Missionary Man

Some people have an incredible ability to enter a culture and make themselves a part of it. My elder brother is one of them.

He arrived last Sunday night and immediately came with me to two Weddings. He ate everything, took a swill of beer with every call of “cheers”, played with the local kids waiting for the empty cans, danced with the moto drivers and learnt to say “joom re-up sua” in two seconds flat. The following morning he was off, riding around Phnom Penh on our pushbike with a map and a note written in Khmer “please call this number…” in case he got lost (he never did). Later in the week, I found him shirtless down at the corner playing volleyball with the “boys”. He even helped us host a party for the Khmer physios on our rooftop.

Nothing overwhelmed him. Nothing shocked him (except that we buy meat from the local market). Nothing got him so angry that he wanted to tear his hair out. He didn’t once gripe about cold showers, rice for dinner (again) or pushy market sellers. He smiled, nodded and waved his way around Cambodia, charming all (even picking up a fourth placing in a mountain bike race held over the weekend).

Mark, you’re a legend. Thanks so much for coming to visit your little sis. Sure you’re not feeling the call??