The days begin very early here. The Khmer are up and about by 5:30am. By the time I'm getting on my moped at 7:30am to head off to work, the hustle and bustle on the streets has been going on for a couple of hours. As we drive through town via the main streets, around the Central market and the main temple (Wat Phnom), we pass women carrying baskets of fruits on their heads, creaky bikes loaded up with wicker baskets...a moped with thirty blue plastic chairs on the back seat with the driver somehow hanging onto them with one arm as he steers with the other... kids off to school, mini-vans stacked with things, people and animals heading out to the provinces. Between 12-2pm, in the heat of the day, everybody rests and sleeps; the heartbeat of the city slows and the heat makes the air thick...it sizzles. Having now experienced the tropical heat, I'm not surprised they have the afternoon siestas - in the heat of mid-day the slightest effort leaves one thirsty and healthfully perspiring; energy is quickly depleted and movements slow down. In the afternoon (usually when I'm heading home), it rains for about an hour or two - from a light shower to an intense thunder storm. The gray clouds are heavy, looking pregnant with rain. The rain clouds look as if they are going to sweep the earth they hover above. But the cool waters of the rain and the soft wind is a refreshing welcome after the blinding sun has been at you all day.
The plants and vegetation are beautiful. I realize that I have never really experienced the tropics before. The leaves are lush, the branches wind and twist. The large leaves provide shady refuge from the sun. The palms are huge, with long thin leaves, unmanicured - which to my eyes makes them more raw therefore more beautiful. Some have bananas - small, green and in numerous bunches at the very top. The flowers have a thick, fruity, delicious smell. I love passing by them - their smell mixes in with the gas fumes, burning garbage, cooking. That is the smell of Phnom Penh.
As I become more familiar with Phnom Penh, I am struck by the various contrasts and contradictions that exist here. These contradictions are common to large cities, but here they seem to be more striking to me. There is a lightness contrasted by the despair of the people. ...Driving down Norodom Ave., large French style homes and buildings adorn the street. As we turn the corner, the family that works the newspaper stand is sleeping on the ground and in hammocks. I wonder if they ate something before falling asleep?
...As I walk around, becoming familiar with my neighborhood, I see people have set up tent-like structures along the side walk next to the gate out of which drives out a land cruiser. They squat under there these make shift shelters, in the dirt, eating rice with their hands out of a plastic bag.
...One of the ladies I work with took me to the market - she was curious about how much money people made in Canada. I tried to explain that it is relative - it's not so much how much you make it's more about how much you need to live. I don't think it made sense to her though - she earns $200 per month as an accountant and was shocked that a Canadian can make in one month what she makes in a year.
...As I drink a capaccino at a funky cafe on street 240 (just east of the Victory Monument), there are little children outside begging. As I prowl for "the good buys" at the Russian Market, a burn victim who is grossly deformed approaches me, pan handling/begging - whatever it is called. It stops me dead in my tracks, but I am quickly reminded to only give a small amount (like the Khmer do) and that if I give to one, than "all of them" will approach you. How do you justify not giving? Or giving to one but not the other? At which point to stop and start?
As a major city with a significant foreign/expat presence, I don't think Phnom Penh is a complete representation of Cambodia and it's people. I think that exists in the provinces and the jungles. My curiosity it getting the best of me and this weekend I begin to set out into Cambodia - away from the anonymous comforts of a large city and into the multi-layered heart of a country.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Observing, Absorbing
The brown iodine that is put on wounds mixes with the lotion I use to massage the scars. It makes a funny yellow colour that reminds me of runny mustard. The tissues (scars, skin, musles) are very human but there is one distinct difference - I feel much more bones because there is much less fat. The scars are much thicker and the contractures severe. The deformites none like I have ever seen before. But the tissues and scars and people respond to my hands, to the massage. The scars begin to move, become more mobile. Limbs begin to move. There is less discomfort in their eyes.
There is a very specific smell in the air. A smell that is common here because it is mix of food, bodies, urine under the bed, and open wounds. It is a pungent smell to me - one that I neither like or find disgusting. But it is a smell that I know I will become used to and next week I will not smell it anymore.
My eyes are not used to the fact that there are no IVs or multiple bottles of medicines by the patient's beds. Families of patients continously migrate from one bed to another, or one room to another, to observe what is being done to patients. They don't say very much, just look. My new roommate explained that that is part of the shock the country is still after the atrocities the population here suffered - in the face of something tragic people simply stare. Their gazes follow me as I travel between one room and another. Their faces are serious, their eyes dark and intense but when I smile and say hello, they break out into the most beautiful warm smiles and laughs. I guess sometimes that is all it takes.
