Last week, we decided to take the younger kids from Aziza swimming (we had taken the older kids in December), hoping it would be a nice break from the school itself and a temporary escape from everything that has happened in the last month. On our visits to Aziza in the days ahead of the adventure, we were regaled by a dozen kids asking if they were among the lucky that actually got to go and when we would actually be going. It was clear that they were very excited by the prospect of an hour or so of swimming.
We showed up at Dey Krahorm mid-afternoon on Sunday. A mass of about twenty kids ranging in age from three to twelve waited under the stairway that leads up into the apartment building. As we approached, we were greeted with big smiles and a loud "Hello Steoo [Khmer pronounciation of Steve meaning "gangster"], Hello Shanti!" Each kid had a small bag complete with swimming attire (i.e. another pair of shorts and a t-shirt that they didn't mind getting wet) and a krama or small towel.
Because there were at least thirty kids to take, we arranged to take two groups of about fifteen. To make sure no one was excluded we tried to ensure that there was a list created by one of the teachers indicating who would go each week. The "list" that we acquired, however, was made with red colored pencils and in the scrawling English handwriting of one of the younger students (she and her sister were at the top of the list which included mostly girls and twenty-one as opposed to fifteen kids). Since they were ready, however, we decided to take the unfairly decided group of kids, assuring those that weren't going that they would definitely come the following week.
The twenty-plus kids, Drew, Amanda (an occasional volunteer), and Ruby (Amanda's dog), piled in to two tuk-tuks. We cringed at how tightly packed in the kids were, yet Shanti, Sofia, and I began the short bike ride to Romdeng. Romdeng is a restaurant operated by Friends International, an organization that helps street children with school and practical job training skills in a variety of fields. Within the last few months the restaurant moved to a beautiful colonial villa complete with a small pool.
We arrived at Romdeng at the same time as the tuk-tuks. Though we had arranged the visit with Romdeng in advance, there was near immediate chaos. The kids streamed in towards the pool. A tour group of middle-aged westerners dining on lunch in the formerly tranquil garden looked on with a mix of horror and amazement. A French couple with three small children in the pool had the look of people about to be run over. We rounded up the kids so we could explain who we were. A few of the staff led us and the kids to the tables they had set up for us.
Within a few minutes, chaos returned. The kids had changed into their swimming gear - some wore jeans and longsleeve shirts both because of modesty and a desire to retain lighter skin while others had Cambodian-style pajama shorts (brightly-colored shorts with a random assortment of patterns) - and jumped into the pool, or at least to the steps at the shallow end of the pool and the landing at the deep end. Few of the kids knew how to swim. We - Shanti, Drew, Graham, Sofia and I - jumped in to the pool, which was as shallow as three feet and as deep as almost six feet. Our task for the afternoon quickly became clear; we spent the next hour and a half shuttling kids from one side of the pool to the other, dunking them under water, trying to teach them how to swim, and watching them crawl along the edge of the pool and splash each other. Drew and Graham, each nearly six and a half feet tall, took on the responsibility of shuttling up to four kids each at a time.
One of the younger girls, with floaties, noisily kicked her way across the small pool, cautiously avoiding the outstretched arms of kids who wanted to give her floaties a try for themselves. The youngest girl, only about three and normally very shy, gleefully splashed around at the deep end landing. She took a liking to Shanti and, after a bit of tutelage, she quickly became one of the better swimmers in the group. One of the boys who is incredibly gentle but had shown some troubling signs since the eviction, came back out of his shell to be the happiest that we had ever seen him.
After over an hour of swimming, splashing, shouting, and shuttling, the kids were starting to get cold. It was late afternoon and the pool was no longer in the hot sun. The kids wrapped themselves in their towels and kramas and slipped into the pump room to change out of their swimming clothes. One of the boys acted as the guard, ensuring no one tried to get into the room while another kid was changing. A separate group of children went to the bathroom to change, leaving their flip flops on the welcome mat outside the door. Another few kids took the fresh coconuts we had gotten them to drink and smashed them open on the tiles by the pool. I couldn't help but smile thinking that few of Romdeng's other patrons put the fresh coconuts to as full a use as they did.
