A truly great Christmas gift

One of my favourite Christmas carols is "The Drummer Boy". It is the fable of a poor young boy who doesn't have a gift for Jesus at His birth. Instead he plays his drum to the best of his ability and receives the ultimate response - a smile from baby Jesus.

Here’s a similar but true story that made the news here in Cambodia this Christmas. May you be inspired for a wonderful New Year.

American teen brings new school, Internet to rural village

Hundreds of Cambodian villagers welcomed the arrival of a new school yesterday, a gift from an American teenager who raised $52,000 after reading about the hardships of growing up in Cambodia.

Rachel Rosenfeld, 17, made her first visit to the Southeast Asian country for the opening of the R.S. Rosenfeld School, which brings five computers and Internet access to 300 primary school students in a small village of Siem Reap province, a poverty stricken area that is home to the country's famed Angkor Wat temple complex.

Rosenfeld, of Harrison, New York, said she learned about the village of Srah Khvav after reading a newspaper article last year that discussed the plight of poor Cambodian children who often have no access to education. The American said she was horrified to learn that some young Cambodian girls end up being sold into prostitution by their parents.

The teen said she set out to help after spending most of last year battling a stomach disorder that caused her constant pain. She required months of medical treatment that forced her to miss a year of school.

To raise money, Rosenfeld sent out hundreds of fundraising letters, sold T-shirts and offered naming rights for several structures in the school, a statement said. The $52,000 she raised was supplemented by the World Bank and the Asian Development Bank, which contributed $10,000 and $13,000, respectively, said her mother, Lisa Rosenfeld.

"It makes me feel great to know that I was able to help so many people," the teen said when contacted by telephone.

"Just seeing everyone so happy. It meant a lot to me."

She was accompanied by her parents, grandparents and her brother and sister.

Children in white shirts and navy pants, the Cambodian school uniform, stood in two neat lines and clapped as Rosenfeld and her family arrived. The students pressed their palms together in a sign of respect and thanks.

"Going to school is very important to everyone's future," Rosenfeld said at the opening ceremony, according to a statement. "If I can build this school, then each of you can set goals for yourselves that you can reach."

"Aim very high, and you'll be surprised what you can achieve," she said.

Ung Serei Dy, an education official from Siem Reap province, said the school was only one of two in the village.

"The school donated by Rachel Rosenfeld is very important to us," he said, adding that she had "set a standard that all of us should learn from."

Source: People’s Daily Online

Christmas

The guests have left. The kids are in bed. The dishes are pre-rinsed and the house is semi-tidy. Christmas is over for another year. Phew!

I actually had my most enjoyable Christmas Day since arriving here in Cambodia. We are house-sitting for friends who live in an exclusive gated-community attached to an international school. So while we help by caring for their much-loved dog, we can also help ourselves to the school facilities over the holidays including pool and playground, and enjoy the lifestyle we take for granted in Australia.

Breakfast was spent around the pool while we enjoyed bacon, eggs and freshly baked croissants. We then each chose a gift from the TEAR catalogue to send others less fortunate – goats to a family in India, schooling for a child in Cambodia, organic gardening assistance to someone in Afghanistan. Throughout the day I received a number of text messages from family and friends. This afternoon we enjoyed salad, ham and lamb roast while spending time with a group of Aussie friends, laughing, eating, playing games and doing a theatre sports-style nativity play for the kids.

Not bad considering Christmas is just like any other day here in Cambodia. No public holiday, just a normal everyday kind of day… just like the day when God entered the world.

The day that Jesus was born, there were no Christmas lights, except a star only noticed by foreign star-gazers. No carol services, except for an extraordinary chorus of praise sung by a host of angels to a bunch of shepherds. No family gatherings, just some strangers who came to see the new born and his young parents.

No feast. No tree. No presents (the wise men came later). No cards. No last minute shopping trips. No stress (except for the new parents, I guess) … just Jesus.

Each year, I struggle with the inadequacy of our Christmas traditions to reflect my appreciation and joy at the arrival of Emmanuel “God with us”. Most traditions just seem to distract and stress me. Lighting a candle and singing a Christmas carol with the kids each night for the month of December is probably the simplest tradition we have, and it has become the most meaningful.

