The Mystery Illness and 2 gallons of rice porridge

So I have been sick. It's super lame. With what? Who knows. This is Cambodia. Could be all sorts of fun things. I am better now so it is inconsequential, though my mother is convinced it was swine flu. I guess we will never know. As lame as it has been to have zero energy and feel like crap-it has also had its upsides. For example, I have learned about lots of things that Cambodian people do when they are sick. One of these is coining, which is where they take tiger balm and a coin and rub it super hard along your back and neck, and sometimes chest (depending on the ailment) until you have nice linnear bruises. There is actually supposed to be some truth to the symtom releif that accompanies it, perhaps it activates your immune system...who knows. It was suggested that I undergo this process but I chickened out. Maybe next time. My two personal LEAST favorite things people do here when they are sick are as follows:

1) staying active, for some reason the concept of resting to let your body repair itself so non-existent.
2) Rice porridge. My host mom made me a HUGE amount of rice porrige (huge for someone with no appetite unaccostomed to eating such things), which is pretty much just smashed up rice in hot water. This was a kind gesture but I still couldn't eat it and when Peace Corps staff came through that evening to take me to a hotel in town to rest/recover my host mom looked at them and said "well, I gave her rice porridge but SHE didn't eat it." As if to say that I would be fine and not need to go into town if I had just eaten the gallon of rice porridge.

On the upside. I have been in an airconditioned hotel room for 3 nights and am feeling much more alive.

Yesterday was the first day I felt up to doing anything more than laying in my hotel room watching CNN. I ventured out on the town a bit more and discovered two interesting things:

1) Massages are never a sure thing here. I tried the "oil massage" option thinking there was no way it could be anything but what I was looking for - that being a back and neck massage to help with the headache and the stiffness from being in bed for a few days - turns out it was a massage of just about everything but your neck and back. Mostly legs actually. It was pleasant enough but the best part was at the end when the massage lady absolutely refused to let me put my bra back on by myself. I was confused...but have learned not to ask questions. I didn't really get what I was looking for out of the massage, my neck is still in pain and I am out some cash, but hey...I made a new friend.

2) I am no longer good at telling when western men are hitting on me. I found myself in a situation yesterday where I was confused as to whether or not I had just had a legitimate conversation or been fed a very bad line. This would not have occured in America. I was pretty good at spotting these things at home. Here I have grown used to the obvious; "you look beautiful today, do you want a khmer husband?...do you enjoy looking after children...?"

That's the latest.

Signs of adaptation:

This past Sunday I set off from the family restaurant close to 8:00am with the hope of figuring out how the parking system worked at the market and crossing my fingers that in making the trip I would figure out what time the church across the street started. It proved to be one of the better mornings I have had since arrival at permanent site. I wandered the market for a while chatting with some of the sellers and purchased a rather fantastic hair clip. It was in the shape of butterflies and flowers, but did not have glitter, and I felt that was an accomplishment. Eventually I wandered over to the church and. It was an interesting experience in general, all religious affiliations aside, but for me it was amazing how something still so foreign could feel so much like home. I was greeted very warmly and found myself at one point with a microphone at the front of the room talking about myself in Khmer. A little unnerving given how much I tend to detest such things! It was in a small one room building and began with worship songs sung from what looked like old hymnals led by the pastor followed by songs by different singing groups. One of these consisted of all the school aged children. The sermon followed and then various announcements and readings from other members of the congregation. Mom and Dad, I am sure if you are reading this you will note the uncanny resemblance this format has to 6th and Gibbs. I had the strangest feeling of being transplanted back in time 12-14 years except all of the people were Khmer and I couldn’t really understand anything! When it came right down to it this church reminded me uncannily of the church I attended with my family as a child (minus the gossiping old biddies…I think).

