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).