A Diary Of Food

Monday

Waffles or fried bananas for breakfast? I can't decide. Both of which are sold right in front of my house, but the fried bananas have a lot of grease on them. I eat too much grease already. Too much grease, too much sugar. I'm going to get some waffles and take them over to Si Noonan's restaurant where I'll order some coffee and sip that while I eat them. Am I out of jam? I'm out of jam. I'll have to put that on my list when I go into town next.

Tuna fish sandwhich with lettuce and tomatoes bought from the market. Bread is a little stale today. I wonder how long ago it was baked. Does Mr. Breadman check to see if the bread is fresh? Who knows. I feel awfully full. Maybe the school is open so I can go lie down in there under the fan. Or maybe I can just take a shower. I didn't think I could ever sweat so much making a sandwich.

Fried eggs and watermellon for dinner. The watermellon is getting to be out of season. Someone told me they thought it was the wierdest thing just to put slices of watermellon on their rice and eat it like that. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to me.

Tuesday

Left over bread from yesterday, peanut butter, and an apple. That at least sounds healthy doesn't it?

Fried noodles with beef for lunch. The noodles are a little hard, but the meat is good. More grease. I feel like I'm always eating grease. Bought a whole snak of bananas and brought them with me to school in the afternoon to eat as desert. All the teacher's wanted one. They left me with three or four. Just as well, bananas go bad pretty fast if you don't eat them all.

Stir fry with peppers for dinner.

Wednesday

Went down to Pouk to pick up some paperwork the Peace Corps sent up from Phnom Penh. Managed to eat five pancakes, two eggs, and some hashbrowns at the house of the volunteers there.

Pork and bitter mellon soup. I did not eat all of my rice.

Thursday

Could not sleep at all last night. Terribly hot. No breakfast, just big glass of iced coffee from Si Nooan.

Hard boiled egg sandwich with tomatoes and a little bit of olive oil. Terrible heat cramps. Small glass of saltwater should help that. Mango for desert. It's just about mango season. I can see lots of them on the trees.

Rice porridge for dinner. Host Dad asked me if I liked eating rice porridge. I said yes, to be polite, but I'm indifferent to it. "We ate a lot of rice porridge during Pol Pot." I really did not expect that. We talked a little about how much they ate every day. It was maybe two small bowls of watery rice porridge.

Friday

Waffles again.

Fried tofu at Si Nooan's. I can't remember the last time she had tofu.

Pork and bitter mellon soup.

The History Project: Conclusion

To read Nate Thayer’s description of an embattled Angkor Chum as it was in 1995 is shocking because so much development has happened since then. With the construction of roads, bridges, schools, health centers, and an ACELEDA bank, the area around the district center is changing rapidly. While markers near Bott village indicate the presence of mines, it seems that organizations such as the HALO trust and CMAC have cleared most of the ordinance in the area. Despite the outside world’s increasing encroachment on Angkor Chum, the area remains, as it always has been, a rural farming community. This is something that is not likely to change, but whether or not the demographics of Angkor Chum will remain the same is doubtful. More and more people have left the district since the year 2000, and it is likely that this trend will continue for the foreseeable future.

There are many incentives for people to leave Angkor Chum. During the war, many people started leaving the area because of the violence and extortion suffered at the hands of both government soldiers and the Khmer Rouge. Today it is more likely that they will leave because of jobs. Events in the 1990s left Cambodia’s economy in shambles. When relations with Thailand were normalized, many people started heading across the border to the north looking for better wages. There are currently reported to be as many as 200,000 Cambodians living and working in Thailand today in fields such as construction, farming, and fishing. Despite calls from Prime Minister Hun Sen for these migrant laborers to return home, Thailand will probably continue to attract workers from Cambodia as long as there are jobs available. This is even so despite wide spread allegations of abuse and numerous stories floating around in the press about mistreatment at the hands of Thai employers.

