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.
Friday, December 18, 2009
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.
Friday, November 27, 2009
The Animal Languages
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.
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 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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
