Love/Hate -- Appreciate

I have been going through a bit of a love-hate relationship with Cambodia over the past few months, undoubtedly related to becoming a mother and the shift in perspective that brings about. I don't think I allowed myself to really stop and take in the fact that not only were we making a monumental change in having Henry, we were also moving out of our home for the past six years, and into the city. I have never lived in a big city before, especially not one that comes with crazy moto traffic and city-wide power outages. Our move to Cambodia in 2012 was cushioned by the fact that we lived on campus at Liger. We had air conditioning in our bedroom and a super quiet, comfortable village existence. We always said we had the best of both worlds -- the Khmer village and close access to the city, only 20 minutes away by moto. We went into the city 4-5 times a week generally, either to work out or go to dinner or grab groceries. It didn't seem like it would be too big a change to just move there. However, now that we are here, I am realizing that by living out at Liger, I was still insulated, either by circumstance or choice, from some of the issues this country faces. 

Currently, Cambodia is experiencing their hot season with temps reaching into the high 90s every day and very little to no rainfall in most provinces. As a result, the amount of electricity generated by hydropower has decreased to the point where the government has been forced to schedule half-day power cuts in different parts of the city. This has been going on for about two weeks and will continue until the rain returns -- usually mid to late May. Of course, it's an inconvenience. Of course it sucks because it's 100 degrees in your bedroom by 9am. Of course it makes everyone a bit more on edge, a bit less patient, a bit more sweaty. But it has also given me, for the first time in my life, a real, honest and empathetic look into the lives of the millions of people who live off the grid every day in countries around the world. Worrying about milk for the baby spoiling. Worrying about him waking up from his nap because the fan shuts off. Worrying that the city power won't go on before dark as promised, and the tiny kernel of fear that chaos will break out. 

Since moving into the city, I have been commuting to and from work each day, which averages around 45 minutes by motor scooter. I leave around 7:10 to make it to work by 8 and usually have time to stop for a coffee. I have perfected my route and often see the same people each morning. The middle class family of mom, professionally dressed dad and two kids, a boy and a girl, coming out of their home and walking to school, lunch boxes in hand. The collection of six or eight men stocking motorized carts, covered with plastic goods, getting ready for a day on the roads, selling their colorful tubs, buckets and baskets. The moto driver in the funky neutral hued camo vest perched on his bike on the corner by the gas station. The dark-skinned Little Person, most likely homeless, sitting on his short plastic chair by the huge intersection of three major thoroughfares, collecting riel and dollars from passersby. It never ceases to break my heart and bring a tear to my eye when I see a clearly impoverished Cambodian, often riding a rickety bicycle and wearing provincial garb, pedal slowly by this disenfranchised and stigmatized man and pass him 500 or 1000 riel (12 or 25 cents). Every penny counts to them both, so the gesture is immense.

Jeff has always said that he can judge his mood based on how he reacts on a ride to or from the city. There is so much to see, so much human interaction happening on the streets, so many smells and sounds. If he takes it all in, marvels at it, remarks at it and smiles, he is in a good mood. If it causes him chagrin, he grumbles about it or ignores it, he knows he's in a bad mood. I have begun to agree with him, and take it a step further. On mornings of optimism, when the traffic lights are all green and the air feels cool and I know I am not going to be late for work, I feel a genuine sense that we are all in it together. All of us on the roads are working together to get everyone where they need to go. On one morning like this, I saw a man on a moto use his larger vehicle to block car traffic and go out of his way to help a little girl on a bike cross a major road. That gesture stuck with me. But, on mornings when I leave late, hit a pothole, am in the righthand "lane" and someone to the right of me cuts me off to turn left (no really, this happens all the time), my stomach clenches with fear of being in a road accident, I lament being covered in dust and breathing in the polluted air, I curse ending up behind the Cintri garbage truck on the one lane road, and I know I am not in a positive headspace. As I said initially, I have recently been in a love-hate relationship with this country.

Just last night, one of our neighbors asked us if we'd heard about the 17 year old girl, the daughter of a prominent ministry official, who drove her Range Rover through the packed city streets at 65mph and killed a girl about her age who was riding a moto. I hadn't. So glad you shared. Oh, there's video of it? Cool.

Last week, when reviewing protocols for road accidents with our staff, ensuring that they understood we are covered by insurance for leaving the scene of an accident, our Director made the point again that we are not in the Western world with Good Samaritan laws and hit-and-run lawsuits. He noted that just last week a man on a larger moto got into an accident with a smaller moto, and though it was not his fault, an enraged and ignorant crowd grew into a mob, ultimately killing the guy on the larger moto. Their definition of justice.

Last weekend, an acquaintance of ours, a Western man involved with a Cambodian woman, lost his children. Quite literally, he returned from abroad and was unable to discover the whereabouts of his three and four-year-old daughters. His panic bled into us as we sat by the pool with him and looked at Henry, imagining how we would feel if he was lost in Phnom Penh. Thankfully he has now found the girls and they seem to be just fine, but it was a stark reminder of how easy it is to disappear in this country.

I think it's also hard, in general, to talk to family and friends about the downside of living here, because we know that many of them think we're crazy to be living here in the first place. If I had a dollar for every person whose eyes grew large and expression changed to shock when I told them I was giving birth in Cambodia...well...we could afford to get Henry onto the USC crew team too. We don't want to talk about the negatives because we feel like we're arming them with even more reasons why we should come back to the US.

I know I don't deal with change well; I am a slow transitioner. We moved to the city September 1 and Henry was born one week later. The first three months, I was basically inside our apartment with a newborn -- I wasn't commuting or fully immersing myself in the city. And we had power all the time. Since January, the reality of our new situation, both the good and the bad, has really hit me. It's important to me to take the time to process all the aspects of this new chapter of our lives. Savor it. Challenge it. Integrate these new experiences into my existing understanding of this country so far.

I look forward to creating an even deeper connection to Cambodia -- it just might mean traveling a sometimes scary, always sweaty, meandering path to get there.

An emotional gate in our neighborhood