Fall

Today was a marvelous day...Charles returned from Cambodia on Wednesday and rode the train into the city to visit.(Unfortunately, Crystal was ill and stayed home.) We met the new couple that will be moving to Prey Veng and working with one of my old partners, NILH. They are a young, enthusiastic couple who are looking forward the the adventure of working in international development in rural Cambodia; I think they will do well.

After the meeting, Charles and I went to the Reading Terminal Market for lunch, bought honey and apple cider for my roommate and headed to Chinatown for bubble tea. It was refreshing feeling like I was back in Asia...ancestor shrines and all. It was also good to see another friend with whom I have many shared experiences.

Earlier this week one of my classmates said I always seem calm and have a peaceful presence. I was a little surprised because I often don't feel like I emit peace...more like a frantic bewilderment. But I noticed today that I don't stress about little things, or big things for that matter, so much anymore. Somehow in the greater scheme of things it doesn't seem necessary; everything will work out. And compared to life in Cambodia, life is relatively tame here....but it's still an adventure. I love exploring the city...this place surprises me when I least expect it. I found a building with Khmer writing on it in my neighborhood, between 46th and 47th. Fall has come to the city as the my tree lined street bursts with oranges, golds and reds. Biking invigorates my body as well as my appreciation for old houses, flowers and dodging cars. Farmer's markets are full of apples, pumpkins and spinach. The diversity of peoples, cultures and languages is comforting. This city has a rhythm of its own...mindful awareness simply allows me to join in the melody.

I used to hate fall, its arrival announcing the return of cold weather, gray skies and numb appendages. But autumn is breathtaking. My perspective is different; change is eminent and oh, so beautiful.

church

I don’t know where I belong anymore. Let me explain.

I'm afraid Christianity in America has lost its passion. It’s become mainstream, selfish, narcissistic, bland, couch-potato, feel good fluff. Core values include promoting creationism, pro-life, heterosexuality and “saving souls.” These are good things to promote and I respect those who strongly believe in them…but I’m don’t fit in there. I don’t see these as pressing issues in my faith. I need a gut-retching, enduring, bold challenge to seek justice, love, peace, understanding, and tolerance. I need a community where I can be held accountable, not only for my daily actions and prayer life, but for the greater ills of society. The pain and hurts I’ve caused by compliance, compliance with a world that is inherently broken with systemic injustice. I need something real and tangible. I’ve just spent three years of my life in a corrupt country with few resources to bring about lasting healing; I need to know it wasn’t in vain. I need to know there’s still a community willing to take me in and care for me as I rediscover this strange reality of America.

I don’t know when I became a liberal...if that's what you want to call it. I guess I never realized that justice, nutritious food, a safe place to sleep and health care were all part of the liberal agenda. Why is America so polarized in politics? I’ve never been much for politics…it just seems like a bunch of people arguing and no one ever budging on their stance. Throughout history when a new sect of Christianity emerged, those who followed were labeled as radicals. They were bold, passionate, crazy, and liberal. Yet in the Bible Belt today, being a liberal is bad. Heaven forbid we think of the poor, malnourished or lame when policies are made. Has Christianity become so individualized that we talk to God, but not each other? God empowers individuals en masse to generate lasting change; it’s essential we work together…and yes, that requires talking to each other. Listening. Praying. Weeping. Celebrating. Greeting. Caring.

I never felt like I fit in well in established, mainstream Christianity before I lived abroad. Now I certainly don’t fit.

What now?

Classes started Monday. I enjoy them immensely, except for some minor confusion about my one class. It's a 500 level graduate class that is combined with a 300 level undergraduate class and my lab section meets before lecture. It's a bit confusing, but I think it will all work out.

I'm in Philly doing what I had wanted and planned on for so long...going to graduate school and working towards becoming a registered dietitian. But something is wrong. I don't seem to know who I am anymore. From a logical point of view, I understand the whole re-entry culture shock thing. I know my identity has comepletely changed with returning to America. I know I'm going through culture shock by moving to a city when I have lived my entire life in the country. I know I moved to a place where I didn't know anyone (I'm meeting new people every day).

Yet, there's still this innate fear that unsettles my soul, a fear that I'm no longer serving God. God took me to Cambodia and I had an amazing adventure serving Him. But I'm no longer doing that, so how do I continue to know I'm serving Him? Is grad school just a selfish desire that is distracting me from further bettering the world? There was no dramatic calling to study, just a path that was created for me.

