Where in the World is Julie Sandiego?

I’m still here! Whamming in Whambodia!

I have been having so much fun the last month in Cambodia that I have neglected my bloggrific duties. For those two readers whose feeds I have yet to be removed from, I have an udpate for you.

WHAT HAPPENED?

A whole lotta fun. Here’s the debrief in chronological order:

• Finished my Kiva Fellowship

After three wonderful months with Maxima, I completed my fellowship and prepared to say goodbye to the small company that has treated me like one of their own. While my Kiva experience was very different from what I expected, I am so glad that it allowed me to come here and work with such a remarkable company.

As part of my goodbye festivities, the Maxima senior management took me to a wonderful dinner at Magnolia, a new Vietnamese resturant with exquisite make-your-own springroll plates (with pork rolled on sugar cane, Japanese shizo leaf, pineapple and noodles), something like the Japanese shabu shabu (but with goat meat), and other delicious dishes.

Miss Svvie Chheng, who never ceases to delight or amaze me, made sure that I had the best possible going away dinner by ordering me my favorite food: set go (beef).  True, I do like a good steak or hamburger, but mostly my choice of beef was due to the lack of alternatives (fish) during Maxima lunches.  So, we ordered two plates of nearly-raw beef, beef in spring rolls, beef shabu shabu, beef with beef. It was a wonderful meal, with lots of fast talking and plates being passed around until every last bit was consumed with a smack of the lips. Fighting off the meat sweats (that insufferable sweating caused by eating too much meat),  Dr. Kimseng dropped me off at the end of the night back at my apartment, and I was sad to see him go.

The following day was my last at Maxima, and they presented me with a beautiful silk and embroidered scarf, from the whole office, and a matching silk purse, from Miss Svvie Chheng. We took a picture with the whole office outside, which I hope to frame and keep to remember Maxima by.

A few days before I had heard that all of Maxima (excluding senior management) had organized a trip to Kep and Kampot to go swimming, see the beach, visit a durian farm, and swim in tuk chu (waterfalls). All was to be completed in one day, there and back. While the van was already full, Kiry asked if I would mind riding “Khmer style,” – three to every two seats – and I said that it would be no problem, I’d love to go!

• A Very Khmer Vacation

At 445 am, my Maxima driver picked me up drove me to the Maxima office. Nobody else seemed to think it was an ungodly hour, except for me. It was fun to see everyone dressed up outside of their Maxima outfits. Rina showed off her new krama that her mother had given her; I had brought mine too and we thought we were so lowie (cool).

Kep and Kampot were great – especially the food, but I must say that just hanging out with my coworkers and vacationing Khmer style was the best part. Spending nearly 7 hours in the bus during the trip, there was a lot of time to talk, nap, eat fruit, and of course — sing karaoke on the van’s TV screen. The boys in the back kept the karaoke going the entire time, adding creativity to songs. The three back-to-back tracks of the Macarena became “Heeeey Maca RINA,” which became “Heeeey Maca SOPHAL” etc. During our drive back at night, the boys got out their Nokia bricks (the cell phone we all have), turned on the flashlight at the end of it (which is used quite a bit here) and jumped around in the back of the bus waving their lights around. They never tired. Meanwhile, Sophal and Rina told me about the stories behind each of the Khmer love songs. It’s surprising how trendy and fun a song is, and it has such sentimental lyrics. One song was about “many types of people,” where the singer discussed how some people like to dance, some people like to watch, some people like to smoke, some people like to drink, some people are shy…you get the point. I found out one of my favorite traditional Khmer songs was about a boy who loved his black water buffalo. What’s not to love about that?

It’s just too much to say in all one post, but the whole event was just SO KHMER, and I was treated like part of the familyi. Bags and bags and bags of fruit were passed around, snacks and unhealthy food, lots of G-rated flirting between the sexes, and giggles aplenty.

By the end of the trip, we all were exhausted by the 40 something durians that fit in our 35 person van (with 40 people in it). It was a really lovely day that I am so glad to have experienced.

• Traveled with Laura

Fresh from the King’s Birthday Holiday, my best friend Laura flew in from San Francisco where I met her with Dan (everyone’s favorite tuk tuk driver) and embarked on a two week trip of catching up and hanging out. This could take up nine blog posts altogether, but I have too much to write already.

Agenda:

1. Phnom Penh: 3 nights
2. Siam Reap/Angkor Wat: 2 nights
3. Bus back to PP: 1 night
4. Kep – Rabbit Island: 2 nights
5. Sihanoukville: 1 night
6. Phnom Penh: 1 night
7. Bangkok, Thailand: 2 nights (3 days)
8. Phnom Penh: 2 nights

Laura’s highlight: Discovering the definition of “wet blanket,” and using it as often as possible.

Laura’s lowlight: Taking a small boat across the ocean during a storm, arriving on Rabbit Island on the wrong side during a torrential downpour, trucking through mud and muck in the dark to cross the island and arrive at our bungalows.  (Laura was very brave through the whole process and, knock on wood, we never saw snakes!)

My highlight: Staying at the Golden Banana in Siem Reap, and floating in their beautiful, lush pool.

My lowlight: Laura leaving and me feeling homesick and missing her and my other SF friends. Three days of sulking ensued.

• Started New Jobs:

 Three days of sulking were accompanied by five days of complete boredom, as I waited to hear back from the jobs I had applied to. Why did I decide to seek additional employment? These are the facts that lead up to it:

1. I no longer have a job at Google
2. I no longer have an apartment in the United States
3. When I return home, I will move in with my parents
4. I am waitlisted at 8 law schools, and;
5. I’m not ready to go home quite yet

For those of you who heard me during my 72 hours of deciding I should travel to China, I regret to inform you that I changed my mind. Partly to continue to build up a good resume and impress my waitlisted schools, partly becuase I wasn’t ready to leave Cambodia yet, and partly out of fear of returning home and living with the parents for a period more than 1 month (so warned my sister), I decided to look for jobs in Cambodia.

Knowing that I was starting law school in fall, I started following leads in Cambodia and contacting people in my outer network. The great thing about Cambodia is how quickly you can make meaningful work connections. Perhaps because the business circle is so much smaller, people go out of their way to forward a resume, talk to a stranger or meet to discuss their work here. Coupled with the abundance of NGOs and small businesses, it wasn’t long before I found one job and one side project to work on for the next five weeks.

Oh, and I told everyone I’d work for free. So that probably made hiring me easy. Hooray severance pay. Kindof.

I am working at one of Cambodia’s premier law firms, headed by a UCLA Law alumni and California native with close ties to the Cambodian government and who helps the Prime Minister on matters of international business transaction and intergovernmental disputes (such as the Preah Vihar land dispute heating up on the Thai-Cambodian border).

My job is not as glamorous as our senior partner, obviously. I have been helping to perform due diligence, editing of Khmer-to-English law translations, and some more advanced secretarial duties. ROCK.

On Tuesday evenings I am the TA for Professor Rine, clinical faculty at the University of Michigan, assisting a course on Professional Responsibility (Ehics) at the Royal University of Phnom Penh.  It has been great to sit in on the classes and listen to the English-language law students debate legal ethics. 

Law school here is a bachelors program, not an advanced degree, and many of the students are ages 17 – 21. There are a lot of misunderstandings here about concepts of law – what a lawyer’s role is, when can a lawyer act on behalf of his own interest, what human rights are and if it is always in sync with the national government’s laws and ‘the public good.’ There are lots of ‘hot topics’ the students like to discuss, such as the need for economic development, corruption in the government, and interntional human rights. Howver, as common in both Khmer and English language law students, there is a big problem with students not being able to form their own thoughts or opinions.

There is a wide range of English written and oral profeciency, and unfortunately it is often tied to the income of the student’s families. Students who’s parents are wealthier or more highly educated have been learning English for longer and been given the opportunity to attend some of the best schools in Phnom Penh. I hope to provide some insight into the students’ minds in another entry I can write about their weekly assignments I’m reading.

•   Mother Visits, Mother-Daughter Traveling 

Years ago, my sister and I decided that we needed a dog. It was crucial to our existence. Our family was not complete without one. We asked our parents, of course, and were devastated when they said no. My sister and I began a dog campaign, including tactics such as: etreme whining, repetition, covering our parents’ room with Post-It messages (I want a dog! I’ll clean up his poop! I’ll take him for a walk! We want a dog! We need a dog!), even hanging them on the blades of the ceiling fan. Eventually, my parents said yes. We bought Rocky, a shelter dog, who changed our lives for the better with his love for digging holes in our backyard, humping small children, and yipping in car rides.

The moral of the story is: if you beg your parents for something enough they will eventually give in and say yes.

Such has been true with the Mother Campaign.

After four months of badgering, begging, whining, flattering and pleading, my wonderful mum has finally decided to come visit. 

Mother countdown: 10 days

• Returning to the US July 13

I’m going to fly back home with my Mom on July 13. A week in SLO, a week in SF, and then trying to make my move down to law school.

• Starting law school August 2009

Law school TBD. Currently in the ring: UMich vs UCLA. Ready? FIGHT.

 That concludes this massive blog post for the past 5-6 weeks. Hopefully I’ll be able to write about some more interesting tidbits before I go home.

Coming soon: Bruno the Office Dog, Spin the Bottle, and other fun stories

The Elves and the Shoemaker (Cambodia Edition)

Yesterday I returned home to find my apartment much cleaner than when I had left.

At first, I thought I must have tidied up more than I had remembered. After a careful  walk through, however, I saw that my woven entry mats had been washed and hung over a chair arm to dry, the kitchen mats had been cleaned as well, and when I inspected it — the mop on the front porch was damp. My garbage can was emptied and the giant cardboard box of recycling was cleared and returned to the kitchen.

At first, I thought that perhaps Pek had just emptied the garbage (as he sometimes does, bless his heart) but I could tell that the floors had been washed and the chairs straightened with extra care. It was all done subtly, respectfully, and left there without explanation. I kept thinking of the Grimm’s Fairytale of The Elves and the Shoemaker, and realized that the mystery cleaner would of course had to have been Pek.

Pek with the neighbor's baby, in his chair across the street (of course). Photo Credit: Kieran Ball (former tenant and Kiva Fellow)

Why did Pek clean up our apartment? What did we do to deserve this? This would have been an effort that took Pek a few hours, at least. Not to mention that the recycling box probably weighed as much as he did and that he’s permanently stooped over, making sweeping and mopping difficult. Yet, I knew it had to have been Pek. I was holding back tears when I realized just what Pek had done, only out of kindness, and for no clear ulterior motive.

In the last few months, Pek and I have exchanged many home signs, stories and smiles, and despite the obvious cultural, lingual, and age barrier, we have formed a friendship. I give him bags of soda and beer cans after a night on the porch with the Kiva Fellows. He thanks me and puts them in a big garbage bag in his yard downstairs, for when the man comes to collect recycling and he can sell it off for profit.

I gave him a few articles of clothing left behind by the previous tenants – just some pants and tops, and a free cotton T-shirt I was given from a competing microfinance bank.

When Carson was gifted with soda drinks during her research here, I gave them to Pek, knowing he would appreciate it. When we had dried Khmer food in the kitchen that Jeff and I didn’t eat, I brought them down to Pek, along with several containers and jars like I’d seen his family clean and use in the past.

Pek and Kieran on our porch. Photo Credit: Someone with Kieran’s camera

Jeff will hand out some fruit or vegetables when he returns from the market – a mango, a mangosteen, some oranges or a carrot.

In return, or perhaps independent from these gestures, Pek continues to watch over Jeff and I with unfailing care. He waters our plants every day, coming upstairs around 730 am with an old paint can, filled to the brim with water. When he comes later in the morning, and I’m scrambling to get ready, he tells me my motordriver is here and points downstairs and laughs.

Sometimes I notice that my dustpan from sweeping the porch has been cleaned out when I return home, or that the dishes have been stacked neatly by the side of the sink after Pek has collected ice.

When I walk up to Jenn’s motorbike outside the house, Pek tells me to hold my purse close and tests the seat first to make sure its secure. He points to the pegs and tells me where to put my feet on the bike (even though I’ve done it dozens of times).

Each day, Pek wheels out Jeff’s bicycle and puts it by the front gate — inside, in the shade — for Jeff to ride to work. When Jeff returns in the evening, Pek brings the bike in at night before he goes to bed, locking it securely inside his house. On the weekends, when the bike is out in the yard for hours at a time, Pek covers it with his krama to protect it from the hot sun.

When Jeff leaves for the weekend, Pek will ask how many days he’s gone for the weekend, and he knows not to worry about the bike. When I went to Sihanoukville this past weekend, I told Pek how many days I’d be gone, waving goodbye as I walked out the gate with my backpack, and holding up 2 fingers for the two days I’d be gone.

When I come home from work, I like to run into Pek and exchange some signs before I head upstairs or to dinner. He’s always full of stories, though I’ll admit I can only understand about half of them. He’ll tell me about fires, about break ins, about weddings and about how much the neighbors paid for their new motorbike.