Merry Christmas, Jesus. I love you.

My ecological footprint

In the September issue of TARGET magazine by TEAR Australia, I found out that if every person in the world lived like the average Australian we would need four worlds to sustain it. Maybe this statement doesn’t mean much to you, but it grabs me to the core and shakes me, shouting “What are you doing?!”..

A quick survey on my ecological footprint from the Victorian EPA website gave me little comfort. It told me…








It seems that I need 4.6 global hectares of the 1.9 hectares that would be environmentally sustainable. Of the four areas measured (food, transport, shelter and goods/services), the largest slice was food (!!!) being a staggering two thirds of my total consumption. It seems that I am already taking some significant steps in the other areas like limiting use of my car by walking to school… and it didn’t even ask about my electricity usage which would be significantly lower than average as we have no hot water or air conditioning.

With limited alternatives for slimming down my environmental impact, I must consider my diet. OUCH! It seems that my love of animal products, including dairy, is my downfall. Also, I am using far too many pre-packaged foods. To consider major change in this one “sacred” area of my life, I had to go back to some other core values.

Micah, a minor prophet in the Old Testament, encouraged the Israelites to “Act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with your God”. To me, it would only seem just that I humble my lifestyle and take only that which is sustainable for us all. My life is an example to my Khmer friends (whether I like it or not) of what can be achieved through development… and it needs to be sustainable or else I am a hypocrite at best.

The EPA web-site had a number of simple ideas for change which can actually have “multiple improved benefits including economic savings”.

Steve has made more progress than me so far. He has bought a bike and is riding to work. He is also cutting out dairy, switching to soy milk instead. We already eat vegetarian 2 nights a week.. and the thought of more is a little difficult for my carnivorous appetite to swallow. For me, change needs to occur through baby steps.

Friday morning last week, I stopped by a neighbour’s road-side food stall on the way home from dropping the kids to school. She was selling little soft round rice flour cakes called “noum groouk“. They were delicious, cost only $0.25 for 6 and I even got a chance to chat with another neighbour who had stopped also (multiple improved benefits!). If I remember to take my own container next time instead of using the polystyrene takeaway box, I might even reduce my footprint a little further.

Happily odd

My friend gave me a great compliment the other day.

We were running some errands in my car, when I began having trouble seeing through the dust covering the windscreen as the afternoon sun dropped in the sky. (My car is constantly dusty, even after a wash it’s only a matter of hours before it again looks like a red matchbox car that’s been lost in the garden for months.)

So while I waited for her to collect a box of veges, I hopped out grabbing the green and pink feather duster which was fortuitously hidden between the seat and the door. I gave the windscreen a good rub and then moved to the rest of the car, rearranging the dust as best I could.

At that moment, my friend returned with her purchases and exclaimed, “You look like an eccentric”. I gripped my feather duster triumphantly while she shook her head at me. I was so pleased by her playful tease. I have lived far too long concerned by what others think.

Being a foreigner here has helped me to start to grow up. I am an outsider, an odd looking stranger who talks funny (and therefore must be stupid) and has bizarre habits (like chewing with my mouth closed). I am hugely different from those around me and so I am not so worried by what people think of me anymore.

However, the litmus test will be when I am able to wear green teddy bear pyjamas to the market like many young Khmer women … without fear of being caught by a foreign friend.

On being a Mum

I am a Mum. It is my current role, job, ministry, burden and profession. I’ve only got one chance at it and I want to do it well.

So, like any serious worker, I am intentional about professional development. Over the last six years this has included reading numerous parenting books, seeking God for wisdom, strength and the occasional miracle, and asking lots of questions of those who have gone before me. In particular, I target women who are a couple of steps ahead of me and grill them to determine the secrets of their success.

It happened again the other day at the school athletics carnival. We were sitting on a mat in the shade of gum trees (yep, another Australian export). The other Mum had an extra five years of experience over me. It started innocently enough. “How are you? How’s your work? How are the kids going?” The general chit chat.

