How everything is not ok: Cambodia Confessions

A good part of Cambodia: My balcony.

I have loved living in Cambodia. I have my moments (who doesn't), but overall it's been a pleasure. I haven't fallen in love with Cambodia the way I've loved other places, but I've warmed up to Asia and I will absolutely return. 

When I arrived, I knew I was going to be here for three years. I couldn't let everything bother me. I learned to either process my frustrations or ignore them. Now with the end in sight, I'm allowing myself to admit my secret anger. Making this list was therapeutic. Now I can admit....everything has not been ok.

Things which make me extremely angry that I've been suppressing for three years.

Very frustrating

• This climate. Chronically sticky, chronically dehydrated. It's so miserable 50 weeks out of the year.
• No parks. Where should I picnic? Where do I go to see trees?
• Weddings/Funerals. I've not been good suppressing this specific point of frustration. I will never understand why people block public roads for loud and private events. 
• Sidewalks turned into parking lots. Where am I supposed to walk?
• Motodups. No. I don't want a moto taxi or a taxi. Ask me again and I'll tell you the same.
• 
  

Somewhat Irritating

• People answering their phones when I'm speaking to them. This is perfectly normal and not disrespectful whatsoever in an otherwise painfully polite country. I've waited up to 15 minutes for people to finish their phone calls while sitting patiently. 
• Sheer women's tops without a tank top underneath. This one I just don't understand. In an otherwise conservative society, even older women do this. Does this mean we're comfortable with our bodies? It drives me crazy.
• Khmer music videos on buses. If I never hear another sad music video where someone dies at the end on a battered bus for the rest of my life, I will be happy.
• Personal questions. Please stop telling me what you think of my weight. I makes me uncomfortable. Please stop asking about when I'm getting married. Must you publicly comment on my facial acne?
• Sour soup. It's wrong. 
• Acronyms. Everything must have an acronym. Also, the acronyms are always in English when English isn't all that common. Speaking in the code of acronyms does not feel as space age as you'd think.
• Exercise limitations. I just want to walk, bike, run... There are no places to do this without fearing for your life, and without being the target of gaping stares. 

Less this post be entirely negative, I've also made a list of things that no longer bother me. 

Things so normal I don't notice them

• Squat toilets. Not a big deal.
• Traffic. 95% of the time, whatever.
• Getting stuck in a downpour. Pull over, buy a 35 cent "raincoat" keep going. No biggy. 
• Rice. Twice a day on average, not a problem.
• Looking bad. Helmet hair, sweat stains, mascara sliding off my face...part and parcel. 
• Seeing women exercising in the gym in heels. Not a problem.
• Construction noise. It all fades into the horizon. 
• Two currencies. Paying for items in a mix of US dollars and Khmer riel, effortless.
• PJs in public. Why not wear my Cambodian "matchy-matchy's" to the corner store?

Oh Cambodia. You have been good to me. You amuse me constantly. In all my whinging, life has been good. 

This Post is for Three

I really, really, really like my privacy. You wouldn't think so as a blogger, but we are all filled with ironies.

When it comes to relationships, I'm more private than usual. Early on, the existence of this person had to be virtually dragged out of me and I secretly resented it. If there's anything I resent, it's being told how I should feel or should behave. I resented being told long-distance relationships are so difficult and I resented the raised eyebrows.

A part of life and relationships is learning to be comfortable with yourself. When it comes to my profession or living locations, I'm extremely confident in my unorthodox choices. In fact, I have this blog where I make snarky self-deprecating and self-righteous comments on this. Yet when it comes to relationships, I can wilt under social pressure. The lesson for year three has been that I'm allowed to be confident in my decision. "This is the person I choose. Yes, we live in different countries. We have lasted all this time. Yes, I still choose him." I remind myself that it doesn't matter. What matters is that something phenomenal exists with someone else that withstands time and space. And for what it's worth, outlasting the impossible is rewarding.

