In preparing to leave Cambodia for a year, I am more intentional in taking my camera to the places we frequent often but don’t ever capture on film. Even took it to our last game of touch footy three weeks ago.
Thanks guys. It’s been fun.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
In need of a chill pill...
A couple of weeks ago I went to a language conference in Thailand. It was remarkably informative and inspiring for my “volunteered” role as language facilitator for our Cambodia team. I also thoroughly enjoyed spending time connecting with the other facilitators from our teams across Africa and Asia.
But the greatest joy was each night before turning out the lights I would snuggle into bed with a novel (frivolity!) borrowed from the library there. Before I even opened the cover I would just laugh out loud at the bliss of it.
My room-mates thought I was a little crazy. They may be right. But it comes from laughing too rarely and taking life far too seriously. If I had to find just one word to describe our household, it would be “intense”.
In an effort to reverse the effects before we all end up in the nut house, I am brainstorming ideas as to how to inject more laughter and life into our house… but they all seem … well, frivolous! For example, I could make “time-wasting” my new year’s resolution … except that I have far too much to do. Or I could put on a funny DVD… but I really have to get into the packing.
It frankly seems beyond me. What I really need is a friend to hijack me, force-feed me a big steak and chips followed by chocolate mud-cake smothered in cream, and make me laugh until I cry.
Weekly, preferably, but fortnightly will do.
But the greatest joy was each night before turning out the lights I would snuggle into bed with a novel (frivolity!) borrowed from the library there. Before I even opened the cover I would just laugh out loud at the bliss of it.
My room-mates thought I was a little crazy. They may be right. But it comes from laughing too rarely and taking life far too seriously. If I had to find just one word to describe our household, it would be “intense”.
In an effort to reverse the effects before we all end up in the nut house, I am brainstorming ideas as to how to inject more laughter and life into our house… but they all seem … well, frivolous! For example, I could make “time-wasting” my new year’s resolution … except that I have far too much to do. Or I could put on a funny DVD… but I really have to get into the packing.
It frankly seems beyond me. What I really need is a friend to hijack me, force-feed me a big steak and chips followed by chocolate mud-cake smothered in cream, and make me laugh until I cry.
Weekly, preferably, but fortnightly will do.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Homeland
Yesterday a neighbour called out to me and told me that she’s off to America at the end of this month (Embassy-willing). Two of her daughters are already there and setting up house. It took an educated guess that the destination she was trying to pronounce was “California” (there are many Khmer already there). They don’t plan on coming back any time soon so I need to stop by soon for a visit to say goodbye.
It is such a common desire. So many friends are keen to leave here and try their luck in the West. We’ve been asked to sponsor a Christian NGO worker to go and pick apples in Australia, leaving his wife and new baby in Cambodia. We refused not out of stinginess but out of a love for them and Cambodia, wondering what would happen to this place if all the Christians left.
Then this week, I attended a conference for the Micah Network on establishing a plan for Integrated Mission. One of the case studies was by a young Khmer man (probably my age, actually) from Teen Challenge who have a youth drug-rehab ministry. As he spoke, you could just tell that he loves Jesus. He also loves Cambodia.
As he was talking about why a family is better than institutionalised care, he asked us “You know how I know this is true?” Then, answered with “Everyone thinks that America is better than Cambodia. Or maybe Japan or Europe. But I want to tell you something… I’ve been to Canada and I know different.”
There was a chuckle from the audience where Khmer outnumbered the foreigners 20 to one. Everyone there knew some foreigner who had relentlessly (and mostly unintentionally) insulted this country by making comparisons with their own country.
“There I had to eat hamburgers for breakfast, lunch and dinner until I was sick of hamburgers. I was just dying for some sour tamarind soup. Oooh, that would have been nice.”
We were all laughing by this stage. The sour soup really is great! And it was refreshing to hear someone insulting the West.
Then he had us in stiches as he wrinkled up his nose and said, “You know, it also smells”.
It was an uproar. The wonderful lady next me was a little concerned I would be offended despite my laughter. She leaned over and said just one word in English, “Homeland”.
There really is nothing like being in your homeland (which my neighbour is going to find out the hard way). Many of my struggles here are not because Cambodia is worse than Australia (although Australia is now #2 on the UN’s Human Development Index compared to Cambodia’s ranking at 137 … not that we should compare) but because Australia is my home.
