Slums - a visit

A draft of this blog was written in early July 2005, when I was still in Phnom Penh. The day we went into the slums was one of the hardest I experienced in Cambodia and it took a bit of time to put all down.
Now it has been completed and hence posted...


She has a plan she explains: she wants to sell second hand clothing at the market. SHe really likes buisness and being amongst people haggling, bargining at the markets. Before her acid burn accident, she did the hair styles for brides for their wedding day. She explains all of this to use during one of the scar massage sessions - while I massage the scar on the left check and forehead, and then nurse cleans out the puss and dead tissue from the other eye socket (she lost her eye as a result of the acid burn). She has a friend that lives in Phnom Phen - actually it is her adopted mother (when she was young her parents died and this women decided to adopt her on top of her 6 other children. Jesus). She is excited and chippers away at her plans of selling baby clothing at the market. She just needs $50 to buy the initial batch. Just $50...I inquire where she will get the $50. She doesn't know. Yet. But she just needs $50 to buy the first batch and then she will sell the clothes on the market and make enough to buy food for her and her daughter...Is this part of the process I wonder? Is her ambition strong enough to over come the stares and avoidance that her scars will cause at the market? Does she know? Although everyone around realizes that the rejection she will experience at the market because of her deforming scarring, nobody steps forward to tell her that. Is it in anybody's position to make that move ?. Funny game of chess. I gently suggest that she has other ideas just in case this one doesn't work out the way she hopes. But she seems very determined. SHe will live at her step mother's place, start to sell clothes and once she is up on her feet again, she will find a place for her and her daughter to live.

I want to see where she will live with her step mothers. I feel like I am adopting this family of two...I'm not sure why but the option of turing away is not an option at this point. On a personal note, I recognize the fact that I am taking responsibility for another life. That there are wings under which some are finding shelter. My wings do not scare me, however, I am aware of the strength they need in order to nurture and provide.

The following week, in the early afternoon, the PT and I take his moto and pick up ChanNarey and her daughter at the shelter. Chan has a strong conversation with the moto taxi driver - he wants to charge her too much for the trip to the market and to where her step mother lives...I start to move away from them a little bit; I know that because there is a foreigner with them (myself), the price doubles. These are the shadows that we keep moving in, trying to find the best deal.

We turn off the familar main road onto a wide dirt road of an unfamiliar world. We twist and weave our way through the pot wholes, cars, people and dogs, following the bike in front of us so as not to get lost. But inevitably, with the congestion, we do lose them. Not focused on the bike in front anymore, my eyes begin to focus on what is immediately surrounding us - stray dogs, dirty children with ripped clothes who look at us with cool distant eyes. Some children smile shyly and quickly hide their face behind an older kids back. Buildings that seam to be leaning against one another. A cloud of orange dust hangs in the air. Adults with wild eyes and hair satured with the dust; they look exhausted. I begin to sink into my new surroundings. I am aware of my heart beat slowing down. I have no sense of smell, but I am very aware of the new sounds and the colours - everything is set against the orangy-brown dirt and takes on new tones. Lost, we decide to turn around head back the way we came. I feel like a ghost who is silently travelling and weaving through the streets the bear a particular kind of burden.

Suddenly, I see Chan - stepping out onto the road and waving at us. Re-united, we are lead by Chan down a little, windy alley leading away from the main road. The volume begins to go down and specific sounds become more audible - I can hear conversations between people, dogs barking, somebody is running, I am aware of the sound my feet make on small rocks, stepping into puddles. We are met by her step mom at the end of this alley. She is a petite woman - I am struck by the thought that this tiny female body gave birth to 6 children...my head grasps the significance of this and at the same I am in awe and wonder at the capacity of the human body.

She begins to lead us down another maze of small alley ways, and then another...further and further away from the main road and deeper into the soul of this place. I've lost track of how many times we've turned. I feel oddly eternally calm as I enter the heart of this slum with my companions. Houses are layered ontop of one another - it seems as if randomly, in no particular way or organization. Their supports are the shacks on either side. SOmetimes their is alley way leading into another maze of shacks, children, chickens and more puddles. I don't understand how they do not fall apart...they look as if they are made of popsicle sticks and any wind would blow them over. But they endure, survive, stand. This entire place takes on it's misery and poverty in appearance and function. Little children running about slow down to observe us with curiosity. Parents and adults peer out through cloth-covered doorframes, revealing a little bit of their homes to my scanning/absorbing eyes. We continue to walk. I am astonished at the fact that there are so many people condensed into this place and that it expands so deeply...from the main roads, this place disappears - to the outside world, it's as if it didn't exist.

We come the end and walk up three steps on a make shift stair case - which is really a ladder on it's side. We continue on along a narrow plank of wood and turn into one of the many doorways and then walk into one of the rooms - a room comparable to the size a nursery room or an ensuite bathroom in a family home in Canada. This room is their home - the home of the step mother, her husband and her 6 children. I am stunned. I knew about this...I've heard about this...but now, standing here, being here, I am stunned. This actually happens. People actually live and survive like this. I begin to feel the air leaving my lungs. Tears come to the surface, as I am struck with an undeniable truth. Now I understand her expression of dispair, the surrender to circumstance. I accept it and now hope to be a gracious guest.

Against one wall is a massive metal water barrel - the water used to bath, wash dishes, cook. One wall has a window and against it is a wood bed frame the size of a twin bed. Some of the planks in the middle are broken. Dishes and pillows are stored in the small spaces between wooden beams of the wall. Somehow, this family of 7 sleeps, eats and functions in this one tiny room. And they have said that Chan and her daughter can come and stay with them...the degree of love, helpfullness and wanting to help each other floods over me. Even when you think you can't, you can.

I am invited to sit on the bed frame. The physio, also my translator, sits beside me. I invite Chan's daughter to sit on my lap. I play with her hair - this with her body heat somehow calms me down. Everyone else sits on the floor around us. The mother smiles at me and Chan, playing with her hands, rubbing her right thigh. When Chan looks away, I see the expression on the mother's face change and I realize she is very afraid and sad for her step daughter. I don't know what to say or what to do. I feel like I need a few days to absorb this place before I can even begin or engage in any conversation...an ackward silence fills up the room. Chan begins to chatter, smile, laugh a little bit and this seems to melt the ice. As with any human interaction, we begin to talk about the basics - the two wedding pictures nailed to one wall, work, family, children...how hard life is. How we want something better for the future. How we want our children to have a better chance at a better life: A common thread running through the fabric of human existence.

One of her daughters is the same age as Chan's daughter. I see them eyeing one another. I ask if she goes to school. Yes, she does. About 2km from here. She walks there every day. I ask if we can go see it. As we leave the room, I look back and see Chan and her mother huddling together on the bed of broken wooden planks, comforting one another with tender jestures two women who are close to one another will do.

Back on the dirt paths, the two girls begin to talk to each other. They have a quick, brisk pace, strong eyes, determined eyes. Beautiful smiles which they do not express randomly. Their expressions are serious most of the time, very particular and true. Their instincts are fine tuned -about their surrounds and the people that they come across. They are not innocent or naive. I am amazed that such young girls can know so much already. Each one takes one of my hands and begins to lead they way to the school...they have a beautiful quality about them: they are not over-taken by grief and disappair... and I'm inspired by it. Being in their hands, I realize that their is always hope. That in something god-awful and terrible something beautiful can be found.