One man named Mr. Yao, who is from Angkor Chum and worked as a construction worker abroad, reported that he could earn up to $300 per month in Thailand. This is a lot of money considering that Cambodia’s per capita income floats at around $177. It is easy to imagine that many people hear stories of how much money one can make in Thailand and resolve themselves to go and seek their fortune. Consider the example of a young man whom the author’s of Towards Understanding spoke to about the upcoming future. “Last week I met a young boy about 18 years old . I asked him ‘What do you think about your future?’ He had no idea. The only thing he was thinking about was, if possible, borrow money from his neighbor and go to work in Thailand.” A simple story like this can probably be repeated in any area across the country where jobs are scarce and the only hope of employment is to go abroad. Even Mr. Yao stated that the reason why he left Angkor Chum in the first place was because there were no jobs. Some of administrators at Angkor Chum High School claim that people who stop going to school before grade twelve are reported to be working in Thailand.

They may stop and go to Thailand in order to support their family because they are very poor. So they must stop. Sometimes I ask after students. I ask, “Why did he stop studying?” They tell me his family is very poor. And right now he is in Thailand. I always ask them.

While Pol Pot did much for the fragmentation of Cambodian society, it seems that current economic forces are doing much the same. In looking at this example, it is also impossible to ignore in the difference between the current generation and the previous. Only thirty years ago, shiftless young men like these were given guns, taught to hate their own people, and endure relentless hardship during years of conflict. Now they carry farming tools on their backs instead of rifles.

The promise of going elsewhere may seem even more appealing in the years to come. By simple observation, more and more farming equipment are appearing on the roads in the fields. With mechanized farming on the rise, the demand for manual labor will go down and more people will be unemployed. In addition to this, it is unlikely that any new professional jobs will be created given the rural and isolated nature of the district. The professional class of people who work in the bank, NGO’s, and health services are already imported from outside areas to work in this area. It is easy to see why this is so because the absence of educational institutions prevented people from this area developing into the kinds of professionals needed for those kinds of jobs. Whether or not Angkor Chum high school will one day produce candidates for professional jobs is unknown, but it is difficult to say when. For right now, at least, there are very few opportunities after school. One teacher had this to say:

After the students leave school, it is very difficult to find a job. This month, a lot of students completed the form to be a teacher. They need fifty teachers, but many more students applied than can get the job. Maybe 600 people applied. I ask them why they want to be a teacher, “because I cannot find another job!” But this is the only way for them to find a job. ACELEDA? No. NGO? No. Hospital? No. They only need three or five policemen. So they must apply to be a teacher.

For a high school student graduating today, the opportunities look bleak for professional employment in Angkor Chum and will probably leave the district when their studies are finished in order to seek their fortunes elsewhere.

How Angkor Chum will continue to develop and change remains to be seen. Given all that it has survived during the last thousand or so years, it seems likely that it will continue to endure as it always has.

The Bad Guys and The Good Guys

I suppose that there is an alcoholic in everyone's life at some point. The one in mine is a Khmer teacher who will be henceforth referred to as "Kroo SoPiup." There are two different modes in which I usually see this guy. In the morning, he hangs out with me and the other teachers as we wait beneath the trees for morning assembly to be over. He is bleary eyed, and is usually sucking down his first "Luxury" cigarette of the day. He is about my height and sports a black adolescent mustache, but to say he looks unhealthy is a gross understatement. He claims he is twenty nine, but just by looking at his face I would have to put his age at forty something. When morning assembly is over, Kroo SoPiup marches off to class with the rest of us. I usually do not see him until after lunch, and this is when he is just staggeringly drunk. This is the usual conversation I have with him at this hour.

"Kroo SoPiup! Are you drunk?"
"No...I...just drank (hic!) six cans of beer."
"You drank six cans of beer over lunch? How are you still standing?"
"I am...(hic!) very strong! (Laughs) [Cultural note: Cambodians have a formidable connection between drinking large amounts of alcohol and strength]
"How the hell are you going to get through your next class?"
"Maybe I will not teach today...maybe I will go to sleep."
"Kroo SoPiup! If you keep this up you're going to collapse when you're forty!)
"N0! I am too strong to die." (Joey Ramone said the same thing. He died in 2001)

The worst is when he gets a hold of this toy air gun (it is not a real air gun, just a wooden thing with some tubing designed to make a popping noise) that someone brought back from Thailand. He starts strutting around school with it, shouting at people, and singing. You have to remember that he is not dangerous, just extremely annoying.