The following weekend, we returned with the other half of the kids. Though a more subdued group, they were very interested to learn how to swim and, of course, they thoroughly enjoyed being shttuled from one end of the pool to the other.
After both trips to Romdeng, an exhausted group of kids and volunteers shuffled out of Romdeng and piled back into the two tuk-tuks. In the year that we've been volunteering at Aziza, these were among the best afternoons we had with the kids. More importantly though, it seemed to be a good and much-needed escape for the kids, many of whose lives have been thrown upside-down in the past month and who rarely have the opportunity to step outside of the cycle between school, home, and Aziza and into an oasis like Romdeng.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Valentine's Day in Cambodia
It is amusing how seemingly western holidays are adapted in countries like Cambodia. I have noted this phenomenon previously around Christmas, but Valentine's Day is another example.
Several weeks ago, Shanti got me an early Valentine's Day present from Russian Market. While she went inside to pick the gift up, I waited outside with our bicycles. A friendly and curious tuk-tuk driver struck up a conversation with me in a mix of Khmer and English. Thinking that he would have no concept of Valentine's Day, I told him that I was waiting for my girlfriend, who was getting me a Christmas present. He smiled and nodded and then said - again in a mix of Khmer and English - "Well it's almost Valentine's Day. You better get her a nice present."
More recently, a few days ago, while I was at Aziza, one of the older students asked me what my plans were for Valentine's Day. I told him that I wasn't sure yet, but asked if he had any suggestions. He said that I "should buy at least one rose" and that if I "put two candles on the table while you are eating dinner, it is very good." I replied that these were solid recommendations and that it sounded like he'd put some thought into them, though when I asked what he was doing, he only smiled and blushed and said he had no plans.
Valentine's Day was even on the mind of one of the girls that watches His Excellencies grandchildren. She asked us all about traditions in the U.S., if I had bought Shanti flowers, and what our plans were for the day, saying it was a good day to share with "your special". She was at least as embarrassed as the Aziza student when we asked her what her plans were.
Valentine's Day, or Tungai Bon Sangsaa (literally Day of the Sweetheart Festival), is taken to the extreme in Cambodia. If Hallmark executives could dream up the ideal Valentine's Day, from a marketing sense, Cambodia would be perfect aside from the fact that greeting cards are not very popular. In the days ahead of Valentine's Day, little street stalls spring up on every corner, selling roses, chocolates, balloons, and stuffed animals. This culminated in a climax on the day itself in which hordes of teenagers gathered around the street stalls, which were now every few meters on major thoroughfares (Shanti and I counted at least eighteen such stalls on Sihanouk Blvd. between Norodom and Sothearos, a distance of no more than a few hundred meters).
Sometimes though, the concept of the holiday is not very well understood. Outside of Lucky Market, the western-style supermarket, a tent was set up selling cake and, for some reason, candy canes (clearly left over from Christmas). Inside, chocolates were on sale with seemingly misplaced messages, like "Recover Well." Perhaps in anticipation of the Valentine's Day break-up? Or, perhaps more realistically, a recognition of the need to "recover well" from an over-the-top Valentine's Day.
Several weeks ago, Shanti got me an early Valentine's Day present from Russian Market. While she went inside to pick the gift up, I waited outside with our bicycles. A friendly and curious tuk-tuk driver struck up a conversation with me in a mix of Khmer and English. Thinking that he would have no concept of Valentine's Day, I told him that I was waiting for my girlfriend, who was getting me a Christmas present. He smiled and nodded and then said - again in a mix of Khmer and English - "Well it's almost Valentine's Day. You better get her a nice present."
More recently, a few days ago, while I was at Aziza, one of the older students asked me what my plans were for Valentine's Day. I told him that I wasn't sure yet, but asked if he had any suggestions. He said that I "should buy at least one rose" and that if I "put two candles on the table while you are eating dinner, it is very good." I replied that these were solid recommendations and that it sounded like he'd put some thought into them, though when I asked what he was doing, he only smiled and blushed and said he had no plans.
Valentine's Day was even on the mind of one of the girls that watches His Excellencies grandchildren. She asked us all about traditions in the U.S., if I had bought Shanti flowers, and what our plans were for the day, saying it was a good day to share with "your special". She was at least as embarrassed as the Aziza student when we asked her what her plans were.
