Kidneys and Khmer

This past weekend was quiet, suffice to say. I was off-kilter with delayed news from home regarding when my step-father Tom would be going into surgery for a long-awaited (read: two years) kidney transplant. It was on. Then it was off. Then it was back on, baring any complications. The end of this story (with many more chapters to be written, including the battle of balancing anti-rejection medication for a man with diabetes), is that he went in Monday morning with an angry, enemy kidney and came out six hours later with a friendly, healthy kidney. None of this would be possible without the Broderick family, most importantly my Mom's cousin Paul, who actually donated his kidney.

So yes, the weekend acted as a point of pause while I reflected on different possibilities, but mostly tried to keep my mind off all that was happening at home. I read two entire books. I watched three episodes of True Blood. And I had an event that was pulling me through -- a staff boat party on the Tonle Sap river, hosted by our wonderful Deputy Director, Dom and his wife, Benita.

After looking forward to this all day, Jeff and I got on the moto to head in to town around three, just when it started to rain. Let me rephrase that. The very instant I settled myself on the back of the moto and Jeff asked, "Ready?" an eerie calm fell over the sky, the clouds darkened and before we could even make it down Liger's driveway, we were pitched headfirst into a massive monsoon. The rain began to tear from the sky and the wind whipped tremendously. We pulled out of the driveway and made our first left, but after about one minute, it was clear that these were not conditions under which we could safely make it to the boat (a 30-minute drive). We pulled over on the side of the road, seeking shelter underneath a beach-sized umbrella at the edge of someone's driveway. Feeling irritated by our lack of options, since Mr. Da was already being utilized, and frustrated that we hadn't left earlier, we begrudgingly turned around and went home with our tail (moto) between our legs.

After a few hours of rain, things dried up and I started to feel stir-crazy. I asked Jeff if he wanted to go into town for dinner, since I hadn't been out since Friday night. Instead of going all the way into town, we decided to go back to the restaurant where we had our staff dinner the previous week. It is close to Liger, but still far enough away to feel like we are out. After a fifteen minute ride, we parked and walked into Chelsea restaurant. Immediately, we saw some of the waiters who had served us as a whole staff. We smiled, indicated two of us and took a seat. The restaurant has a very open layout, with a laid back atmosphere. One wall features a projection screen playing anything from a Manchester United game to the National Geographic channel to Cambodian music videos. The seating is similar to plastic lawn chairs and there are massive posters on the wall indicating drink specials. You can pretty much drink a keg of beer there for less than five bucks.

I felt the staff become a little bit frazzled when we walked in, but Jeff reassured me and ordered a beer anyway. After a few minutes, we began to wonder if they even had a menu, since the last time we came, Robert's Wonder Woman of an assistant, Navin, had pre-ordered family-style for everyone. Just then, the waiter came over with a menu and a frown on his face. I was still confused as to why there were so many staff members milling around us and smiling awkwardly. As Jeff opened the menu, it became clear. The entire menu was written in Khmer. There was no English and there were no pictures. Shit.

We first decided that we would just finish our beers and then leave to get dinner somewhere else. What we didn't know was that there were already a couple of plans that had been hatched. One involved the owner of the restaurant coming over personally, pulling up a chair and saying in broken English how sorry he was that his restaurant did not "speak English." We promised him that it was okay and tried to explain how we were at just as much fault for not having learned some Khmer. Then, the waiter we most recognized tried. The most we got from him was, "I don't speak English." Okay. But, he also indicated that we should wait ten minutes. Or at least that is what I was able to gather.

A few minutes go by and a man who had just walked in the door, who I assumed was another patron, walked up to us with his cell phone, handed it to Jeff and said, "My brother." This man had called his brother, who apparently spoke English. We were shocked that they were all going so far out of their way to help us idiots who had forgotten their Cambodian-English dictionary on the bedside table. Unfortunately, the man on the other end of the phone was not able to convey our message for fried rice and fish, much as he tried. We thanked the patron profusely. I considered just wandering around the restaurant and pointing to things on other people's tables that looked good, but before I could act, Jeff suggested that we call Navin. Of course. So, we dialed Navin, who works tirelessly and with a genuine smile on her face to oversee all projects big and small that make Liger run smoothly. She, of course, was home on a Sunday night after a week of working close to 60 hours. Navin was happy to help and laughed when she heard our predicament.