My House Elf. Photo Credit: Kieran Ball

This morning when I was getting ready to leave for work, Pek shuffled in and mimed that he had dusted and swept my house the day before. I kept giving him the Khmer sign of thank you, thank you. Pek proceeded to flick on and off the lights and tell me he’d change the two bulbs that are out. (How he’ll reach the high ceiling, I’m not sure – probably with help from a nephew.) He told me I was missing the padlock on the back door (which I had used to lock my bike), and waited for me to fetch it. Watching as I replaced the lock, Pek gave me a big smile and shuffled back to the kitchen to collect his ice. I went back to the front room and scooped some of my shortbread cookies (which I made for Maxima last night) and put them in a ziploc bag. I walked back to the kitchen and gave them to Pek, explaining that they were to eat. Then, nearly late for work, I walked out the front door and left it and my gate open, knowing Pek would lock up.

I’m really going to miss Pek when I leave.

No, I Have Not Booked My Flight Home Yet

As the title would suggest: No, I have not booked my flight home yet.

May 12: Final Day at Maxima

May 15 – 30: Traveling around Laos/Cambodia with Laura

May 30 – Mid-August: ?

• Solo travel (To where?)
• Stay in Cambodia and work? (For whom?)
• Return home (and do what?)

Mid-August – 2012: Law school*

*To answer the other frequently asked question: No, I don’t know where I’m going to school yet. Likely UCLA or U Texas – Austin. Leaning toward Austin (hook ‘em!) but much is up in the air.

Mass Journal for Kiva

As part of my Kiva Fellowship, I’ve written an article to be sent to all current and past lenders to MAXIMA clients. MAXIMA has already received more than four pages of user comments on our website!

Here’s what I wrote:

Dear Lender,

Happy Year of the Ox! Thank you for supporting a Kiva entrepreneur in Cambodia.

It is the first day back in the Maxima office after Khmer New Year, and the office is abuzz with discussions of people describing their vacations. Our Kiva Coordinator, Sophal, a bright, 22-year-old Khmer girl and one of my closest friends in the office, asks me where I went.

“Battambong,” I reply, trying to pronounce the name correctly. After a few feeble attempts, Sophal at last can understand the city I mean.

“Did you dance, Julie?” She asks.

“Yes! We danced at the pagoda all three nights!” I exclaim.

“S’bai, at? Was it happy?”

“S’bai s’bai! Very happy!”

My name is Julie Picquet, and I am a Kiva Fellow working with Maxima Mikroheranhvatho, a Kiva Field Partner based in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. With two-thirds of my fellowship complete, I can hardly believe that I have less than one month left with this beautiful country and its inspiring citizens.

Kiva’s Partnership with Maxima

As a Kiva Fellow, I was placed with one of Kiva’s Field Partners to provide support and transparency into the money lending process. In the past nine weeks, I have visited Kiva entrepreneurs and worked closely with Maxima staff to write borrower updates, streamline our upload processes, and help with translation. As you may know, all entrepreneurs on Kiva’s web site are supported by local Field Partners, or microfinance institutions (MFIs) like Maxima, who are Kiva’s liaison between Kiva lenders and Kiva borrowers. They choose which of their clients are eligible to receive Kiva support, write and upload business profiles, disburse loans, collect payments, write journal updates, and respond to lender comments. Currently, Maxima is the only Field Partner to be completely owned and operated by Cambodians.

Despite the prominence of microfinance institutions in Cambodia (more than eighteen major banks and counting), Maxima stands apart from the rest as a boutique firm. As the smallest of Kiva’s four field partners in Cambodia, Maxima has the flexibility to tailor its loan products to best fit client demands. For example, some loan products include flexible interest rates, allowing clients to choose a lower interest rate if they can come to the Maxima office to make their payments, rather than have the loan officer drive to the clients’ residences. This cuts down on significant costs for the MFI, who can in turn pass the savings on to the client.

Riding on the back of a Maxima motorbike, interviewing borrowers and hearing about their business operations, I am impressed by the enthusiasm villages show when a loan officer and I drive past their houses. Sothea, a loan officer whose territory is the Koh Dach Island on the Mekong river, where she was raised and her parents still live, teaches me about customer service. “I always smile, the whole time I’m here,” she says, “My clients are everywhere, I want them to see me happy!”

Client Profile: The Um Family’s Mushrooms

Maxima’s clients seem happy, indeed. In the past nine years, Maxima has disbursed over $6 million dollars of loans and reached over 10,000 families. Maxima gives not only business loans, but also loans to build houses or to send children to school. In the homes I visit, I see the signs of development – children’s homework on the bamboo bed, taxi driving certificates pinned to the wall of a humble, wooden house. Piece by piece, Maxima’s loans help Cambodians improve their standard of living through sustainable business growth.

One example of this forward movement through small business entrepreneurship is exemplified through Sotheany Um and her family. When a credit offer and I approached the Um household, Sotheany’s father proudly told me that he could speak some French (which he learned when Cambodia was a French colony), so I said “Je m’appelle Julie.” He laughed and pulled up some chairs for Sothea and I to sit, while his daughter finished some work. During our interview, Sotheany’s young daughter ran around in pigtails and holding a balloon while we talked.

Sotheany is a hardworking businesswoman. This is her first microfinance loan, and she used all $700 of her loan to start up a mushroom business near the home she shares with her parents. She learned the mushroom growing trade from her brother-in-law, who had learned it from his uncle. She started the business about 6 months ago upon receiving the loan.

In this business, large, dark rooms are filled with vertical lines of segmented plastic bags, each filled with a mushroom fertilizer. The bags hang from floor-to-ceiling, and after a few weeks, wide, white mushrooms begin to sprout from the bottoms of each segment. The Ums built two buildings to grow mushrooms, each with over 5000 segmented bags. Sotheany’s father and brother-in-law enthusiastically showed us their mushroom huts and the mushrooms that are beginning to grow.

Sotheany sells her mushrooms on the island for 6000/kg for regular consumers, and 4000 or 5000/kg for wholesalers. One problem she faces is the lack of wholesalers to purchase her mushrooms. She may need to sell some of her mushrooms in Phnom Penh as well in order to increase her market. Sotheany is hopeful that she will be able to pay back her loan on time.

This video shows my interview with Sotheany, as well as her father and brother-in-law giving us a tour of the rooms where her mushrooms grow: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoHT7jC5tUw

I was deeply impressed with the hard work that the Um household had put into starting this business. Mr. Um had even painted signs to mark the entrance of the mushroom hut, in both Khmer and French. To me, it showed the care that they have taken to run their business successfully and increase their income. On the Koh Dach Island, most people are weavers, and I imagine that it must take courage and confidence to introduce a new product to the island.

Before leaving to visit more weavers on the island, I thanked the Um family for their time and wished her success: “Some nang lo’ah!” – “Good luck!” To Sotheany’s father I said, “Au revoir!”

Maxima Welcomes the New Year

Last week Maxima brought in monks to bless the staff for Khmer New Year and invited me to join. Upstairs in our office, desks were pushed aside, mats were spread, and shoes were removed. We sat down and listened to the monks chant, as they splashed us with water and showered us with flower petals. The following day at 7:30 am, I was picked up by Maxima’s driver and brought to our Khmer New Year Party, where we met up with our second branch and the 60 or so employees cooked together, ate together and danced together as a family. “S’bai at, Julie?” They ask. “Yes,” I say, “I am very happy. Are you?”

Cambodia’s recent history paints a very different picture than the one I have come to see in my time here. Development is underway, and in the wake of a genocide, social problems and political corruption, in the faces of my coworkers and the people they serve I see happiness and determination.

On behalf of Kiva, Maxima and its hardworking clients, I thank you for your continued support of our hard work. Together, we can bring sustainable solutions to poverty and facilitate development worldwide.

We wish you a happy and healthy Year of the Ox, and we hope to continue to partner with you in the future.

Very Sincerely Yours,

Julie Picquet

Maxima Mikroheranhvatho

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

In an AIDS Orphanage in Cambodia

Little Sahot

When It Rains, It Pours

Everyday last week started the same:

Temperatures climbing up from 77 to 81 degrees in just minutes, eventually settling around 95 degrees and remaining perched in the sweltering heat for the rest of the day.

An hour or so later the power would shut off. No Internet, no air conditioning, no lights. I’d work as much as possible on my remaining battery (sans internet) and then begin to putz around the office with the other management. Since only management has computers we came outside of our back room and sat in the front, fanning ourselves and talking about how hot it is. G’daou na! Cashiers and accountants use only carbon paper and calculators, and they preceded to work by the light that came in through the front doors.

After two hours without power, I would get restless. Trying to find the best angles to fan my face, or positioning myself in the waiting chairs to catch whatever draft managed to pass through the front doors. Walking back and forth from the kitchen to the front room in search of mango and conversation. Twiddling my thumbs. Wishing I had brought a book and not believing I had forgot one again. Listening as managers spoke in Khmer and watching the head accountant work diligently by lamplight.

In the afternoons, the 95 degrees of sweltering heat was overshadowed by loud thunder and rainstorms. The rain really did come down in buckets – the street would swell up, everyone would buy cheap plastic rain jackets for 1500 riel each (less than 40 cents), and continued their daily transport of bulky items on motos – ten kilos of lettuce, eight pigs, a pinwheel of wicker baskets, etc. In the evenings, my driver would take me home in the company car, not the motorcycle, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the downpour.

And so this continued for five days, Monday through Friday.

On the third hour of the second day without power I had an idea. What do you do when it is hot and you are bored? Eat ice cream, of course. While I had offered to walk the six blocks to the fancy gas station, it was discussed and defeated. It’s too hot, they said. Boni would go to the back room and get her moto keys, and we’d drive to the gas station. I’d pick out some ice cream and we’d drive back.

On Friday, I finally had enough money to treat Boni to some ice cream too. She picked out some New Zealand ice cream, and, not wanting her to feel badly for picking an expensive ice cream, I picked the same. A few minutes later and we were back in the office, eating chocolate ice cream in the back room and talking about how hot it is. Boni shared her ice cream with the other cleaning lady – (a quiet, poised woman of about 40 who always answers my compliments of “you look so nice today!” with “No, I’m old”). She held up her index finger to me and told me it was her first time ever trying ice cream. Chang’ng te? I asked. Chang’ng na! She answered – delicious!

A few hours later and the rain started again, and this time the rain gutters (if any) could not handle the downpour. Within just minutes, the street swelled with eight inches of water and cars passing by would send wakes of dirty trash water into our front gates.

Watching the roads swell in the safety of the front room, suddenly the Maxima staff began yelling in Khmer. Our head cashier dashed to our back wall and shut off our power lever. Smoke began to drift from somewhere in the office, but we couldn’t tell wear. There had been a small fire.

Two men rolled up their work pants, put on flip flops, and waded out across the flooded street to our electricty poll. They opened strange tin boxes and moved wires, the whole time while I thought they were surely going to electrocute themselves and die.

After ten or so minutes of intensity, the problem was somehow solved (I have no idea) and it was almost 5 pm. The Maxima staff came out to our front gate and we watched the motos and cars continue their dailyroutines in 10 inches of rain. Vendors continued to schlep their merchandise, and school kids trudged through puddles in their pants and shoes.

Maxima photo shoot:

Such a sass. Of course he needed his own picture.

Suistye Ch’nam Khmer! (Part 1)

HAPPY KHMER NEW YEAR!

On Saturday, April 11th, Maxima held a big Khmer New Year party for its employees. For the days and weeks leading up to it, every loan officer and cashier would ask me if I was going. There will be traditional food, traditional dancing, traditional games, they told me excitedly. As Saturday approached, the staff became more and more excited for the Khmer New Year party and the upcoming holiday (Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday were national holidays – no work – and many companies also give Monday and Friday off).

All four Kiva’ians were invited, but Jeff and Katie were traveling in Vietnam and thus Drew became my wingman after some gentle badgering, despite the fact that he woke up feeling under the weather and we were to be picked up at 730 am. (What better time for a party to start than 8 am?) As expected, his attendance would later cause the office women to ask me if he was my song saa (special friend).

It turns out Khmer New Year Parties, when sponsored by your employer, are not unlike corporate holiday parties in the US. Open bar, questionable food, and perhaps some inappropriate-for-work touching. (This took place in the form of knee touching during a traditional game, but still, quite exciting for the conservative Khmer culture!)

Traditional Khmer Games:

Drew and I were picked up by our driver and arrived about 30 minutes later. The traffic was akin to the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and Maxima kept apologizing for the slow movement. Shortly after putting down are things and checking out the large house and grounds where the party was held (at the office branch manager’s parents’ house), we were invited to play some traditional games.

One of the most shocking things about Cambodia is the way that children are allowed around and near hazardous situations. An example of this would be the traditional Khmer new year game of pottery pinata. I mean, why not let children whack at pottery suspended in the air by a string?

My failed attempt:

A more successful employee:

Side note: A few days later, celebrating in Pailin, Jenn would find out just how hazardous this game could be when Colin (6′5” and quite strong) whacked the pot clear across the courtyard and landed a hunk on Jenn’s big toe. Avoidable bleeding and pain ensued. The following day Jenn was horrified when she had to buy blue foam boat-like shoes to hobble around in for the rest of our vacation. The toe is likely broken (still hurts at time of posting).

Lunch Preparations:

All the women of Maxima quickly gathered around a long table and started cutting at meat, mostly chicken, beef, and cow intestines. There were no recipes and little instruction – everyone just knew exactly what they could do to help (except for me and Drew). After staring absent mindedly at the kitchen scene for awhile, Drew and I were ushered back to a table to eat mango.

