It is impossible to live in rural Cambodia and not hear the language of the animals, developed and learned by humans for countless years for the purpose of speaking to their pets or livestock. Many different styles exist for a variety of animals. When I first started to write about them in my notes, I wondered for a while if these commands were more than just a way to communicate. I asked a bunch of people I knew if communication with the animals was, in some sense, an attempt to communicate with human spirits making their way through the cycle of reincarnation. The reaction was a blank stare, and statements regarding the idea of reincarnation as a "ridiculous idea." Really? Reincarnation is a ridiculous idea in a Buddhist country? Then again, I would strongly disagree with the description of Cambodia as an orthodox Buddhist country. The common religion is rather a kind of nebulous world of good and evil spirits, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Animism all sort of mixed together. Thus, the language of the animals remains purely a pragmatic one.
Recently, I asked a student if he could demonstrate these commands for me so that I could make an audio recording of them. We went through a bunch of them, and he explained to me what each one was for. This first one is a collection of commands for a cow (Come Here, Go Away, Stop and Wait For Me, Stop Eating Grass). Cows are often wandering around everywhere, and it seems logical that there would be a special set of commands in order to get them to do anything. Not that they follow these commands, but it is better than doing nothing. It makes sense that these would be for a cow, since the low, rough timbre of the voice imitates what a cow sounds like.
This next set of commands is for pigs (Go Away, Come and Eat). Pigs are usually kept around the house, so there are not a lot of commands for them except these. At the beginning of the clip you can hear the word "churoo," which means "pig" in Khmer. The staccato style of speaking is reminiscent of snorting grunt as well.
This last one is for dogs (Come and Eat, Stop Barking, Go And Bite Someone!). It is interesting that this last one should exist, although dogs do serve as an intruder alarm. (My apologies for the picture, I have none containing dogs. Please enjoy this scenic view of some rice fields).
I have a few more of some other animals, but these are by far the most interesting.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Guppy Farm In Pictures
It's going pretty well so far. I learned recently that the original fish I had in the tanks were the so called, "fighting fish" that people use to gamble with. (They place bets on which one will win) I learned this when I came back from water festival in Siem Reap and five of the fish were missing, and presumed stolen. Now I have a different kind of fish that does not fight, is much smaller, and probably does a better job of eating mosquito larvae than the fighting fish. It is called boah pram buhl, or "seven colored fish" because of their colorful tails. I wish I could get a better picture of them, but they move too quickly for the camera to focus. I came back from Puok recently with thirty of them, and it seems like they are multiplying already. Maybe next month we can start selling them off to the community.
The blue netting over the water jars is to prevent leaves and other crud from falling into the water, while letting bugs in for the fish to eat. It kind of looks a little haphazard, but I'm working on a new design right now. I'm also hoping to turn this whole back area into a garden somehow.
Boredom
The subject is difficult to write about. Lingering in the back of my mind, I have spent time thinking about writing something about it. But among the abstract, inchoate thoughts that rise to the surface, the one that clearly doubts the project is always the loudest. Really? You want to write about boredom? How boring! The new arrivals in the province are having a hard with it, and ask questions like, “How on earth have you survived here for more than a year?” that have provoked responses from myself that are bland and meaningless. So I suppose this entry makes up for that.
It is easy to understand what their situation is like. All people in this situation go through a similar experience. It goes something like this: Imagine for a moment that you are an American living in America. Your life is full of appointments, meetings, presentations, dinners, classes, accompanied by a regular seasonal change and surrounded with friends and family. Suddenly you find yourself in the middle of a small Southeast Asian nation surrounded with unfamiliar people and having none of the things that keep you busy. You also find that life moves at a much slower pace. So what do you do? You can throw yourself into your teaching work, but that is often not the best idea. I did that during my first year, and it really left me too exhausted to anything else. (I am doing much more outside the classroom this year, and I am much happier for it) Apart from work, which may be interrupted by unforeseeable events or holidays for weeks at a time, there is not a whole lot you can do. A lot of volunteers read, exercise, and socialize with people in the market in their spare time, which are good ways to unwind. However, these can only keep you busy for so long. You might wonder what Khmer people do for fun, and why I am not out doing what they do. As far as I can tell, entertainment options in the village for the locals include playing cards, gambling, volleyball, gossiping with neighbors, watching TV soap operas, and consuming huge amounts of rice wine or canned beer. (Sometimes starting as early as breakfast) Since I am good at none of those things, my options are very limited. And so I continually face the prospect of boredom on the onset of a long, hot afternoon.