It’s a good reminder as we pack up and head home in less than a month (for just a year).
And then there will be times when even Australia doesn’t match up and I will have to remember that in the eternal scheme of things we are all only travellers passing through to our eternal Homeland.
It is such a common desire. So many friends are keen to leave here and try their luck in the West. We’ve been asked to sponsor a Christian NGO worker to go and pick apples in Australia, leaving his wife and new baby in Cambodia. We refused not out of stinginess but out of a love for them and Cambodia, wondering what would happen to this place if all the Christians left.
Then this week, I attended a conference for the Micah Network on establishing a plan for Integrated Mission. One of the case studies was by a young Khmer man (probably my age, actually) from Teen Challenge who have a youth drug-rehab ministry. As he spoke, you could just tell that he loves Jesus. He also loves Cambodia.
As he was talking about why a family is better than institutionalised care, he asked us “You know how I know this is true?” Then, answered with “Everyone thinks that America is better than Cambodia. Or maybe Japan or Europe. But I want to tell you something… I’ve been to Canada and I know different.”
There was a chuckle from the audience where Khmer outnumbered the foreigners 20 to one. Everyone there knew some foreigner who had relentlessly (and mostly unintentionally) insulted this country by making comparisons with their own country.
“There I had to eat hamburgers for breakfast, lunch and dinner until I was sick of hamburgers. I was just dying for some sour tamarind soup. Oooh, that would have been nice.”
We were all laughing by this stage. The sour soup really is great! And it was refreshing to hear someone insulting the West.
Then he had us in stiches as he wrinkled up his nose and said, “You know, it also smells”.
It was an uproar. The wonderful lady next me was a little concerned I would be offended despite my laughter. She leaned over and said just one word in English, “Homeland”.
There really is nothing like being in your homeland (which my neighbour is going to find out the hard way). Many of my struggles here are not because Cambodia is worse than Australia (although Australia is now #2 on the UN’s Human Development Index compared to Cambodia’s ranking at 137 … not that we should compare) but because Australia is my home.
It’s a good reminder as we pack up and head home in less than a month (for just a year).
And then there will be times when even Australia doesn’t match up and I will have to remember that in the eternal scheme of things we are all only travellers passing through to our eternal Homeland.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
The Bold and the Beautiful
One of Ridge’s teenage sons from his first marriage, Creek, was out partying on the weekend and was involved in an accident on his motorbike. Amongst other things, Creek’s hand was mauled badly and looks like it will need to be amputated. His Mother, Dawn, has contacted her niece-in-law, Carly, who lives in the city working as a cleaner, with the hope that she will be able to help pay for the operation and hospital expenses. Carly agrees to help some.
However, her own meagre resources are stretched after paying for the face-saving Wedding of Brook, her orphaned teenaged niece, to her 17 year old boyfriend/lover. After getting married, Brook’s husband refused menial work like labouring in the fields because his Dad was head of the village. He has big plans for renting out farming machinery but has no investment capital. Brook got tired of her lazy husband bumming off her and she gave up her job working in a factory. Now Brook comes to Carly in tears because they are out of money and her husband is hitting her. His parents agree that Carly should help financially because she is Brook’s closest relative.
Hearing that Carly is helpful, Ridge’s second wife, Sandy, has asked Carly to take in one of her five children so that he can get a better education in the city. Of course, Carly would need to pay for schooling and upkeep. Carly is angry. When she complained to her ex-husband (who ran of with his lover) that he should pay something towards their own daughter’s education, he refused pointing to the recalcitrant non-paying Uncle Ridge as a fine family example. The insult that Uncle Ridge’s second family is seeking her help leaves her fuming.
That’s just this week’s episode. The other week, Ridge’s brother, Peak, was shot in the stomach when a thief stole his motorbike. His school aged son, Hill, was also shot through the hands with the same bullet as he rode pillion hugging his Dad. Despite being ostracised by this family for her differing religious beliefs, Carly was contacted in the hope that she would help to pay for the operation needed to save Hill’s hands.
Could it possibly be true? What do you think?
However, her own meagre resources are stretched after paying for the face-saving Wedding of Brook, her orphaned teenaged niece, to her 17 year old boyfriend/lover. After getting married, Brook’s husband refused menial work like labouring in the fields because his Dad was head of the village. He has big plans for renting out farming machinery but has no investment capital. Brook got tired of her lazy husband bumming off her and she gave up her job working in a factory. Now Brook comes to Carly in tears because they are out of money and her husband is hitting her. His parents agree that Carly should help financially because she is Brook’s closest relative.