After a few hours of games and several mangos, a feast was served. Suistye Ch’nam Khmer! Suistye Ch’nam Khmer! We clinked our glasses to each other and began to eat. Delicious green mango salad, peppery lime loc lak beef (my favorite), some rubbery cow stomach I didn’t touch, etc.

While most of the women didn’t drink, the men drank enough for all. Young men chugged Angkor after Angkor immediately upon sitting down to our (1030 am) lunch. Older men mixed CocaCola and Angkor and followed suit. It was a race to the finish line. Once I found a few other Maxima women sipping a beer, I decided it was okay to indulge in one or two. The young men kept trying to catch me up with them but I stood my ground.

Dance Dance Penholution:

Finally it was time for what everybody was waiting for: a massive dance party. Everybody danced, even a few old men. Our CEO sang karaoke. We danced in circles around a tree centerpiece. Beer chugging (men only) continued. I tried my best to mimic the smooth hands of the women’s traditional dance, and failed miserably.

After a few hours of dancing, I was ready for a mid-day nap. The driver took Drew and I back in Maxima’s truck, and before long I was fast asleep.

The next day, I would depart to Battambong to meet up with Jenn and Colin on another 4 day adventure (Sunday – Thurday) for Khmer New Year.

Lauren and Alex’s Visit!

As some of you may know, Lauren and Alex visited a few weeks ago, just hours after Carson had left and just for two days before heading back to Thailand. After 45 days of traveling Asia (Laos, Thailand, Cambodia), Miss Lauren has returned to Walnut Creek and sent me some pictures of her adventures, including her visit to Street 830.

The first night, with concierge Jenn in tow, we took Lauren and Alex to THE place to welcome travelers to Cambodia: Restaurant 54 aka I LOVE THIS PLACE – just a beer garden and some fry-your-own-meat. Beef and shrimp come lathered in egg yolk and butter, with a side of oil. Order the Tower or Power (our name, not theirs) – a giant tower of Angkor Tiger beer – for just pennies. Add a few scraps of vegetables, a big bowl of rice and some secret sauce. Grill it up! Every night at 54 is a success, and I probably go around 1 or 2 times every 9 days.

Highlight of their visit: Picnicking on Jenn’s roof: wine, beer, pizza, Khmer food and a 360 degree view of the city. Lightning storm (no rain) ensued.

Back on Street 830, my roommate Jeff captured the same lightning storm on his Flip Video. Check out the YouTube to watch the lightning bolt jut across the sky horizontally.

Arny rides with us in his brother's tuk tuk, transporting us and our picnic food to Jenn's roof. This is the same little street urchin who tried to put a tarantula on me my second day in Cambodia, and whom I still see time to time on Riverside.

Tried to make Alex blush and succeeded.

Me and Arni down at the school yard

I’d post some pictures of Lauren and I, but unfortunately she only sent me photos where I look like a basset hound. I’ll see if I can dig some more up.

Welcome home, Lauren!

Fruit Symposium

Jeff “Dr. Durian” Zira and Drew “Mango Manskirt” Loizeaux have put their blogs where their mouths are and started a blog to discuss their love for Cambodian fruit.

A few weeks ago, Jeff and Drew came over with a backpack full of fruit and filled our kitchen table with durian, mangoes, bananas and fruit-on-twigs of every different variety. We pulled our tables and chairs onto the porch, turned on some music, and began an epic fruit taste test.

Fruit was judged by flavor, texture, appearance and acidity –  just to name a few.

It’s times like these that make me never want to leave Cambodia.

Oh, yes, and for all of you who keep asking — I have not bought my ticket home yet.

Mad for fruit? Check it out! www.cambodianfruit.blogspot.com

Children in the Provinces (Videos)

In honor of this lovely day-before-the-weekend, I bring you: happy videos.

In the Kandal province, Sophal’s nephew (the littlest one) and neighbors play a game using only a rope made of rubber bands (which repairs as easily as it breaks) and some flip flops. Flip flops seem to be the popular toy of choice in the provinces – use them for toss, as cars driving up a mound of dirt, or in this case, to trip up people jumping over a rubberband rope.

Watch as the motorbike almost wipes out Sophal’s nephew.

PS: Sophal and I played too. Sophal was good but I was terrible. I think they slowed it down for the barang. Doesn’t it look like fun?

During one of my Kiva interviews a few weeks ago, this little girl swung in a hammock and watched me talk to her mother about her loan (which was used to build stairs for their house).

Stay Tuned…

I have neglected to write about three amazing adventures in Cambodia, in part because they are so incredible I have procrastinated writing the whole thing out. Please stay tuned for:

1. Visit to Sophal’s Homeland

• A home-cooked Khmer meal
• Fried Mushrooms
• Sophal’s “sister” and her “sister’s boyfriend”
• Just like grandma’s house

2. Lauren and Alex’s Visit to Phnom Penh

• Jenn peer pressuring us to go out late every night
• Lightning storms and roof picnics
• Used book shopping

3. Khmer New Year in Battambong and Pailin

• Opposition Partying (Sam Rainsy then CCP)
• Crossing the Thai Border
• Waterfalls
• Dancing at the Pagoda every night
• Getting slapped with baby powder and pegged with bags of water

All three things are also pending digital photos, which I need from Jeff, Lauren, and Colin, respectively, but it’s really my own fault for having not purchased a new memory card when it broke my first week here.

Coming soon! Unless I keep procrastinating…

Love in the Time of Cambodia

Disclaimer: I’m not good at writing touching things. Sarcastic, funny, cow nexx – yes; but writing serious things without sounding sappy is not easy for me. Regardless, I’d like to share a story that has caused me a lot of thought, and I hope that the sincerity comes through.

Boni is twenty-three years old. She is one of our cleaning women, and in my humble opinion, the most beautiful person in our office. She is probably about 5′6”, slim, and with long black hair that she wears down, not in a ponytail like the other women. She wears a different uniform than the loan officers and management – instead of the formal workshirt, she wears the same blue fabric with a longer hem and short sleeves. She has smooth, dark skin, which she doesn’t like but I would love to trade her for mine!

It was hard to talk with Boni at first. Though she’s the same age as the loan officers, she did not attend college, and so she did not learn English. She stopped going to school in ninth or tenth grade because her parents died and she had no more money to go to school.

(In Cambodia, even public school costs money, because teachers must accept 500 – 2000 riel/day bribes from their students to supplement their dismal government salary. This is the reason many poor families can’t send their kids to school. As one NGO worker explained to me – it’s simple math, if you have the money, you send your kids to school. If you don’t, you don’t.)

Three years ago, our head cashier heard of an opening for a cleaning woman at Maxima and asked her cousin to apply. This is how Boni found her job here. Now, she works her full time and studies English with a tutor five days a week after work. I’ve helped her with her homework a few times. She’s very bight, but not confident about her work.  Just within the last month, Boni and I have begun to talk a lot. While she doesn’t know a lot of English words, she’s gone from being able to say only a few words to full sentences. She’s eager to learn and practice with me; she teaches me words in Khmer and I teach them to her in English. Every day, Boni comes to my desk and tells me that my lunch is ready: “Nyam bai, Julie.” When I eat my Khmer lunch with the Maxima staff she always pays close attention to what I eat (beef, or set go), and what I avoid (fish, boiled blood).

Not long after coming to Maxima, Boni started dating one of our loan officers, Peng. They were very much in love and it was well known and supported within the office. They were very good to each other. I remember Boni showing Sophal some photos of the two of them hiking Wat Phnom a few weeks ago – not smiling but looking at the camera; Peng standing close to Boni but not touching her. (Pre-marital dating here is very conservative.)

Well, over Khmer New Year, Peng visited his homeland and his mother gave him an ultimatum. She said that if he didn’t end his relationship with Boni she would cut off all ties with him. She said she wouldn’t come to the wedding and she wouldn’t call him her son anymore. It was the end of a very long battle that Peng has had with his mother. Peng’s father has also died, and his sister does not support his family, and Peng’s mother is the only family he has, and he supports her with the little income he makes at Maxima. It was very hard for him

When Peng came back to Phnom Penh, he cried and told Boni what his mother had said. Boni decided that the problem had gone on long enough and made the difficult decision to end things with him. It wasn’t fair for her to cause a problem between a mother and her son. She ended it.

Maxima is a small, family-like office and word has quickly spread about the unlucky breakup. People joke with each other, celebrate with each other, and now, the office morale feels heavy and sluggish.

When I came to work yesterday (Tuesday) I had not heard about the break up. We lost power for the umpteenth time this month, and this time it was off for more than three hours. Without air conditioning, I was sluggish and sweaty (as I am with air conditioning too, I suppose) and I couldn’t do any work without power. Maxima quickly whisked me upstairs onto our CFO’s empty office to lay on his couch near a window. Boni came with me, showing me where to lay down, opening windows, telling me I could put my shoes up, and at last settling on the last few inches of the couch.

Ignorantly, I asked her how her song saa was (special friend) and she didn’t have to say anything because I could see it in her face that it was not the right question to ask. In choked, broken English, Boni started to tell me the story that I have just told. Without trying to add gratuitous sentiment, I must say that listening to Boni try to explain it in broken English made it all the more emotional and hard to hear. She was devastated.

While the underlying reason for Peng’s mother to disapprove of Boni was the fact that she was poor, uneducated, and an orphan (not my words), the main reason that she had given Peng for a long time was that Boni was a Year of the Tiger.

What?

Traditionally, birth dates have been a significant component in determining Cambodian arranged marriages. While many people who are educated and/or live in the cities do not believe in following these guidelines, this was the reason that Peng’s mother gave. Peng is a Year of the Mouse and Boni is a Year of the Tiger. If they were to get married, one of them would die, tradition says.

My primary reaction to this of course was BULLSHIT. I wanted to spout off my you-tell-that-woman-you’re-not-giving-up and true-love-conquers-all and how-could-she schpiels, but it became quickly evident that my American notions of breakups and relationships were not applicable to Cambodia. (I remind myeslf that my values are not universally the “right” values, and there’s nothing that makes my values inherently better than a Cambodians). In this culture, respect to elders is key, and there was no real way for Peng to go against his mother’s wishes.

That being said, I was speechless upon hearing Boni’s story. A few minutes later, Anny, another cashier, had come upstairs to check in on and us and sat down to listen. With the help of Anny’s translation, I could understand much more about Boni’s grief. “I want cry,” she said, shaking her head, “but I too boring.”

Anny and Boni asked me about relationships in my homeland. I felt guilty answering honestly, but there was no point in lying.

“Do you believe in the Year of Tiger at home?”

No.

“Do you choose marriage based on money?”

No. I mean, I personally don’t.

“Can you get married if you don’t have parents.”

Yes, of course.

Anny translated, “she has no parents, no home. She feels very alone. They were together for three years.”

“Three years, four months,” Boni corrected. “We love. Still. I love and he love. We worry same.”

Perhaps the worst part was (and maybe everyone feels like this in those first few days after a breakup) that Boni really thought no one would ever like her again. She has no family – no home in the provinces for her to get from her parents. Unlike Peng, she has not been to college and likely never would. She would never be anything more than a cleaning lady, she thought.

It was too much for me. Sweaty, tired, and foreign to this type of logic, I started crying for Boni and for Peng and for the things that I just couldn’t understand.

Today at work I bought Boni and I some ice cream when the power went out. Later I saw her sitting at a conference table, her head propped up lazily in her hands, wet-eyed, talking to the other cleaning lady and her good friend. Sophal and Rina, the sweet people they are, make sure Boni is eating, but at lunch she mostly just picks at her plate. When Peng comes into the kitchen, Boni slips out the back door until he goes upstairs.

Ms. Svvie Chheng came up to her afterward and told her that she must eat. If you doesn’t eat, you’ll die, she said.

Today Ms. Svvie Chheng bought me and her Chinese noodles and asked me to eat lunch with her. I like to eat with Ms. Svvie Chheng because she is so clever and intelligent, a real “new woman of Cambodia” (in my opinion) and certainly a role model or mother-figure for the young women at the office. She told me that she’s known about this problem for a long time, since Peng and Boni first started dating:

I would ask Peng, “what are you going to do about this problem?” I ask him every time, “what are you going to do?” His mother is not changing and Boni still loves him. Now, it is finished, and I don’t talk to Peng anymore about it. We try not to get involved with personal affairs. It is not my place now, she says.

She looks at Boni who is fixing our noodles. We are trying to keep her busy.

Boni comes over and places the noodles in front of us. “Broken heart,” Ms. Svvie Cheng says, softly, when Boni leaves.

Things I Will Not Miss About Cambodia

1. CONSTANT STOMACH PROBLEMS

I think that’s pretty much it.

Me And Grams

This Om (great aunt) was grinding citronella with a mortal and pestle when my loan officer and I pulled up to her house.

[I think I've showed the serious photo of this same woman with her granddaughter, but stumbling across it again today I think it will make you smile]:

Om only had a few teeth, but she had an incredible smile. I wasn’t there to interview her, but her daughter, but we got such a kick out of each other (asking questions back and forth through my loan officer) I had to get a picture with her as well. She had a jet l’oh – good heart. The Oms here are so precious!

More Kiva Borrowers

Okay, kids, I realize I haven’t posted in awhile. I’m thinking up some good blog posts to talk about Khmer New Year and my week of vacation (hilarity to ensue), but until then, here are some pictures of Kiva Borrowers:

Staring at the Barang, Cambodia's Favorite Pasttime

Rice Farmer and Son, Age 1

Silk Weaver and Son

This woman used her loan to build a bathroom for her family

Proof Positive, Part II

The people in Pailin (a small town on the Thai border, not the former VP candidate) asked if I was Korean.

