My school is pretty awesome as well. I teach grades 10, 11, & 12, currently with a Khmer teacher but that will probably change. The school is grossly understaffed. There is only one official English teacher, and he teaches every class that he can. Two other teachers teach when there are time conflicts. There is also a problem of materials. While students must take three years of biology, all they have are tiny photocopied books with outdated black and white drawings. The biology asked me to teach him how to mix chemicals, since he had memorized formulas but had never in his life seen a lab. The need here is overwhelming. Everyone wants me to help with things that are so far beyond my control. It’s really hard, because I want to help, I just can’t.
I also teach the school faculty three nights a week. The school director is quite a character. He lost all his money after the coup in ’97, so his friend made him the director of the school, even though he’s never taught before. Normally, that would be a recipe for the disaster that is the Cambodian educational system. But this guy believes in open communication, which isn’t something one finds a lot of here. His belief in this principle is so strong, in fact, that he never stops openly communicating. He is definitely the most high-strung Cambodian I’ve ever met. We had a meeting with all the students last week, to go over the schools rules and regulations. He not only told the girls not to wear skirts above the knee, he actually got out of his chair and acted out wearing a short skirt and having your butt fall out. It was fantastic.
The other teachers are pretty cool. They are all about getting away from the textbook (which is a much better aid to sleeping than learning). There are two very nice female teachers, but most are single males under 30. And five of them live in a dorm at the school. It’s like a little Khmer frat house. Good times. They definitely rock the butt slap, I swear it’s like a football huddle sometimes.
A week ago, the fine staff at school threw a “party” for me. By “party”, I mean there was literally a cow roasting in the school courtyard, I was given a mysterious blue beverage, and watched everyone get ridiculously drunk. Then there was dancing. Traditional Khmer dancing is lovely, but when they try to do anything modern they look like stoned American Idol wannabes. The problem with Khmer parties is that one has to be ridiculously drunk to enjoy them. I was not ridiculously drunk. I was also wearing my teacher clothes. A word about teacher clothes, friends: they make me want to cry. Teacher clothes consist of a baggy button down shirt (under which another shirt must be worn) and a long Khmer style skirt. While the fabric is beautiful, it is also synthetic, making these skirts incredibly hot and constricting. In the Cambodian heat, it is no fun at all. So why do I wear these clothes? Because for some reason it makes them super happy. They keep talking about how beautiful it is (and trust me, by western standards this is the most unflattering outfit ever) and how I’m different from other foreigners because I dress like Khmer people. Only for you, Cambodia, would I dress like this.
Today I took the day off from school to come to my provincial town. I came by taxi because I need to purchase large items and because I am “not allowed” to bike the 18 mile distance by myself. Ugh. My only complaint about site is that the people are freaking over protective. It is understandable, Khmer would never think of biking 18 miles. It just isn’t done, especially by girls. I have yet to figure out what exactly good Khmer girls are supposed to spend their time doing, but it involves not wandering around on a bike. The morning I was supposed to bike to the provincial town, my co teacher came to my house and forced me to take a taxi. While I know it was done out of concern, my American sensibilities were still incensed that someone had the audacity to dictate to me what I could and could not do. But I think I’m wearing them down, they are slowing growing less resistant to the idea. And if they still don’t let me go in a month, I’ll get Peace Corps to tell them that I will have to leave if it really is too dangerous for me to bike. It really isn’t too dangerous, but they are super scared that Peace Corps will pull me out.
This fear has been compounded with the recent events on the Cambodia-Thai border. I don’t know if they’ve been reporting on it in the states, but two Cambodian soldiers were killed when fighting broke out at Preah Vihear. Nobody expects the situation to escalate, but is still rather worrisome. They have just concluded talks which eased the situation, but didn’t really resolve anything. I live fairly far from the Thai border, so it has had very little effect, but in a country where memories of war are all too recent, folks are uneasy.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7672506.stm Follow this link for more info about the dispute with Thailand.
But back to the taxi thing, taking a taxi isn’t all that bad. One has the most interesting conversations with fellow travelers. If there are middle aged women, you will learn who is sleeping with whom (it’s like Cambodian ‘Desperate Housewives’), if there are middle aged men, you will learn who is bribing or beheading whom (it’s like Cambodian ‘Sopranos’) and if there are just men, well I try to pretend I don’t understand Khmer. That is getting to be rather hard in my village, since everyone has heard that I can speak a little. I definitely had a random dude start a personal conversation, and when I pretended not to understand, he said “I know you speak Khmer”. Busted.
In answer to recent questions: Yes, by all means use the post office box. I don’t remember what it is but Whitney has probably posted it. For those of you who don’t know Whitney, ask my mom, she knows more about my friends than I do:) I am definitely keeping Pat in my prayers, please let me know how he’s doing.
One last thing: You have all been fantastic about sending me very useful things, and I really appreciate. With Christmas and my birthday coming up, you might be tempted to send me nicer things. Please do not. I completely understand your wanting me to have certain things, but one of my biggest struggles is convincing people I don’t have a lot of money. As soon as I tell people I’m American, they respond ‘oh, so you’re rich’. This is a problem, because all these people know about the US is that there is less trash and people make more money. While that is true, they have no concept of how much things cost in the US. Here, breakfast will run you about a dollar, a pair of shoes, maybe two, and a bag of laundry detergent is maybe 50 cents. To them, America is completely sterile, and its people have unlimited amounts of money. This leads to questions such as ‘Teacher, may I have $3000 for my first year of college?’ Here, money is perceived differently. People always ask how much your things cost, how much money you have, how much you make, how much your parents make, etc. I always either answer ‘Enough’ or ‘I don’t know’. A lot of this is cultural. Because this society is based on patronage, people with money are highly respected. Also, the Buddhist belief in Dharma means that rich people must have done something right in a previous life to have so much in this one. I personally think another reason they are so obsessed with money and rank is because of Khmer Rouge. Communism didn’t do so well here, and with everyone having either witnessed a brutal murder or had a family member murdered (many witnessed the brutal murder of family members) it’s understandable to want to stick it to Pol Pot posthumously.
At first glance, you don’t see the remnants of that era. While the poorest country in the region, Cambodia isn’t third world by any means. The people here aren’t starving. They have phones and motorbikes. There are small vendors all over the roads, and all provincial towns have internet access. But when you look my closely you can see the scars on people’s bodies and minds. Hollow eyes and bullet wounds are common, but it is estimated that nearly everyone born before 1965 suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. So you have generation of people with tenuous mental health, and a generation raised by them. It makes it difficult to deal with change. They know things are better now than they were before, and they know just how bad things could get. Life may not be perfect, but it’s better. They don’t want anything to change that delicate balance. Wow. This is a long post. But I haven’t been able to write in a while so I hope you all enjoy it. Love and miss you all!
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