Valentine's Day, or Tungai Bon Sangsaa (literally Day of the Sweetheart Festival), is taken to the extreme in Cambodia. If Hallmark executives could dream up the ideal Valentine's Day, from a marketing sense, Cambodia would be perfect aside from the fact that greeting cards are not very popular. In the days ahead of Valentine's Day, little street stalls spring up on every corner, selling roses, chocolates, balloons, and stuffed animals. This culminated in a climax on the day itself in which hordes of teenagers gathered around the street stalls, which were now every few meters on major thoroughfares (Shanti and I counted at least eighteen such stalls on Sihanouk Blvd. between Norodom and Sothearos, a distance of no more than a few hundred meters).
Sometimes though, the concept of the holiday is not very well understood. Outside of Lucky Market, the western-style supermarket, a tent was set up selling cake and, for some reason, candy canes (clearly left over from Christmas). Inside, chocolates were on sale with seemingly misplaced messages, like "Recover Well." Perhaps in anticipation of the Valentine's Day break-up? Or, perhaps more realistically, a recognition of the need to "recover well" from an over-the-top Valentine's Day.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Deep Sea Fishing in Sihanoukville
Several weeks ago and before the destruction of Dey Krahorm, we organized a weekend with a group of friends to do some deep sea fishing off the southern coast. While I didn't want to be away from Aziza so soon after the eviction, I also knew that I needed a mental break. So on Friday at 3am, a group of twelve of us met at Savin's family's restaurant to meet our chartered van (we decided to leave at such a bizarre time because of a friend's birthday the night before and the need to be on the boat at first thing in the morning on Saturday). It was a quick ride - only three and a half hours - but the van wasn't the most comfortable for stretching out to get some extra sleep.
At 7am we checked into the guesthouse where we would be spending the night, picked up a few supplies (water, beer, breakfast) and went to meet our captain for the day. Brian, a large - in all senses of the word - Kiwi in his late fifties or early sixties with a big, gold, pirate-style hoop earing in his left ear, walked out of his bar/shop, The Fisherman's Den. He put on a shorty-style motorcycle helmet and hopped on his motorbike, complete with a sidecart. He appeared to be the perfect deep sea fishing captain.
After a short ride through Sihanoukville and past the main port, we arrived at the dock and boarded the fairly traditional Cambodian fishing vessel; made almost entirely of wood and about sixty feet long, painted a mix of blues, from the vibrant aquamarine that mimicked the clear, shallow waters of the tropics to a deep royal blue. A crew of two Cambodians started baiting ten rods as most of us climbed a steep ladder and settled on the warm, sun-soaked terrace above deck. Within a few minutes we were on our way out into the Gulf of Thailand.
Not five minutes into our journey, one of the two lines trolling the waters caught. One of the Cambodian crew rushed over to start reeling our potential catch in. Our friend Josh scurried down the ladder to take over the reel from the crew. Fifty meters behind the boat, a large fish thrashed at the surface of the water. Surely that couldn't be the one Josh was reeling in... Yet it was. After a brief struggle, we had dinner and a three and a half foot barracuda on board.
Once the initial excitement passed, we sank back into the deck chairs on the terrace. Sihanoukville slowly faded as we rumbled past some of the smaller offshore islands and made our way to Koh Rung Samleom, a fairly sizable island about two hours off the coast. Split five to each side of the boat, we dropped our lines, baited with squid, shrimp, and small fish, to the bottom, about 100 feet down. Sporadically, we caught an assortment of small fish, none more than a foot long, but each with beautifully intricate coloring. As soon as we caught a fish or had had our bait taken, one of the two deckhands was immediately besides us, removing the fish or re-baiting our hook. Their attentiveness was quite impressive. We kept most of what we caught, either as bait or as dinner once we returned to Phnom Penh.
At around noon, we took a break from fishing and took a dip in the water by a deserted beach. The water was cool but refreshing and my feet enjoyed the feel of the defined ridges of soft and pristine sand formed by the waves. We swam about, snorkeled, threw a frisbee around, and sat on the beach and let the waves splash through us. Even Brian went for a swim in a bright red speedo that was a bit too revealing.