Proof Positive

For all you people who don’t think I look Asian (ahem, you know who you are),
For all of my friends who are so tired me declaring my ¼ Chinese ancestry on the regular,
For all of you who say, “JULIE. You are NOT Asian,”

The Queen Mother, for all of you who still require proof. Yes, she is my biological mother.

I would like you to know that Cambodians think I look Asian. MAXIMA noticed it my first visit to the office. “She looks like us!” one of the loan officers said. They love asking me about my Chinese mother or telling me about their Chinese parent or grandparent. Some talk to me in Mandarin because they don’t know enough English. A few have told me I look Cambodian. One time, sometime asked if I am half-French, half-Khmer.

I think that’s the best compliment I’ve received here!

I said I was French-Chinese, actually. And Irish. And Scotch-Irish. And Czech. A bit of everything. Not unlike the dogs here.

Ha!

MAXIMA’s Hospitality

I am convinced that Cambodia is the most hospitable place on earth. When Jeff visited MAXIMA a few Fridays ago, he said: “You know, when you told me how nice MAXIMA was and how you almost felt bad for asking them for anything, I thought you were exaggerating. Now I see exactly what you mean.”

Kiry saw that Jeff’s cell phone screen was broken. He handed him a replacement phone and switched out the SIM card and said they would take it to get replaced. Kiry gave me Jeff’s phone the following Tuesday and brought the $5 receipt.

When I came back from the clinic a few weeks ago, and Kiry and Mrs. Ssive Chheng insisted on paying for the entire bill and all my prescriptions, I brought them each a Forrero-Rochet candy the next day and thanked them for their generosity. It is no problem, Mrs. Ssive Chheng said. It is our job to take care of you.

They continue to feed me daily “after lunch” snacks: deep fried bananas (delish), sweet rice, palm hearts, coconut milk and rice, sliced mango with chili salt.

Today (Tuesday) I arrived at work with my voice gone, having entertained Lauren and Alex in Phnom Penh for the last two days.

Are you sick? Our CEO asked me, after I wished him good morning. Do you need to go to the clinic?

No, I explained. I just talked too much this weekend, I had friends visiting.

Too much singing! He said.

At a Market, National Road 6A

During a field visit with Lux (male, 29, married to our head cashier) we finished lunch early and I asked to walk through a market for a few minutes.

I came across a black T-shirt that said:

I FUCKING LOVE CUDDLING!!! I fucking love cuddling!!

I burst out in uncontrollable, loud laughs (as Maxima tells me, I speak in English and laugh in Khmer). I NEEDED to buy it. I tried to explain to Lux why it was so funny, but I’m sure it didn’t translate well.

The woman at the clothing stall priced me $4.50.

T’lai na! Very expensive.

I did not buy it.

Khmer Jokes

There are two jokes in Cambodia.

1:

Me to my driver/Dan/neighbors/loan officers/children: Sok s’bai! (How are you! Or literally, healthy happy)
Driver/Dan/neighbors/loan officers/children: Sai s’bok!

Uncontrollable giggles ensue.

Get it? The joker will ask. It is backwards!

Yes, I do, I say, laughing at the joke for the eighty-sixth time.

But despite the fact that everyone and their mother has heard this joke, and probably says it themselves, it never fails to elicit smiles when I return a how-do-you-do with a simple sai s’bok!

2:

Hey, even the cows here can speak English. The guy cow says, “one maaaaau,” and the girl cow says, “no maaaaaooo” (one more/no more). Even the frogs can speak English. They say, “heeeeelp me, heeeelp me.”

I don’t think this one is that funny, but boy, do Cambodians like it.

The Swat Team

Old women really get a kick out of me. They walk by, notice me, laugh heartily and give my arm a few tough, quick swats. They tell me I am so tall or so white or so pretty. Then they smooth out my arm and walk away.

At first the physical contact was a bit alarming, but now the swats are just part of Phnom Penh’s daily surprises.

The other day in the field, I was interviewing Ms. ____. When the interview completed I asked if I could take a picture. Slap! Ms. _____ laughed at me, pointing to her attire. She put on a shirt, combed her hair and smiled for the camera before giving me a few more swats and pats on my way out.

Ms. ______

Khmer New Year Approaches

Pek got a haircut for Khmer New Year. He is very happy about the upcoming holiday.

This is how he tells me (with a big smile, of course):

Prays, looks up at the moon/stars. Repeat 3x
Number 1. Number 4.
Circles his wrists like Khmer dancing.
Number 1. Number 5.
Circles his wrists like Khmer dancing.
Number 1. Number 6.
Circles his wrists like Khmer dancing.
Prays, looks up at the moon/stars. Repeat 1x.
Small, bright starbursts. Points to neighbor’s (“Christmas”) lights.
Laughs, flips his wrists up in the air.

Khmer New Year is Cambodia’s biggest holiday, taking place April 14-16 (Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday). Phnom Penh becomes a ghost town as markets close and people return to the provinces to visit their families. They will play traditional Khmer games and do traditional Khmer dancing, listen to loud music and eat lots of delicious food.
I have been offered by from two people (Maxima loan officers) to go with their families to their home provinces but I haven’t decided what to do yet.  Drew has been offered a few home stays (one which requires leaving at 3 am and arriving at 5 pm by moto), and Jenn has offers from her cleaning lady and from Dan.

Good Night Texts

A few weeks ago I woke up to an SMS text: Good night Julie! SOPHAL
I sent one back: Good Morning Sophal! JULIE

The next night I sent Sophal another one: Good night Sophal! Sweet dreams!

A day later, from Rina: Dear Julie, if you see a mosquito in your room tonight, do not kill it. I have sent it to you to say GOOD NIGHT and SWEET DREAM.

Thus began my nightly texting of affectionate, sugary sweet message exchanges from the girls at MAXIMA. Many sound like they have pulled directly from a MySpace wall post.

Rina, the creative texter:

Sometime
Life get
So busy
I couldn’t
Even say Hi ! to u make a call r send message but it doesn’t mean I 4got u.u always in my mind n miss you nas. G 9

Sophal:
JOLIE, HAVE DINNER YET? FOR ME ALREADY. SWEET DREAM.:-)

Rina:

@Hope the moon make u smile
@Hope the sky make u happy
@Hope the stars make u lovely
@Hope the wind make u sleep well
@Hope the sms make u miss me
G9.

Anny:

Good night chocolate dream.:-) too I am anny my phone don’t have money this is my mom’s phone

Carson’s Visit!

For the past week and a half, Carson has been visiting from the bay area to work on a school project for her Masters in Public Policy at UC Berkeley.

Three on a motorbike!

She’s also been sleeping on a little cot we picked up with Dan (the best tuk tuk driver in the world [see AnnaMarie's post] who will soon get his own blog post) and it’s been a delightful few weeks.

We’ve gone out to dinner and adventuring with Jenn every night since her arrival. Maxine’s, Indian Food, Khmer Food, Mexican Food…Lots of food. Riding three to a motorcycle, visiting the markets, Internet cafes, and eating more than our fair share of IKO cookies, mangoes, and yogurt with oats.  And of course, going to Kep.

It has been so wonderful having a roommate and being able to play hostess! Carson leaves tomorrow and she will be sorely missed.

Oh, I think I forgot to give credit to Carson, but all of the photos starting at “Floppy Cow Nexx” until now are hers. Thank you!

Rites of Passage

I am officially a Phnom Penh expat.

If I thought I was before, I was wrong, because I was missing one crucial qualification that every good expat should have: a motorbike burn.

Last week, hopping off of Jenn’s red Daelim motorbike before a movie night, I singed my right leg on the exhaust pipe. What at first didn’t look like much – a small pink smear, had become a silver-dollar burn blister in the over night. Great.

Fortunately, I got plenty of sympathy at work the next day, pulling up my pant leg and saying “Lookit! Look what I did!” The women at the front desk cooed, “chuuuu” (ouch!, or literally, pain!). Maxima offered to take me to the hospital, but I said that I was fine, and continued to pull up my pant leg throughout the day and stare in dual horror/fascination at my blister and acquire sympathy.

During my weekend in Kep, as expected, my blister popped. Fortunately, I had brought my trusty REI first aid kid and covered it with gauze and antibiotics for most of the trip.

Look at the newly-popped blister burn on my leg. Feel better by looking at the cow nexx.

When I returned to work the following Monday, Mrs. Ssive Chheng asked to see my burn again. Is it okay? She asked. Oh yes, it’s fine.

But when I pulled up my pant leg to show her, she said, I think you should go to the hospital. We will take you to the clinic.

When?

Today.

Right now?

Yes.

The problem is, I really didn’t think I needed to go. I thought my scar was healing just fine.

If you think that just because Mrs. Ssive Chheng is about 4′10” that she’s not intimidating, you are wrong.  I started packing up my stuff and slumping toward the door. The HR Director, Kiry, took me on the back of his motorcycle to a private clinic.

I’ve heard stories from other Kiva Fellows about hospitals in developing countries (shout outs to Brett in Kenya and Jessica in Mali), and fortunately, mine wasn’t as bad as it could have been. That isn’t to say it was pleasant, but I certainly noticed that I got quicker, better treatment on the account of my being a foreigner.

Minutes after stepping foot into the clinic, I was (1) stared at by everyone. (If you think I’d be used to this by now, I’m not. You can stare right back at the starers, and they will still keep staring. I don’t know if they think I can’t see them staring, if they just don’t care, or if it’s acceptable in this culture, but it’s a little unsettling at times, particularly when you’re scared pantsless about what’s going to happen to you in a foreign hospital). (2), I was whisked away to dark hallways and asked to sit in a grimy, plastic chair (similar to ones at roadside noodle carts). Before I knew what was gong on, my pant leg was up and the nurse clad in green scrubs was using scissors to rub iodine-covered gauze over my fresh burn.

CHUUUU!

At least she’s not touching my skin with those dirty scissors, I thought. And then as I opened my eyes again, I saw that she was, in fact, now cutting off my what remained of my blister with her dirty scissors. G-d dammit.

Meanwhile, some random girl, who was not dressed in scrubs and looked to be about 15 years old, who seemed to have no reason to be in the room, joked around and teased the nurse, waving things above her head, watching me get treated, and giggling obsessively. I could have kicked her (with my good leg, of course).

Well, at least this place is efficient, I thought. But no, in fact, it wasn’t. I was then shuffled back into the waiting room, leg throbbing, people staring, me scowling. Aforementioned 15 year old girl skipped ahead into a second room, galloped back, said something to Kiry and cartwheeled back into the nurses room. After thirty minutes of waiting, we were brought into the second room.

In the second room, I was given a chair to sit in, and quickly noticed that I was not alone. Two cots, each with an ailing Khmer, accompanied my gloom. I stared at my feet as they get strapped with EKGs and poked and prodded by the nurses. Oddly, despite the fact that the people here just LOVE to wear those sanitary face masks, of course none of the patients in the room were wearing them. Great. Seriously guys, I’m fine, I wanted to say, it’s just a little moto burn. I don’t need to contract some disease over this.

After another thirty minutes, a doctor walked in. He didn’t look at my leg, just wrote a few prescriptions, tried to practice his English on me, and sent us on our way.

Back to the waiting room. Watching my prescriptions getting filled, being watched by everyone in the waiting room. Looking uncomfortably down at my hands and REALLY wishing I had brought a book. Finally, after about three weeks, Kiry paid for the prescriptions (I tried to pay but he refused) and we were back on the motorcycle on the way to Maxima.

I kept trying to convince myself I had needed to go to the doctor, but no, I really didn’t.

A few days later, at a dinner party at Nick/Colin/Jeff’s on Monday, I was finally appeased when I learned that a majority fo the dinner guests all had motorcycle burns. (Of course, they didn’t need to go to the hospital over it. I mean, it’s just a burn). Even Mrs. Ssive Chheng showed me a scar from her first motorburn when she was a child. And yes, my very own mother has a motor burn on her leg.

Over some chicken satay, Jess, another woman at dinner, explained to me how she had treated her burn from start to finish, including which pharmacies to go to and what types of bandages to get.

So, I guess it’s not so bad afer all (traumatizing hospital visit aside).

And hey, even if it scars, I guess it means I won’t need to get that tattoo to commemorate my experience in Southeast Asia.

Keptomaniacs

I never thought it would get this bad. The longing. The withdrawals. I thought it couldn’t happen to me – but the minute I finish I just need more. It’s magical. It’s paradise.
My name is Julie Picquet, and I am addicted to Kep.

I have just returned from my third visit to Kep. I didn’t think any experience could top my last two (the first with AnnaMarie and Jenn, the second with Jeff, Katie and Drew). Alas, when Colin, Jenn, Carson and I departed with our taxi driver at 730 am on Saturday, we decided that we must put our high expectations aside.

And we're off!