I am amazed at how well we (patinets and I) can communicate given a significant language barrier. They are very happy to tell me words in Khmer - "ocun" (thank you), "tee" (no), "paan" (yes). THe staff all speak english and are all very welcoming. I can't believe how well they speak given that many have not taken english lessons for a while now.
I don't know if I'm in culture shock. I'm in purgatory I think. I travel between the "western world" here and "the Khmer world";I have found a beautiful apartment downtown and share it with a lovely Australian woman who has lived here for 18 months. The apartment is something I have dreamed of (and I found it here, in Phonm Penh!!). The Khmer office staff at ROSE are also lovely and have helped me a tremendous deal in setting up a daily moped driver and finding various things - so that has not been a struggle. It has simply been one of those classic cases - ask and you shall receive! I am not used to the poverty, the dirt on the streets, the run down buildings, the lack of safety precautions, the exotic fruits, the bread tasting different. But it would ridiculous to describe this place based on only those variations. I am determined to expand the filters and lenses through which I live the world.
There is a very specific smell in the air. A smell that is common here because it is mix of food, bodies, urine under the bed, and open wounds. It is a pungent smell to me - one that I neither like or find disgusting. But it is a smell that I know I will become used to and next week I will not smell it anymore.
My eyes are not used to the fact that there are no IVs or multiple bottles of medicines by the patient's beds. Families of patients continously migrate from one bed to another, or one room to another, to observe what is being done to patients. They don't say very much, just look. My new roommate explained that that is part of the shock the country is still after the atrocities the population here suffered - in the face of something tragic people simply stare. Their gazes follow me as I travel between one room and another. Their faces are serious, their eyes dark and intense but when I smile and say hello, they break out into the most beautiful warm smiles and laughs. I guess sometimes that is all it takes.
I am amazed at how well we (patinets and I) can communicate given a significant language barrier. They are very happy to tell me words in Khmer - "ocun" (thank you), "tee" (no), "paan" (yes). THe staff all speak english and are all very welcoming. I can't believe how well they speak given that many have not taken english lessons for a while now.
I don't know if I'm in culture shock. I'm in purgatory I think. I travel between the "western world" here and "the Khmer world";I have found a beautiful apartment downtown and share it with a lovely Australian woman who has lived here for 18 months. The apartment is something I have dreamed of (and I found it here, in Phonm Penh!!). The Khmer office staff at ROSE are also lovely and have helped me a tremendous deal in setting up a daily moped driver and finding various things - so that has not been a struggle. It has simply been one of those classic cases - ask and you shall receive! I am not used to the poverty, the dirt on the streets, the run down buildings, the lack of safety precautions, the exotic fruits, the bread tasting different. But it would ridiculous to describe this place based on only those variations. I am determined to expand the filters and lenses through which I live the world.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Pictures Come to Life
I have seen pictures of Cambodia, but now it's 3 dimensional. It's REAL, I can't turn it off… I don't want to turn it off. These people are real- I can see them dusty on their mopeds, or through the wholes in the walls of their homes. Their smiles are warm, their eyes are big, shy, and very penetrating. They are curious but soft in their curiosity - I feel I am invading their space. I am quickly taking on their body language-bowing every time you say thank you, voice becomes a little softer. I feel that every time I step out I sink a little deeper into my new surroundings…
I went to ROSE (the NGO hospital where I will be working) with the Physical Therapist, Mr. Ath, for about 15 minutes when I arrived here to get a sense of it (Mr.Ath is away for 4 weeks on a mission with the army and I am being handed the keys to the physical therapy room). As he is away there is not physio for that time. I hope I can be of help (idea seems to be liked)...Driving across the Japanese bridge, surrounded by mo-peds that have 2 or 3 people on them, riding in streets that have congested traffic, we turn right onto the dirt road that leads to ROSE. Again, I recognized it from pictures, but it breaths, it has it’s own presence, a lightness of sorts created by the whispers and breathing of its patients. It has a sense of peace too I think I have always felt and appreciated this about hospitals – as it is a place where people are safe because they are being looked after. There were not very many patients there because it is the weekend and there is no surgery on the weekends. In one main room there are 3 patients with their families sitting about their beds. In the next room, slightly smaller, there are 2 burn victims. A man and a woman. One was an extensive burn – face, torso, limbs. There was a little girl sitting by her, waving a make shift fan over her face from time to time. I was nervous at first because her injuries were so extensive and her face was completely altered from the burn, but when she spoke to tell us that the third patient was out for a walk, my nervous melted and suddenly I just wanted to help. She is a human being. That’s all I saw. The other patient, a man was lying on his side, sleeping I think. It was hot. It was very hot in the room. I cannot imagine how they were tolerating their injuries and the pain, in this heat with minimal pain killers…and so quite...suffering in silence. I imagine after a while you just do not have the energy to express the suffering one feels.