Gently I pressed further. “Are the kids happy here in Cambodia?”

Her yes only encouraged me to push harder. “Why?” She openly shared about different reasons and I stored each new idea away as something to ponder later.

I then moved to her work in Child Protection (she’s a gold mine, I tell you), before she looked at me and interrupted the flow of the conversation.

“You always do this to me, you know”. Whoops.. Sprung!

“Really?” I faked. I joked it off, “Ah, that’s why you avoid me.” I wondered momentarily if she was going to charge me for her time…

Then we were back into it. Addressing abuses of children’s rights in Cambodia. Policies. Training insights.

“Most people, particularly Christians, think of child abusers as in some other category separate from themselves. But I begin the training stating that we are all child abuses – the Khmer seem to understand that.”

It then got personal. “What makes you a child abuser, Lisa?”

She got me. I knew exactly what she meant. I try hard as a Mum, but when I am tired, busy or emotionally just-not-up-to-it, I charge over the thin line from “training my children in the way they should go” to abuse. But I said nothing, only nodded, digesting this new thought.

She continued. “We then look at managing the stressors”. Yes. Reading books, grilling experts or trying harder is sometimes just not good enough. I need to cut down the stressors – don’t over commit outside the home, look after myself, eat well, sleep and take time work on each relationship including my marriage.

A casualty from the sports day cut short our conversation. We were heading home to tend the wounds when she called out to me, “It’s an important job, Lisa. Don’t underestimate how important.”

Thanks for the reminder. Thanks for everything. The cheque is in the mail...

No one likes funerals...

There is a funeral being held on our street. They erected the tent yesterday morning with the customary white and black sashes and a white “ghost” figure hanging out the front. As you can see, the steel framed tent actually covers the street and when the ceremonies begin all traffic is blocked… only those daring enough to interrupt the mourning of others squeeze past the round tables with white rice bowls and ladle-like spoons.

I walked through there yesterday on the way to school and gave a sad nod to the old man with red watery eyes. The kids strained to get a peek at the deceased’s photo and 2 metre golden shrine (similar to what you might see in miniature in a Chinese restaurant in Australia) set up in the front room of their house. Throughout the day, close friends and relatives dressed in white shirts and dark pants / wrap skirts come to bid them farewell by praying, lighting incense sticks and eating a simple meal of rice porridge.

This particular funeral was Chinese-style with the decorated truck to carry the body to the temple, accompanied by men and boys dressed in yellow satin “pyjamas”. They loudly bang drums and cymbals to send off the spirit. These are interspersed throughout the day briefly interrupting the constant stream of traditional songs of mourning, chanting of monks and plinky plonky music played over loud speaker all designed to let the spirit know that they are being appropriately mourned and can leave in peace.

Ah, peace. The odd Australian unaccustomed to such “noise pollution” from neighbours relishes the brief pauses when the CD is changed. Still others have been known to entertain crazed thoughts of interrupting the power supply. Early in our time here, I tactlessly asked a Khmer friend if she was annoyed by the blaring music and unintelligible chanting. She replied surprised, “No. I pity the family.” Ouch.

Now when the music begins, I take a moment to mourn someone whom I never knew, who died without hope or certainty for what is ahead. And I pity the family who fruitlessly try to send them there.

However, at 5.30am this morning when drums the drums clashed for their final procession, my sympathy was a little difficult to find. Never mind.. I should locate it before the next stage of the grieving process begins in 6 days time.

It's enough for me

Returning to Cambodia is late July this year was very difficult for me. The memory of life in Australia was fresh, making parts of life here a little hard to swallow. Holding the fort and helping the 3 kids settle and adjust left me with little energy.

My husband, Steve, was hanging around home, waiting on word from the boss as to when the next physio training course would begin. He treated a couple of patients but spent most of his time in language learning. When he finally returned to work six weeks later, it suddenly made life easier for me.

Why? Surely it would have been more difficult without the extra pair of hands to help. No, the stories he brought home from the clinic that day made it all worthwhile.

“Mother of one treated for a bad back is now able to have more children”. “Operation for severe back pain paid for by project funds. Grateful man praises God publicly.”