Jenn and I wanted to find the wonderful boat driver who had taken us to Kep the first time – who had sat with us and showed us how to crack crab, swam with us in the water and picked up starfish to show us, and had an unusual knack of stripping down to his skivvies and wading through the water in his underwear.
Back and forth for over an hour, we debated how we could track down our boat driver. We tried to describe him to the taxi driver, who knew many of the local boat drivers, (early 20s, short hair, wearing a hat, lives on Rabbit Island) but he said we described nearly every boat driver there.
Thus, Jenn and I resolved that if we were to see our  “Cabana Boy” again, it would be up to fate. [See AnnaMarie's guest post here to see pictures of Cabana Boy]
Our taxi driver, as Jenn would say, “was a live one!” – a police officer from Kep who also used his champagne colored, air-conditioned Camry to bring people to and from Kep/Kampot and Phnom Penh. He makes good money – we paid $40 for the 2.5 hour drive, and another $40 for the return trip. Him and Jenn talked in Khmer often on the trip, him pointing out different things and telling her about his experinces. He was so impressed that Jenn spoke Khmer, when his wife called he handed her the phone so that his wife could hear for herself.
Marvel at Jenn’s Khmer abilities:

On the way to Kep, we bought a cooler to fill with ice and refreshments. A foam cooler, sealed with tan packing tape, stacked with big pillars of ice (cut with a saw by a ten year old boy) and filled with a case of beer (24 pack) and 8 water bottles. Carson and I ran across the street and bought two sarongs for $2.50 each, and within minutes we were at the Kep pier, changing into our swimsuits and frantically trying to locate our Cabana Boy.
The man who coordinates the boats remembered that we liked Cabana Boy, but he had just placed him with other customers. “Why not this other driver? He is just as good!” he kept repeating.

Fate had spoken, and we embraced our new boat driver. He was twenty years old and married one month ago to a 19-year-old. His wife worked in a rice field and grew vegetables. They lived in Kep, but had never been to school (not even for one day).  Before becoming a boat driver, he had worked as a fisherman beginning at the age of 12. He told us he made $50 a month, which is given to him by the boat company who arranges the boat trips.  For our request to go to Snake Island, Rabbit Island, and then to be taken back to Kep from Rabbit Island the next day, we were charged $40. Only a few dollars of this would go to our driver.

As we boarded the long red boat and headed toward Snake Island, we cracked open some Anchor beers and felt the ocean breeze brush off the heat of the noon sun.

Kep is a beach town infamous for the mass murders committed by the Khmer Rouge in the late 1970s, when they attacked the town (largely filled with vacationing French colonists) and killed almost the entire population. Now, French villas stand abandoned in the countryside, their yellow paint fading to brown and gray, and Cambodian squatters take residence inside their many rooms. Off the coast of Kep, there are several islands, many of which are owned by Cambodia and others which are owned by Vietnam, which sits just across the bay. Fisherman of both countries find crab and fish in the waters of Kep, and their boats are marked by the fisherman’s country flag.

Forty minutes on the boat and we cast our anchor and pulled up to Snake Island. The island has about 50 families, all of who are dependent on fishing for a living. Like Kep, crab is an especially popular catch. As I discovered on my last visit, Snake Island does not have a school on it’s island. While on nearby Rabbit Island, boats will come to take children to school in Kep, this island has no education. We heard from the children that they will build a school soon.

Once on land – towels spread, cooler parked in the shade, holding our second beers of the day – we decided it was time to get some grab. Off went Jenn, Colin and our boat driver to find a local fisherman to sell us some crab and a family to steam it. Rabbit Island has no tourist industry, given then no tourists visit.

This also means that our presence, especially to the children of Rabbit Island, was the coolest thing that had happened all week. Not only were we a visitor to the island (perhaps they have 2 or 3 a week) but we were foreign, we were young, and we engaged with them.

After Carson and I swam for forty minutes in the warm ocean water, careful not to step on sea urchins but looking for star fish below, we came back to shore to find 12 girls, ages 1 – 13, standing with their toes at the edge of our towels, staring at us. The one year old baby, dressed in a cute turquoise outfit, said “Haylo,” and they all sat down.

Thus began our two-hour babysitting marathon, the first 1 hr 45 minutes which I enjoyed immensely.

Meet the Girls of Snake Island

As Jenn and Colin spread out the 2 kilos of freshly steamed crab, we sat down with our boat driver on a straw mat to eat our lunch. We handed the girls a coke and a water bottle to share, and they sat watching us eat in fascination. We handed them parts of crab. While most of their parents are fisherman, crab is too expensive for them to eat and having some was a delicacy.

None of the girls could speak English, except for “Hello!” Much of what they said was interpreted through Jenn. Favorite questions included: Do you have a boyfriend? Is he your boyfriend? (Pointing to Colin), How much did this cost? How much did that cost? Do you have any presents for us?

After our crab feast, I tried teaching the children a few games. First, they mimicked me clapping in patterns. I snapped my fingers, too, but none of the children knew how. Keep practicing! I said. After thirty minutes of clapping/attempted snapping/etc, I tried to teach them some of those hand games every young girl learns on he playground (like Say Say Oh Playmate).

I started a hand-clapping frenzy. The girls would follow Carson and I around and ask us to play hand clapping games with them. I tried to make it more cooperative, getting all the girls in a circle clapping together and counting as we did it. My accent is horrible, and I could hear them speaking the Khmer numbers in my horrible accent rather than pronounce it correctly.

As we started to feel our sunburns setting in, the children’s energy failed to wither. As we grew more tired, the girls became more daring.

Prime example: One girl reached up, and with a mischievous look on her face, honked my boob.

Okay, okay, I get it, sometimes 11 year old girls can be really interested in boobs. But as she started going after them again, we realized it was time to send the girls back to their mothers (who could be heard calling in the distance).

Not ready to turn back, they begged us for a beer to give to their fathers. After much negotiating, Jenn set a deal (one beer for two fathers, which the girls thought was reasonable), and sent them back to their village, promising that when we returned next time we would bring gifts.

In their absence, we began to realize just how sunburned we all were. After going for one last quick dip, we repacked our stuff and climbed back in the boat, on the way to Rabbit Island, where we would spend the night.

Behold, the beauty of Rabbit Island, it’s palm trees, grass, bungalows, hammocks, clear warm water and light ocean wind:

Our Residences

We booked two side-by-side bungalows for $5 each, grabbed our books and headed for the hammocks before the sun could set.

Jenn and Colin's Sunset Swim

Wanting to explore the other small guest houses that lined the Rabbit Island coast, we decided on a “progressive dinner” having one beer and one meal to share at each place, as we made our way down the coast.

The first meal was fried rice and (of course) crab. Unbelievable. The sauce on the crab was sweet and delicious, and the fried rice included carrots, fresh green beans, and fragrant spices.

Ladies and Gentleman, this is where fate blessed us once again: As we made our way to the next guest house, who do we see but Cabana Boy, coming down the beach.

Cabana Boy (he told us his name again, but this one is just more fitting of his awesomeness) invited us to have a second beer at his Grandmother’s guest house, just a few lots down.

There, we had much-too-peppery shrimp and prawns and washed them down with some Beer Lao. While waiting for our food, I walked out to look at the ocean and saw a bright, neon blue spark. Bio-luminescence! Phosphorescence! Water organisms that lit up in bright blue when you stirred the dark water where they lived.

The discovery of the bio-luminescence necessitated a night swim. We put our swimsuits back on, and swam out to the dark of the water (fortunately, even 50 yards out and the water was not yet to my shoulders). Despite stepping on a few anemones, we stayed out in the water for more than an hour, swimming away from the few generator-powered lights on the island shore to find the best places to stir them up. We would shake up the water as quickly as possible and scoop our hands up out, watching the blue light slide down our hands and disappear.

After we dried off and fought off any sleepiness, we retired to the stilted bamboo tables on the island. The power generators on the island had been turned off (as they only ran from 6 pm – 10 pm) and in the absence of any light we could see millions of stars overhead. I brought my headlamp (of course) and when we flicked it on and looked down at the sound, we’d see a dozen crabs scamper from the sand back into the water. Our Cabana Boy, on the first try, located a crab and snatched it up on his first try. The angry gray crab waved its claws at us before we placed it back on the sand and watched it scamper back in the water.

A few shooting stars later, our lids grew heavy an we retired back to our respective bungalows. We slept in our bungalow with the doors open and our mosquito nets up, welcoming the fresh ocean breeze.

The next day, after a refreshing breakfast of iced coffee with sweet milk (condensed, sweetened milk to be exact) and some fried rice with eggs and vegetables, we lounged around in bungalows and hammocks, reading our books.

(I finished The Enchantress of Florence by Salman Rushdie and am now onto The Brief and Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao, which is also excellent.)

The second beach of Rabbit Island

Next, Carson and Jenn and I walked around the perimeter of the island, finding a second and third beach (the first of which was filled with hot, shallow water and the second of which was dominated with fishing lines and plastic-water-bottles-as-fishing-buoys from a nearby fishing village). And let me tell you, the sun was HOT.

After a relaxing bucket shower, we packed up our stuff and took the boat back to Kep, back to our taxi driver and back to Phnom Penh.

Use for a Sarong, # 27: Extreme Sun Protection

Sunburned, Exhausted, Sandy and Dirty – we had an excellent weekend.

Floppy Cow Nexx

For all of you who know me, you know my love for all animals squishy, mooshy, fat or floppy. Prime examples include: basset hounds, blood hounds, bull dogs, smashy-face kittens, etc, etc. It delights me to oooh and ahh and their ridiculousness. Why are your ears so ridiculously long and flat, basset? What do you hold in that neck pocket, bloodhound? Why so much skin, shar-pei? What happened to your face, kitten?

The point is, I really like smooshy animals.

Traveling in Vietnam with my family before arriving in Wham!bodia, my sister and I were delighted by the big white cows that grazed the countryside. Wow! we said. What floppy necks they have! What is the point of such a floppy neck? Why does exist; what purpose does it serve? Look at it sway in the wind, that neck. So floppy. Floppy neck. Floppy nexxxx.

It was right then and there that I decided I NEEDED to pet a cow nexx. Just to hold it with my hand and move left to right like a handshake. Just to see it wiggle. Just to smoosh it. Just to satisfy that ever-present six-year-old inside of me who was just so curious about what a cow neck would feel like and how much it would move in my hand.

Here I am, at long last, photographed touching my second every floppy cow nexx at Kep this weekend.

Just look at my face.

Flippy Floppy Floo

National Road, No. 6A

Rindy Mao's Neighbors

Daughter of Mengchin and Vaesna Mao, Age 10

Today I went to the field with Lox, a 29-year old loan officer who has been with MAXIMA for three years. He spoke great English, and I took full advantage of it by conducting in-depth interviews with Kiva borrowers.

We left around 830 am and returned around 345 pm – much later than normal. However, we visited 9 clients and met many of Lox’s friends and acquaintances along the way. I was also given five mangos and a bag of palm fruit. When I returned to MAXIMA, dusty and tired, the cashiers told me: “You should go to the field everyday so you can bring us back fruit!”

Not a bad idea.

Please enjoy the pictures of me, Lox and the Kiva borrowers, who live off National Road No. 6A, about 20 km from Phnom Penh.

Mother of La-oo Sun, grinding citronella for lunch. She was awesome!

Conversation Highlights:

Me: Man, it’s dusty here.

Lox: You don’t like the dust?

Me: No.

Lox: Then why do you like Cambodia?

//

Two year old girl to me:

My brother is stupid

//

Lox: What is this fruit called?

Me: A jackfruit. We don’t have it in the United States.

Lox: Then why do you have a name for it?

Me: Um. I don’t know.

Chanthol So, Lettuce Farmer. (We're not really the same size)

//

Me: Can I take a picture?

Woman: Yes.

Me: Smile!

Woman: I only have three teeth.

//

Lox to Borrower: What did you do with the additional $200?

Borrower: (Giggles hysterically, mumbles in Khmer)

Me: Huh?

Lox: She doesn’t remember. She says she hid it but she can’t find it anymore.

//

Lox: She says you look Chinese but you’re too tall.

//

Borrower to me: You are beautiful, and handsome!

//

In other news, hearings have begun in the Khmer Rouge genocide trial. Read about it.

Fire! Fire!

Pek had big news this morning.

He stopped in our front room, shirtless, wearing his green shorts, plastic bag for ice in his hand, and mimed that there had been a big fire in the neighborhood.

He illustrated the big hoses – big as his leg! – the water being turned on and spraying all the houses. He pointed to our wicker chair and made motions it going up in flames.

It takes a lot to get a Cambodian on foot

He made the sound of water coming out of the hose (though first I thought it was of machine guns or something), a loud whoooosh, and the clouds of smoke going up, up, up into the sky.

He widened his stance and slowly panned the house with his hands, showing the proximity of the fire and the number of homes it reached.

At work today, I saw the article of the fire in the neighborhood that happened on Wednesday. 15 homes were damaged but thankfully no one was hurt (except for 20 wheeled vehicles, and it’s safe to assume all were motos).

The article also states:

The fire brigade only brought the fire under control after an hour and a half of fighting. Fourteen firefighting vehicles were needed to manage the situation. According to Net Chantha, much damage could have been avoided if Phnom Penh firefighters had been better equipped with modern gear which, he says, they still lack.

It wasn’t even 7:30 am yet, but Pek already had the news for the day. I don’t know how he does it.

Straws and Sandpaper

I found a post from another MAXIMA Kiva Fellow months back, who captured many of the sentiments I feel about the inconveniences of daily life in Phnom Penh.

Enjoy!

http://fellowsblog.kiva.org/2008/06/30/straws-and-sandpaper/

All Better

Greetings, Gentle Reader – I am back from my bout of the Cambodian stomach flu.