When Jesus called his disciples he asked them to abandon everything - their families, jobs, reputations, social status, everything - to follow him. What have I abandoned? Hardly everything. Yes, in Cambodia I gave up some things, but I was able to return to a very similar life that I had led before. And now I seem to be baffled as to how to continue to serve God. And once more, I have this fear God will abandon me because I am no longer in Cambodia and am off pursing selfish desires. But that is totally ridiculous since He has said He'll never leave me.

"sounds like you're a Buhrman"

or so my brother replied when I told him today that I don't like moving. And how can that be since I love traveling and experiencing new things...yet tend to utterly dread the process of transitioning from one place to another. Perhaps I'm just more of a country girl than I realized and I really am afraid of the big city.

Perhaps...

Or maybe I'm still trying to catch up on all of the things that have happened over the past three years...and things that haven't changed.

Like how bumpy my parents' backyard is. It's not flat! There's slight hills and little grooves even thought it looks flat.

Like how all of my Buhrman cousins are either married, engaged or soon to be. When did we grow up?

And, seriously, when did we grow up? When did I get into this much debt? How has my brother managed to save more money than I'm in debt for?

How do people my age own houses?

When did people become discontent with their lives and start to complain about everything. What happened to the joy?

How did I accumulate so much stuff? And it's not even valuable or useful stuff but yet it fills up a whole storage shed.

When did I become unable to transform my anxiety into words so that the only way they could escape was through tears?

I always thought the hardest thing I do was to leave and go live overseas. I now believe returning is where the true difficulty begins.

a new adventure

I have decided to keep this blog and continue to post what life is like transitioning back to America and my new adventure as a graduate student at Drexel in Philadelphia.

Food Security in America?

For my one class, I read "Garden-Based Nutrition Education Affects Fruit and Vegetable Consumption in Sixth Grade Adolescents" from the Journal of the American Dietetic Association. This study confirms that nutrition education along with gardening is more effective in increasing fruit and vegetable intake than just a nutrition class or no intervention. Although fruit and vegetable intake doubled, averaging 4.5 servings, this is still below the recommended 5 servings a day.

In the four days I've been home, I've noticed America is rather fat. One in three persons in the US is overweight or obese, using BMI. Food is everywhere; it's advertised, sold, and produced...everywhere.

In Cambodia, food was a life or death commodity. Overconsumption of calories is still rare in the provinces. Rice production is dependent of rainfall and flooding and if it's a bad year, there's no food. Food security is a huge issue and the one organization I worked with was working to meet this need. Integrated farming systems, including home vegetable gardens, rice production, and fish ponds were encouraged as a way to sustainably produce food for a poor family. The health of the family likewise increased by the consumption of nutrient dense food.

In America, food is also a life or death commodity. However, it's overconsumption that can kill. And yet, fruits and vegetables are not eaten in adequate amounts. For some places, fruits and vegetables are not available due to seasons, cost or dislike. But isn't this a food security issue? Shouldn't there be enough nutritious food available for everyone...whether coming from a rich country or a poor country?

Is there a correlation or am I just trying to see something that isn't there? Is this my way of grasping at something I can understand? I don't understand my home country anymore. Maybe I never really understood it but just assimilated because that was the easier path. The simpler path. The expected path.

Why do we travel? We do we move? Isn't it just easier to stay put? It is. But it's so bland, so dull. Challenges and opportunities for personal growth don't arise when we remain in one place.

I'm challenged by the stark contrast I see between overweight Americans and underweight Cambodians. I admit it's part of a greater personal struggle to try to tie this two worlds together and possibly understand each a bit better.

Thoughts on leaving

How do you pack almost 3 years into 2 suitcases?

How do you say goodbye when you're not sure when you'll return?

How do you remain calm and stable when moving halfway across the world?

How do you reconnect with those whom you dearly love, yet have not been part of their lives for so long?

How do you react to daily encountering Americans instead of Asians?

How can you go days without rice?

How do you interact with others as you sway between numbness and emotional overload?

How do you afford health care, rent, and food upon returning to the "Land of the Free"?

How do you convey stories of hope and hopelessness?

How do you leave when you haven't said all your goodbyes?

How do you let go when you are desperately clinging on?

I will miss you, Prey Veng.

For the past 2 years and 9 months, Prey Veng has been my home. And, fittingly so, I decided to have a small farewell party on Tuesday. The party was not exactly Khmer and not exactly American, more like a mixture of these two worlds. I rented a red and yellow tent, tables, chairs and table settings. I decided to have Khmer curry, fresh vegetables, bread, rice, fruit, cookies, and lemonade. I invited a mixture of people who have been part of my life in Prey Veng, though most people there did not know everyone as their paths rarely crossed. The evening was a great success, though I was having doubts around 3pm that afternoon; I had only made curry once before and was a little concerned the 30 people I invited would not like it or the food would run out.