Less than thirty minutes later we were eating delicious sweet and sour fish piled with grilled peppers, onions and pineapple, spicy but crunchy morning glories and delicious vegetable fried rice. Our beers were refilled after every sip and kept icy cold*.

*Most beer in this country is served with ice. Even if you try to avoid having ice put in your beer, you pretty much can't. As soon as you drop your gaze to take a bite, those sneaky ice people are over your shoulder plopping a huge, misshapen ice cube into your beer, almost to the point of overflow. They also get a little mad if you don't drink your beer fast enough...

Jeff and I remarked during dinner on the trouble that these people had gone to when they realized that we didn't speak Khmer. We thought about what the reception is like for a Khmer speaker
in the U.S. and how many times people are treated rudely and with disrespect when they don't speak English. I would wager to say that the people who are the MOST often disrespected in this way are from an Asian country. It was just another example of how welcoming and genuinely considerate Cambodian people are.

Below are some pics of Navin -- she's pretty much the best thing ever.

"This day was a mile long."

I apologize for the lapse in scintillating blog posts. Perhaps it is our new schedule, the increase in workload, or that things are becoming more normal and less exciting to report. Two and a half weeks ago, after collecting some baseline math data, my fellow teacher/planner/scheduler/idea-hatcher Jess and I realized that our students, while incredibly bright, have a lot of holes in their math skills. We devised a three-week Numeracy Bootcamp to get them up to speed, and have been carrying it out for the past two weeks. One of the major reasons for our students' faulty math foundations is that the curriculum at their former government schools simply did not expose them to certain math skills and strategies. The second reason is that they have all been taught for the past three to five years in one way, and one way only -- drill and repeat. Our students are all coming from schools where the teacher writes content on the chalkboard, everyone copies it down into their notebooks and then they set about memorizing the notes to recite back the following day. Our kids have never been encouraged to think outside the box, question, inquire, experiment, make mistakes, get creative, problem-solve, etc. We have to practice and support their development of these new skills, or in some cases "relearn" them, before they can begin to absorb pertinent content in the way we are teaching it. Two weeks of bootcamp following a solid month of "Camp Liger" was a bit of a rude awakening, but our students have risen to the challenge and we have done everything we can to make sure that they are having fun.

Each week so far we have identified four major numeracy skills that our students need to work on. For example, last week Jess taught the part-whole relationship/fractions, Jeff taught word problems and Jo did standard and non-standard units of measurement. We took a lot of data the first week and this past week we did more facilitated teaching. However, as I said, we are trying to make it fun. We also have three straight hours in the morning and two straight hours after lunch, all with the same twelve students, so there is a lot of time to play games and take breaks as well. I have happily introduced my groups to "Around the World" and "Heads Up, Seven Up," two games that most of my peers will remember from elementary school. Below is a video of one of my favorite and most exuberant students playing "Around the World," trying desperately to beat his opponent. Some kids were so intent on being the first one to answer that they were clutching their hearts, falling to the ground when they lost, bursting into hysterical laughter and dripping sweat down their temples. I swear that they were all having fun, and Nica, JoJo and I were dying laughing watching them tweak out.

This week, I focused on number patterns and oral language, and one of my activities involved showing the kids four different YouTube videos of number songs. The one that I can't get out of my head depicts three male cartoon characters (one with an afro), dancing under a disco ball as they count down from 20. It's pretty awesome. Then, I asked the students to create their own number songs. The only constraints were that their songs had to have lyrics, props (visuals) and dance moves. Below is a video of one group making a number song to the tune of Marc Anthony's "Rain Over Me." Other kids changed the words to B-I-N-G-O (Liger's morning meeting constant) into: "There was a teacher who loved to count and this is what she sai-aid: five-ten-fifteen-twenty, five-ten-fifteen-twenty, five-ten-fifteen-twenty and she loved teaching num-bers." Most of our kids are still at the stage where they lean on what is known and comfortable and don't want to take too many risks for fear of being "wrong," but they are making progress. I can't wait to give them a song-writing challenge six months from now and see how much they've grown.