Maxima continues to be wonderful hosts – making sure I’m okay, giving me apples, ordering me pizza, bringing fried bananas. And today — a mango from someone’s backyard!

The most beautiful mango!

Here’s me at work – all better!

A special thanks to Mom and Pop for their sympathy.

High/Low for Tuesday

Low:

This morning I stepped on a beetle with my bare feet while eating breakfast and ran around the front room screaming. Then I smashed it under the leg of my chair. Then I felt really guilty. And foolish.

High:

I got my Maxima pants! Three pairs of custom-tailored black pants, to match the beautiful blue Maxima shirts I got last week. The uniform is complete.  I am so glad since I dyed most of my work shirts pink last week and I don’t have many pairs of pants.

High #2:

Sophal brought me a grilled banana. Ch’ng’n na!

VERY LOW:

Sitting at lunch and having everyone watch me eat. They think I don’t like the food because they are watching my face while I eat. Having them telling me I look sick still – my face is pale and they think I lost weight (in two days?! I hope not. I am fairly sure my Dad would send me home if I lost too much…)

- Getting told by Mrs. Svve Chheng, who I adore and respect so much, that maybe I should go home and rest. While everyone is still watching me. I almost started to cry – I’m so embarrassed and I feel stupid for coming to work. But I really think I feel fine.

Time to go home now.

Hmph

Having a Fever in 90 Degree Heat

Is not fun. Nor is sweating while having the chills. Nor when your muscles are so sore that your eyeballs hurt and it’s hard to lift your head.  When I woke up with the chills on Sunday I thought maybe I had dengue or malaria or rabies, or that I was sore from my walk to the lake, or that it was from eating the ice in the coffee from the market. But, it is just the flu, and I’m now the third of our four Kiva Fellows in Phnom Penh to have gotten it.

I called in sick to work today and sat around on the couch watching terrible movies on Star World and Cinemax. I did catch the last 20 minutes of a rerun of Murder, She Wrote, which I used to love.

When Pek came to get ice today he was surprised to see me laying on the couch, sweating in my pajamas. I put my hand on my forehead to show that I was sick. Later today Pek saw me and asked me if I was feeling better. I said I was.

After some crackers and peanut butter, rice and beans, I feel better and I think I’ll go to work tomorrow.

Oh Happy Day

This past week I was talking to a few of the young women at Maxima during lunch. I told them I was a little homesick. “Oh,” they said sympathetically, “you miss your homeland.” I nodded.

“Sometimes I miss my homeland too,” said Rina, a 19 year old accountant.  She works at Maxima full time, and takes night classes at a local university. On the weekend, she drives her moto home two and a half hours to visit her family, who lives in another province.

(Sidenote: Maxima gives its employees 0% interest loans to pay for school while they work, and many of its loan officers take advantage of this by working and studying in Phnom Penh and visiting their families on the weekends.)

Rina turned to Sophal, the 21 year old Kiva coordinator, and talked quickly in Khmer. Knowing that I wanted to go to the market, they said “Okay, Julie, we will take you shopping tomorrow. We pick you up at nine?” I agreed, excited for my first market experience with the locals.

At 9:07 the next day, I got a call: “Hello Julie! I am Sophal, we are at your house.” I walked downstairs and hopped on the moto bike with Rina and Sophal (though I took up far more than 1/3 of the moto seat) and we drove to Russian Market.

Sophal and Rina were excellent hostesses. Rina would link my arm if I walked too far away, and they quickly took me from place to place to find everything I needed.

I bought:
•    “North Face” backpack, $12 – great for when Jeff and I bike to the local market
•    Black plastic flats, $4 – not comfortable but very cute
•    King sized mosquito nets for me and Jeff, $9 for two
•    Bra, $2 – which does NOT fit, despite the dignity I sacrificed to try it on over my clothes
•    Two iced coffees and some soya juice for Rina, Sophal and myself, $1.20

After a little more than an hour and a half (and I was still shopping strong), Sophal says, “We can go home now?” and I realized they probably had many other things to do today.

“Yes,” I said, “I am all done!” and they drove me back to my house. I thanked them profusely. Sophal invited me to go to Olympic Stadium to exercise with her the next day. I was very happy they enjoyed their time with me (I think!). The Khmers, as hosts, are very accommodating, and I am careful that my suggestions to not sound obligatory.

I was home before 11:00, and wondered what to do next. I called Drew and we decided to walk (gasp! Nobody walks in Phnom Penh!) to Lakeside, or the “backpacker area.” We stopped at Central Market for a street map, and thought we knew the way.

Two and a half hours later, in baking, humid heat, we walked down a dirt road that we believed to be near the lake. While we could see the lake in the distance, it seemed that we had entered from the wrong side and were in fact, in a busy neighborhood on the outskirts of Phnom Penh. I believe this is where clam peddlers collected their clams, because all along the roadside were the large piles of small, spiced clams.

As the sun continued to beat down on us, Drew and I realized we had little energy left to circle back around the lake. Reluctant to return without getting a lakeside beer, we flagged down a tuk tuk who drove us several miles to my apartment for $3.  It was a good adventure, nevertheless, and hopefully I can do it again by bike (yes, Drew, that means you need to buy a bike, and you’re not going to find one for $15!).

Jenn invited me to her friends’ housewarming party, and picked me up a few minutes later after I returned. I arrived expecting a cooler of beer and some hotdogs, and was pleasantly surprised to find delicious cobb salad with fresh corn, hot quesadillas (how I miss cheese!), cold white wine, Mediterranean pasta made by someone’s Khmer nanny, and fresh fruit. As guests, there were two dozen people of all ages and nationalities working for schools and NGOs around Phnom Penh.

The highlight of the night, however, was when Tim and Colin brought out their “corn hole” game – probably the “horseshoes” of this male generation. It’s like a beanbag toss, but with two boards set up about 20 feet from each other, and tilted down from the front, with a single hole cut in each board. The corn hole (terrible name, btw) was moved into the alley next to the house, and it filled quickly with about 20 or 25 neighbors, most of them children, came out to watch and play the game.

It was so much fun to watch! Even the youngest children came, barefoot, followed by their aunt or older brother. Most of the girls leaned against the alley wall and watched, but one brave ten year old girl duked it out with the boys – shouting to make sure she got her turn over all the pushing and grabbing for bean bags, six kids on each side – not even letting the beanbag hit the board before it was picked up and flung back. Then I met one toddler, Achia, who was the most talkative little girl I’ve met thus far, and (with translation help from a Khmer from the housewarming party) invited me to her house for her birthday and showed me her pink painted nails.

Achia could say, “Hello!” “Bye bye” and as I left (after nearly two hours of watching the corn hole games) “God bless you!” The boys playing corn hole also taught me to say “Lo’ah na!” when they got a point – “Very good!”

After the housewarming party, we watched a little of the football (er, soccer) game – ManU vs Liverpool, but soon I was ready to go home and get some rest.  I even got the front padlock open by myself, without having to call Jeff down!

It was definitely my best day in Phnom Penh so far. I’d say it was the best in Cambodia, but my weekend trips to Kampot and Kep are unbeatable.

Pek Update #1

Upon writing my first post about Pek, I heard from the previous tenants (Kieran, Hollie, Teresa and John) about Pek’s fondness for ice. A few days later, I brought Pek a tin full of ice cubes from my freezer, and thus began his daily ice retrieval.
Now, each morning between 730 and 830, Pek comes upstairs to water the plants on the balcony and then hobbles inside to our freezer. He takes out three ice trays and one round metal tin (which he gave me to put in the freezer) and brings them to the kitchen sink. The first time I saw Pek do this, I thought I’d lend the old man some help from a young, healthy person. I smiled at him and picked up the ice trays, and smacked and twisted them to drop in the plastic bag. But, my confidence had failed me, and the ice stuck to the tray and refused to drop. Pek put the ice back under the water to unstick it from the edge. After a minute or two, he picked up the tray again and with a firm, strong hand – smack! smack! smack! – the ice cleanly dropped into the bag.

Well, so much for me trying to help.

Yesterday, suffering from the onset of a fever and achy muscles, I sat inside most of the day. When I looked out the balcony, Pek was sitting on his plastic chair across the street, under the shade of an awning. I grabbed two mangosteens (which by the way, are the best fruits ever) and a glass of water with some ice, and went outside to join him.

Pek offered me his chair but I declined, sitting down on the ground next to him. I handed him the glass of water. We cracked open the mangosteens and ate the white fruit on the inside in silence.
Then, as Pek is oft to do, he took out a pen and began writing dollar amounts on his hand. “800$” he wrote, pointing to the apartment behind us, followed by the sign of counting money and making a big stack. “Yes,” I said, “very expensive.” He wanted me to know how affordable his apartment was.

The two moto drivers that wait in our street were very amused by me and Pek’s conversation – him communicating in signs and expressions and me answering in English. One came over and watched us for awhile. Pek wrote on his hand “1934” and pointed to himself. I wrote “1985” to tell him my age too. The moto driver borrowed the paper and wrote “1960.” We all had a good laugh about that.

When I got up to go back in the house (afraid my fever had revived itself), Pek reminded me to dust myself off and waved me inside.

D’Accord

Several years ago I read an article in The New Yorker by David Sedaris. The essay details the humorous, if not embarrassing, first months he spent in France where, after abandoning his language programs, he settled on using “D’Accord!” or, “Ok” to answer everything that was asked, regardless of if he understood the question.

No idea what this says. (Photo Credit: Drew Loizeaux)

In the last few weeks, I keep thinking about this article and how it encapsulates my own language barrier in Cambodia. In an attempt to find common meaning with the native Khmer speakers, I’ve reverted to saying the same few one-liners in nearly every situation.

The complete list my Cambodian one-liners:

- Knyom joal jet Kampuchea! (I like Cambodia!)

- Knyom joal jet bai Kampuchea! (I like Cambodian food!)

- G’dauw na! (Too hot!)

- Ch’ng’n na! (Delicious!)

- Knyom k’bou na! (I am too tall!)

I’m having a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that I’m just not funny here. At least the kids like to laugh at me.

Knyom Mun Joal Jet Moo Di!

I am covered with mosquito bites from head to toe FML.

In Her Shoes: A Typical Day in Phnom Penh

Still dirty after all those washings

“She’s a rich girl

She don’t try to hide it

Dog meat on the soles of her shoes”

Wait, no, that’s Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes. But I bet if Paul Simon visited Cambodia, that’s what he’d write about – the dirt and unidentified street muck that inevitably ends up on my shoes, toes, ankles and even sometimes my face, each day. Ah, yes, the Cambodian life.

By popular request, today’s blog topic is In Her Shoes: A Typical Day in Phnom Penh

Situation A: Weekday

• Wake at 6:30 am by cell phone alarm. Hit snooze.
• Wake at 6:40 am by cell phone alarm. Hit snooze.
• Wake at 6:50 am by cell phone alarm. Hit snooze.
• Wake at 6:53 am to Jeff coming back from a morning run. Roll eyes. Get out of bed.
• Begin sweating, to be continued for next 18 hours.
• Shuffle into living room. Switch on water pump.
• Shuffle into bathroom. Stick face under shower.
• Stick feet under shower. Watch brown dirty water cover bathtub floor. I thought I washed my feet before I went to bed?
• Lather, rinse, repeat.
• Exit shower. See a human’s back crossing above bedroom’s windowsill. What the? Oh, it’s Pek, watering flowers on balcony.
• Switch off water pump. (Alternative: Don’t switch off water pump, get lectured by Pek in afternoon).
• Get dressed in custom tailored post-office blue MAXIMA collared work shirt and black pants.
• Eat yogurt and drink a glass of orange or apple juice.
• Brush teeth, take Malarone, take multivitamins, brush hair, etc.
• If feeling daring, put on makeup.
• At 7:48 am, lock bedroom door.
• Lock front door lock #1.
• Lock front door lock #2.
• Unlock front gate.
• Lock front gate. Descend stairs.
• Windshield-wiper wave to Pek and Ja.
• At 7:50 am, open second front gate. See driver.
• Say “Arun Suistye!” (Good morning).
• Try to guess driver’s response, but only understand, “…Yulie!”
• Blush anyway.
• Jump on, side saddle. Hold on for dear life.
• Enjoy the ride to work, dodging traffic accidents and five-person motos.
• Pull into MAXIMA’s front gate.
• Say “Ah Kun” (Thank you) to Security Guard for opening door.
• Listen to Security Guard laugh at the way I say “Ah Kun,” and repeat it to driver.
• Say “Arun Suistye!” to women at front desk
• Walk into office, walk to cubicle.
• Quickly, maniacally, unlock computer from desk, turn it on, and check email.
• Breathe deeply, feeling connected to the Western world again.

- Situation A.1: Visit the Field

• Fill up water bottle
• Grab flip camera, digital camera, and Kiva profiles
• Wait for Loan Officer in chairs in front office
• Introduce myself to loan officer. Note: If loan officer is male, do not expect loan officer to respond to conversation for first 40 minutes. If loan officer is female, do not expect loan officer to answer without giggling for first 40 minutes.
• Hop on motobike with loan officer, NOT side saddle (thankfully).
• Drive to lunch place, pick up food to go.
• Drive out of Phnom Penh to Kandal province.
• Drive to ferry dock. Wait for ferry to arrive.
• Make awkward small talk with loan officers. Listen to what gossip they have heard, such as “I heard you had diarrhea,” or “You went to Kampot last weekend?” or, “The loan officers say you talk fast.”
• Confirm rumors as true.
• Drive onto ferry, respond to stares by smiling hugely, awkwardly.
• Cross Mekong River.
• Depart boat, drive to borrowers’ homes (see video below).