So...three years? Two countries? Two different stories that we somehow intertwine? It's not for everyone. But sometimes you meet someone you can't let go; someone who tolerates the ups and downs, the self-deprecation and the pity, the ongoing narrative of you trying to identify yourself among all the places you've called home and will call home, someone who genuinely appreciates your story, who meets you half way.

For three years with this remarkable person, I would do it over again gladly. Our narrative oddly fits with the narrative of my life. Like my personal narrative, as confusing, indirect, or inefficient as it is, I wouldn't trade it.

How this is life

Southern Cambodia

It strikes me sometimes that I'm a "lifer." Others are sick of Asia, sick of Asian countries, sick of the whole blah blah experience. People I know feel like this. They want/need to go home. I respect that. Honestly, I'm quite done with the climate, the sour soups and can we all agree the sidewalks are for walking and not for driving? We are all different. We all have different strategies of meeting our needs and different currents run through our veins. 

But if I look within myself...this is my life. This is how I live. The notion that I must move to my home country and "settle down" is intensely irritating. I don't do this because I "have the travel itch," or because I want to save the world. I do this because this is who I am, and where I find my heart and soul. I could sooner change my shoe size or my inadequate height. One can grow sick of a country, but one will always seek adventure because one cannot change one's heart and soul. You don't expect it to be easy, but you are compelled to continue. Even though it doesn't make sense, it so clearly does. My goals are relatively simple...live in a francophone country, live in Indonesia, live in Iceland, visit everything else. I don't know what the future holds, but it's a series of adventures to cherish, beautiful places to see and unexpected people to love. It will be perfect.

After so many beautiful and unique and remarkable places...I'm a lifer. 

How We Change (But Not Really)

Back in 2008, I was obsessed with Aristotle and Greek tragedy. I was in love with the style of the narrative; a hero of noble birth who is succumbed by his one character flaw causing a spectacular demise. I thought about Greek tragedy again recently. I'm attracted to the idea of a noble hero with a fatal flaw. Is a possible for a society to have a collective flaw?

Living in Cambodia, I meet people who seem quite Western values and ideas. They no longer use domestic violence, they overcome alcoholism, they educate their children well, they value democracy and free speech, they respect the poor, they are family people and involved in community service. But if Cambodia has one fatal flaw, it's racism. 

Cambodia and Vietnam have a complicated history. Both were superpowers at some stage during which they dominate the other. They seized land which went back and forth for centuries. The French lumped them together and split up the land haphazardly, which was later battered back and forth during the complicated Cold War era. In 1979, Communist Vietnam invaded Cambodia to debunk the genocidal Khmer Rouge Regime. The West calls this a "liberation," the end of the genocide. Many Cambodians call it "occupation," the invasion of a long-hated enemy. The Vietnamese stayed for 10 years until 1989 when the UN took over. The bitterness from my perspective seems somewhat one sided. Vietnam has bigger problems than their poor little neighbor, except when it comes to those islands off the coast. 

This bitter history is recalled in excruciating detail. It's reinforced and routinely exploited, particularly around border issues since there are some islands still up for dispute. Leaders stir up nationalism routinely by reminding their constituents they are one step from Vietnamese clearing them off the map. The racism comes up in normal conversation. All the prostitutes are Vietnamese, I'm told in completely seriousness. All the thieves are Vietnamese. All the cheap products are from Vietnam. An unset stomach is called "Vietnamese stomach." The Vietnamese make coffee with dirty laundry water at their restaurants. The Vietnamese-Khmer shouldn't be allowed to vote.

There is simply no way for us to comprehend this deeply held resentment. I don't have a comparable situation. Every country has their despised immigrants. That doesn't make it any easier, particularly when observing people who have made such progress on their sexism and classism.

I suppose we don't have to be an Aristotelian noble to have a fatal flaw. We just have to be human. You cannot undo centuries of hate overnight. You cannot pretend you understand because you don't. Instead, we celebrate the victories, and think about how to continue building peace in other areas. My country, no country is perfect. We all have our fatal flaws. We can hope they do not become our undoing.