Other than bootcamp, Jeff and I have spent a lot of evenings and weekends taking the bike around town and into the city, and are starting to feel more comfortable and knowledgeable about Phnom Penh. On the 15th, our dear volunteer-intern, Clara, who is a former student of Robert's from the Western Academy of Beijing, departed for her second year at Cambridge (no big deal) after working as an instrumental part of our team for six weeks. The overseas staff threw her a surprise dinner at a gorgeous, quite fancy restaurant, where we dined on Khmer cuisine (duck curry...yum) at a table next to a beautiful, fish-filled pool. The next night the entire Liger staff, from the cleaning staff to the kitchen staff to the house parents, went out to a local restaurant to celebrate Trevor's successful visit. Robert, Dom and some of the other admin staff stayed behind with the kids. When the students heard that Robert and Dom would be acting as "House Daddy" for the night, Puthea, the little guy that I posted about earlier, exclaimed something to the effect of: "How the hell can I stay with Dom all night, he only speaks English?!" Both nights were examples of Liger's dedication to and sincere appreciation for its staff.

Meanwhile, rainy season has arrived. We flew into this country expecting constant rain, and when it didn't come, outside of a few hasty showers, the rain relocated to the back burner of our minds. Well, it recently exploded to the forefront in the form of streets so flooded kids are swimming, torrential downpours lasting four hours and dark, ominous clouds that swallow up blue skies in minutes. Sometimes the rain is an excuse to have another beer, like last night when we stayed at one of our favorite bars from 4pm-8pm, but other times it is a pain in the ass. A wet helmet has become the norm, and we have started carrying both of our raincoats in the moto at all times.

With a little less than three weeks until I leave Cambodia for LA and Caitlin and Tyler's wedding, I am starting to get excited, but also nervous about what the jet-lagged, emotional experience will amount to. Lucky for me, Caitlin and Tyler are coming back with me after the wedding to begin their Southeast Asian honeymoon.

I leave you with a photo (care of Nica) of two of my favs, Puthea and Niron.

Red Light, Green Light

"This is a society where red means go and green means go faster." -Robert Landau

I want to start out with that quote, which Robert said during a meeting last week, as it applies to so many aspects of our experiences here in Cambodia. But, before I get all layered and nuanced, it directly applies to the fact that WE RENTED A MOTO! Yes, this past Saturday, Jeff and I tukked into town with Mr. Da, made a depressing stop at the bank (each international transfer runs $35) and then stopped off at Lucky Lucky, the local moto dealer. In all of six minutes, we had paid $40 cash, filled out the most basic of forms and chosen helmets. With a few quick tips from the owner's son ("you probably get pulled over, two dollar; one liter petrol in the tank, get more right away; good luck!"), Jeff gunned the engine and was off. For his first ride, I was much more comfortable on the pleather seats of Mr. Da's tuk-tuk, and it was good for Jeff to have someone to pace with.

Wait, did I mention our bike is bright pink?

Sunday involved living out the Liger core values, moto-style:

1. Determination: Before we even arrived at our first destination on Sunday morning, we were stopped by three police officers for being white while going down an unmarked one-way street (everyone here drives both ways on all streets, all the time). We tried to interact with said officers in the way we have been told to -- turn off the bike, give them three bucks and be on your way. However, these men chose to give us a hard time, asking us where we are from, taking turns speaking so we never knew who to address, refusing to simply take the money and then pocketing Jeff's temporary license. But, determined to be patient and polite, Jeff eventually sprang us by paying 10,000 riels ($2.50) and got his license back. I, on the other hand, secretly flipped them off each subsequent time we passed their location (which was more than once because we were getting the lay of the land...).

2. Ingenuity: We were stopped dead in traffic on the road back to Liger due to a gigantic truck towing a massive cement beam. The beam was not lying flat on a bed, but rather was suspended about five feet above the ground at an angle. There were probably thirty other motos and a handful of cars within spitting distance, all of whom were trying to squeeze themselves around the truck's girth, mildly unconcerned with being decimated in the process. No one had successfully managed. We scooted up the right lane, inches from the beam on our left and inches from the storefronts on our right.