Field Visits:

• Pull up on motobike.
• Put hands in greeting position; say “Joom reap soo-ah” (Hello).
• Wait for introduction from loan officer.
• Begin Kiva Interview (see video below).

• Complete interview. Say “Joom reap leah” and “Some nang lo’ah” (Goodbye, Good luck!).
• Hop on motorbike. Ride to next interview.
• Promptly at 12:00 noon, eat food to go.
• If other loan officers are on the island, eat as a group.
• Complete more Kiva interviews, accompany Loan Officers on visits to collect repayments or issue new loans.
• Ride back to Phnom Penh MAXIMA office.
• Pull out computer.
• Begin uploading video, photos, and interview summaries.

- Situation A.2: Work in Office

• Upload video, photos and interview summaries from field visits.
• When all work is complete: GChat, compulsively check for law school updates, worry, find happy hour partners.

At the end of the day (5 – 530 pm):

• Ride home with Driver.
• Say “Ah Kun!” (Thank you).
• Try to guess driver’s response, but only understand, “…Yulie!”
• Blush anyway.
• Open front gate, walk up stairs.
• Unlock front Gate.
• Lock front Gate.
• Unlock front door lock #1.
• Unlok front door lock #2.
• Open all windows and doors. Turn on fans.
• Collapse onto bed.
• Think about how hot it is (15 – 30 minutes).
• Read in bed OR Go out to dinner/drinks.
• Eat fruit.
• Clean kitchen.
• Before bed: wash feet, brush teeth, count mosquito bites, etc.
• Turn on AC.
• Go to bed.

Pek, A Friend to All

Pek in the garden below my apartment (Photo Credit: John Briggs)

This is PEK.

Many of you may have heard me talk about Pek, or rather, talk about nothing other than Pek. At long last, a blog post explaining this interesting man and how I have come to know and love him.

Pek is the kindly landlord who lives in the flat below me. Jeff (my roommate) and I adopted our 2-bedroom apartment from the previous Kiva fellows, who filled us in on what they new about him. They, too, had a special fondness for Pek and his care over them.

Pek is 80-something years old (actual estimates vary from 83 to 87). He keeps plants and flowers in his yard, including several water plants in large, red pottery under the stairs. Upstairs on our balcony, Pek also keeps several other plants, which he waters each day while Jeff and I are at work. He likes to collect our recycling and gets very excited about a good deal or making money. He is very concerned with the security of our apartment and has given me five (yes, 5) keys to go from the front gate of the building to my bedroom.

I speak in complete seriousness when I say that I look forward to coming home every day because of Pek. Pek is usually shirtless, wearing long shorts, and barefoot, sitting on a white plastic chair. Pek sits in his chair most of the day, in one of two places: (1) across the street from the apartment, hanging out with the moto drivers and feeding the puppies in the nearby yard, or (2) inside the gate, sitting by his plants.

Pek can’t tell us much about himself. Not only does he not speak English, but he is deaf and does not talk, save for a few hoots, whistles and whirrs (like when explaining the importance of turning our water pump off). That being said, the conversations I have with Pek are absolutely delightful. He is an expressive story teller, and is able to mime speech to discuss everything from the latest stories from the neighborhood to warning me to be safe, hold my bag tightly, and lock my bike up every time I leave it somewhere. I love trying to guess what he’s saying, and our eyes both light up when we realize that I understood. Sometimes, it’s hard to guess what he means – is he talking about a ceiling fan or a helicopter? But after a little guess work and some of my own amateur miming, I can discover Pek’s messages.

Last night, while waiting for Jeff downstairs in the yard for a few minutes, Pek invited me to sit in the plastic chair next to him. After a few minutes of talking shop (stolen moto battery, people across the street), I tried to ask Pek some questions about himself. Pointing to his ring, I asked Pek if he was (or had been) married. Instead, Pek made a sign of a big pile of cash, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote “$120.” I pointed to my own ring (from my mom’s pile of costume jewelry…Thanks!) and said that mine was quite cheap too. Well, I guess I’d have to ask Pek another way.

Looking back at Pek’s piece of paper, I noticed a yellow photograph behind it. Jeff had just come downstairs and joined our conversation, and I pointed to the photo and asked if I could see it. A row of men, probably about 10 of them, stood in a line looking at the camera (perhaps they were family?). He turned the paper over and pointed to the date: 3-1-1979 – just a few months after the fall of the Khmer Rouge.

Unexpectedly, Pek shook his head, and began to mime the tragedy he witnessed during the Khmer Rouge’s takeover of Phnom Penh. He pointed out buildings in the neighborhood, and mimed gunfire, over and over again. He drew his finger across his throat several times, telling us how many thousands of people had been killed. He told us about the torture: the electric shocks, the beatings, the nails driven under the fingernails of men, women and children. After a few minutes, he stopped. He shook his head again, looking sad.

I patted Pek’s arm and looked at him. “I’m sorry you went through that,” I said, “I am glad you are okay now.” Of course, Pek had no idea what I said, but the three of us stopped moving and sat for awhile thinking about what Pek had expressed. In over eighty years in Cambodia, I cannot begin to imagine everything he’s seen: French colonization, communism, post-war reconstruction, and the present…

Before Jeff and I left (biking to Drew and Katie’s for spaghetti dinner and dominos) Pek told us that he would wait up for us to put our bikes away, even though we’d be returning after 9 pm, when he locks the gate. Jeff told Pek that if he was asleep, we could keep them outside his house, and lock them together – he didn’t need to stay up for us.

Nevertheless, when Jeff returned a few hours later (10 pm), Pek’s nephew was waiting inside to open the gate, (no doubt he had been told by Pek to wait up). As Jeff and I quietly rolled our bikes into their front room, I could see a shadow of Pek’s hunched, skinny body, peeking out to make sure we had moved our bikes in safely.

Pek’s attentiveness and care brings me so much comfort; I am surprised that Pek takes these thoughtful measures for two tenants he knows so little about, only that we are foreign and that we are friendly.

This weekend I would like to buy Pek some vegetables from the market. I bet he’d like tomatoes.

I want to ride my bicycle

Last weekend I went to the market in Phnom Penh and bought a bicycle for $35 dollars. Even though it’s used, they spray paint over all the broken, rusty parts so it looks just beautiful. Mine is blue with black adornments. It is very good at riding over old lettuce, dirt roads, garbage, and fish heads. I can dodge coconuts husks, tuk tuk drivers and children with ease. It even has a basket, a bike light, a locking kickstand, and a bell (ring, ring!) for when I compete with all the moto drivers out in the crazy traffic.

I rode it home from the market, which wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought (although within five minutes my front brake snapped, so now I only have a back brake — but I’ll fix it), and I made it back to my apartment safe and sound. I love my bike; its second only in my heart to my 87 year old landlord, Pek, who is my favorite person in all of Cambodia.

Guest Post: AnnaMarie on Kep

Below is AnnaMarie Thomas’s mass email following her visit to Cambodia and our weekend at Kep Beach two weekends ago. Enjoy!

Another weekend, another plane flight. Mary brought it to my attention that I’ve been saying ‘this was my favorite trip so far’ of each getaway I’ve taken. But, when I say it this time, please know that I’m being honest. I swear.

It was a very full(filling) weekend for me. From the sadness of the killing fields to the serenity of a few deserted islands to the company of some dear friends to the depths of food poisoning….

I arrived at Phnom Penh airport bright and early 7:30 am on Friday morning… after a little mishap $20 US dollars (ironically, none of the Americans on board our flight had them) was needed to buy a visa, I was greeted by the infamous dream ‘Jenn Carter’ and her faithful tuk tuk driver, real estate tycoon, and kindest soul on earth, Dan. One delicious iced coffee later, Jenn dropped me off at my hotel that I’d be sharing with the then homeless Julie Picquet. The spacial limits of a queen sized bed stopped us from all sharing Carter’s abode that evening. Julie, the newest addition to the Phnom Penh crew, met me at lunch and we scampered off to do a bit of depressing sightseeing, driven by Dan. Julie arrived in Cambodia on Wednesday for a 3 month Kiva fellowship. Her first day a little boy tried to put a tarantula on her when she wouldn’t buy his guide book. It’s important to note, that we ran into the same little boy on Friday night and Julie and he are the closest of friends…. I’m not judging.

Julie and I, after seeing ‘the killing fields‘, wanted to get a first hand look at the devastation of the Khmer Rouge in the 1970s. ‘First hand’ in this case does mean ‘touristy.’ However, last week marked the start of the trials of the leaders of the Khmer Rouge, consequently our visit seemed timely. Our first stop was Tuoll Sleng: a former high school that was turned into a ‘prison’ when the communist Khmer Rouge took power. This prison was cruelly used to torture/kill victims until they’d make false confessions and accusations… Only 7 people lived after a visit to Tuol Sleng. Now, it’s a genocide museum. Some of the rooms are perfectly preserved with pictures of tortured victims filling most. The Khmer Rouge kept impeccable records on everyone that entered the prison, so many rooms are filled with ‘mug shot’ like photos and serial numbers. What was difficult for us to see was 1) how recent the pictures seemed (late 1970’s) and 2) how young some of the people were (think babies and toddlers). We had to leave before heading to the last building, because frankly it was too difficult…. then we headed to one of the infamous Killing Fields. Our guide managed to escape since he was in school. However, his parents, ‘intellectuals’ were tortured and killed because they were doctors. We saw trenches still visibly filled with human bones/clothes. There’s a monument on the property, that is filled only with human skulls from the remains: over 1/5th of the Cambodian population was murdered… all our guide could say was that they were ‘crazy in the head’ repeatedly.

Onto brighter things… Jenn was an excellent tour guide. Friday evening, she picked Julie & I up at our hotel, got us wine and pizza, and… rented a boat (the home of a family of 10)! We went on a dinner cruise with all of Nick and Jenn’s friends (and the family that lived on the boat). I have to insert here how good it was to be with some dear friends (thank you carter/pulie/lazos!) on my little journey. Sidetrack Over. After an hour or so on the river, we were dropped off near a local drinkining establishment, Maxine’s. One treacherous hike (in a dress) up an embankment, and a short walk down a road, I entered into a magical place. We had quite the time dancing… The bar is located on the edge of the river, with an outdoor patio extending out the back. Whenever we jumped, or someone did the infamous ‘Jenn Carter’ move, you could feel the bar shake.

Northwestern Expats at Maxine's

But we made it out alive.. In Cambodia, there are cabs, tuk tuks, & motos that can drive you around. Motos being motorcycles…. A moto was our only option and somehow Julie and I ended up on the back of one (ONE) with a very apprehensive Cambodian driver. Julie screamed the whole time and it’s apparently not the norm to encircle a paid driver with your arms (but I was scared, and consequently so was he). Anyways, Jenn laughed at us the entire way to the next location. ‘Pontoon,’ a bar that literally floats on the river like a pontoon boat, (or maybe it is a pontoon boat) welcomed us with open arms. Unfortunately, Julie and i had visions of sleep at about 10 pm (we thought it was 4 am). We made it home amidst the beginning of a lightning storm, in a lovely, not to mention, safe, tuk tuk.

Jenn picked us up the next morning to head to Kep, a beach town on the border of Vietnam. Again, I’m not exaggerating when I say that we had the most perfect day you could ask for. Our hotel, Kep Lodge, was a series of un-air conditioned little bungalows, with gorgeous natural landscaping, kittens, dogs, & views. All checked in, we headed to the water where Jenn (who speaks excellent Khmer) hired a boat to take us to a ‘deserted’ island. Though I’m not sure I’d trust that it would hold up if chopped in half (missed you Boston Whaler), the boat was large enough for us all to sprawl and came with a Khmer driver of 21 who will hereafter be known solely as ‘Cabana Boy.’ Explanation to follow. We anchored on Snake Island and we caused quite the ’stir.’ So, when Jenn says ‘deserted’ she means ‘not filled with tourists.’ There are about 100 families that live on the island, with… it seems only the men leaving to sell the crabs that they catch. But first I must tell you about anchoring with our ‘cabana boy and Jenn’s business partner.’ So, he throws out the anchor, but needs to make sure it’s steady… and just whips off his pants, and is left in navy blue tighty whities, an oxford shirt, and a sideways baseball cap. We all burst out laughing… I think we’d all wrongfully assumed he’d be wearing swim trunks of some sort… So as not to get any darker, the oxford stayed on all day. It’s not ‘cool’ in Cambodia to be ‘dark’. Quite the opposite in the US… Wading to the island proved quite entertaining. I jumped non-gracefully out and managed to soak everything in my path. We found some starfish… And we attracted about 30 Cambodian children. As we laid on the beach, the visitors multiplied. I’ll set the scene.