Consider the example of what I did last Saturday. While Saturday is technically a school day, the Peace Corps largely discourages us from teaching on that day. So it is a day off. I rolled out of bed at something like 8:00. (This is the equivalent of something like 10:45 in American time, way too late) I looked at the pile of laundry near the bathroom door, and said to myself, “No…tomorrow.” Took a bath, dressed, unlocked the door and walked outside into the bright sunshine. From the couple of minutes it took to towel off and walk around, I had already started sweating already. Bought two waffles from the breakfast stand in front of the house and walked down the street to the café. Ordered a coffee and sat down with a book for about two hours. I also started to compose this little letter on the back of some paper I recently found behind my bamboo bookshelf. Mr. Breadman came by at 8:45, and I bought my usual loaf of bread from him. We chatted about the weather. At 11:00 I went down to the market to buy some eggs and tomatoes. The eight-year-old girl who sells them to me always screams with laughter every time I come to buy them, for some reason. Went back to the house and made myself a hard boiled egg and tomato sandwich with a little olive oil I brought back from Siem Reap. The host mother laughed as I sat down at the family table with the sandwich, and asked if it tasted good. We have the same exchange nearly every other day. After lunch I pulled out the GRE book and studied math problems. After this, I went to visit the Guppy Farm for an hour, and started off on a long bicycle ride. Came back at 6:00, showered, dressed, ate dinner, practiced the violin, read a book, took another shower, and finally made my way to bed. And that was my entire day off. It really does not get any better than that.
Everyone who comes and lives in this part of the world experiences boredom of some kind. It is mentioned through all the colonial literature you can find. (Conrad, Orwell, and Maugham describe it particularly well. Kipling never mentions it) The mornings are usually okay. If there is no school, you can wake up a little later. You can also visit the market, go out to breakfast, or lesson plan while it is still cool out. However, the after lunch period is particularly dreadful. There is nothing worse than slowly realizing you have nothing to do until the hour when you have to go to bed. The sun is strong, and it takes a strong amount of will power not to roll up in the hammock and sleep the afternoon off. Some people like the siesta, but I find it dreadful. I feel tired for the rest of the day, and so I relegate the worst part of the day to studying the GRE’s.
When you settle into a routine, many of the days seem the same. You retreat into the world of books or pirated DVD’s in order to kill the monotony of life. Every couple of weeks, you escape to the provincial town for a little conversation and western food. But even still with this, there are no plays or concerts to attend, no movie theaters to go to, and while going to a bar or nightclub might sound appealing you can only go to a few that are not packed with bored looking prostitutes. Your only real source of entertainment remains chiefly books and DVD’s.
There is nothing that shows you how much your life now is different from your previous one when you talk to people in America. While you have an infinitive amount of time to sit around and swap yarns, they do not. They are Americans! They have things to do, and people to see instead of listening to, “Well this one time in the village…” over the telephone. And it is incredibly frustrating when you realize that.
So how do you keep your mind from going dull? Anything you can. The new arrivals have only just discovered this, and I wish them luck in the weeks and months to come.
It is easy to understand what their situation is like. All people in this situation go through a similar experience. It goes something like this: Imagine for a moment that you are an American living in America. Your life is full of appointments, meetings, presentations, dinners, classes, accompanied by a regular seasonal change and surrounded with friends and family. Suddenly you find yourself in the middle of a small Southeast Asian nation surrounded with unfamiliar people and having none of the things that keep you busy. You also find that life moves at a much slower pace. So what do you do? You can throw yourself into your teaching work, but that is often not the best idea. I did that during my first year, and it really left me too exhausted to anything else. (I am doing much more outside the classroom this year, and I am much happier for it) Apart from work, which may be interrupted by unforeseeable events or holidays for weeks at a time, there is not a whole lot you can do. A lot of volunteers read, exercise, and socialize with people in the market in their spare time, which are good ways to unwind. However, these can only keep you busy for so long. You might wonder what Khmer people do for fun, and why I am not out doing what they do. As far as I can tell, entertainment options in the village for the locals include playing cards, gambling, volleyball, gossiping with neighbors, watching TV soap operas, and consuming huge amounts of rice wine or canned beer. (Sometimes starting as early as breakfast) Since I am good at none of those things, my options are very limited. And so I continually face the prospect of boredom on the onset of a long, hot afternoon.
