Year In Review

Has it truly been one year? Almost. The anniversary of three hundred and sixty five days spent within the confines of mother Asia is fast approaching. Yet, I’m writing about it now in preparation, and trying to make this entry not seem like a job performance review. I can almost see bold, unfriendly letters above certain sections. “What have you learned? Can you list some of your accomplishments? What could you have improved on? What are your future projects?” Look at me. A year in government service and I’m already thinking of ways to put together a “compliment sandwich.” How boring…I’ll try to keep it more organic.

To me, the biggest accomplishment I’ve achieved so far is the fact that I’m still here. The physical dangers aside, with which I’m quite familiar, I sometimes wonder how on earth it is that I have not gone mad. However, there is very good reason for this that may surprise you. Nearly every morning spent in Angkor, I wake up and I go to work. Sometimes there is very little work to be done, or the work is very frustrating, but the fact remains that I have a regular schedule for doing something. Other volunteers are not afforded this luxury. Different sections of the country have independent provincial offices of education (POE), which means that schools run differently across the country. By comparison, the system in Siem Reap province functions much more regularly than the one in Banteay Meanchey. Chinese New Year fell on a Sunday this year, and the Banteay Meanchey schools were closed for a week in celebration. My school was in session during that entire time. (When I told my fellow teachers about my Peace Corps friends up north having a week, they laughed and said something rude about Chinese people) Why Siem Reap schools have more regular sessions than others is said to be the work of a dictatorial POE director. In any case, what has saved my mental health for this period has been this regular work schedule. Most days, I have a reason to get up in the morning. I would not trade that for anything.

During the course of a year, I went from barely knowing a word in Khmer to having rapid-fire confrontations with the workers at the post office. This being said, I do not wish to infer in any way that I am fluent in this language. The problems with developing one’s skills in this language are numerous. To begin with, everyone seems to have a unique way of speaking. Depending on how old you are, where you come from, or how much interaction you have with the outside world, your dialect will change. Every time that I want to give myself a language lesson in humility, I simply talk to an old person. The changes are usually in word order, accent, or vocabulary. A volunteer I knew in the south said that a family she knew had invented their own words for “chair,” “table,” and other household items. During a trip up to Sisophon, which is near the Thai border, a K1 volunteer and I sat down to order coffee at a café one morning. A lady came along to take our order, but neither of us could understand what she was saying.

Another dilemma is the fact that you develop certain vocabulary for different situations. There is specific set for the market, the host family, tuk tuk drivers, the classroom, all of which you learn and have to use frequently in daily life. The problem with this is that you never really break out of these sets. For example, I could never have a conversation about Kevin Rudd’s relationship with Barack Obama in Khmer. I joke when I say that my language skills are an “occupational hazard,” given that they are so specific.

There is still so much more to learn.

The biggest challenge I have, as well as the biggest fight, is the problem with apathy. It is one matter to deal with the frustrations of being a foreigner here, but having to deal with my colleagues’ frustrations is even bigger. The root of the problem has to do with the professional class of Angkor. As you have no doubt read from some of my earlier blog entries, the Khmer Rouge continually sacked the town during the 1980’s and 90’s until an armistice was declared in 1997. No one but farmers, teachers, and a few market sellers braved the terrible conditions to live here before the end of the fighting. The aftermath, however, brought the professional class back. Teachers, bank workers, hospital staff, and NGO workers came from all over the country to work in Angkor. Migrant workers who had sought agriculture work in Thailand returned and set up shops in the market. The bigger market was built in 2006, and a bank was built in 2008. (I consider it amusing that in the same year the town was given a bank and a Peace Corps volunteer) The problem with this is the fact that no one among this imported class likes being here.

Ask where a person is from among the professional and you will get many different answers: Pouk, Siem Reap, Sisophon, Phnom Penh, Kampong Chnang, Kampong Cham, Sviey Reing. Nearly all of them left their families to work here because this was where the jobs were. As a result, there exists a general apathy towards the town itself among this class. One of the language teachers I worked with during training briefly came to work at the Habitat for Humanity office during the last couple of months. When we spoke to each other over coffee or games of ping pong, he told me how unhappy he was to be here. He missed his family, he was bored with his work, and he left as often as he could. The same conversation can be had with my co-teacher. He misses his family, he does not like living in Angkor, and he regrets not having enough money to pay the bribe that would have gotten him a better assignment. One the ladies who works at the bank can often be seen leaving town on her motorcycle to go back to Siem Reap, over 60k away.

The feelings of apathy and homesickness pervade amongst all of these people. They are here for the work and the money that comes with it. They have no attachment to the town or the community, and they leave as often as they can. On most weekends and holidays, the professional class of Angkor is emptied out with the exception of myself, and this makes it hard to form partners for any kind of development work. I have to admit that on days like this, it is more than a little tempting to leave myself. The rationale of this being, “Well everyone else is doing it, why shouldn’t I?” (peer pressure is very persuasive, isn’t it?) In some cases, I do leave. Every two or three weeks, I go to Siem Reap in order to rest, take a shower, eat a hamburger, and spend long hours at WoW WeB. (it’s an internet café open 24 hours a day) While I need these excursions to recharge my batteries, I cannot help but feel that I contribute to the problem of everyone leaving. I need to leave site sometimes, but I feel guilty every time I do it.

It is partially this problem, as well as other ones, that strengthen my resolve to stay here and finish my service. I choose to live here, teach here, and volunteer here simply because no else will.

Everyone has side-projects. Certainly I have side-projects? Yes, but I’ll save those for another blog posting.