My host family and I spent most of the evening together. As my host father was working in Kompong Cham and my oldest host brother is now studying in Phnom Penh, only my host mom, sister and youngest brother were able to attend. It was wonderful to see them again and, best of all, my host mom liked my curry! When I was living with them, I felt like I always did everything wrong - cut the vegetables wrong, bought the wrong fruit, didn't eat enough rice, etc. Last night, I did it right.

The other highlight of the night was two presents from Scott and Charles. I had secretly been wanting the "From Spiders to Waterlilies" cookbook and ranted in my last blog post about it. Scott and Charles got it for me. :) Also, for the past few weeks Charles had been putting a PV memory book together for me. Full of pictures of friends, market ladies, and various memorable times, it also includes space for people to write a short note. I haven't gotten to look at it yet, but I did peek and saw Charles also commented on certain pictures. The people who I have interacted with on a regular basis in PV are the ones who I have been thankful for over and over these past years; it's truly an amazing gift.

I can't effectively put into words the affection I have for this small provincial town. And yet, it's not the place that matters so much, but rather the people who have allowed me to grow with them, overcoming the initial awkwardness that characterized so many of my first experiences. I will miss you, Prey Veng.

Um, Thanks?

Last night was the MCC going away party for Amy, Christa, Karin, and myself. Overall it went well; my partners came, we had noam banh chao, and everyone enjoyed themselves. The evening was a bit surreal for me; it still doesn't seem real that I'm leaving Cambodia in two weeks. My partners still call me at all times of the day, I'm still living in my house, and I haven't said goodbyes yet. It felt like the party was for the others leaving, not for me. For one, the Groffs were missing. All night, it was just off...farewell parties were always special because the Groffs made it special by encouraging the MCC team to choose a personalized gift for those leaving. They also gave a mini speech about how thankful MCC was that the service worker gave so much for Cambodia. Last night there wasn't any of that from MCC. However, both my partners took me aside and thanked me for what I have contributed to their organizations. Bunrey from NILH, thanked me twice. I'll never forget them.

Typically when a MCCer leaves, the group gets together and buys them a small gift as a token of appreciation. We've given a wide variety of things to others in the past; I was hoping for the "From Spiders to Waterlilies" cookbook from Friends. Not only does this cookbook include Cambodian foods I love, but it also reflects the ruralness of my assignment in that the book focuses on typical foods that would be found in the provinces. However, I received the same generic gift as the others, a book about Phnom Penh. Phnom Penh? Ugh. I live in Prey Veng, NOT Phnom Penh. In the front of the book, it was written that even though it's a book about Phnom Penh, it could reflect rural Cambodia too. It doesn't. There are no pictures of rice paddies, water buffalo, palm trees, fruit trees, flooded plains, cracked dry earth, or houses on stilts. This is the Cambodia I know. The hard, rugged Cambodia of malnutrition, domestic violence, and dire poverty. The sweet, welcoming Cambodia of smiling people, verdant rice paddies, and communion with the earth.

I don't care about a book about Phnom Penh. It's not where I have invested myself. Prey Veng has become my home in Cambodia. I don't need some useless book to remind me of my experiences here; I carry them in my heart. As for pictures, I have enough pictures to remind me of those who impacted me. I have my own picture book of Prey Veng. What was really getting to me about this gift was the disconnect between the urban and the rural....basically a theme of my term. Over and over again, I got frustrated at how those living in the city just don't understand what it's like to live in the countryside as a single female. But, why should I expect them to understand? These are my experiences, not theirs. These have been my struggles; they have had other struggles. There will always be a slight disconnect between the urban and rural assignments.

Last night I think I finally realized I have been expecting people to be able to understand, regardless of geographical setting. I can't have those expectations; I am the only one who can understand my interpretation of things in the way I experienced them. I can tell my stories and see the responses, but I can't expect others to constantly connect with me. Perhaps it is starting to sink in that I'm leaving. People in North America can only understand my experiences here so much; in fact it's a much larger disconnect than simply between urban and rural, it's cross cultural.

I need grace as I step into this time of transition. Grace that will allow me to slip up and make mistakes, not only as I readapt to North American life, but as I try to effectively communicate my stories about this place I have come to love.

Come hear about Cambodia

There will be a get together in which I will be sharing about my experience in Cambodia...photos, stories, etc. Cake and ice cream will be provided.

Date: August 14
Time: 7 pm
Place: Hollowell Brethren in Christ Church, fellowship hall
14807 Hollowell Church Road
Waynesboro, PA 17268

get out of the boat...

