Sorry it’s been so long since I last checked in- training seems to be more stressful and time consuming than I had originally anticipated. Everyday from Monday to Saturday we have language lesson for 4 hours and technical Health training for another 4 hours. Sometimes during our weekly check-ins with our groups I end up crying in front of everyone and then break into nervous laughter because I hate crying in public. All the while, a group of Khmer villagers are staring and wondering why the heck I’m having an outburst of emotion and am not saying “hello” back to them. It’s a rollercoaster of emotion here and I’m riding it in all of it’s momentous, undulating glory. “Father Mike”, one of the training program directors, said in one of our many interviews, “You seem to be a person who is more open with their feelings.” To which I responded, “Yes, I have a lot emotions…and I don’t have a very good poker face.” And then, to my surprise, he preceded to compliment me on being honest with my different feelings and encouraging others to realize their own feelings and deal with their own emotional rollercoasters. When he asked the inevitable, “And how does that make you feel?” I responded that the ever-constant mood swings are just evidence that I’m living, and the highs and lows I hit every day are more intense than I would have experienced in the States, but in the long run will probably help me to grow more as a person and see depths of myself that I otherwise would not have seen. After all that cheesiness crammed into our five minute convo I thought, ‘This guy and I should work for Hallmark’, and held back my tears. Just kidding. But it is true that I have been teetering between the honeymoon and rejection phases of cultural adjustment, and I’ll give you some hints as to why:
My daily life here consists of constant reminders that make me realize, “oh, yeah…I’m in Cambodia”. So to begin the “You know you’re in Cambodia when…” list, and to orient you on my typical schedule…
-I wake up to roosters around 5:00 AM every morning. No need for an alarm. Who needs them when you have cocks outside yelling, “I’m a Freaking ROOOOOSTER!”.
-I use a squat toilets. Nice to meet you, left hand.
-Women follow me around the market and tell me how beautiful and fat I am all in one breathe. “Why thank you….I think?” I can start to understand the fat comment though-considering I could not fit into any of the t-shirts in the Kampong Cham market and resorted to buying men’s large undershirts in a variety of colors instead.
-I also have some grandmothers that think I’m hilarious when I try to speak Khmer, and endearingly punch me in the shoulder every morning.
-While learning a language in which the same word (“svai”) can mean either purple, mango or syphilis, things can get a little complicated at times. New words get jumbled around in my head sometimes, too, so when I first met my host mother I told her I had “chicken number of family members in the U.S.” instead of “4 family members”. I also told someone I wanted to drink blood water instead of lemon water. No wonder they think I’m some kind of alien!
-Transportation can get creative at times. I have seen people riding elephants on the national roads, and when I was coming back from PCV visit when (I went to Battambang to visit a current volunteer who has already been living here for a year), our bus broke down and we were passed up by an elephant. My group called one of our teachers and asked what we should do. The first question our teacher asked us was, “Is the bus driver still there?” Apparently, sometimes, if the bus gets in an accident, the bus driver just bounces. Luckily, ours was still there, and in three hours they had our bus fixed (all the while, we were sweating our balls off in the bus-sans air conditioning- because it was raining), but the driver had taken no extra precautions- say, for example, calling the company to send another bus just in case? Motos rush by with stuff to sell packed 10 feet high, and 10 feet wide at that. Entire families cram themselves on a moto and zig-zag through traffic to get to their destinations. Talk about “highway to the danger zone”!
-I’ve had several marriage proposals thus far. I once talked to my host brother’s Khmer friend who was in America and spoke some English and after the ten minute convo I was informed that he was falling in love with me. To which I responded, “Atay akun, mien sung sah”: “No thanks, I have a boyfriend.” Also, at a family reunion, my brother told me, “Nar-en (how some people here say my name)- here is a soldier. This man is a police officer. Sung sah?” As if the profession of the man is what’s stopping me from wanting to immediately enter an engagement.
-People, mainly children, say hello to us where ever we go. It’s like we are all Big Bird roaming around- we’re huge in comparison, kind of dress funny and can only talk like babies or cavemen at this point in our language training.
-my Gramps generally spends all days making brooms with his hands and feet with a cigarette in his mouth. He’s pretty much my favorite person in Cambodia right now because he cracks me up. He is so comically expressive with his face that I end up mirroring his expressions and really get into whatever he’s saying to me, even if it’s just, “You should drink tea. It makes you less sleepy.” Or “I really like my big lighter. I can smoke more.” Or my favorite, “Eat more rice.” Me-“But Grandpa, I’m full. I’ve had enough rice.” Gramps- “No, eat more rice.” Me-“Ok”. End scene. Yup, that’s pretty much the level I’m at. Gramps speaks so rapidly with me and wildly mimes along, and when I say “Ja Ja Ja”, as if I understand, he smiles and nods, and when he realizes I have no frickin clue, he shakes his head and walks away…then comes back and repeats the process. I love this man.