I keep wanting to find a picture of a diseased liver so I can point out to him everything that he is doing to himself, but I know that would just make him laugh.

Yet, he is not a disgrace as some would call it. He is more like the town fool or the office drunk; someone who makes you laugh and makes you feel less bad about your own vices because theirs are far worse.

In contrast to this guy, my favorite teacher at the school is Kroo Nak. This is a guy who represents the best future of Cambodia. Organized, stern, honest, and productive, he works in the office as an administrator. And I am pretty sure that the schools runs solely because he cares about his work, he does not drink to excess, and because he has a wife and kids.

With the two forces of Kroo Nak and Kroo Sopiup working against each other, I am more than confident that Kroo Nak will triumph and will one day remake the school in his image. At least I hope.

The Death of Things

My computer died recently. I know that it was old, that it was bound to break down sometime, and that I should not have grieved for it as much as I did. But I did. The VSO volunteer from India who is now working in Angkor Chum briefly asked me if I was going to have a funeral for the thing when I went over to her house for dinner the other night. As tempting as it was to have some sort of ceremony for it, I did not do such a thing. I will miss it. It was like a typewriter that sang to me, and happened to remember all the photos that I took. It will be remembered as an addition to the list of things that have broken down completely or have been ruined since I arrived in this country: at least three pairs of pants, socks, t-shirts (Cambodian t-shirts last much longer than I expected them to) an wind up radio, the ipod, one large mosquito net (eaten by mice), two metal water bottles, some degree of sanity, as well as countless food items eaten by ants. Volunteers often gripe about how nothing lasts in this country, and it is really true. This is especially poignant for clothes. No matter how much you scrub the sweat stains out of your shirts they are still going to be there. Of course, you can then replace shirts with others you find in the market. Pants are a little harder. You have to get them tailored in the market, and there is no telling how long it will be before they start to come apart. Nothing lasts.

March

The weather is not the same as it used to be. For a month or two it was cool in the mornings, enough for class to continue as scheduled and work to be done at a normal pace. Now, this is no longer. When the rains came, the sun dried us and made all that was green grow. Now it bakes. It feels as if the devil himself has turned up the thermostat. The fields where green rice shoots once proudly stood are now brown, empty, dead, gnawed upon by cows and burned black with soot. The farmers set fire to their fields now in the hopes that something will rise from the ashes during the monsoons. The fires run wild across the fields, burning smoking, stopping only for the roads made of sand. We used to have mud in those roads.

There is no escape. We are trapped inside an oven. Iced drinks, cold showers, naps in the afternoon. There is desire for movement, but movement causes sweating and we are all tired of feeling salt down our bodies. The wind that once carried a cooling breeze now licks the face and neck with its hot breath mixed with gritty dust. It is best to be avoided at all costs. How can one possibly expect to get anything done living like this? The sweet stands all crowd during the evening; the people wait for their bowls of iced gelatin and fruit shakes.

"Hot today."
"Hot everyday."
"Another glass?"
"We need more ice!"

I hate the sun. In the morning I cannot rise without it, and when it sleeps I slumber out of its influence. It is there everywhere I go, blinding, baking, brilliant. In Africa, I felt alive whenever I was out of its way. Here, there is nothing I can do without it. I ache for rain. Rain rain dark and cloudy for days at a time. The water filling up the cracked canals, the land turning green. Why did you leave us alone since October monsoon? Got stuck somewhere over the Himilayas did you?

How inconsiderate. Your arrival is greatly anticipated.

The Literal Truth

"Hi, Mr. Nou! How did the test go this morning?"

"The students...they stare and put their pens in their mouths."

Singapore in Pictures