The fact that you can be a 22 year old female and legitimately be single is a confusing concept I am finding. Last week’s episode with my students indicated this, and this week a conversation with two primary school teachers confirmed it. In yet another discussion about my marital status with two unmarried women around my age I had a heck of a time explaining that I do not have a boyfriend in Cambodia OR in America. I explained that I used to have a boyfriend in America (or perhaps I have even had more than one in my life…) but do not have one now. To this they responded “so how old is your boyfriend in America?” When I finally got it across that I do not currently have a boyfriend anywhere in the world they proceeded to inquire: “so what will you do when a Khmer man falls in love with you? Will you love him back…?” I told them that no one is in love with me so it doesn’t matter. This answer was insufficient as supposedly “that is because you have only been here for 3 weeks, you will be here for 2 years and you are pretty so someone will love you.” I explained that it was important to me to have a husband who understands my beliefs and culture so most likely I would not love him back. To this I was told that I should wait until it happens, because maybe he will be very handsome and then I might love him. I am not used to having hypothetic conversations about my love life or to people being quite so interested in it.

So this last week I had a cough/sore throat; an ailment that seemed to be going around town. Unfortunately my 3 year old host niece caught it as well. I took a lot of airborn and many cough drops and it pretty much cleared up on its own. My host sister took her daughter to the doctor and came home with her hooked up to an IV. WHAT!? No my limited Khmer may not have been adequate to understanding the severity of the situation (however I am inclined to think it was not serious as yesterday she was on an IV and today she is breaking through my headphones with her high pitched little girl laughter) but I am pretty sure it was a cold. It seems like half the time people avoid seeking medical help and resort to things like coining and then when they do seek medical help it is over the top. Not sure though, purely speculation.

Some observations from the last several weeks...
You know are you are being desensitized when:
1) You see a hot monk. No lie, it happened this week and it was weird.
2) Tiny red ants invading your cereal do not deter you from eating it. In fact the chore of picking out the tiny red ants just makes the cereal last longer.
3) The knowledge of how many people will stare at you if you leave the house is no longer enough to keep you from leaving.
4) A rooster sticking its head in your window (on the second floor) in the morning is no longer alarming… it is simply time to get up.
5) Rats are only bothersome if they take your stuff or chew the crotch out of your underwear (shout out to Keiko).

You know you have not been completely desensitized if:
1) You still become irate when obnoxious music is blared from some non-descript location for hours on end (A problem perpetuated by the TV in your own home being turned up to an unearthly volume to compete with the music). Even though it happens every other day at least.
2) You have not yet learned to tune out chickens. I hate chickens now.
3) You are still grossed out by the smacking and slurping of food as well as relatively constant belching and spitting.
4) You still feel the impulse to yell “I AM NOT FRENCH I AM AMERICAN” every time someone yells “Barang” on the street (it is a term used for foreigners but actually means French).
5) You are still annoyed if you arrive when school starts and no one is there!

Dollface Liar?

I am going to attempt this whole blog pre-write thing again. We shall see. Currently I am laying in bed attempting to write while being pelted every 20 seconds or so by the various bugs that are small enough to penetrate my pretty pink mosquito net. This is a minor nuisance except when one of the bugs goes for my eye, but this only happens every few minutes. I am also trying really hard to cough up a lung at the moment.

Last weekend was spent in Battambang town with all of the other volunteers in my province, in turns. I am learning rapidly that I will need to keep those trips to a minimum as I spend roughly 10-15X more money in a given day in town than I do at site (I usually spend about a $1.25 a day on food and that’s about it). It is however worth it for the occasional ice cream Sunday, plate of hashbrowns and toast, or pizza. While most of this weekend was spent eating (quite literally) it did have a purpose. On Monday afternoon all of the K3 volunteers in Battambang met with the POE (Provintial Office of Education) director. To my surprise all of our school directors were there as well. I had only met my school director once, briefly, and he had not been present for the Peace Corps meeting attended by other school directors. Thus, I was quite curious about what he might have to say. After the POE director gave us some information on the current situation with education in our province, he gave each of us and our school directors a chance to say something. All of the other school directors discussed issues they would like to see their volunteers address at their schools in the next two years, as well as mentioning bits about work don’t by previous volunteers. My school director however informed everyone that he would like to work closely with Peace Corps to change the moto policy (we aren’t allowed to ride them) because it makes transportation difficult for me. I could not help laughing at this as the moto policy is a source of irritation (necessary as it may be) for many people in more remote sites and has nothing to do with my role at the school.