Monday, June 22, MCC had the opportunity to attend the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia, otherwise known as the Khmer Rouge Tribunal. Guek Eav Kaing, alias Duch, is standing trial for “crimes against humanity, grave breaches of the Geneva Conventions of 1949, homicide and torture.” As part of the Khmer Rouge Regime, Duch was Deputy Secretary and, then in 1976, Secretary of S-21 (Toul Sleng). The topic for Monday was the daily operation of S-21. The morning was slightly boring as it was Duch agreeing that a certain document held his handwriting about a confession or order. The afternoon was slightly more interesting, and frankly annoying, in that the prosecuting lawyers kept asking questions that had been asked in earlier sessions and asking questions that were unrelated to the daily operations of S-21. The reasons Duch got married in late 1976 and how often he saw his wife were not central to that day’s agenda. For these reasons, in addition to body language and a lack of understanding Cambodian psyche, I was greatly disappointed in the prosecuting lawyers. The Trials have been averaging about $30 million a year and is now in its third year. I believe in justice, but I also see a stark contrast to the lives of everyday Cambodians.

I was impressed with Duch’s demeanor throughout the day and as I hear more about Duch from Charles. After Duch’s wife was killed during burglary in 1995, Duch converted to Christianity. After speaking with a journalist in 1999, Duch turned himself in to the authorities; he has taken responsibility for his actions during the Khmer Rouge. Likewise, he has been cooperative in the trial process. This may not seem like much from a Western point of view, but from an Eastern or Asian point of view it’s monumental. Saving face is the ultimate goal in all social interactions, even if there are differing views; for Duch to admit he played a part in the atrocities proves he has started the reconciliation process.

The following day, Tuesday afternoon, we had our monthly Prey Veng Bible study. Charles led a lesson on feeling overwhelmed and God and helping through the struggles. He focused on the story of Peter who trusted Jesus, stepped out of the boat, and walked on water. When Peter started to feel overwhelmed by the situation, lost trust, and started to sink, Jesus was there to reach out his hand and guide Peter to safety.

Duch has to feel overwhelmed, yet he shows a grace in the courtroom only Jesus could offer. By turning himself him, Duch stepped out of the boat of anonymity, lost face, and has been a vessel of transforming power.

June

I figure it's time for another post. I'm down to one and a half months left in Cambodia and it's been a flurry of activity. For the past two weeks I've just wanted a weekend in Prey Veng where I can relax and just lay in my hammock; I only have two weekends left in Prey Veng before I leave and I need to pack somewhere in there.

Life has brought many surprises in the past few weeks. I will be starting grad school at Drexel in September. In a week and a half I'll be taking two more online classes as pre-requisites for my program. My MCC going away party is planned. I still need to work out some logistics for the party in Prey Veng, yet I've been dragging my feet because I don't want to face the fact that I'm leaving, and in a time of transition again.

I think I block out the bad parts of life; I really dislike saying goodbye. I'd much rather welcome others in and never have to be parted from those who have impacted me, some significantly and others only slightly. I hate the process of packing, not only must I leave a physical place where I have so many pleasant memories, but I must realize how much I've accumulated over a certain period, and despite how much I try, I will always be a consumerist.

I'm still trying to process everything that has happened in the past month. It all so fast! I was elated when I found out, yet despite having a 'plan' I believe I'm more frightened now than when I was going to have a fall garden at my parents' house. I'm country girl; moving from rural Virginia to rural Cambodia wasn't such a challenge for me. Yes, there was culture shock and other things to deal with, but I felt at ease as I was in a semi-comfortable setting. But moving from rural Cambodia to downtown Philadelphia? I'm scared silly. Likewise, I have no money and the minute savings I had is quickly fading as I purchase books and pay tuition deposits.

When I was making the decision on whether to attend Drexel this fall or to wait for the winter quarter, I felt a quite voice say "trust me." The last time I headed that voice I ended up in Cambodia. I figure, in spite of my fears, it's worth heeding again. I don't know where I'll live or how I'll pay for it or how I'll adjust to living in a city. But I will trust.

This morning started like any other day...making tea, eating breakfast, biking to work, talking with Dani, checking email. But what was in my inbox was unexpected. A letter of unofficial acceptance to the Masters of Science in Nutrition program at Drexel University. Shaking, I called Charles and told him. I typed a garbled message to Christa. Soon I told my mom. Was this really happening?