How to Visit Kampot

Kampot Cambodia

Pepper from Kampot is famous. I'm probably like many Americans. I did not grow up thinking pepper was a very exciting spice. Pepper from Kampot will change your mind. It's strong and pungent and flavorful. The only thing I did not do in Kampot was visit a pepper farm. This doesn't grieve me, but I should have done that.

Kampot produces pepper, but is otherwise a fairly sleepy little town and quiet province. It's on a beautiful peaceful river. It's near the famous Bokhor Mountain. It's close to the coast. It has "The Rusty Keyhole" with the best ribs in all of Cambodia. For many of my expat connections, Kampot is a favorite getaway spot and it does have that laid back former-French colony charm that makes for a relaxing long weekend. I can attest now, it's a wonderful long weekend trip.

My first (and presumably last) trip to Kampot was for my third and final organizational retreat. A four-day retreat in Kampot is a new way of organizing our retreats, but a trip to a new place is not something I will whinge about.

Some highlights/recommendations include the following:

• Staying on the river. We stayed at a beautiful little guest house owned my a Frenchmen right on the river which flowed past us into Kampot town and into the ocean. It's a tidal river, so it was exciting seeing the currents change over time. In the late evening, the fishing boats chug down towards the ocean and early in the morning, they chug back inland with the most deafening sounds. You can swim in the river! I did, but still did not dare submerge my head.
• Kayaking on the river. I have recently discovered the joys of the kayak. I do enjoy this exercise, especially on a beautiful river as calm as glass with ever shifting currents. I went with a colleague who loves birding. I have never experienced this activity, but found it surprising relaxing to paddle along the coast while she quested for birds. A new and rewarding experience.
• Rusty Keyhole. I'm not a great meat lover, but these were the tastiest ribs I've ever consumed. They convinced a former and aspiring vegetarian to enjoy a giant piece of meat. I ate until I was sick, and then continued to eat. I will never, ever, ever do that again, but it was the right thing to do at the moment.
• Modern dance. There is an organization in Kampot that teaches modern dance and sign language to deaf children and youth. They are the only group of this nature in Cambodia. One evening, we went for a performance. The most enjoyable part was watching the complete amazement on the faces of our national staff. It is unprecedented. 
• Ocean time. We drove to the ocean one afternoon for swimming in a beautiful infinity pool at a high-end resort. The rain was threatening most the time and made beautiful sky formations. I walked out of their red boardwalk and admired the ocean and the world around me. Cambodia has beautiful pockets of nature. You forget this in the concrete chaos that is Phnom Penh. There are moments where you are overwhelmed with gratitude.

How to become truly beautiful [Khmer style]

Being Beautiful.

What constitutes beauty? This question has kept philosophers going for ages. I will admit in terms of appearances I hold tightly to Western ideals of self-expression; whatever makes you happy! (as long as you're clothed in public). The idea of looking "natural" is somewhat prized. Even when Western women are painted up, they still look largely like themselves.

And then there is Cambodia. It's a bit like Marie Antoinette's France, except the wigs are not as tall. One is feminine, docile, has long fake lashes and perfect white skin.

In Cambodia, before one's wedding, a couple gets photos done wearing formal rented garments (even at the wedding, one rents the garments). It's comparable to the "engagement photo" ritual of North America. Both the western white ballgown, Khmer apparel, and prom-eque attire, or a combination of these options occurs in a variety of formal staged traditional poses. The photos are shared with others, and one is enlarged to the size of a movie poster and displayed at the entrance of your wedding. Expats can participate in this ritual for sheer amusement. One walks into a photo place and requests to take these photos. You choose the outfit. Everything else is determined for you. For some reason, it's just brilliant.

