Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The Teachers
Most of the teachers whom I know live in dormitories. The women live in an empty classroom in the new building, and the men live in a small house behind the school offices. I never ever visit the women’s house, but I do frequently drop in to visit the guys. Their rooms are small, with maybe five or six beds in them, and they only have one bathroom. A makeshift open-air kitchen is in the back of the house, with pots and pans strewn about on a chipped wooden table. Under one of their large concrete water containers, a bitch nurses a litter of puppies and barks whenever anyone comes near. The absence of women in this house is evident simply by the pinup posters on the wall and an overall messiness.
The men who live here come from far away places and are usually bachelors in their mid to late twenties. For many of them, this position was the only teaching job available when they graduated from the teacher training center. They share the same misgivings that I often feel about the students: They do not want to study, they do very badly on their test scores, etc. However, they understand the situation completely. One teacher told me the other day, "Jo ree-un at baan twuh kah." (Studying will not help you find a job here)
When they are not teaching, they do what most young men do when they have no girlfriends, wives, or family to supervise them: they play games and they drink. Volleyball, soccer, and alcohol are obviously more fun than working, and there is little to stop them from abandoning their responsibilities. I cannot count the number of times I have popped into that house after lunch and found my fellow teachers drunk, grinning, and falling over themselves. Remarkably, many of them still have the courage to get up and walk to class in their inebriated state. There is one teacher who seems to drink and smoke much more than the rest of them, and I keep telling him that he if keeps that up he will be dead in twenty years. He laughs when I tell him that, even though he looks ten years older than he already is. I would complain, but the directors of the school are often times the ones sitting around that table, and the ones supplying the beer. So I sigh, and have to start thinking about ways in which I can teach the class by myself.
Only once did I ever really get mad at another teacher for drinking. My co-teacher decided one night after a party that it would be a good idea to drive his moto at high speed down the road with another teacher on the back without a helmet on. As you can imagine, an accident occurred. Fortunately for him, he survived with only a few scrapes and bruises. However, this did not save him from the verbal lashing I gave him when I found out what had happened. I was pretty mad, and that is putting it lightly. It was an incredibly idiotic thing to do, and I told him so. He merely smiled, and said that maybe he would be more careful. The sad part is that I am probably the only one who told him all this, and he would probably do the same thing again if given the chance. Fatalism and alcoholism are really tough habits to break.
Obviously this kind of self-destructive behavior is not healthy, and I cannot see the male teachers at the school being able to keep up this lifestyle for very long. Either they need to move back home to their families or get married and settle down in Angkor Chum. Otherwise, they will succumb to the average life expectancy of Cambodia: 55.
The men who live here come from far away places and are usually bachelors in their mid to late twenties. For many of them, this position was the only teaching job available when they graduated from the teacher training center. They share the same misgivings that I often feel about the students: They do not want to study, they do very badly on their test scores, etc. However, they understand the situation completely. One teacher told me the other day, "Jo ree-un at baan twuh kah." (Studying will not help you find a job here)
When they are not teaching, they do what most young men do when they have no girlfriends, wives, or family to supervise them: they play games and they drink. Volleyball, soccer, and alcohol are obviously more fun than working, and there is little to stop them from abandoning their responsibilities. I cannot count the number of times I have popped into that house after lunch and found my fellow teachers drunk, grinning, and falling over themselves. Remarkably, many of them still have the courage to get up and walk to class in their inebriated state. There is one teacher who seems to drink and smoke much more than the rest of them, and I keep telling him that he if keeps that up he will be dead in twenty years. He laughs when I tell him that, even though he looks ten years older than he already is. I would complain, but the directors of the school are often times the ones sitting around that table, and the ones supplying the beer. So I sigh, and have to start thinking about ways in which I can teach the class by myself.