Jeff: "We could just go under.." (indicating the cement beam)
Me: "We are NOT going under that!"
Old Cambodian Man in front: "mumblemumblesmilepoint"
Jeff: "Doing it!"
Caroline: "Okaaaayahhhhhhh!"
Jeff: "How you like me now?! Like a BOSS!" (speeding onto the open road, past astonished Cambodian faces)

3. Appreciation: The ability to get on the bike and go off-campus without waiting for a tuk-tuk or coordinating with colleagues is the most liberating and empowering feeling we have had since coming here. The knowledge that we tackled something together that neither of us had done before and were ultimately successful is even better. From our helmet hair to our swerving to avoid idiot chickens, we have enjoyed it all so far. 

4. Optimism: That being said (Mom(s) and Dad(s)), we are being very careful and planfully optimistic. The moto does not actually go that fast, and we wear helmets at all times. We were able to successfully drive home a blender (in its box), the two of us and a backpack full of groceries without incident, so we are moving toward being authentic Khmer drivers. When I get scared, I just look to my right and make note of the toddler standing up on the seat behind its father, who is driving and talking on his phone, cigarette clenched between his lips (father, not toddler); then, I look to my left and see the infant actually asleep in its mother's arms, sandwiched between its older brother and sister. I tell myself: "Caro, if a baby can do it, you can do it."

That's all for now, as Jeff has just pulled some piping hot arancini out of the oven (three dipping sauces none the less).

If you want to see some fabulous photos of last week's Technology Challenges (fifty kids - a stack of newspaper - make a fashion show), check out my friend/fellow teacher Peter's blog: Bright Uprising

Throw Away Payday (and other mishaps)

Enjoy video of this evening's rain storm taken from our balcony - windows open, fresh air blowing, frogs chorusing...

I want to start with a disclaimer that what follows is NOT a criticism of Liger, my colleagues, the tuk-tuk drivers we know or anything/one else. It is simply the first time that I am detailing a series of frustrating or annoying events since arriving in Cambodia. I hope everyone understands.

1. Our students have lice. They probably had lice when they arrived here three weeks ago and will definitely have lice again, but we did not notice the lice until Thursday morning. Our "lice policy," if it can be called that simply states that students with lice shall be "excluded." Since we have just started this school, there was no lice shampoo on campus, no protocol for communication about said lice among staff and no real understanding among staff about what to do with students when they were found to have lice. I did not know there was a lice issue until I overheard some of a mid-morning meeting I was not even a part of. Hmmm...

Flash forward to a series of events in which all pillow cases and sheets must be stripped and washed. But we only have one set of bedding per student. Whoops -- let's order more! We have no shampoo, so let's send someone off for it. Word comes back that the shampoo must stay in the hair for four hours. We scramble to cancel afternoon rotation and plan a mass shampoo and rinse. When the shampoo arrives, the label indicates it must stay in the hair for TWENTY-four hours. Scratch that, back to afternoon rotations. Shampooing begins after school.

Now imagine: five house parents, two teachers (me and Jess), the nurse and his assistant and about 35 students in varying stages of disarray. The male students are shirtless with multi-colored pajama pants on (some with Angry Birds, others with swimming turtles). The female students are sorrowfully casting their hair bands/clips/bows/ties into big tubs of disinfectant. With nine adults shampooing (highly toxic, so plastic gloves and hospital masks were employed), each child sat on a desk chair underneath House 1. The shampoo was poured into dry hair and massaged in thoroughly for about five minutes, depending on the length of hair (Jess and I tried to do mostly boys...haha) and then combed out. We had to be very careful that none of the shampoo got into eyes, nose or mouth, and then the combs and towels were dropped into disinfectant as well. The chairs got the fire hose later on.

It took an hour and a half. After school. In the heat. Impromptu de-lousing shall henceforth be listed on my resume.