Not headline stuff, but so important to each of their lives. And that it is enough for me… for the moment anyhow.

Counting down

Hours of sleep last night = 5

Times woken by feverish, screaming baby = 4

Hour seriously considered taking baby to doctor = 3 (am)

Worried, hassled and distressed parents = 2

New teeth discovered in morning = 1

Brain activity next day = 0

What's so funny?

A friend excitedly told me the other day of how he was able to share openly about Jesus at a meeting of high government officials. After sharing his faith with them, the highest ranked amongst them said "I have only one thing to say.. The poor people all give gifts to the Wat (Buddhist temple). The Christians give to the poor." Then, they all laughed.

My friend was delighted that we are being a great witness of Jesus' love for people, making other religions look foolish. I was a little more skeptical. My limited knowledge of government officials suggests that it is we who they consider fools for spending ourselves on the poor. Steve's thought that perhaps the official was exposing the irony of Christian giving ending up in the Wat.

But the question remains.. why did they laugh? I decided to take this question to the road and ask my Khmer friends. Here are their thoughts on why the officials laughed...

* They were happy.
* They were surprised by what the top official said.
* They didn't understand what the top official said.
* It shows how people can hold onto two religions at once.
* It shows that the Christians are "buying the hearts" of the poor.
* They laughed to encourage the top official (jokes are funnier when told by people of high rank).

One friend helpfully suggested that the only way to know what the official meant by what he said is to ask him directly... and then he probably wouldn't tell you the truth anyhow.

Hmm. How little we know in this culture and how easily our efforts to serve can be misunderstood.

Some more thoughts...

My friend Pip (see somesaypip.blogspot.com for a great read) has also been thinking a lot about economic development and environmental impact. And she has some good things to share...

Pip notes that trade has many benefits to all nations and within the right structures it can be a powerful tool for development and the ending of poverty. She highlights that trade is not the only cause of environmental degradation and that developing nations often cause major environmental damage due to ignorance or lack of choice. The key is cooperation, accountability and information sharing between countries (pity they have the same problem as me… always misplacing them keys).

It seems that Pip was concerned that my personal response to the issue was over-simplistic. Yes, it was. I meant it as a thought provoker rather than a comprehensive response to the ecological / economic debate. No, I am not for protectionism or economic isolation. I am for taking the issue personally and assessing the environmental impact of my consumption, not assuming that I am entitled to my high standard of living just because “I’m worth it” or “I earned it”. I like to think of it more along the lines of “I am blessed to be a blessing”.

In Cambodia, an estimated 70-80% of the population work in agriculture and yet the nation still imports rice, fruit and veges from neighbouring countries. Within this context, I will continue to swap my Weetbix for locally-grown organic brown rice. It’s just a much better choice all round – even if it is only a small one.

I like Pip’s personal response as a model and example to us all… because she lives it.

“I seek to be empowered to make these issues personal through things such as periodically checking consumption patterns, sharing resources with the poor, living more simply in order to be free from greed, engaging in advocacy as well as enjoying amazing produce from local and international markets.”

Within advocacy, I know she would include prayer… Thanks, mate.

Consuming our World

“Greed is good”, claimed my first year macro-economics lecturer. Every dollar spent on anything from motor cars to manicures multiplies through the economy resulting in improved quality of life for everyone. Sounds great, but is it sustainable?

The new economics foundation, an independent “think and do” tank in the UK, recently released a report, China-dependence, stating..

"From today, Saturday 6 October, the world as a whole goes into ecological debt driven by over-consumption. 'Ecological debt day' is the date when, in effect, humanity uses-up the resources the earth has available for the year, and begins eating into its stock of natural resources. World ecological debt day has crept ever earlier in the year since humanity first began living beyond its environmental means in the 1980's.

The latest available data reveals that the overuse of the earth's resources is much more extreme in rich countries. For example, if everyone in the world wanted to live like people in the UK, on a very conservative estimate, we would need more than three planets like Earth. "

The report highlights that China is a target for conservationists because it is building a coal-fired power station every five days to feed its booming export-led economy. "However, if we all consumed like China, it would take only 0.9 of a planet."