1. Makeup. You sit on a backless stool in front of a makeup artist and you are painted, caked in foundation, given fake eyelashes and made to look so unlike yourself that you startle every time you look in the mirror. The makeup takes a good hour. 
2. Hair. It is teased and expanded and crimped for extra volume. You will be given fake hair to allow the illusion of feminine cascading curls. Bouffants and tiaras are especially popular. This takes at least 45 minutes. 
3. Costuming. You are pinned into your outfit (after they build bigger hips on you) and bejeweled with entirely matching bling. I went with a blue outfit. The earrings, the shoes, the necklace, the bracelets, the hair sparklers all matched accordingly. Once you are pinned in, you can't breathe properly but you are sa'at naah. This is the stage where if you had a male partner, he would have his outfit thrown on and within 10 minutes would be ready. 
4. Photography. You are photographed in front of a green screen. The photographer positions you perfectly right down to the fingertips; shoulders back, back arched, head tilted. You feel like a cross between a drag queen and a Jersey Shore wedding attendee. You feel the most unnatural possible. While I enjoyed my massive bouffant (it was so huge!), I questioned the sociological implications of the process.
5. Conclusions. When finished with the photography, your hair and makeup people wipe you down with washcloths and reclaim the jewels and false hair. You feel relief that you can breathe again, and a little nostalgic that the process is completed because it was rather amusing. 

You claim your photos a few days later. Various Khmer backdrops have been photo-shopped in and your skin has been so whitened that you look like a china doll. It's awesome. Because no where else would this happen. You choose at that moment to forgo social analysis and just enjoy the product for what it is. After all, we do weird stuff in North America as well.

How cynicism is a rite of passage

Finding a rainbow in the midst of a cynical day

Not long ago I went to a network forum. At the table was me, four Cambodians and another expat woman. We were discussing positive changes in Cambodia. We discussed various positive health related stats before the expat woman insisted that we should celebrate the increase of wealth in Cambodia. The tension was remarkably noticeable. It was explained to her that this new Khmer wealth is concentrated within a certain class. She insisted, we should celebrate the rising wealth, and insisted we write it down on our flip-chart paper. Thankfully the session was over before it got even more uncomfortable. It was sometime thereafter I realized that to be a true Cambodian expat, the sign of someone who's put their time in, is a deep unabashed cynicism. 

While hardly a badge of honor, cynicism is in some odd way comforting. It means you've been here long enough to know a little bit (emphasis on, a little bit). You know the game and the players and you feel entitled to make some generalizations. There is a certain comradery to the experience. Cynicism is an unfortunate byproduct of actually reading recommended material and the newspaper. It's a byproduct of working in the peacebuilding fields, the people most aware of the problems. Cynicism comes from looking at other post-conflict countries; Vietnam has Starbucks, Japan has bullet trains, South Korea has Samsung, and Cambodia has...low tech garment factories. The longer you're here, the sadder it becomes, the less it makes sense, it feels so unjust, and the more cynical you become.

Here's just the tip of the iceberg of Cambo-cynicism:

• Declining space for political dissent 
• Continuing political theater
• Corruption 
• Poor communities physically removed from their land in order to make space for commercial agriculture and urban development
• High rates of domestic abuse and child abuse
• Human trafficking, including child trafficking
• Dangerous work environments in the garment industry
• Failed prosecution of Khmer Rouge leaders 
• Continued regional animosity over land rights
• Unabashed racism
• An awful climate [Constant heat breeds bitterness. Try it. I dare you.]

I don't want to be cynical. In no way is this a virtue. But I struggle endlessly with the nagging fear that we're doing everything wrong. Maternal mortality and HIV/AIDS numbers have gone down in recent years. There are good things! But it's just so slow and so many people are hurt in the status quo. 

The best I can do is leave my anger at the door of my office, to nurture things which bring me joy, and to routinely leave in order to gain perspective. When one becomes hopeless, one needs to go home. Hopelessness does harm. Instead, we strive to be patient, gracious, and open-minded. I'm looking for a hurricane of change instead of appreciating the whispers. There are whispers that will continue beyond my short stint here. While there is still so much pain under the surface, so many unaddressed problems...well...we choose not to loose hope anyway...and try to keep that cynicism in check.