Consider the example of what I did last Saturday. While Saturday is technically a school day, the Peace Corps largely discourages us from teaching on that day. So it is a day off. I rolled out of bed at something like 8:00. (This is the equivalent of something like 10:45 in American time, way too late) I looked at the pile of laundry near the bathroom door, and said to myself, “No…tomorrow.” Took a bath, dressed, unlocked the door and walked outside into the bright sunshine. From the couple of minutes it took to towel off and walk around, I had already started sweating already. Bought two waffles from the breakfast stand in front of the house and walked down the street to the café. Ordered a coffee and sat down with a book for about two hours. I also started to compose this little letter on the back of some paper I recently found behind my bamboo bookshelf. Mr. Breadman came by at 8:45, and I bought my usual loaf of bread from him. We chatted about the weather. At 11:00 I went down to the market to buy some eggs and tomatoes. The eight-year-old girl who sells them to me always screams with laughter every time I come to buy them, for some reason. Went back to the house and made myself a hard boiled egg and tomato sandwich with a little olive oil I brought back from Siem Reap. The host mother laughed as I sat down at the family table with the sandwich, and asked if it tasted good. We have the same exchange nearly every other day. After lunch I pulled out the GRE book and studied math problems. After this, I went to visit the Guppy Farm for an hour, and started off on a long bicycle ride. Came back at 6:00, showered, dressed, ate dinner, practiced the violin, read a book, took another shower, and finally made my way to bed. And that was my entire day off. It really does not get any better than that.
Everyone who comes and lives in this part of the world experiences boredom of some kind. It is mentioned through all the colonial literature you can find. (Conrad, Orwell, and Maugham describe it particularly well. Kipling never mentions it) The mornings are usually okay. If there is no school, you can wake up a little later. You can also visit the market, go out to breakfast, or lesson plan while it is still cool out. However, the after lunch period is particularly dreadful. There is nothing worse than slowly realizing you have nothing to do until the hour when you have to go to bed. The sun is strong, and it takes a strong amount of will power not to roll up in the hammock and sleep the afternoon off. Some people like the siesta, but I find it dreadful. I feel tired for the rest of the day, and so I relegate the worst part of the day to studying the GRE’s.
When you settle into a routine, many of the days seem the same. You retreat into the world of books or pirated DVD’s in order to kill the monotony of life. Every couple of weeks, you escape to the provincial town for a little conversation and western food. But even still with this, there are no plays or concerts to attend, no movie theaters to go to, and while going to a bar or nightclub might sound appealing you can only go to a few that are not packed with bored looking prostitutes. Your only real source of entertainment remains chiefly books and DVD’s.
There is nothing that shows you how much your life now is different from your previous one when you talk to people in America. While you have an infinitive amount of time to sit around and swap yarns, they do not. They are Americans! They have things to do, and people to see instead of listening to, “Well this one time in the village…” over the telephone. And it is incredibly frustrating when you realize that.
So how do you keep your mind from going dull? Anything you can. The new arrivals have only just discovered this, and I wish them luck in the weeks and months to come.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Kahtin
Recently, I went to a dance performance at Wat Char Chouk. It was held as part of a kahtin, a ceremony where an elderly woman, a yaye, offers gifts to monks at the wat. From what I understand, the whole purpose of it is to seek atonement before one's final hours.
The ceremony began as a parade down the main street of town. The people involved assembled at the far end of town, near where the road forks in two. They carried several litters of bananas, cooking pots, and two small dark Buddhas carved from jade. A band of musicians joined, clashing symbols and playing the trou-u. Some dancers dressed as peacocks, and together with the large band walked down the main road under the hot October sun. And where was I in all this? I was quietly watching the crowd go by when a man carrying a heavy litter loaded with metal pots asked that I take over for him. Naturally, I took the weight of the wooden beam off his shoulders, and marched towards Wat Char Chouk. The sweat streamed down from my face, and I fanned myself vigorously whenever we took a break. When we reached the gates of the wat, we circled the vihira twice before setting the litter down and going inside. The atmosphere inside the vihira was rather pleasant, for the high ceiling of the building allowed the heat to evaporate. The cool tile floor and the cross breeze from the windows was also welcome. The gifts were placed in a line in the center of the room, and the monks sat in standard formation around them facing each other. The abbot sat at the head with his back to the altar, and beckoned me over to his position before the ceremony started. He asked when I was going back to America, and lit a cigarette as he lamented about the high temperature of the day. I went to go sit back down next to a yaye, who was chewing betel nut and spitting it into a metal cup. An electric fan was finally brought for the abbot, and the ceremony began. The recitation of prayers began, and the people responded with murmurs and prostration when appropriate. When it ended, people began to go outside.
In the courtyard outside the vihira, a dancing troupe was assembled in front of a small stone Buddha. I have seen Khmer dancing in the villages and on display for tourists, and I rather prefer the experience in the village. The people know exactly what they are looking at, and they respond to the story lines of the dance with laughs and jeers instead of vacant expressions and camera flashes. And how nice it is to see what entertainment was like before drunken, loud karaoke and cell phones! An orchestra of xylophones, bells, a reed instrument, and singers sat in front of the Buddha and played behind the dancers. My favorite dance that I saw was the courtship between Hanuman and a magie.