Only once did I ever really get mad at another teacher for drinking. My co-teacher decided one night after a party that it would be a good idea to drive his moto at high speed down the road with another teacher on the back without a helmet on. As you can imagine, an accident occurred. Fortunately for him, he survived with only a few scrapes and bruises. However, this did not save him from the verbal lashing I gave him when I found out what had happened. I was pretty mad, and that is putting it lightly. It was an incredibly idiotic thing to do, and I told him so. He merely smiled, and said that maybe he would be more careful. The sad part is that I am probably the only one who told him all this, and he would probably do the same thing again if given the chance. Fatalism and alcoholism are really tough habits to break.
Obviously this kind of self-destructive behavior is not healthy, and I cannot see the male teachers at the school being able to keep up this lifestyle for very long. Either they need to move back home to their families or get married and settle down in Angkor Chum. Otherwise, they will succumb to the average life expectancy of Cambodia: 55.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Thanksgiving 2009
A buddy of mine recently moved into a huge house in a town really close to the Thai border, so he invited a whole bunch of people over. There was a mix of Peace Corps people as well as VSO (The British equivalent of Peace Corps. They're cool, but paid twice as much, get to ride motos, and have translators so they don't have to learn the language) volunteers from England and Australia. We had a pretty good time explaining what Thanksgiving is to them. We didn't have a turkey, but we had two chickens, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, green beans, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. Someone's mother just visited, I think Kelsey's, from America and brought a whole bunch of ingredients with her, which was awfully nice. We also chipped in a dollar a piece to buy a bottle of jack daniels, and spent the whole day cooking, eating, drinking, playing trivia games, and two games of RISK. Just like my home in America, the men were kicked out of the kitchen for the most of the day before the meal because we have a habit of eating things early.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Through The Ring Of Fire
There is a man who I see quite often in Siem Reap. He wears a dour expression on his face, and no shirt. His grey pants are rather dirty and worn, and he pulls a cart behind him by hand. Even during the heat of the noonday sun he does this, and a loudspeaker powered by a car battery announces his presence. One song is repeated over and over again through the piercing monotone it produces through the plastic cone. At certain intervals he stops, takes his equipment of the cart, and sets up his show. Sometimes it is in front of the tourist restaurants on Pub Street. Out of the cart comes a large metal hoop attached to a wire frame stand. Rusty kitchen knives, about the size you would use to cut tomatoes , are attached to the ring pointed inwards. Some are bent and twisted outwards. When I first saw him, I thought he was selling knives or sharpening them. However, I could not understand why anyone would want to buy these blackened, dull knives he had. Then I realized he was not selling them. The man places it delicately on the ground, making sure it does not tip over. Finally, he takes a bottle of lighter fluid and douses the whole thing before lighting it on fire.
Is he really going to do what I think he is going to do? Surely he is mad! The man’s expression does not change as he steadies himself before the ring. The muscles on his stomach tense and become rigid (an involuntary reaction). In one quick movement he is in the air, through the hoop, and standing back on the ground again. He does this trick three or four times. The policeman and the waiters nearby cheer him on while the tourists watch with open mouths. The people who know him have watched this feat done a hundred times. The man's technique is absolutely flawless. He is a machine. Sometimes people give him money. Other times he does his trick in front of no one. I have seen him do it in both situations. The face is the same, the jump is the same. There is virtually no change.
I cannot imagine what drove him to this line of work in the first place, but it must have been terrible. And this is a place where many terrible things happened.
Is he really going to do what I think he is going to do? Surely he is mad! The man’s expression does not change as he steadies himself before the ring. The muscles on his stomach tense and become rigid (an involuntary reaction). In one quick movement he is in the air, through the hoop, and standing back on the ground again. He does this trick three or four times. The policeman and the waiters nearby cheer him on while the tourists watch with open mouths. The people who know him have watched this feat done a hundred times. The man's technique is absolutely flawless. He is a machine. Sometimes people give him money. Other times he does his trick in front of no one. I have seen him do it in both situations. The face is the same, the jump is the same. There is virtually no change.
I cannot imagine what drove him to this line of work in the first place, but it must have been terrible. And this is a place where many terrible things happened.