2. Friday night Jeff and I wanted to go to dinner in the city. He picked out an Italian spot near the Riverside and we called Mr. Da to come for us at 6:15. Around 5pm, I get a call from a colleague. She wants to know if we have a tuk-tuk coming and if so, at what time. Other overseas staff are looking for rides. Two plan to moto in, but one more is looking for a ride. We agree that we can take him into the city. Then, Jeff and I start thinking that if we have two destinations among us, Mr. Da is going to feel responsible for picking both of us up on the return trip to Liger.

Sidenote: Previously, we had an incident where Mr. Da made two trips into the city from Liger -- one with the interns at 4:30 and one with Jeff and me at 6. We did not know that he had brought the interns in before us, and thought we had him for the night. We ended up calling Mr. Da for our return trip at 8, only to have to stop and pick up four other Liger staff at their restaurant as well.

We all need to make accommodations, and traveling together is certainly convenient, but on this particular night Jeff and I just really needed a break. Therefore, Jeff went down to speak to the other staff member about perhaps getting another tuk-tuk back from dinner to avoid the situation we ran into last time. He agreed that it was a good idea.

6:15 rolls around and three overseas staff plus Jeff and I get in the tuk-tuk. I expected one. I recover, no problem. Five minutes later, without warning, Mr. Da pulls over on the side of our route and picks up his sister and her baby. This time the person is female, not sumo-wrestly and male, thank goodness, because that makes seven in the tuk-tuk. I am crunched onto Jeff's lap and Mr. Da's sisters' grocery bags are at our feet, making it very hard to sit comfortably. Also, to self-pityingly add insult to injury, I am now facing in the opposite direction that we are traveling, which always makes me feel sick.

We stop once to let off two friends at dinner. We stop a second time to let off another friend. I achingly retire to the seat next to sister and baby, and Jeff and I begin to wonder if we are also going to drop them off before arriving at our destination.

Indeed, we are.

So, after an hour and a half and three stops (actually four, since we couldn't find our restaurant the first time around and needed wireless to check the address), we arrive at our destination. I had been told that nothing in Cambodia is straightforward, but this really took the cake.

3. Final anecdote. On a positive note, we got paid on Friday! Woo! Jeff and I asked Mr. Da to stop at our bank's ATM on the way home to check balances and take out some cash. I took out $200 and happily got into the tuk-tuk to head home. Do you already have an ominous feeling building in your stomach? Well, you should.

We make it onto the road before our turn onto Liger lane (so about 90% of the way there), and Jeff starts to get the money together to pay Mr. Da. He has $13 and wants to give him $15. I look in my wallet and grab my singles and my riels. As I hand Jeff the two dollars that he asked for, he exclaims, "Wait, what?!" and I turn to see money flying out of the back of the tuk-tuk.

It is nine-thirty pm. On a dirt road in Cambodia. And our money has just flown away.

I wildly search my wallet, praying that it was riels, but both my hundred dollar bills are gone.

Jeff yells for Mr. Da to stop (poor Mr. Da) and turn around. I am already frantic, sure that we are never going to find them and am vacillating between tears and hysterical laughter. Mr. Da turns around and we try to communicate what has happened. The tuk-tuk had continued driving for about 45 seconds after the money was lost.

He starts back in the opposite direction and there is no one else on the road, which is unlikely and a miracle, because they would probably have driven by and caused the money to fly even further away.

"THERE IT IS!," I shriek, pointing. I see a bill, folded in half, laying in the middle of the street. Unbelievable. I leap out of the tuk-tuk and immediately three barking dogs lunge at me from the dark yard of someone's house. I scream and jump back in, but Mr. Da snatches up the money.

"Ooohhh. Hundred," he says solemnly, passing it back to me. "Yes. One more. Back." I point.

We keep driving and lo and behold, there is the second hundred. Folded in half, laying in the middle of the road. I let Mr. Da grab it. I also tell him that I have never loved anyone as much as I love him. Then I cry.

"Take us back to Liger." "Liger?" "LIGER."

4. I leave you with two pictures of one of my favorite kiddos: Puthea. He reminds me of Josh Rosenbloom, who I love. The first is from play practice and the second is from the bus back from soccer this morning.