or causing a burden, but because I'm having some trouble dealing with this leaving thing. Have you ever had an instance where you thought one way about yourself and God slowly and gently said, "No way dude." ? The past four months or so have been like that for me.

You see, I've always been the guy that's like, "I wanna go live in a hut in the jungle and share the gospel and give my life up for Jesus!" Half of my university education consisted of Christian Studies, so I was always around the amateur theologian crowd. That's basically where this calling developed. In the epic search for a major I finally sailed ashore onto the land of "The Ministry." This is kind of a cliche term these days. If I had a nickel for every time I've heard, "I feel called into the ministry" I would be listed in the Fortune 500. I'm not downplaying that calling, but I think lots of people say they feel called to the ministry when what's really happening is they're feeling called to be real Christians. (I'm getting a little off-track here, but I'll get back to the mission-field-and-me thing in a second.)

In most of our churches here in America there is no real sense of the need for true service or of the urgency of the gospel or of mercy demonstrated among the least of these. Many young folks see this and they know it should be different, but they believe that the ones to serve and preach and teach are the "ministers" while all the other pew-warming, affluent, self-made followers of Christ are the "normal Christians." So when one of these young people feels that he or she wants to get up off the pew and do something about it, he or she will profess a "calling to ministry." Immediately this creates a dichotomy between what every Christian SHOULD be doing, and what people perceive as the role of quote-unquote ministers. Don't mistake my meaning; some of these callings into full-time ministry are very genuine. I just think, from experience and observation, that many are not.

My case, in the begining, was very much like what I just described. In searching for a career I had to ask myself, "What's most important to you?" That's a tough question, if you think about it, because we value conflicting goals and ideals. Someone may value a really high salary but doesn't want to admit to pursuing money or material goods. Another person may value humanitarian goals but knows that this will mean a life a hard work and exclusion from the American dream. Other people may want to make an impact for the good, whatever that may be. That was me my freshman year in university. Because my context here is as a follower of Christ, I wanted to be used of God in the most effective and eternally significant way possible. That excluded a lot of things, but it also opened the door to a whole array of choices. Preaching, counseling, youth ministry, music, medicine, and even politics seemed like avenues for having an impact. Eventually I realized with the help of friends and mentors that I needed to discover my gifts and then go after them. I liked languages, I liked foreign cultures, and I liked the idea of getting to travel, so I began to pursue the idea of foreign mission work. After my first trip overseas I was hooked.

My horizons expanded a thousand percent, and I came home fit to be tied. Some really good things came out of this, and some really bad things came too. I read and read and read about missionaries and about the call to go share the gospel and about how to minister in different cultures. I also discovered that many of my friends were feeling the same way. There was actually a missionary click at school, if you can believe it. As for me, I wanted to be the next Jim Elliot - I wanted to go to the hard places and live the hard life and, live or die, serve Christ. I can actually remember times when I said things like, "I'm the kinda guy who can live anywhere and eat anything." Unbelievable. These kind of attitudes were pretty common, and from time to time we unconsciously played this little game I titled, "Who's the Best Missionary?" Here're the rules: 1) You have to be planning to go into missions. If not then you don't really count. 2) You have to make at least one misisons trip, preferably more. The more you make the higher your score. 3) The missionary who goes to the hardest place and does the hardest work gets 100 bonus points. Possibility of death or imprisonment indicates a true heart of service. This is your trump card. For example, working with Muslim youth in Pakistan would trump doing college outreach in France. Doing undercover Bible storying in communist China would trump building a church in Mexico. 4) You have to have read at least four missionary biographies and listened to "Doing Missions When Dieing Is Gain" by John Piper. Otherwise you don't really have a heart for missions.

Believe it or not, we played this game. We danced this prideful dance for all to see. I'm not really sure if it ever really crossed our minds what we were doing, but....there we were. Like Paul I elevate myself to the position of chief in this sad game. I played it hard and well. The funny thing is, less than half of those "sold out for missions" are now going.

What does this have to do with anything? Well, I'm trying to admit some pride here. And this is why: the time for me to finally become the missionary is here. I'll be leaving soon. I've finally found an awesome church. I never thought after leaving my old one that I had time to connect with a new community of believers, but the Lord dropped one in my lap. He is really too good to me. I'm sad to be leaving them. My family has become more and more important to me the older I get, and now I'm leaving them just when things are getting interesting. The little brother has finally grown up, and the older he gets the closer and I grow. Now I'll miss most of his college years and his baseball games. I never really had a real best friend, but God's given me one of those recently too. It's just one more relationship that is about to be "infringed upon" by this missions thing. What else? Oh yeah, how could I forget the big one? All I've ever really wanted for myself was to have a family. Material things have never held much interest for me. I just want a wife to love and some kids to call me "daddy." Yet here I am, 25, and still single. I know deep down that God has this all under perfect control. You know that right? He really does. It's not an if-then situation; it's a 2+2=4 situation. No need to argue. So why are you whining, Bryant? Well, I don't know that I am really. I mean, I think I'm just laying my heart out there. The kid back in college who was ready to go and lay it all down is still ready, but now I think I realize that it's not me producing that desire. God has to have planted it there and watered it and nurtured it. Because the "me" side of me is gonna pout about saying goodbye and missing out on American life for three years, be it church or dating or football or the gym or AC or Subway sandwiches or you name it. The missionary game is over. Now the real thing begins. I think I've finally realized that if God wanted me to go live in the jungle and be the next Jim Elliot I would have left three years ago; I wouldn't still be sitting here.

God is patient. He is infinitely kind toward us, His children. Why He bothers with me so much is still a huge mystery.Part of me thinks that God is showing me here, at the end, that He is still my Father. He isn't witholding any good thing! I can only assume that the good things now will be strengthened in the next few years. The perspective I'm trying to have is one of excited anticipation. The gospel will be preached to thirsty souls. May many hear and believe! I'll learn so much while I'm gone and come home ready for life's next step. God will continue to work through my church, and I can't wait to read the reports. All other doubts and fears and grumblings are laid at His feet where they belong, and I can walk away confident of His sovereign plan. The mission field is all around us. That's a trite Christian slogan, but it's biblical. My mission field, for the time being, happens to be on the other side of the world. If the Father wills, I'll come back having lived these words of Martin Luther:

Let goods and kindred go
This mortal life also
The body they may kill
God's truth abideth still
His kingdom is forever

Bryant