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Students
I imagine it would very hard to be a student in Angkor Chum. It is not difficult to speculate why. Pretend for a moment that you come from a family who has only known the backbreaking work of farming rice. You share a wooden house with your mother, father, and siblings, sleeping on a straw mat every night. The clothes on your back are the ones you wear almost every day. Perhaps you own a few cows, enough to raise and sell in the market when the time is right. Your parents have never been to school, and no adult around you understands the value of an education. They believe in what people call “old ideas.” They think you would be better off working in the fields and helping them make a living instead of going to school. However, everyone goes to school because the village chief says you must. You feel you ought to go because all of your friends are there, but like your parents you do not understand why it is you have to go. The teachers come from far away places with names like Phnom Penh, Kampong Cham, and Sviey Reing. They give lectures, but you want to talk to your friends instead of actively listening and taking notes. You chat with the other students in the class, and doodle in your notebook. The teacher seems bored, and does not seem to mind that no one is paying attention. There is no punishment for not doing what you are supposed to. Sometimes the teacher does not show up for days, and time is spent playing games with the other students. The future is unknown to you. You do not worry about what is going to happen to you when you leave school because it is not important. So when the American teacher asks you about post-graduation plans, you do not have an answer for him.
Of course, there is an exception to every rule. There are a few students who seem to recognize the value of education and work hard in their studies. These are the students who I mostly work with and help me in other projects such as the Guppy Farm and other things. But they are rare. Part of the problem is that they have very little to aspire to. If you take a look at the town, there are very few job opportunities for a person with an education. The professional jobs are taken by people who come from far away, which itself is a statement about the Cambodian economy. Think about it. If highly qualified people are willing to move from places like Phnom Penh, Siem Reap, or Sisophon to take posts in a remote outpost such as Angkor Chum, what chance does a student coming from a rural area have in getting such positions? Very little.
From conversations I have had with some of the students, it seems that many of them want to leave to find opportunities elsewhere. I cannot say I blame them. If I came from this town, there would not be a day that went by where I did not dream of escaping to other places. I often thought of trying to help them do this in some other capacity than improving their English abilities, which to be completely honest has never really taken with them. This sounds very disappointing, but I have learned to accept it. Considering the history of the town and its isolation from the outside world, it is no wonder that most students are reluctant to learn. I think I would have a very similar experience if I tried to teach Chinese to students in rural Idaho, and constantly trying to sell them on the idea that it was useful language to know. (The real triumph has been my counterpart, who has learned to imitate the creativity I bring to lesson planning. That's the real success of the TEFL mission here) Since English is not something that I can sell them on, the most I can do is say, “Take your education and do something with it.”
It is going to take a very long time for this part of Cambodia to develop. While other volunteers tell me how they are reading advanced English books with their students, or conducting career workshops, I am happy simply at the fact that my students are even going to school. Soon it will be 2010, and still it will only have been thirteen years since the war ended in this part of the country. Students are going to school, instead of fleeing the shells that came from the sky or the soldiers who burned their villages down.
Things could be a lot worse here, but they also could be a lot better. I recently received a shipment of books from a company in America named Darien Books. I wrote them a nice letter asking for books for my library, and they just arrived. I will use them as much as I can, but I am hoping that when the town develops a little more and education becomes more accepted in the community that the students will come to use them more.
Maybe someday.
Of course, there is an exception to every rule. There are a few students who seem to recognize the value of education and work hard in their studies. These are the students who I mostly work with and help me in other projects such as the Guppy Farm and other things. But they are rare. Part of the problem is that they have very little to aspire to. If you take a look at the town, there are very few job opportunities for a person with an education. The professional jobs are taken by people who come from far away, which itself is a statement about the Cambodian economy. Think about it. If highly qualified people are willing to move from places like Phnom Penh, Siem Reap, or Sisophon to take posts in a remote outpost such as Angkor Chum, what chance does a student coming from a rural area have in getting such positions? Very little.