The crew called us back on to the boat after an hour and greeted us with lunch: a delicious hearty beef and potato stew with baguettes. Accompanied by a beer, lunch was all the better. After lunch and a much needed catnap above deck, we resumed our fishing. For the remainder of the afternoon, we caught only small fish of less than a foot each, but at a pretty good rate of close to ten each. As the sun started to set and sparkle upon the water, we headed back to port. It had been a wonderful day already and we still had our barracuda dinner to look forward to.
After a shower and a change we were back at the Fisherman's Den, this time for dinner and what a feast it was. Brian had the perfect batter for the barracuda - flavorful but light and crispy - to go with chips and salad. And there was so much of it! As hungry as the thirteen of us were, we couldn't even finish the one barracuda. That said, several of us did manage to find room for the Italian-style gelato across the street from our guesthouse.
I had only been fishing a few times before in my adult life and I'd never been deep sea fishing, let alone deep sea fishing in the tropics. There were few things I've done that have been more satisfying or relaxing. Sitting at the stern of the boat, reel in one hand, beer in the other, with the sun warming my back and the breeze cooling it, was simply delightful, and the perfect respite from the bustle of dusty Phnom Penh.
At 7am we checked into the guesthouse where we would be spending the night, picked up a few supplies (water, beer, breakfast) and went to meet our captain for the day. Brian, a large - in all senses of the word - Kiwi in his late fifties or early sixties with a big, gold, pirate-style hoop earing in his left ear, walked out of his bar/shop, The Fisherman's Den. He put on a shorty-style motorcycle helmet and hopped on his motorbike, complete with a sidecart. He appeared to be the perfect deep sea fishing captain.
After a short ride through Sihanoukville and past the main port, we arrived at the dock and boarded the fairly traditional Cambodian fishing vessel; made almost entirely of wood and about sixty feet long, painted a mix of blues, from the vibrant aquamarine that mimicked the clear, shallow waters of the tropics to a deep royal blue. A crew of two Cambodians started baiting ten rods as most of us climbed a steep ladder and settled on the warm, sun-soaked terrace above deck. Within a few minutes we were on our way out into the Gulf of Thailand.
Not five minutes into our journey, one of the two lines trolling the waters caught. One of the Cambodian crew rushed over to start reeling our potential catch in. Our friend Josh scurried down the ladder to take over the reel from the crew. Fifty meters behind the boat, a large fish thrashed at the surface of the water. Surely that couldn't be the one Josh was reeling in... Yet it was. After a brief struggle, we had dinner and a three and a half foot barracuda on board.
Once the initial excitement passed, we sank back into the deck chairs on the terrace. Sihanoukville slowly faded as we rumbled past some of the smaller offshore islands and made our way to Koh Rung Samleom, a fairly sizable island about two hours off the coast. Split five to each side of the boat, we dropped our lines, baited with squid, shrimp, and small fish, to the bottom, about 100 feet down. Sporadically, we caught an assortment of small fish, none more than a foot long, but each with beautifully intricate coloring. As soon as we caught a fish or had had our bait taken, one of the two deckhands was immediately besides us, removing the fish or re-baiting our hook. Their attentiveness was quite impressive. We kept most of what we caught, either as bait or as dinner once we returned to Phnom Penh.
At around noon, we took a break from fishing and took a dip in the water by a deserted beach. The water was cool but refreshing and my feet enjoyed the feel of the defined ridges of soft and pristine sand formed by the waves. We swam about, snorkeled, threw a frisbee around, and sat on the beach and let the waves splash through us. Even Brian went for a swim in a bright red speedo that was a bit too revealing.
The crew called us back on to the boat after an hour and greeted us with lunch: a delicious hearty beef and potato stew with baguettes. Accompanied by a beer, lunch was all the better. After lunch and a much needed catnap above deck, we resumed our fishing. For the remainder of the afternoon, we caught only small fish of less than a foot each, but at a pretty good rate of close to ten each. As the sun started to set and sparkle upon the water, we headed back to port. It had been a wonderful day already and we still had our barracuda dinner to look forward to.