-One of my favorite moments shared with Gramps was when he showed me the priceless wedding pics of his son and daughter-and-law. Most professional pictures in Cambodia are glamour shots- caked on makeup and superimposed images of couples with beach behind them or a Persian rug at their feet. These particular images also had lovey-dovey quotes, in English of all languages, such as, “Love is a fantastical jourmey. I will love you long time forever, sweet clarity. I hope never lost you.” Perfect.
-My host Ma buys sla from the other villagers and then sells it to larger towns. What is “sla”, you might ask? Well since it’s not “polite” to smoke, older women chew on sla- which is a nut that’s retrieved from the tops of trees by kids shimming up them with their kromas, peeled, sliced into tiny circular pieces, dried in the sun for days on end, and dipped in a red-colored flavoring, and then dried for more days. It numbs the mouth, from what I’ve experienced by taste-testing the raw form, and has a somewhat addictive quality. So let me give you the low-down on my interaction with my Ma. I come home from language class, she tells me to get a shower and then five seconds into my water-pail-attempt-to-clean-myself I hear, “Nar-en, N’yuuuuuuuum Baiiiiiiiiiii!!!!”. Translation, “ ‘Lauren’, EAT RICE!!!!” And then I come down wet and her reaction is like, ‘oh, you were taking a shower.’ And then she puts interesting things on my plate throughout the meal because I’m a foreigner and am incapable of feeding myself.
-The food has been a bit of an adjustment. Surprisingly, crickets taste like carmel corn with legs, tarantulas taste like spice like carmel corn with legs, tarantulas taste like spicy crispy chicken, and fertilized baby duck eggs taste like chicken in a fried twinkie exterior…if you don’t think about it. And coagulated blood doesn’t really have a taste. Some delicacies I’ve learned I can’t stomach include: bacon-encrusted balls of pig fat, chicken intestines, and fish paste, which Khmer people falsely advertise as “cheese” sometimes.
-The kids are adorable. I’ve already explained how they say “hello” everywhere we go, but my favorite is when I was dancing at our trainee party and this group of kids that live next door were mirroring every move I made. So I taught them how to disco, two step and walk like an Egyptian, among other things.
-A note about parties…I’ve been to two Khmer parties thus far. The first was a house warming party. All guests give a gift of money, about 3 to 5 dollars to the hosting family, and then rounds of food come to the table- including courses of fish head soup, baby ducks and beef and onion dishes. The women style their hair like 80s prom and wear badazalled satin dresses. After eating, we all danced around the table, struggling to calm ourselves to slowly waltz with lotus hands to the disproportionately upbeat music. During the dance, a drunk old man came up to me and faked a punch to my forehead. I laughed nervously and then he elbowed me hard in the ribs. That’s when I took a cue to bounce, and I returned to a house with no electricity because it was blown out by the loud speakers at the party, which played well past the average villagers bedtime.
-The other party I went to was for the Chinese holiday “sign cabahl dtuk”, or Pray Head Water, a flood festival ceremony that involves sacrifices of fake money and jewelry at the wat. I also saw my family fold colored paper and write names on each piece in preparation for the ceremony, which they explained to me are costumes for the returning souls of their relatives, which also were burned in sacrifice. My fam turned on the electricity of their alter and Buddha was rubbin’ his belly in his surrounding light show.
-In terms of animals I run into, beisides the roosters and chickens, there’s also a pig who chills at the wat to cry sanctuary and avoid being slaughtered. She likes to come up to gathered groups of people and then crap where they used to be standing. There is also a family-owned owl that I just met, as well as the ever-present Huntsman spiders, mice and geckos- 3 of which feast nightly by my room’s light, and I encourage them as they chase their prey. Evidence of me going crazy? Perhaps.
So there are highs and lows, but no matter what the frustration I have learned to reference back to the wonderful advice my new Khmer friend Sam Om has told me…”Lauren, Hakunnah Matata.” And then I sing the travel commercial’s song for “Cambodia, the Kingdom of Wonder”, which sounds similar to the theme song of Reading Rainbow, and I add sarcastic lyrics to remind me to continue to have a sense of humor.
Please continue to send letters- they’re the highlight of my seminar days. I love and miss you all, my fellow American friends! I’ll try to keep it classy in Kampuchea for the remainder of my stay.
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