From conversations I have had with some of the students, it seems that many of them want to leave to find opportunities elsewhere. I cannot say I blame them. If I came from this town, there would not be a day that went by where I did not dream of escaping to other places. I often thought of trying to help them do this in some other capacity than improving their English abilities, which to be completely honest has never really taken with them. This sounds very disappointing, but I have learned to accept it. Considering the history of the town and its isolation from the outside world, it is no wonder that most students are reluctant to learn. I think I would have a very similar experience if I tried to teach Chinese to students in rural Idaho, and constantly trying to sell them on the idea that it was useful language to know. (The real triumph has been my counterpart, who has learned to imitate the creativity I bring to lesson planning. That's the real success of the TEFL mission here) Since English is not something that I can sell them on, the most I can do is say, “Take your education and do something with it.”
It is going to take a very long time for this part of Cambodia to develop. While other volunteers tell me how they are reading advanced English books with their students, or conducting career workshops, I am happy simply at the fact that my students are even going to school. Soon it will be 2010, and still it will only have been thirteen years since the war ended in this part of the country. Students are going to school, instead of fleeing the shells that came from the sky or the soldiers who burned their villages down.
Things could be a lot worse here, but they also could be a lot better. I recently received a shipment of books from a company in America named Darien Books. I wrote them a nice letter asking for books for my library, and they just arrived. I will use them as much as I can, but I am hoping that when the town develops a little more and education becomes more accepted in the community that the students will come to use them more.
Maybe someday.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Never Do Business With A Monk
I learned that the hard way.
This all started when I came up with the idea of showing a few movies to the students in Angkor Chum. I had at least two DVD’s that I wanted to present. One was a Khmer soap opera about AIDS named “Palace of Dreams,” and the other was film about contemporary Cambodian society called “Les Gens de la Rizière” (The Rice Farmers). The Peace Corps gave all the volunteers a copy of the first film back in February during our mid-service training session. Their expressed interest in giving us a free copy was that we show it to everyone in the community. I took it back with me to site, and made a few inquiries about borrowing a TV or a projector so that I could present it to a large number of people. Nothing seemed promising, so I put the idea aside for a while and focused on other things. Over the summer, I thought about presenting “Palace of Dreams” with perhaps a few other Khmer movies for the enjoyment of the school and the community. World AIDS Day was coming up in December, which gave me all the more reason to make this happen. I included it in the speech I made to the student body at the beginning of the year, and set about obtaining the means to present the films.
However, getting someone to lend me any amount of equipment proved impossible. Other volunteers had told me that they had been able to show the movie through borrowing a TV or a projector from people in the community. Despite having a pretty good relationship with some of the other NGO’s in town, my efforts to obtain what I needed were fruitless. The problem is that TV’s and projectors happen to be worth hundreds of dollars, and no one is willing to let them out of their sight for fear of losing them. I cannot say I really blame them given my recent experience with the guppy farm. If people are going to steal something as small and as useful as a mosquito eating fish for their own entertainment, there is no limit to what they are capable of.
Distraught, I sought advice from the other teachers at the school. They mentioned that the local wat sometimes presents movies, and that I should go and talk to the abbot there. This made me a little nervous. When I first the met the abbot of Wat Char Chuk, I sat before him on the floor of his office while he smiled and chain smoked a pack of Alain Delon cigarettes. He spoke to me, but I was transfixed by the spectacle happening behind his giant bald head; a giant fish was gnawing viciously at the remains of a dead frog. I nodded politely and said the customary “Bat…” at the right intervals when he made his speech welcoming me to Angkor Chum, but I could not take my eyes off that fish the entire time he was speaking. It had to be a sign, a very bad sign.
Since then, I have made the occasional visit to the wat during festivals or to chat with the monks. When I went to see the abbot about presenting some movies, I was a rarely seen but familiar face there. After greeting each other, I explained what I wanted to do. The abbot sounded enthusiastic, and wanted to show the movies in a little more than a week. While I was glad to have the support, I asked him how much it would cost to rest the projector and the screen. He said that it was cost between thirty and forty dollars, which I thought was okay. I said that I would try and fund-raise for a week in the community and see what I could come up with, and we left it at that.