After a shower and a change we were back at the Fisherman's Den, this time for dinner and what a feast it was. Brian had the perfect batter for the barracuda - flavorful but light and crispy - to go with chips and salad. And there was so much of it! As hungry as the thirteen of us were, we couldn't even finish the one barracuda. That said, several of us did manage to find room for the Italian-style gelato across the street from our guesthouse.
I had only been fishing a few times before in my adult life and I'd never been deep sea fishing, let alone deep sea fishing in the tropics. There were few things I've done that have been more satisfying or relaxing. Sitting at the stern of the boat, reel in one hand, beer in the other, with the sun warming my back and the breeze cooling it, was simply delightful, and the perfect respite from the bustle of dusty Phnom Penh.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Human Wrongs: The Aftermath of the Dey Krahorm Eviction
PLEASE DONATE: Village Earth (preferred) and Changing the Present (Cambodia projects)
It has now been over a week since the eviction of Dey Krahorm. Though the dust has begun to settle, the trauma and injustice remains. On the Sunday morning after the eviction, I biked over to Aziza for a meeting with Drew and some of Aziza's students. I walked under the stairway belonging to the Soviet-style apartment building, and to the narrow path that grants the only access to Aziza and a few other houses. Street vendors' carts were bundled up against the fence that blocked the entrance to Dey Krahorm and they lined the path back towards Aziza, flies hovering around the exposed Chinese sausage and chopped onions. The walkway underneath the building was dark, muddy, and full of trash. And it smelled like it. Thin strips of cardboard boxes and wood were placed intermittently across the walkway so that walking through the filth was minimized. Every few steps, though, resulted in a slight sinking into the mystery muck.
It was hard to recognize Aziza as I rounded the corner and approached from the side (as opposed to head on); the brightly colored paintings adorning the outside of the school were meaningless without the necessary space to create perspective. Inside, a range of students and their families were passing around steaming plates of rice and vegetables. Everyone over ten looked exhausted and broken, with slumped shoulders and deep circles around eyes normally so vibrant and animated. Drew gave a much needed pep talk, praising everyone for the way the handled themselves the day before and reassuring everyone that Aziza would still serve as a focal point for the community and would help coordinate assistance to students and their families.
Shanti came straight from the airport to Aziza and, after getting a tour of the devastation from ground level, we headed up to the roof of the apartment building. The entire area was totally unrecognizable. It was almost hard to feel anything looking down at Dey Krahorm; it was so foreign-looking that it didn't at all evoke the memories of the past year. Within the nine acre plot of land the only thing that remained standing was the bare tree trunk and broken picnic table on what used to be Aziza's concrete playground. The pace at which debris was being removed was startling.
Though I was exhausted, Shanti convinced me to go to the LICADHO office to visit the families staying there. As soon as we arrived, we noticed a few of the families hanging around the outside of the building. The pleasure that our presence brought them was palpable. Whether it was the joy in seeing something familiar after a traumatic thirty-six hours or the gesture of just showing up, illustrating that we cared more than simply teaching and playing with their kids, I am not sure. But it seemed that the fact that we were there truly meant a lot.
We worked our way inside the LICADHO office to where the families were staying. On the ground floor offices were makeshift sleeping quarters with a few rooms devoted to meetings to help evictees register for compensation. Not recognizing anyone, we went upstairs, where we saw many familiar faces. We were greeted by big hugs and equally big smiles from about a dozen kids and smiles just as broad from their parents. Almost everyone was wearing "new" clothes courtesy of donations made to LICADHO. One of the boys, about seven years old and usually fairly reserved, grabbed my moto helmet, placing it on his head and running around encouraging others to hit him as hard as they could. Another boy, about the same age, and usually a bit goofy, was much more subdued than usual; he seemed to grasp the weight of the situation more clearly than others. Other kids simply wanted a hug and to hold our hands. We gave several of the families leftovers from the copious amount of food His Excellency's family bestowed upon us for Chinese New Year.
It was great to see everyone so happy, though I knew that it wasn't true happiness. The reality of the situation - that they had no home, little money (if any at all) and only a very temporary place to stay - had not yet sunk in. Despite everyone's apparent happiness, it was extremely difficult for me to see all of these people in such an artificial environment and outside of the context of Aziza. Regardless of what they had or had not done, these were all good people and each deserved so much better than the situation allowed. The visit, though, had certainly been worthwhile and I was glad Shanti convinced me to go. As we left with heavy hearts, we promised to return the following day.