In particular, international trade is becoming increasingly wasteful.

"As the world creeps closer to irreversible global warming and goes deeper into ecological debt, why on earth, say, would the UK export 20 tonnes of mineral water to Australia and then re-import 21 tonnes," said NEF director Andrew Simms.

Other examples in the report included:
· The UK imported 14,000 tonnes of chocolate covered waffles, and exported 15,000 tonnes.
· It imported from and exported to Italy, 600 tonnes of, 'gums and other jelly confectionery'.
· The large, two-way traffic of beer between Spain and the UK is also almost identical in amount.

"And why would that wasteful trade be more the rule than the exception?"

Maybe we really do think that greed is ok.

A quick survey of my breakfast table found milk from Thailand (sometimes it's Uruguay), honey from Vietnam, Weetbix and soy milk from Australia, corn flakes from France, oats from China, and (hooray) rice from Cambodia.

Looks like there is a lot of room for improvement.

Life behind bars

This story is not mine, but was told to me by a team member, Paul. Details of prison life was gained through a report produced by a Cambodian human rights organisation, LICARDHO - "Prison Conditions in Cambodia 2005 & 2006: One Day in the Life of.".

In a jail just outside of Phnom Penh there is a young man who shares a crowded cell with 40 other men.

His offence? My friend dare not ask. He was only asked to visit the young man by his worried mother who now lives in Australia. But somehow it doesn't matter. (A thief has been jailed for 4 years after stealing only US$0.65 while well connected killers go free).

Meals only come twice a day and are always the same - a bowl of rice and a bowl of soup. He has already lost 25kgs. In-mates with supportive families are able to supplement these miserly rations with food bought at inflated prices from the guards who themselves are on inadequate incomes.

The weight loss could also be attributed to the water - usually rainwater stored in large clay pots and used for drinking, washing clothes and personal hygiene. In general, sickness in such crowded prisons is rife and medical treatment, poor. Exercise outside in the prison yard is allowed according to the guards' whims, and in some jails only allowed once a week.

My friend visited this man with the help of Prison Fellowship and therefore was able to avoid paying the US$10 usually charged by the guards. But what he found astounded him. "This guy is so happy, sometimes even happier than me (and I'm a pretty happy guy)."

While still in police custody, the young man was visited by a Pastor and the news of Jesus and forgiveness impacted him. It has changed his life so dramatically that he now says that he is happy that he was sent to jail so that he could know Jesus.

He has served one and a half years of a ten year sentence.

You've got to be joking

A running joke in our family is Steve's lack of success in making funny jokes in Khmer. His style is to translate a joke from English into Khmer, but it rarely works. He just gets a blank stare or polite smile (and a groan from me).

Yesterday, he struck gold.

Steve was walking home from school with a trail of four children behind him who were coming over to play. He commented to a road-side mechanic that he was a "father chicken" (a take on the saying "mother hen").

When he related this story to an "aunty" later, Steve tells me that she laughed uncontrollably and then continued to chuckle to herself over the next while. She even told me the story again today and how she had also told it to her daughters. They thought it was hilarious.

Now, I'm a bit concerned that encouraged by his success he's going to try a few more chicken jokes like "why did the chicken cross the road?". (I guess it was to pick up the kids from school.)

Traffic and ice cream

Most people I know like ice cream. But the traffic of Phnom Penh is mostly endured, feared or despised.

I love it. I love being amongst the scooters and motorbikes, bicycles, carts, cars and landrovers, street sellers, street sweepers, and over loaded trucks, as we all weave around each other and pot-holes in a mad, crazy dance.

I learnt to ride a motorbike in our first few weeks in Cambodia. The thrill of achievement was comparable to when I learnt to ski - exhilarated at cheating death and injury, while mocking the signs advising us to “always ski in control”.

However, control is essential for negotiating the chaotic traffic, as is an understanding of the seemingly nonexistent rules. Maintain your cool. Be ready of the unexpected. Big always wins. Traffic lights and lines are guidelines only. Forget everything behind you. And don’t ever stop, just keep edging forth slowly. The one time I tried to ride according to the Australian rules through an intersection I quickly became entangled with a confused fellow traveller.