A magie, as a co-teacher explained to me, is a sort of mythical princess. I suppose it is similar to a nymph, or some minor god in Greek mythology. She made her appearance in a splendid blue costume, with a pointed golden crown and a crystal ball. Her movements were languid, and she weaved her hands through the air as if caressing the sides of an invisible snake. Suddenly, Hanuman appeared in a red costume with golden epilates pointed upwards and a splendid expression on his monkey mask. Hanuman, as you may know, is the king of monkeys. His grin reveals mischief, and is often portrayed as a trickster. After making his entrance, he made advances towards the magie. It may as well have been Zeus chasing after a nymph of some kind, although Zeus seemed to have much more luck on his side that poor Hanuman, for the magie rejected his propositions. The orchestra played, and a monk fiddled with an electric light on a bamboo pole. Hanuman tried to place the magie under his spell by a series of finger movements that pushed her backwards, but the magie countered this and returned him to his original place. The crowd laughed at Hanuman’s humiliation, and the king of monkeys suddenly became very angry. He removed a small wooden axe from his belt and waved it threateningly in the air. His actions seemed to frighten the poor magie. In order to propitiate him enough to calm him down, she offered Hanuman the crystal ball that she held in her hand throughout the dance. As soon as he touched it, he became very tired. While he lay down on the ground to sleep, the magie made her escape. When Hanuman woke up, the magie was no longer there. With his efforts foiled, he too made an exit and concluded the dance.
With the entertainment now over, the abbot thanked the crowd and the dancers for coming as everyone shuffled off to dinner.
The ceremony began as a parade down the main street of town. The people involved assembled at the far end of town, near where the road forks in two. They carried several litters of bananas, cooking pots, and two small dark Buddhas carved from jade. A band of musicians joined, clashing symbols and playing the trou-u. Some dancers dressed as peacocks, and together with the large band walked down the main road under the hot October sun. And where was I in all this? I was quietly watching the crowd go by when a man carrying a heavy litter loaded with metal pots asked that I take over for him. Naturally, I took the weight of the wooden beam off his shoulders, and marched towards Wat Char Chouk. The sweat streamed down from my face, and I fanned myself vigorously whenever we took a break. When we reached the gates of the wat, we circled the vihira twice before setting the litter down and going inside. The atmosphere inside the vihira was rather pleasant, for the high ceiling of the building allowed the heat to evaporate. The cool tile floor and the cross breeze from the windows was also welcome. The gifts were placed in a line in the center of the room, and the monks sat in standard formation around them facing each other. The abbot sat at the head with his back to the altar, and beckoned me over to his position before the ceremony started. He asked when I was going back to America, and lit a cigarette as he lamented about the high temperature of the day. I went to go sit back down next to a yaye, who was chewing betel nut and spitting it into a metal cup. An electric fan was finally brought for the abbot, and the ceremony began. The recitation of prayers began, and the people responded with murmurs and prostration when appropriate. When it ended, people began to go outside.
In the courtyard outside the vihira, a dancing troupe was assembled in front of a small stone Buddha. I have seen Khmer dancing in the villages and on display for tourists, and I rather prefer the experience in the village. The people know exactly what they are looking at, and they respond to the story lines of the dance with laughs and jeers instead of vacant expressions and camera flashes. And how nice it is to see what entertainment was like before drunken, loud karaoke and cell phones! An orchestra of xylophones, bells, a reed instrument, and singers sat in front of the Buddha and played behind the dancers. My favorite dance that I saw was the courtship between Hanuman and a magie.
A magie, as a co-teacher explained to me, is a sort of mythical princess. I suppose it is similar to a nymph, or some minor god in Greek mythology. She made her appearance in a splendid blue costume, with a pointed golden crown and a crystal ball. Her movements were languid, and she weaved her hands through the air as if caressing the sides of an invisible snake. Suddenly, Hanuman appeared in a red costume with golden epilates pointed upwards and a splendid expression on his monkey mask. Hanuman, as you may know, is the king of monkeys. His grin reveals mischief, and is often portrayed as a trickster. After making his entrance, he made advances towards the magie. It may as well have been Zeus chasing after a nymph of some kind, although Zeus seemed to have much more luck on his side that poor Hanuman, for the magie rejected his propositions. The orchestra played, and a monk fiddled with an electric light on a bamboo pole. Hanuman tried to place the magie under his spell by a series of finger movements that pushed her backwards, but the magie countered this and returned him to his original place. The crowd laughed at Hanuman’s humiliation, and the king of monkeys suddenly became very angry. He removed a small wooden axe from his belt and waved it threateningly in the air. His actions seemed to frighten the poor magie. In order to propitiate him enough to calm him down, she offered Hanuman the crystal ball that she held in her hand throughout the dance. As soon as he touched it, he became very tired. While he lay down on the ground to sleep, the magie made her escape. When Hanuman woke up, the magie was no longer there. With his efforts foiled, he too made an exit and concluded the dance.
With the entertainment now over, the abbot thanked the crowd and the dancers for coming as everyone shuffled off to dinner.
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