Though most people were not around when we stopped by on Monday - they were negotiating with the municipality of Phnom Penh and 7NG - we spoke with the director of LICADHO. She was surely extremely busy, but she took some time to give us an update on the situation and to show us a slideshow of the eviction. It was the first time I had seen or really heard about how violent the earlier parts of the eviction were - tear gas, beatings, and the savage destruction of homes.
The following day we visited Aziza at lunch. Most of the students under twelve were creating drawings of the eviction on white computer paper with colored markers. Most of the drawings showed backhoes knocking houses and trees down, stick figures crying, and Aziza as a rare bright spot. On one of the drawings, a girl had written "I am scared 7NG kills me" and "I see ghosts" in English. It was very difficult to watch how some of the students internalized the previous Saturday's events. That said, people seemed a bit more settled than a few days before and were starting to figure out how to move forward, with and without the $20,000 they hoped 7NG would provide (in an unsurprising change of heart, 7NG took the offer of monetary compensation off the table and said the only possible settlement would be an unfinished home at the relocation site).
On Wednesday we stopped by at lunch again with fruit. Shanti, Mike, and I facilitated discussion with some of Aziza's leadership students and they really seemed to step in to take a leadership role, each assuming responsibility for ensuring a particularly needy family was equipped with basic necessities and organizing to make sure that young children had someone to look after them and older kids made it safely to school every day.
We returned briefly in the evening to drop off some extra blankets and sheets for everyone that was still using Aziza as a temporary shelter. Meta House, the German House, was hosting a tribute of sorts to Dey Krahorm, with a photo exhibit of the iconic apartment buildings and a recent documentary on the community. After it was over, Drew gave an update of the current situation and a few of the students spoke to the crowd of about fifty about how the evictions affected them. While it was hard to watch them get so emotional about the injustice of their situation, it was impressive to see them maintain control and, at a minute's notice, address a crowd of fifty in clear, articulate English.
It has now been over a week since the eviction of Dey Krahorm. Though the dust has begun to settle, the trauma and injustice remains. On the Sunday morning after the eviction, I biked over to Aziza for a meeting with Drew and some of Aziza's students. I walked under the stairway belonging to the Soviet-style apartment building, and to the narrow path that grants the only access to Aziza and a few other houses. Street vendors' carts were bundled up against the fence that blocked the entrance to Dey Krahorm and they lined the path back towards Aziza, flies hovering around the exposed Chinese sausage and chopped onions. The walkway underneath the building was dark, muddy, and full of trash. And it smelled like it. Thin strips of cardboard boxes and wood were placed intermittently across the walkway so that walking through the filth was minimized. Every few steps, though, resulted in a slight sinking into the mystery muck.
It was hard to recognize Aziza as I rounded the corner and approached from the side (as opposed to head on); the brightly colored paintings adorning the outside of the school were meaningless without the necessary space to create perspective. Inside, a range of students and their families were passing around steaming plates of rice and vegetables. Everyone over ten looked exhausted and broken, with slumped shoulders and deep circles around eyes normally so vibrant and animated. Drew gave a much needed pep talk, praising everyone for the way the handled themselves the day before and reassuring everyone that Aziza would still serve as a focal point for the community and would help coordinate assistance to students and their families.
Shanti came straight from the airport to Aziza and, after getting a tour of the devastation from ground level, we headed up to the roof of the apartment building. The entire area was totally unrecognizable. It was almost hard to feel anything looking down at Dey Krahorm; it was so foreign-looking that it didn't at all evoke the memories of the past year. Within the nine acre plot of land the only thing that remained standing was the bare tree trunk and broken picnic table on what used to be Aziza's concrete playground. The pace at which debris was being removed was startling.
Though I was exhausted, Shanti convinced me to go to the LICADHO office to visit the families staying there. As soon as we arrived, we noticed a few of the families hanging around the outside of the building. The pleasure that our presence brought them was palpable. Whether it was the joy in seeing something familiar after a traumatic thirty-six hours or the gesture of just showing up, illustrating that we cared more than simply teaching and playing with their kids, I am not sure. But it seemed that the fact that we were there truly meant a lot.