Deemed too unsafe for children (me and the motorbike), we gained permission to purchase a tiring tomato red Corolla. This is now my main form of transport for going to the shops, trips to the doctor, visiting friends, taxiing visitors, attending meetings and going out as a family.

For our family outings Steve usually drives. He hates the traffic but he hates not being in control even more. But tiredness and stress affect his ability to remain calm and our trips are often dotted with various exclamations. His agitation began to grate on me but my urgings to “get over it” only seemed to fuel his frustration (particularly if I was the reason he was in a rush).

Finally, we came up with a compromise. Every time he got annoyed with someone he would say the word “ice cream”. It quickly became the main topic of conversation in the car. “I feel like an ice cream”. “Give me more ice cream”. “Chocolate fudge and vanilla ice cream!”.

But our six year old soon admonished his Dad. “I still know what you are saying. It would be better not to say anything, you know.” The four year old disagreed… starting yet another back-seat argument.

On Friday night we went out for (you guessed it) ice cream. Tired after a hard week at work and already one hour in traffic, Steve pressed the keys into my hand. “Wanna drive?”

I grabbed them with silent glee. Bring on the ice cream!

Sisters

All day breakfast. Now that’s my kind of restaurant. Pancakes. Crepes. Scrambled eggs and bacon. Any time of day. Mmmm, heaven. And it is affordable too.

We went there to celebrate our two eldest children filling their garden-style reward chart with laminated flowers, bees, caterpillars and butterflies. It took two whole weeks and a lot of encouragement, but we’d finally made it.

So, tonight we were off to a restaurant that we often drive by as it is close to our house. We managed to arrive soon after 5pm before it’s 6pm closing time (no one seems to want omelets after dark).

While we were ordering, the owner made a passing comment and my ears pricked up. “You are a Christian then?”, I asked her.

She beamed. “Yes. Of course. Since I was 12.”

I almost screamed with delight. (I can be a bit excitable sometimes but it is always wonderful to find a sister – particularly this far from home).

She quickly summarised her life story. An orphan, supported by some foreigners, she started a business at the beach town of Kampong Som. Two years ago, she moved to this prime location right next to a busy market.

While we were eating, she introduced her husband to us, who had just arrived home from work. Others also continued to file through the small restaurant to the back rooms where they all lived. It must be a full house.

We continued to chat as we ordered desert as well. I asked her how business was going. Sometimes busy. Sometimes quiet. The hottest months are always the slowest (I guess it’s because she doesn’t have aircon) which makes it a little hard to pay the rent.

I commented on how affordable the food is… she smiled. “Yes. Some restaurants charge very high prices for this kind of food. But I don’t want to make too much money. I don’t want to make too little money either. Just enough for me and my family.”

Now that's someone I am proud to call a sister...

A lesson in forgiveness

After dropping the kids off to school on Wednesday, I was greeted at my door by two young boys with a cart who were buying recyclable rubbish (or ed-jai). They smile at me like they know me, which is kinda normal as we're pretty impossible to ignore. White skin, big noses, strange contraptions for carrying babies (ie my backpack). But I digress...

I tell them to wait as I hurry inside to find my rubbish - some UHT milk containers, glass jars, an old tap Steve replaced on the weekend and an ashtray left by our tenant. At the same time, I am searching my mind for some hidden memory.

A year ago, I had been dropping off groceries to a pregnant friend who was quite sick. She wasn't answering her door (asleep) and so I squeezed the cartons of milk through the front gate and dropped two breads over. These antics attracted the attention of some local boys who asked me for some of the bread and milk. I refused... it was her stuff! And so I pushed it even further through the fence away from sticky fingers. The boys soon gave up but were obviously brewing up a plan and I was in too much of a hurry to wait around.