Sunday at church we read Psalm 33. When I got to verse 18 I stopped reading. Does God really look out for those who trust him? I thought trusting God by coming to Cambodia, he would take care of what came after. But I was confused. What comes after a service term? I thought grad school, but the more I thought about it planting a fall garden seemed more enticing. I can grow spinach and kale. I can have productive results, concrete results. Secretly I knew trying to attend grad school this fall was probably unrealistic. I mean, returning to the States, seeing family and friends, moving to a new town, readjusting to American life, and starting school all within a span of less than a month? Perhaps a bit much. Even though I wasn't accepted, I felt a peace. More than anything I knew God brought me to Cambodia, he HAS to take care of what comes next. Amidst the disappointment, there was a quiet peace in my soul. I didn't know what was next...where the road was leading. Or even if I was on a road.

So, now I'm back on that road; I have a plan. The news couldn't have blindsided me more. But what of the other seven MCC Cambodia volunteers returning this year? The paths before them are just as unrecognizable as my path was, and in some ways, still is. How is it that out of the eight of us, God has chosen to give me a clear plan while the others don't? My faith isn't stronger; they have hoped in God's love as I have. We all have the same desires of meaningful reconnections, purpose filled work and safe places to tell our stories upon returning.

Perhaps a fitting prayer would be the same as the final verse - "May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD, even as we put our hope in you." The same unfailing love that brings us through despair to awe of blessing.

A Prayer

"My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone."

-Thomas Merton

I've been thinking a lot about leaving lately. Amy and I reserved airplane tickets the other week; I'm actually leaving. July 26 to be exact. Less than 3 months from now.

I think my mind, and body, are getting ready for the transition. I'm craving salads and western food. The other day I realized I had started a mental list of thing I will NOT miss when I leave. Dust. Constantly being dirty. Kids yelling 'hello' (these are the same kids who see me everyday!). Men hacking up loogies (HATE THAT). Sweating...constantly. Traveling incessantly.

And of course there are things I'm so excited for in the States like blueberries. Family. Friends. People who obey traffic lights!

Yet, I don't want to do this. Not yet. I can't. As much as I am anticipating returning to the States, I don't want to think about it. I still don't know what I'm doing when I return. Still waiting for that letter that was mailed almost a month ago. I don't want to think about goodbyes. I have lived here for almost 3 years; I'm rooted here. How can I just up and leave when I don't know when I am returning. If I am returning.

Last night I went to the Bella Voce benefit concert. Two fellow MCCers, Susie and Daniel, are a part of the group and since I was in the big city of Phnom Penh, I took advantage of the opportunity. The concert was held in the ballroom of the 5 star Intercontinental Hotel (carpet, couches, ornate decorations, GRASS!), a completely different world. The theme was African spiritual songs and shortly after intermission a Cambodian tenor, Chanthavouth Hy who is currently studying in Canada, led us in a wonderful round of Edelweiss and 3 other selections. I thoroughly enjoyed the event; yet, it was a strange conglomeration of West and East. Like my breakfast this morning, fresh mangoes, yogurt and tea. Or the dress I'm getting made for my cousin's wedding this fall-Asian silk in a Western design. I'm stuck at this crossroads; I don't want to choose between the East and West, I want a merger of the two...like the concert last night.

Yet, when I return to the States will I continue with this integration? Will I allow the past three years to stay with me as I readapt to the now foreign North American country of which I am a citizen? Thursday we had our Prey Veng Expat Bible study. Barb shared how Cambodia will always be with us, no matter where God leads. I totally agree with her, but will I simply find it easier to assimilate back into American culture by abandoning my experiences here? Friday I was meandering around the internet and wound up reading some cooking/recipe related blogs about women who are wives and stay at home moms. Suddenly I saw my future flash before my eyes and I freaked out. I cannot allow myself to become that. Ever. But ten years ago that's what I wanted. Now it is my deepest fear.

Perhaps my fear lies in my interpretation. I see these women as having no ambition beyond their children, and while that is fantastic, I'm not in that place. I also see them as proud supporters of Walmart, cheap prices, labor exploitation, poverty, overpopulation and a lifestyle that encourages inequalities in the world. A lifestyle that supports the economic oppression of poorer countries by large corporations, valuing their own families yet forgetting the families of subsistence farmers in Guatemala where their morning coffee is grown. My fear is that I'll become complacent, enjoy the bountiful excesses of the West, and forget my experience heres. The dire poverty. The dirty/muddy, unpaved roads traveled by bicycle, moto, motorcycle, minivan, bus, truck and foot. The markets full of fresh, luscious whole foods without added chemicals or unnecessary packaging. The simple beauty of a bowl of perfectly steamed rice.

Despite the concerns rising in my heart, I know it will all work out. God has led me here and will lead me again. I just need to be patient.