The fun did not end at the meeting though, because this is Cambodia. I left the meeting with Katie (another K3) and headed to the taxi stand that heads to our sites. My site is north of Battambang town and Katie’s is west of me down a nasty dirt road. As it turned out, in the 2 days since we had left our sites, the road to Katie’s site had become conveniently under water. It was passable by large vehicle, but those weren’t running at 5:00pm. So we got to have a nice sleepover at my house. My host family generously put her up for the night, but I paid for it (figuratively speaking). You see, Cambodians (I have observed) LOVE to compare. The following day, after Katie had made it home, I got to hear all about the differences between us: “Katie knows more Khmer than you, she can listen to Khmer better and say more than you, but she has short hair and your hair is long. Why don’t you know as much Khmer as Katie?” and just in case it was not enough to compare me to Katie, they decided to dive into the comparisons with the K1 who was here before me. “Meghan, Teacher Liz knew a lot more khmer than you, you are smaller than her though. She knew how to eat more Khmer food than you. When she went back to America she cried because she did not want to leave. She will not forget us, but you maybe will forget. She ate fish and cuitio….” And so on and so on. It is just unfathomable to my family that I prefer other foods to cuitio (Chinese noodles with meat and veggies) for breakfast. Such is the lot of the first round of volunteers to fill replacement sites in Cambodia! I suppose I just need to remind myself that the previous volunteer is likely their only frame of reference to Americans, they want me to speak more Khmer because they care about communicating with me, and my choice to not eat cuitio for breakfast would be something like someone choosing to eat plain toast instead of waffles.

On a lighter note, it is always fun to compare stories of the ridiculous or amusing things that people say to us on a given day. Katie had some good ones this week. One of the male teachers at her school asked her “do you feel like a flower today,” the other morning. As we both found this puzzling I asked one of my male co-teachers what this meant. He informed me that a flower was a girl that boys liked to be around (boys are the birds and bees, hmmmm). So basically the teacher asked her if she felt like attracting men that day. Weird. She also got passed a note from a female teacher during a staff meeting which read “I want to sleep with you.” It took a fair bit to explain exactly what that would mean in America, and to decipher what the teacher had actually attempted to communicate. Language barriers, though annoying can certainly be cause for amusement as well.

This brings me to some of the more ridiculous things I experienced at school this week (though I do not think I can compare to having a teacher say they want to sleep with me). I have made the observation recently that every time I divulge my age to a class of students, they laugh. I was very confused as to why this would be the case. I have heard two possible explanations. The first, and most likely, is that some of my students are only slightly younger than I am, if not the same age. Due to failed senior exams, late starts in school, and a wealth of other reasons, I actually have some 11th grade students in their 20’s. The laughter is thus that I have finished “university” and am a teacher at the same age that some of them are finishing high school. I cannot imagine what it would have felt like to have a teacher the same age as me when I was in the 11th grade. The other possible reason I heard from one of my co-teachers was; “The students say you have a face like a doll.” So apparently they laugh at my age because I have a doll face. WHAT!?

So the other day I am in a new class and giving an introduction. I do the usual shpeal about myself and then start answering questions. One of the girls asked if I had a boyfriend. A question I have grown accustomed to getting from them (always followed by resounding laughter). So I said “no, I do not have a boyfriend.” At which point they of course laughed…but then…my co-teacher stood up and said “So, do you believe her?” and they all said “NO!” simultaneously. If I thought I could count on my co-teacher for some backup, I was sorely mistaken. He just said “I do not believe her either.” So basically I am a doll-faced lying little American.