Just two feet away from our towels

Beach, sun, reading, crab eating, relaxation for us. A zoo exhibit for the young Cambodians that had never seen white girls in the flesh. These kids just sat a foot away from us and stared. Stared. stared. At one point we were completely encircled. Jenn was able to get all the commentary: ‘that one is wearing pink’ ’she’s reading’ ‘they like crab’ ‘oooo! powereful white!’ (when i was putting on sunscreen. This continued for most of the day. An uncle, a monk, arrived, and there was a reception for him to bless the island, but still the children didn’t move. A few hours later, one said ‘I don’t think they’re going to do anything’ ‘It’s too hot, I’m going back!’ Pretty funny. We left just before sunset when our driver took us to a real deserted island… which subsequently we decided to purchase, build a bed & breakfast (modeled after Kep Lodge, bungalow style) where we can all retire to when we get older. Jenn and the future cabana boy will run it until we’re 70. Sounds perfect. Now we just need the money.

Me, Pantsless Boatboy, and AnnaMarie

On the boat back to shore,  I fell asleep, and woke up with a funny feeling in my stomach. Food poisoning. I won’t weigh anyone down with the details, but let’s just say it put a damper on things. Julie and Jenn had a lovely crab filled dinner, and I layed in bed hating my life. The next morning, I layed by the pool, hating my life, and then rode in a car driven by a man that must also hate my life because he had no regard for potholes…. I must say Jenn was an excellent doctor, forcing me to drink fluids, making me drink gatorade….We got to Jenn’s apartment, I felt a bit better, and we regrouped for dinner and some light shopping. I had to call it an early night though, and we left Julie to settle into her new apartment and get ready for her first day on the job. Jenn and I watched one of the illegally copied DVDs that I bought for $1 and I fell into a fiful, though air conditioned sleep.

A sad tuk tuk ride with Jenn & Dan to the airport marked the end of my Cambodian adventure, though the food poisoning is still haunting me (grrr). I’m back safely in Singapore. Cambodia was filled with many friends and many many kind & happy people. I can see why Jenn/Nick have been there for so long. I hope if anyone is in the vicinity, that they take a sidetrip to Cambodia… I know some excellent tour guides!

Love,

Ams

Photos: Wildcats in Cambodia (notice Jenn’s expresion), Julie and I with our cabana boy, & a portion of the children that watched us all day on Snake Island…. More on Facebook

Attack of the 7lb Durian

This beast of a fruit is called a durian. It is a controversial fruit, as far as fruits are controversial.

Durian, I hate thee

From Wikipedia:

Widely known and revered in Southeast Asia as the “King of Fruits”, the fruit is distinctive for its large size, unique odour, and formidable thorn-covered husk. The fruit can grow up to 30 centimetres (12 in) long and 15 centimetres (6 in) in diameter, and typically weighs one to three kilograms (2 to 7 lb). Its shape ranges from oblong to round, the colour of its husk green to brown, and its flesh pale-yellow to red, depending on the species.

I have met few people born outside of Southeast Asia who like, much less love, durians. My roommate, Jeff, however, is the exception. Jeff LOVES durians. On my second day in Cambodia, Jeff bought a large durian at a market and brought it to the FCC, where some KF6 Kiva Fellows were hosting a happy hour. I have never seen someone look so happy – like a kid on Christmas, but with a big, smelly, six pound thorn-covered fruit. Jeff generously shared pieces of his durian with other Kiva Fellows, but most responded with: “That sh*t is nasty!” (That being the tamer of the responses). The point is, these fruits are angry.

Jeff has since finished the aforementioned durian and had been on a hunt for another. In running errands over the past week, Jeff and I have stopped at several fruit stands stands to weigh, smell and price durians. This weekend, while buying our bicycles, Jeff finally found a good durian stand and bought one on the spot.

Flash forward two days later, and I walk into the kitchen to get something from the refrigerator. It was probably for milk for a small, orphaned kitten, or something equally innocent, like cookie dough. WHACK. A durian spins across the floor from beneath my foot. “Jeff!” I called, hopping on one foot to stop by toes from throbbing, “I think I kicked your durian!” As I stepped into the light, I saw that my toe was gushing blood, and a sizable flap of skin was coming off the littlest toe. It took me about 15 minutes to stop the bleeding, cursing the dammed fruit the whole time.

Just another reason to hate the durian.

First Day at Maxima

Last Thursday, I met the CEO and founders of Maxima Mikroheranhvatho Ltd. at the Cambodian Banking Conference held in a nearby casino, Naga World. It was a great introduction to the various players in Cambodian microfinance, particularly in meeting managers of the other large MFIs where Kiva has fellows, including Credit, AMK and HKL.

The  presentations, however, where mostly thinly-veiled IT-pitches by technology companies vying for banking customers. A presentation on “Outstanding Customer Service” revolved around Avaya’s newest call-centered phone, and “Improving Banking in a Downturn Economy” discussed a particular company’s customer management solution. Most of the participants seemed disappointed at the presentation quality, but nonetheless made the most out of networking and sharing best practices.

The one presentation on microfinance, however, was great, and I enjoyed listening it through my wireless headphones to hear the speaker translated into English. The speaker discussed the growing importance for Cambodians to use savings/deposits and how MFIs can use this to get more capital to loan to an increased reach of entrepreneurs. I’ve heard from some expats that most Cambodians do not use savings or banks of any type, and such lose their life savings when their home is broken into and their money is found in a closet or mattress. Sidenote: I also have five locks (and five keys) to get into my apartment here; home security is of utmost importance.

On Friday, John (the preceding Maxima Kiva Fellow) and I took a tuk tuk to see the Maxima office and introduce myself to the staff. Most of the loan officers, who sit upstairs, were out in the fields dispersing and collecting loans. The (heavily female) office staff, however, were all waiting at the front reception and smiling for John to arrive and say his goodbyes.

John did his introduction, and I stood there sheepishly, embarrassed to be someone spoken of so highly (she comes from Google! San Francisco! Marketing experience!) when I’m the same age as most of these girls.

After meeting my main Kiva contact, Kiva Coordinator, and learning the names of the office staff and the various rooms, John and I set off on the motorbike that  would soon to be mine next week when I began work.

As long as I'm not driving

Well, flash forward to Monday and there is no way that I’d take a motorbike to work, not if I’m driving.

The first day is now almost to the end, and I’ve spent it speaking to the three of the five founders of Maxima and discussing special projects to work on in the coming months. Beyond all the day-to-day responsibilities I’m being introduced to, I’ve also been given the following:

- Bottle of water

- Banana

- Orange

- Lunch with the office staff (where I also learned numbers 1-5 in Khmer)

- Jiccima and chili salt

- Mango and chili salt

And, upon learning of my fear to ride the motobike, and despite my protests that I could take a mototaxi or walk to work (“too far!”) I have been given:

- A driver to pick me up in the morning and drop me off every afternoon

Holy smokes.

Maxima’s staff is young, friendly and dedicated to improving not only the lives of other Cambodians, but also specifically to invest in their own employees.

I’m headed to the field tomorrow with a loan officer to meet microborrowers. I hope I can repay Maxima’s kindness by delivering real value to their business. I am so flattered by their generosity thus far and am looking forward to learning more about their business and employees.

Welp, better get ready for the driver to take me home.

PS: The head Kiva manager, with whom I work closely and is a total sweetheart, is about 4′10″, making me look like the BFG in comparison.

The Wild, Wild East (Part 2)

Or, How I Tamed the East

[Alright guys, take a deep breath.  I have limited Internet, but now that I am starting work I have WiFi from M-F when not in the field.]

Day 2 of Phnom Penh (Wednesday)

After reading a book in a cafe on riverside (The Quiet American by Graham Greene, love it), I decided to walk around the city some more.

The Cambodian government boasts high-employment rates from its citizenry; however, these statistics are far from accurate. “Work” is defined as full- or part-time (> 4 hours a week) and can be “formal and informal.” In these broad terms, most people are defined as employed but the reality is hardly the case.

When office jobs or other opportunities are scarce, being a moto or tuk tuk driver is a common profession for younger men. Drivers are plentiful and passengers few, and walking more than a few feet will get you a fair share of comments and offers. Drivers wait en masse outside of tourist areas and compete for exiting tourists. Additionally, the Khmer seldom walk far, and attempting to get around on foot gets you even more offers.

For most of my first two days, human interaction revolved around the calls of the drivers I passed:

- “Tuk tuk!”

- “Moto?”

- “Tuk tuk? Moto?”

- “Moto? Tuk Tuk! Where you want to go? Cheap cheap!”

- “Lady and Gentleman!” (While walking by myself)

- “Hello! I’ve been waiting for you!”

And when English skills lack, more common is a honk by a passing vehicle; someone pulling over and asking you with just a friendly smile and a nod toward the back of the bike. As I continued to walk block after block to know the city by foot, I tired from the “no, thank yous” I declined every few minutes.

A few hours later, I stumbled across a group exercise class. The dance class was full of people of all ages, male and female, dancing in lines rows wide and watching the young male dance leaders in the front. I sat down among the families and vendors on the sidelines, occasionally getting ushered off the grass by a whistling policeman. It was loud, dynamic and fun.

Crash! While watching a group exercise class in a courtyard by Victory Monument, I heard the sound of thick plastic scraping across pavement. A car had hit a motobike, and people began to gather around to assess the damage and help the bike riders. Holy smokes, I thought, but in more colorful language, I hope there wasn’t a baby on that bike (a very common sight in Cambodia, usually riding between her mother and father or between two older siblings).

And then…

Enter Jenn Carter, Cambodian expat extraordinaire and good friend of Miss AnnaMarie. Jenn is pretty much the coolest person ever, second only to my grandma. Jenn moved to Phnom Penh almost 3 years ago, and has mastered the Khmer language, motobike traffic navigation and the ins-and-outs of the country. Well, Jenn pulled up on her red moto bike to take me out to a Cambodian do-it-yourself BBQ, and, although I didn’t want to hop on a bike minutes after I witnessed a crash, I shrugged and hopped on the back, leaving the dance class in the dusk behind me.

The Wild, Wild East (Part 1)

I am surprised I can type this; feeling has only recently returned to my thumbs.

Motobikes here are  smaller than Vietnam. Taking a moto today, I had to sit on my thumbs and grab the seat with my other eight fingers and hold on to dear life, holding my bag with my laptop between me and the driver (my $20 a night guesthouse has now “lost” my room keys twice, and as they haven’t located my room keys most recently, I’m now lugging all valuables around with me). A Canadian ex-pat let me know that I might get “slashed” if I was carrying this bag around, because I was just asking for it. Oh, also I didn’t wear a helmet (Sorry, Charlie).

After hopping off the motorbike and promising my driver I’d use him again (he likes to camp outside my guesthouse for tourists), I stepped into D’s Bookstore, today’s destination.  The bookstore was good, despite the fact that it had a large selection of trashy books (aka ‘best sellers’ fit for the Lifetime Movie Network) and almost every movie-turned-book. I managed to a buy a few books and can later re-sell them for more.

As I was reading the first of my new books (The Quiet American and Zorba the Greek), over an 80 cent glass of beer next door, several begging children approached me with photocopies of Lonely Plant and books on the Khmer Rouge.

One little boy, when I politely declined to buy his books a third time, grinned and pointed to his chest. A large tarantula crawled across his shoulders, and he lifted it up to me as I screamed No! NO! NO SPIDERS. The boy laughed and walked away, only to return several more times asking if I was sure if I didn’t want to buy from him, and pointing to his shoulder.

I wondered how the Cambodian courts would rule if I kicked this child, but, after his fifth or six walkby, his threats were almost endearing.

People like to sing aloud in Internet cafes.

This Time Tomorrow

At 850 am tomorrow morning, I’m flying to Phnom Penh, Cambodia to begin my microfinance fellowship with Kiva.org.

The Kiva Fellowship program places global-minded professionals in developing countries to work with Kiva’s partner microfinance institutions. Kiva.org is a non-profit, online lending platform that enables people worldwide to give 0% interest loans to poor entrepreneurs. These microfinance loans aim to enable sustainable poverty alleviation, empowering the poor to lift themselves out of poverty through the access to credit and fair financial services.

My placement is with MAXIMA, a Cambodian microfinance organization, from mid-February through May 2009. Kiva Fellows provide transparency to online lenders, including performing cost-analyses, and checking borrowers’ interest rates, while receiving firsthand experience of the obstacles affecting the microfinance industry.

For the last several months, I was a chapter member for Wokai.org, a start-up Chinese microfinance organization. Working with Wokai whet my appetite to explore issues of small-business entrepreneurship and sustainable development from a hands-on perspective, and it was with this goal in mind that I applied to the Kiva Fellowship.

My current employer, Google, supports employee volunteering and has granted me a three-month leave of absence to accept this Fellowship. Additionally, I’ve applied to umpteen law schools and am eagerly waiting to hear back for acceptance into their law and public policy programs for Fall 2009.

This experience will be quite a deviation from my last few years. During my time at UC Berkeley and then in San Francisco, I’ve been blessed with a comfortable lifestyle, a supportive social circle and access to the endless opportunities and resources that the Bay Area has to offer. I’ve come up with many excuses to postpone my long-desired international/volunteer experience, and I realized that no excuse was good enough. I am eager to experience a lifestyle different than the one of known for the last twenty-three years, and step outside my comfort zone to find new perspective and meaning.  And oh yes, this is the first time I’ve lived outside of California, which should add some hilarity and flavor to future blog posts.

Within this context, three months hardly seems like enough time to truly learn about microfinance, sustainable development and the people of Cambodia. I am determined to take advantage of this opportunity to its fullest, and it is with unbridled enthusiasm that I look to tomorrow.

And I promise my blog posts won’t be so serious from here forward.

Your friend,

Julie