25

I’m a quarter of a century old now as I turned 25 on the 25th of March. My golden birthday. My last birthday in Cambodia. Although I didn’t attend a concert or have someone fly to visit me as my last two birthdays had, this one was just as memorable.

Monday night Ruth and Charles planned a birthday celebration in Prey Veng inviting all of the MCCers, Barb and her family, and two new Swedish friends, Julia and Evelina. Scott was leaving early the next morning for work meetings in Kep so Monday was chosen. Since my mom’s visit last year, Charles has befriended her and sporadically talks with her on gchat. As a surprise, Charles chatted with my mom about some of my favorite foods that are available in Cambodia. Although I have never been much of a meat eater, I love chicken; however, all of the chicken here is, as Ruth rightly described, athletic...aka dry, chewy tendons. But Ruth did make some of the best chicken I have had here as it was moist and easily chewable. We also had baked potatoes, fried apples, organic red leaf lettuce salad, and steamed carrots. For dessert we had carrot cake with CREAM CHEESE icing. I was shocked! First, I try to avoid foods containing dairy with Charles around due to his allergy. Second, cream cheese is not available in Prey Veng; it must be purchased in Phnom Penh and carried back. Third, cream cheese is freakin’ expensive here. I was delighted they had planned such a wonderful treat.



Tuesday has nothing to do with my birthday, though it’s worth mentioning. Charles and I went out to the Angkeardei Primary School to orient Julia and Evelina to some of the work MCC does. It’s the middle of the dry season so we went by motos, Charles and Evelina on one and Julia and myself on the other. However, the last 9 km of road isn’t a road; it’s a foot of dust. Literally. Pictures don't do it justice. Once I’d almost tipped the moto over, and a few times I had to stop and ask Julia to get off so I could navigate through the mountains of dirt. On the way back one of the teachers offered to dup Julia to the next town. I was extremely thankful for both the offer and Julia’s nonchalant manner about getting on and off. Julia and Evelina will return to Sweden in about a week; I wish they could stay longer.

Wednesday didn’t start out too well. I talked with my mom on gchat for a while, but I was in a quiet office where not much dialogue happens. It didn’t help there were men hired to repaint the gate who looked creepy and kept staring at me. Julia came over after lunch to make Swedish pancakes for her going away party that evening with her host family. On whim (and for my sanity) I had decided to go into Phnom Penh that afternoon. After Julia finished with the pancakes the taxi driver was waiting outside my house. A quick trip in and I was in the PP office which had the AC running. Ahhh. That was another delightful surprise. Along with the 10 cards I received from various family members, and people who attend my parent’s new church.
That evening Amy, Charles, Seiha and I went out for dinner at Cafe Yejj and ice cream at Swensen’s. Since Seiha’s husband, Pisit, was away, we had a girls’ sleepover at her house. Sometimes I wish I was in PP more often to be with friends. And basically that’s why I went into PP. I hate living alone; I think I would have gone insane if I had stayed in Prey Veng for the latter part of last week. I need to be around people who I can connect with and care about me.


Thursday night Daniel, Amanda and I ordered pizza and watched LOST. Yeah, we’re kinda addicted. Charles and Miles came later and were lost, literally, when they were watching.

It’s not every birthday I get to celebrate three times. And, honestly, I got what I really wanted-to spend time with people, people who have greatly impacted me the past few years of my life, unlikely friends who have become closer than some family members. People who will be hard to say goodbye to in July.

On this lovely afternoon in the PV office with not much to do a funny situation prompted me to realize, once again, I live in Asia. Oh, how I've changed. So, you know you live in Prey Veng, Cambodia when...

After picking a ripe mango off a tree at the office, peeling and consuming it, you say "now I want some sticky rice."

Showering three or four times a day is typical.

You not only rejoice when it rains, but sit and watch it.

You play in the rain when it rains in the dry season.

The local policeman finds you and asks about the other foreigners in town, assuming you know all of them. (and yes, I do)

You've perfected the ability to ignore men who stare at you.

You start to stare at foreigners you don't know.

Spiders, geckos, and in general bugs become your friends...and entertainment.

Mosquitoes are still evil though.

You try on prom dresses at the local market to kill time.

When the power goes off at the office it's not a big deal anymore.

Seeing a new house being built is a huge deal, involving several text messages between you and your coworkers.

You text about anything. Including poo, solid poos, runny poos. No poos.

When you're bored you go to the market. And buy food.

You make bread every weekend out of necessity and as a form of entertainment.

Biking is the best form of transportation.

Boys leaving dirty dishes in the sink continues to annoy you.