Part way through this week I made a trip to the health center. It is only the second time I have gone as the first visit was slightly discouraging. The director had no idea who I was or that I was supposed to be working there one day a week for the next 2 years. It is tough for me to get over myself and go alone with my limited language ability and no set role. It really was quite fascinating though. They still had no idea what I was doing there but I was able to stay and observe for several hours. I watched baby checkups, various consultations, vaccinations, a malaria test…etc… all in the open waiting area of the health center. The whole confidentiality thing isn’t so much an issue here I think. The nurses seemed interested in having me teach English there in the afternoons, and while this is not how I pictured things going, it may turn out to be an excellent in. Some of the other health volunteers have had an easier go of things in terms of jumping into hands on work at their health centers, and I cannot help being a bit envious. I have to continuously remind myself that every site is different and it will take time to build relationships, to learn language, and to gain the trust of people in my community. I am reminded lately of something that my college pastor said once (shout out to M-Smith); that you can actually do more harm than good for the things you are most passionate about if you are ignorant about them (not a direct quote, but the sentiment is there). Basically, I cannot address the needs of this community if I do not take the time to learn what they are. Jumping in with my ideas of what should be done and how it should be done won’t really benefit anyone if the ideas are not generated from a genuine understanding of the needs of these people. So patience, patience, patience…not my strong suit, but I think if anything can teach it…

A little look at my life...

Some photos for your viewing pleasure.



A meal with the host fam



The children that frequent my house (host neice and nephew in the middle)



My host sister and neighbors making some sort of yummy treat

Living the dream: Week 1

So I wrote out a huge long blog entry and forgot to save it in a format compatible to the computer I am now using. Genius. Anyhow the last two weeks have been a trip for sure. After a big western food party in our training village we all set off for Phnom Penh and swear in then it was time to really begin the journey. I have been in my permanent site for just over a week now and it seems like ages since I got here (in a good way). It is strange to think how quickly you can settle into a place.

I am writing right now from a computer in a primary school near my house. The director happens to also be an english teacher at my high school and has generously offered me the use of the schools internet. There has been no shortage to the generosity of people in welcoming me to this town though my host family has certainly gone above and beyond. It has taken no time at all for me to feel quite at home with them, perhaps because of the resemblance they bare to my own family in America. My host dad is a very quiet man who laughs alot, especially when I do something dumb. My host mom is seemingly a bit abbrasive and a bit nutty but is in actuallity every inch of the over attentive overly concerned mother hen (much like my real mom :)) I have had numerous knocks on my door at night because she suddenly became concerned that I had a fever or that the large mirror in my room needed to be properly secured so it didn't fall on my in the night. My host sisters are wonderful, as are their husbands, and their favorite passtime seems to be mocking me (much like my own caring siblings). There are a ton of kids around all the time and well I have to say kidsa re the same everywhere.

Since arriving here my family has taken care of everything from my meals to calling buses for me when I needed to go into town to procuring furniture i casually mentioned wanting.

Today was my 3rd day observing at the high school and I have been surprised by how much I have enjoyed it. While the lack of organized scheduling has been ocassionally frustrating I have found all of my coteachers thus far to be kind and eager to work with me, and I LOVE the students. I have had to do introductions at the beginning of each of the 11 classes I have sat in on so far and without fail I get qeustions from timid students about my family and whether I have a boyfriend or why I don't have a husband yet. I have been susrprised by how comfortable I have felt in front of them as someone who despises standing in front of people. The longer I am here the more I am seeing how much learning english can benefit these kids and afford them more opportunities for their futures and my excitement to be involved in education here is growing. On a more amusing note, one of the older teachers at the school in formed me the other day that he was puzzled by me because Americans are supposed to be big and strong, but I am little like a Khmer girl. Thus I have been here a week and have already been dubbed "the little American."

I have had no shortage of interesting experiences here. My favorite was a few nights ago. My neighbor informed me in the afternoon that that night would be a full moon, she said "tonight there is a full moon so we will meet together and eat nome (friend breads...dessert sorta.)" I was like...why yes of course, there is a full moon so naturally we would meet together and eat nome. WHAT!? That night after dinner I went to my sister's house where neighbors and friends were gathered. There were tables out in front of all the houses with candles, insense, and bowls of fruit and nome. There will children running around with paper lanterns and the whole thing was quite beautiful in an odd way. I am still not entirely sure what was going on but I think they were offering food to their passed relatives (this is a common practive here) and then after several hours they brought the food in and had a nice feast of it.

Needless to say I am learning leaps and bounds every day about language and culture and myself.