A quick introduction to where I will be spending the next couple of months. Leaving and weaving back into the traffic, we head towards Dr. Jim's and Kanya's home. The traffic as many had warned and cautioned me about is truly crazy - there are some lights, some lanes when the roads are paved, but otherwise, there is not rhyme or reason and I quickly realized that the less I thought about it, the safer you become because you stop jerking about to every sudden passing car, bike, mo-ped or pedestrian. It is bizarre - the kind of bizarre where you compelled to laugh, because taking it seriously seems ridiculous. But I'm too tired right now to recount it in a "funny" way.
The jet lag comes and goes. I'm still in a bit of a time warp...I don't have a sense of time or days. I feel like every moment counts though and I don't want to waste a single one.
I feel like I have taken the final steps from being an idealistic "student" who is constantly up in arms with the world and the order of things to becoming someone who accepts the fact that that's the way it is and human nature is complex in it's simplicity; that smaller changes over a period of time are more meaningful than grand dreams with no action to follow...I am becoming a realist. My romanticism is reserved for the more private moments...
I went to ROSE (the NGO hospital where I will be working) with the Physical Therapist, Mr. Ath, for about 15 minutes when I arrived here to get a sense of it (Mr.Ath is away for 4 weeks on a mission with the army and I am being handed the keys to the physical therapy room). As he is away there is not physio for that time. I hope I can be of help (idea seems to be liked)...Driving across the Japanese bridge, surrounded by mo-peds that have 2 or 3 people on them, riding in streets that have congested traffic, we turn right onto the dirt road that leads to ROSE. Again, I recognized it from pictures, but it breaths, it has it’s own presence, a lightness of sorts created by the whispers and breathing of its patients. It has a sense of peace too I think I have always felt and appreciated this about hospitals – as it is a place where people are safe because they are being looked after. There were not very many patients there because it is the weekend and there is no surgery on the weekends. In one main room there are 3 patients with their families sitting about their beds. In the next room, slightly smaller, there are 2 burn victims. A man and a woman. One was an extensive burn – face, torso, limbs. There was a little girl sitting by her, waving a make shift fan over her face from time to time. I was nervous at first because her injuries were so extensive and her face was completely altered from the burn, but when she spoke to tell us that the third patient was out for a walk, my nervous melted and suddenly I just wanted to help. She is a human being. That’s all I saw. The other patient, a man was lying on his side, sleeping I think. It was hot. It was very hot in the room. I cannot imagine how they were tolerating their injuries and the pain, in this heat with minimal pain killers…and so quite...suffering in silence. I imagine after a while you just do not have the energy to express the suffering one feels.
A quick introduction to where I will be spending the next couple of months. Leaving and weaving back into the traffic, we head towards Dr. Jim's and Kanya's home. The traffic as many had warned and cautioned me about is truly crazy - there are some lights, some lanes when the roads are paved, but otherwise, there is not rhyme or reason and I quickly realized that the less I thought about it, the safer you become because you stop jerking about to every sudden passing car, bike, mo-ped or pedestrian. It is bizarre - the kind of bizarre where you compelled to laugh, because taking it seriously seems ridiculous. But I'm too tired right now to recount it in a "funny" way.
The jet lag comes and goes. I'm still in a bit of a time warp...I don't have a sense of time or days. I feel like every moment counts though and I don't want to waste a single one.
I feel like I have taken the final steps from being an idealistic "student" who is constantly up in arms with the world and the order of things to becoming someone who accepts the fact that that's the way it is and human nature is complex in it's simplicity; that smaller changes over a period of time are more meaningful than grand dreams with no action to follow...I am becoming a realist. My romanticism is reserved for the more private moments...
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