BBC is your link to the outside world...along with facebook, blogs, and gmail chat.

You become a connoisseur of soy sauce.

An average day gets up to 95F. A warm day is 100F. A hot day is anything above 101F.

On hot days, your sweating resumes instantly.

You sleep with a blanket at night because 78F is cold.

Pizza and movie nights are considered livin' it in up the big city of Phnom Penh.

You do things for the greater good.

Khmer Rouge Tribunals

The first trial of comrade Duch started yesterday at the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC).

I can't imagine the horrors that started during that infamous Khmer New Year in 1975 and lasted until 1979.
I can't imagine the rampant fear of an entire country.
I can't imagine Vietnamese control over this amazing land.
I can't imagine how UNTAC changed the landscape.
I can't believe the trials are actually happening after 30 years.

Below are two links, one from the Phnom Penh Post about the Khmer Rouge Tribunal, the other from the New York Times from a Frenchman. I would encourage you to read both as they both give a different perspective.

http://www.phnompenhpost.com/index.php/2009021724257/National-news/-I-have-waited-30-years-for-this-trial-Vann-Nath.html

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/17/opinion/17bizot.html?_r=1&scp=4&sq=khmer%20rouge&st=cse

Does it happen in America?

I have exciting news! WPM got a new donor! I was exstatic when I found out. The beneficiary is V-Day which raises money with V-Day celebrations and production of The Vagina Monologues to prevent abuse to women around the world. This year V-Day is supporting women in the Congo and for the production in Cambodia, WPM was chosen as the local beneficiary. :)

As part of the agreement, the producers of this group wanted WPM to come to several events, one which was last night was the screening of Until the Violence Stops, describing the history of The Vagina Monologues and the movement to stop violence against women. Sona, the executive director of WPM, had called me on Tuesday asking me to come into Phnom Penh and attend this event with them. Knowing the place the film was going to be shown and that the audience would mostly be western, I agreed to go with them.

Sona, Munney and I arrived about an hour before the film was to be shown, and with few other people around, we had free time to talk. This was an amazing experience for me to chat with Sona and Munney about their personal experiences and their views on sexuality, vaginas, what’s talked about in Cambodia and female empowerment. The general responses were unmarried women don’t talk about anything having to do with their reproductive system until they are married. Even then, only childbirth is talked about. The female reproductive system is either ‘dirty’ or ‘sexy’ or for childbirth. Likewise, domestic violence or rape isn’t talked about. Women believe they are to blame for the domestic abuse or rape and they brought it on themselves and now are ‘unworthy.’ More awareness is going on with programs like the one WPM is running, but for the most part, domestic violence is still seen as that family’s problem and local police and villagers will not get involved. After explaining the Cambodian mindset to me, Munney asked, “What about in America? Do you talk about these things?” I mumbled we talk about it some.

Later that night I got to thinking; we don’t talk about domestic violence, abuse, or rape in America. It’s socially taboo. We talk about sex, teenage pregnancy, porn, sexual exploration, abstinence, but not domestic violence. Why is this? I know it happens; I see the after effects. Looking back on my childhood I can recall people who were abused, though they never told me. What I struggle with more is the fact that so much abuse happens in the church and the establishment ignores it. I grew up with the assumption that if a woman was removed from an abusive relationship, she’ll just return to it or find another abusive partner. But statistics say this woman was possibly abused as a child. Where does this cycle end? When does the stigma disappear that we associate with relationships involving abuse? Why doesn’t the church stand up against violence instead of passively ignoring it and, thus condoning it?

Why don’t I stand up? I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ll lose the attention of the women I’m trying to help, I’ll lose the my support network, and I’ll be ostracized by the establishment. I’m afraid I’ll become cynical and harsh, disillusioned with this matter as I have with other things. But, what if, just maybe, we try to heal the scars? The scars of abuse, disillusionment, and regain that last beam of hope left deep inside? I can find healing for my own cynicism, my own disillusionment with the established church. In the grand scheme of things, healing my own wounds may not bring world peace, but it is one step in the path of pacifism.

A Wedding, an Illness and a New Year

A Wedding, an Illness and a New Year

For the most part my life is here relatively calm and predictable. I live in a safe place, to calm my family’s fears; I have good friends and get healthy food. Yet, when something happens, everything happens.

When Gunthia (the first one) was still my teacher I would tease her about dating Noun, Charles’s host brother. I’d see them sitting together sharing fruit shakes, riding along the waterfront, or hanging out all the time at church. She would always deny it with a radiant smile of infatuation. Secretly they were dating; it wasn’t until they had their engagement party last August that they weren’t shy about being recognized together in public.