The next week I was at school when the abbot summoned me to the wat. A twelve-year-old boy on a motorcycle rolled up to the window of the school offices where I was working and said I had to go see the abbot immediately. Unsure of why this was happening, I made my counterpart, Mr. Nou, come with me so I would have an ally there. It was almost like making a friend go with you to the principal’s office to vouch for you. Both of us went to the wat and the found the abbot sitting on wooden platform underneath the shade of an enormous gnarled tree. We greeted him and sat with our legs tucked under ourselves for almost five minutes before he spoke to us.
The abbot was in the middle of giving a series of injections to a number of small of birds in his collection. I was not sure what the medicine was, but there was white liquid in the syringe that resembled the empty can of sterilized milk on the ground. The abbot pulled a packet of cigarettes from within his orange robes, lit one, puffed on it for a few moments, and said that he wanted $120 from me. Otherwise, the movie would not go forward. I asked him why the price was so high. He gave me a five-minute explanation that basically amounted to “things came up.” The entire time he spoke, I was trying to remind myself that I was talking to a senior monk, and not a businessman or a mafia figure. Mr. Nou spoke to me in English, which the abbot does not speak, and advised that the abbot was seeking funds to build the new vihira (church) that was still under construction. This was why he was pressing for more money, and doing it with a used-car salesman smile. I smiled back at him, and politely told him that I did not have the money. My counterpart explained to him that I was a volunteer, without any access to the capital he was seeking. The abbot seemed disappointed by this, and he seemed to sink inside his robes a little. I presented a few ways in which we could raise that kind of money for him from the community, but these were all dismissed as soon as I explained them. Frustrated, I started to glance over towards where my bicycle was parked. I think all of us were ready to walk away from the deal if it had not been for one last idea. The abbot suggested that we could use the movies as part of one of the movie nights, but on several conditions:
1. Adrian has to make a sizable donation to the wat. (I offered $25, and this was acceptable)
2. Adrian has to make a speech detailing the importance of the movies to the community. (I agreed, this was not a problem)
3. A photograph of Adrian and the abbot has to taken and shown to people in America so that people will know that supporting Buddhism is a good cause. (A little strange, but okay I guess)
I agreed to all of these terms. Both Mr. Nou and I wanted to set a date for the movie night, but the abbot was against it. He said that he would set something up, and let us know a few days in advance. As a show of good faith, I gave him the movies I wanted to show.
Three weeks have passed since that day. I went to go and see the abbot recently, but he ignored me the entire time I was there. I do not know if the movie will ever happen now. All that effort was essentially for nothing, but at least I know that abbot better.
This all started when I came up with the idea of showing a few movies to the students in Angkor Chum. I had at least two DVD’s that I wanted to present. One was a Khmer soap opera about AIDS named “Palace of Dreams,” and the other was film about contemporary Cambodian society called “Les Gens de la Rizière” (The Rice Farmers). The Peace Corps gave all the volunteers a copy of the first film back in February during our mid-service training session. Their expressed interest in giving us a free copy was that we show it to everyone in the community. I took it back with me to site, and made a few inquiries about borrowing a TV or a projector so that I could present it to a large number of people. Nothing seemed promising, so I put the idea aside for a while and focused on other things. Over the summer, I thought about presenting “Palace of Dreams” with perhaps a few other Khmer movies for the enjoyment of the school and the community. World AIDS Day was coming up in December, which gave me all the more reason to make this happen. I included it in the speech I made to the student body at the beginning of the year, and set about obtaining the means to present the films.
However, getting someone to lend me any amount of equipment proved impossible. Other volunteers had told me that they had been able to show the movie through borrowing a TV or a projector from people in the community. Despite having a pretty good relationship with some of the other NGO’s in town, my efforts to obtain what I needed were fruitless. The problem is that TV’s and projectors happen to be worth hundreds of dollars, and no one is willing to let them out of their sight for fear of losing them. I cannot say I really blame them given my recent experience with the guppy farm. If people are going to steal something as small and as useful as a mosquito eating fish for their own entertainment, there is no limit to what they are capable of.