We worked our way inside the LICADHO office to where the families were staying. On the ground floor offices were makeshift sleeping quarters with a few rooms devoted to meetings to help evictees register for compensation. Not recognizing anyone, we went upstairs, where we saw many familiar faces. We were greeted by big hugs and equally big smiles from about a dozen kids and smiles just as broad from their parents. Almost everyone was wearing "new" clothes courtesy of donations made to LICADHO. One of the boys, about seven years old and usually fairly reserved, grabbed my moto helmet, placing it on his head and running around encouraging others to hit him as hard as they could. Another boy, about the same age, and usually a bit goofy, was much more subdued than usual; he seemed to grasp the weight of the situation more clearly than others. Other kids simply wanted a hug and to hold our hands. We gave several of the families leftovers from the copious amount of food His Excellency's family bestowed upon us for Chinese New Year.
It was great to see everyone so happy, though I knew that it wasn't true happiness. The reality of the situation - that they had no home, little money (if any at all) and only a very temporary place to stay - had not yet sunk in. Despite everyone's apparent happiness, it was extremely difficult for me to see all of these people in such an artificial environment and outside of the context of Aziza. Regardless of what they had or had not done, these were all good people and each deserved so much better than the situation allowed. The visit, though, had certainly been worthwhile and I was glad Shanti convinced me to go. As we left with heavy hearts, we promised to return the following day.
Though most people were not around when we stopped by on Monday - they were negotiating with the municipality of Phnom Penh and 7NG - we spoke with the director of LICADHO. She was surely extremely busy, but she took some time to give us an update on the situation and to show us a slideshow of the eviction. It was the first time I had seen or really heard about how violent the earlier parts of the eviction were - tear gas, beatings, and the savage destruction of homes.
The following day we visited Aziza at lunch. Most of the students under twelve were creating drawings of the eviction on white computer paper with colored markers. Most of the drawings showed backhoes knocking houses and trees down, stick figures crying, and Aziza as a rare bright spot. On one of the drawings, a girl had written "I am scared 7NG kills me" and "I see ghosts" in English. It was very difficult to watch how some of the students internalized the previous Saturday's events. That said, people seemed a bit more settled than a few days before and were starting to figure out how to move forward, with and without the $20,000 they hoped 7NG would provide (in an unsurprising change of heart, 7NG took the offer of monetary compensation off the table and said the only possible settlement would be an unfinished home at the relocation site).
On Wednesday we stopped by at lunch again with fruit. Shanti, Mike, and I facilitated discussion with some of Aziza's leadership students and they really seemed to step in to take a leadership role, each assuming responsibility for ensuring a particularly needy family was equipped with basic necessities and organizing to make sure that young children had someone to look after them and older kids made it safely to school every day.
We returned briefly in the evening to drop off some extra blankets and sheets for everyone that was still using Aziza as a temporary shelter. Meta House, the German House, was hosting a tribute of sorts to Dey Krahorm, with a photo exhibit of the iconic apartment buildings and a recent documentary on the community. After it was over, Drew gave an update of the current situation and a few of the students spoke to the crowd of about fifty about how the evictions affected them. While it was hard to watch them get so emotional about the injustice of their situation, it was impressive to see them maintain control and, at a minute's notice, address a crowd of fifty in clear, articulate English.
As the week continued, a sliver of additional normalcy seemed to come with each new day; kids returned to school, fewer people relied on Aziza for food and shelter, and more people were finding permanent or semi-permanent places to stay. But a bitter taste most certainly remained. The realization that there was little I or anyone else could do about the injustice inherent in the situation was humbling. The community I had come to know and enjoy over the course of the past year was scattered, and to an extent, broken. Because of a lack of options and fearing they would get nothing, a number of families moved to the relocation site; students are shuttled back and forth the 20km to Aziza every day by a van hired by Drew. While the tug of distance will surely pull many members of the Aziza family out of its grasp, for the moment, the extended family remains close.
Since my last post there has been some good additional blogging/reporting that's worth looking over: Jinja has a good round-up of news, blogs, photos, etc; On Photography's before and after photo blog is particularly powerful; Ka-Set has another good piece; and David Pred of Bridges Across Borders has an excellent editorial.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)