Needless to say, I was rather excited when I heard their wedding was to be at the end of December. During ‘language lessons,’ Gunthia would tell me about her Buddhist family, her desire to attend university and her faith. Her parents thought educating girls was a waste of time and money along with her Christian faith. However, Gunthia was determined to gain whatever knowledge she could by becoming a teacher and to strengthen her faith by marrying a Christian man. Noun’s parents aren’t Christian but rather atheist with a Buddhist grandmother. I knew Gunthia would give her children the opportunities she wasn’t allowed.

December was a busy month for me. After returning in November I had some work to catch up on and, of course, that meant travel. I wasn’t in PV every Sunday to go to church so I didn’t see as much of Gunthia as I normally would. However, the Christmas service was interesting and I saw Gunthia briefly afterwards. No wedding invitation. I went to Phnom Penh the week of Christmas and then Kompong Ch’nang. I came back December 28. Still no wedding invitation. Um. Perhaps Gunthia is secretly mad at me. Maybe she’ll stop by this afternoon. Nope. No wedding invitation.

The morning of the 29th I had scheduled to meet Bunrey at the NILH office in Kompong Trabek, a 1.5 to 2 hour moto ride to the southeastern part of the province. When I arrived at the office I heard the wedding music as Gunthia’s house is only one block from the office. Shortly after I arrived Watana stopped by to give me a wedding invitation! To his wedding on January 3. Wrong wedding invitation.

I went to Kompong Trabek (riding the 250cc!), came back around 1 grabbed a quick bite to eat at the guiteav restaurant and went back to work at 2. My stomach was upset by 4 and I went home at 5. After lying in my hammock for forty five minutes I decided I should find some dinner. Checking my phone first I realized I missed a call from Barb and had a text saying “Hi, we are at the wedding and the bride is asking for you. Can you come?” I replied I hadn’t been invited. After a quick attempt to call Barb and talk over the booming music Barb just texted me saying she was sending Charles after me to be ready. But Charles had also been sick earlier that day. Why in the world was Charles out riding his bike to get me? Frantically after 10 minutes Charles and I were on bikes to the wedding. Khmer weddings always have the wedding party and parents waiting outside to greet guests. As I walked up Gunthia ran to meet me apologizing that she had been busy and took my invitation to my house, but I wasn’t there, so she left it with the people downstairs. No worries I replied and entered the text. Barb had saved us two seats at her table and the others were already halfway through the meal. Glancing over my broiled fish, I saw HIM. The moto-dup driver that lives below me. Everything suddenly clicked. Instead of giving me my invitation, they had kept it and went in my place! It didn’t matter they didn’t know who was getting married the free flow of beer was the only important thing. Argh. Freakin’ Cambodian men. I was so mad; I wanted to walk up and beat the guy over the head with a beer can. But, I saved face and just smiled and ignored him.

At home later that night I had another surprise. I had eaten something bad and was running to the bathroom every hour. The next day Charles graciously brought me coconuts, oral rehydration salts and toilet paper. Around 2 he took me to the doctor who said I had food poisoning and then gave me three different anti-parasite medications to take every 7 hours. The next day I was feeling better so I went to work to read emails. I had discovered my books for my online anthropology class hadn’t been mailed until December 29; Carrie’s parents (my curriers) arrived in Cambodia on the same day. After tracking down my books in Pennsylvania, remembering Joe is visiting next week and emailing all my MCC contacts about bringing three pounds of reading materials, I think I found a way to get the books here. Unfortunately the whole route (books get delivered, Carrie’s brother picks up books and takes them to Akron or Joe’s house all in less than 24 hours) seemed a little impossible.

I’m not one to sit around and read my Bible. I never have been, though I’m sure there were people in high school who thought I did that. However, New Year’s Eve, I found a verse that will carry me through this next year. My devotions that night was based on Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, a section of text I’m rather familiar with. However, reading over it once more reminded me that there’s never a time to fear. There’s so many unknowns in life, maybe some extra unknowns living in Cambodia, but there’s never any reason to fear them. Flipping through the pages I ran across Psalms 127: 2. That night, not celebrating the beginning of a new year, but rather focusing on all the things that may not happen reading “it is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives sleep to his beloved” resonated with me. How many times had I forsaken sleep for what I thought would fill me and give me comfort. I thought of the summer I worked two jobs, spending 14 hours a day earning money and never being rested. I thought of the anxiety I have for the upcoming year and how uncertain my future is. Yet, none of that mattered. That night I slept peacefully, worry free. There was nothing more I could do; God could take care of it through the night, as I slept, on the other side of the world.

And yes, my books did arrive.