Distraught, I sought advice from the other teachers at the school. They mentioned that the local wat sometimes presents movies, and that I should go and talk to the abbot there. This made me a little nervous. When I first the met the abbot of Wat Char Chuk, I sat before him on the floor of his office while he smiled and chain smoked a pack of Alain Delon cigarettes. He spoke to me, but I was transfixed by the spectacle happening behind his giant bald head; a giant fish was gnawing viciously at the remains of a dead frog. I nodded politely and said the customary “Bat…” at the right intervals when he made his speech welcoming me to Angkor Chum, but I could not take my eyes off that fish the entire time he was speaking. It had to be a sign, a very bad sign.
Since then, I have made the occasional visit to the wat during festivals or to chat with the monks. When I went to see the abbot about presenting some movies, I was a rarely seen but familiar face there. After greeting each other, I explained what I wanted to do. The abbot sounded enthusiastic, and wanted to show the movies in a little more than a week. While I was glad to have the support, I asked him how much it would cost to rest the projector and the screen. He said that it was cost between thirty and forty dollars, which I thought was okay. I said that I would try and fund-raise for a week in the community and see what I could come up with, and we left it at that.
The next week I was at school when the abbot summoned me to the wat. A twelve-year-old boy on a motorcycle rolled up to the window of the school offices where I was working and said I had to go see the abbot immediately. Unsure of why this was happening, I made my counterpart, Mr. Nou, come with me so I would have an ally there. It was almost like making a friend go with you to the principal’s office to vouch for you. Both of us went to the wat and the found the abbot sitting on wooden platform underneath the shade of an enormous gnarled tree. We greeted him and sat with our legs tucked under ourselves for almost five minutes before he spoke to us.
The abbot was in the middle of giving a series of injections to a number of small of birds in his collection. I was not sure what the medicine was, but there was white liquid in the syringe that resembled the empty can of sterilized milk on the ground. The abbot pulled a packet of cigarettes from within his orange robes, lit one, puffed on it for a few moments, and said that he wanted $120 from me. Otherwise, the movie would not go forward. I asked him why the price was so high. He gave me a five-minute explanation that basically amounted to “things came up.” The entire time he spoke, I was trying to remind myself that I was talking to a senior monk, and not a businessman or a mafia figure. Mr. Nou spoke to me in English, which the abbot does not speak, and advised that the abbot was seeking funds to build the new vihira (church) that was still under construction. This was why he was pressing for more money, and doing it with a used-car salesman smile. I smiled back at him, and politely told him that I did not have the money. My counterpart explained to him that I was a volunteer, without any access to the capital he was seeking. The abbot seemed disappointed by this, and he seemed to sink inside his robes a little. I presented a few ways in which we could raise that kind of money for him from the community, but these were all dismissed as soon as I explained them. Frustrated, I started to glance over towards where my bicycle was parked. I think all of us were ready to walk away from the deal if it had not been for one last idea. The abbot suggested that we could use the movies as part of one of the movie nights, but on several conditions:
1. Adrian has to make a sizable donation to the wat. (I offered $25, and this was acceptable)
2. Adrian has to make a speech detailing the importance of the movies to the community. (I agreed, this was not a problem)
3. A photograph of Adrian and the abbot has to taken and shown to people in America so that people will know that supporting Buddhism is a good cause. (A little strange, but okay I guess)
I agreed to all of these terms. Both Mr. Nou and I wanted to set a date for the movie night, but the abbot was against it. He said that he would set something up, and let us know a few days in advance. As a show of good faith, I gave him the movies I wanted to show.
Three weeks have passed since that day. I went to go and see the abbot recently, but he ignored me the entire time I was there. I do not know if the movie will ever happen now. All that effort was essentially for nothing, but at least I know that abbot better.
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