As you can guess, my friend reported later that some of the bread and milk was missing. I was furious (particularly at myself for being such an idiot) and later scoured the streets for the little thieves. Unfortunately I have a terrible memory for faces, especially small, brown little Khmer faces... and I couldn't find them. Since then, every young boy who smiles at me down the road with mischief in his eye is a suspect and reminds me of my embarrassment and anger.

But on Wednesday morning, faced with these two young boys earning a living on other people's rubbish, I put aside my hurt pride and warped sense of justice. I grabbed my bag of ed-jai and two packets of biscuits for them to eat down the road, and gave it to them. With this, they also took the internal rubbish I had been carrying for over a year.

They thanked me, rummaged through the bag and then tore into the biscuits. But as I closed my gate and let out a deep, freeing sigh, I realised that I really should have thanked my little ed-jai friends.

Which church?

During my language lesson this week, I was telling my teacher about the sermon at the Khmer church we go to.

I finished by saying “Yeah, I like the Bathroom Church”.

We looked at each other and burst into laughter, thinking about the connotations that our own culture would suggest by such a comment.

But, the correct name when translated into English “dyke” or “dam” might not sit so well for some people when describing a house of worship either.

Why are you always sick?

This was the question my Dad asked me when I called him for his birthday yesterday (at least that's what I think he said over the feedback of the internet phone).

Take this week for example. In our family of 5 we battled coughs, colds, croup, diarrhoea, hives, hayfever, thrush, strep throat and sleep deprivation (that's Mum). Nothing particularly serious... just tiring and pretty normal for life here.

Why?

Maybe it's the fluctuating temperatures of the wet season, mould from months of rain, dust from quickly-dry unpaved roads, smoke from neighbours cooking on charcoal or burning rubbish (including plastic), mosquitoes that carry all sorts of nasties, or the water we trek through down our road after heavy rain because of drains blocked by rubbish. Even water from our tap is undrinkable.

Sure, we take precautions. We are vaccinated against the most dangerous diseases. We clean our floors daily, walls are done weekly. Food is washed in filtered water before cooking. We de-worm ourselves regularly. We sleep under mosquito nets and wear RiD to places that have a recent history of Dengue. We wash our hands and feet regularly and never walk through the house with shoes on. We eat well and try to get plenty of rest.

But still, it only took Noah, our 5 month old, two weeks in the country to contract the biggest killer of children under five - diarrhoea. (Perhaps this also answers the unasked question of why I persist in feeding Noah despite the many problems I continue to have with it.)

A friend of mine studying for her Masters in maternal and child health, tells me that in Cambodia one in five children will die before the age of five. (Compare this to Australia's rate of one in 200). Over half of these deaths are due to diarrhoea, respiratory infections and vaccine preventable diseases. All exacerbated by the fact that 45% of children under 5 are underweight.

In 2003, Government spending on health care was US$3.30 per person (compared to $1892.00 in Australia). These inadequate services simply do not yet reach the poorest or most remote. Lack of treatment simply leads to death or disability, loss of income and perpetuation of the poverty cycle.

Catching up with my friend Phanarath soon after we returned to Cambodia, I learned that her younger sister had died while I was away. It was a rare but treatable disease (just not treatable in Cambodia). The family simply couldn't afford to send her to Thailand and she died before her 20th birthday of what they described as "a rich person's disease". Only the rich can afford to have it.

For me and my family, we have access to medical care, even insurance to charter a medical plane in an emergency that will take us to Bangkok for treatment. We can afford to get sick.

So, when I am tempted to throw myself a pity-party, it is good to remember that we are actually the lucky ones.

let's begin

i am often asked by friends and family "what is life really like in Cambodia?" this blog is an attempt to answer this question through anecdotes, thoughts and the occassional gripe. i would also like to introduce you to some of the amazing people i meet.

personally, it will be a kind of therapy tool for me. writing it down will help me process what is going on around me and maybe even tackle my insomnia. sure, a pen and paper beside my bed would be easier but then i wouldn't be able to share it with you, my friends. i am so thankful that you can join me on this journey. please ask questions, challenge my gripes, and share your thoughts.

and no, i don't have a self-esteem issue. i'm using lower case only because i am holding a baby while typing... sic vita (such is life).