Hearing that Carly is helpful, Ridge’s second wife, Sandy, has asked Carly to take in one of her five children so that he can get a better education in the city. Of course, Carly would need to pay for schooling and upkeep. Carly is angry. When she complained to her ex-husband (who ran of with his lover) that he should pay something towards their own daughter’s education, he refused pointing to the recalcitrant non-paying Uncle Ridge as a fine family example. The insult that Uncle Ridge’s second family is seeking her help leaves her fuming.
That’s just this week’s episode. The other week, Ridge’s brother, Peak, was shot in the stomach when a thief stole his motorbike. His school aged son, Hill, was also shot through the hands with the same bullet as he rode pillion hugging his Dad. Despite being ostracised by this family for her differing religious beliefs, Carly was contacted in the hope that she would help to pay for the operation needed to save Hill’s hands.
Could it possibly be true? What do you think?
Work in Progress
I almost removed my recent post on marvellous melons as it was attracting a little un-wanted attention from ogling Googlers (they seem to have passed on now). While they would have been sadly disappointed, I am also aware that my recent blogging outbursts have not been particularly gracious, loving or kind.
Obviously, I am not the greatest example of someone who walks with Jesus … and I am nothing like Him.
When I am hateful, intolerant and impatient, He is only ever loving, patient and merciful (SO patient with me).
His love for is never-ending. His forgiveness is far-reaching. His creativity is unmatched. His wisdom is beyond anything we can ever fathom. His ways are just.
I’d hate anyone to judge Him on my example. So for my friends who are not yet Christians, please don’t let me be the only “bible” you ever read. Go get the real thing. I’m still a work in progress.
Obviously, I am not the greatest example of someone who walks with Jesus … and I am nothing like Him.
When I am hateful, intolerant and impatient, He is only ever loving, patient and merciful (SO patient with me).
His love for is never-ending. His forgiveness is far-reaching. His creativity is unmatched. His wisdom is beyond anything we can ever fathom. His ways are just.
I’d hate anyone to judge Him on my example. So for my friends who are not yet Christians, please don’t let me be the only “bible” you ever read. Go get the real thing. I’m still a work in progress.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Before returning to Australia I'd like to get something off my chest.
Maybe I’ve been in Asia too long, but I just don’t understand why Australian women insist on flashing their breasts at strangers, and even worse friends!
We had a visitor recently whose t-shirt was so low-cut that every time she leaned forward (intensely interested in the conversation she was having with my husband) we saw more than her interest. I realise that she wasn’t trying to seduce my husband. But what was she doing? Trying to prove that she is still attractive at 40?
To be fair, she may not have realised her fashion “boob” (I must give credit to my thesaurus for that witticism). I too have made the mistake of wearing a top that swept way too low - I was six-months pregnant and the bridesmaid’s dress had fit just fine a month earlier. But when cleavage becomes a central part of our wardrobe, what are we saying to the world? I value your desire or envy more than your friendship?
So, I’d like to cut a deal with my sisters fond of plunging necklines. I’ll keep my fabulous abs tucked away from your husband’s eyes and you keep your marvellous melons for viewing in your own bedroom.
Sour grapes? Yes, indeed. Mere grapes…
We had a visitor recently whose t-shirt was so low-cut that every time she leaned forward (intensely interested in the conversation she was having with my husband) we saw more than her interest. I realise that she wasn’t trying to seduce my husband. But what was she doing? Trying to prove that she is still attractive at 40?
To be fair, she may not have realised her fashion “boob” (I must give credit to my thesaurus for that witticism). I too have made the mistake of wearing a top that swept way too low - I was six-months pregnant and the bridesmaid’s dress had fit just fine a month earlier. But when cleavage becomes a central part of our wardrobe, what are we saying to the world? I value your desire or envy more than your friendship?
So, I’d like to cut a deal with my sisters fond of plunging necklines. I’ll keep my fabulous abs tucked away from your husband’s eyes and you keep your marvellous melons for viewing in your own bedroom.
Sour grapes? Yes, indeed. Mere grapes…
Thursday, November 5, 2009
The Weekend News
Each Monday on my way home from doing the weekly shopping, I buy the weekend paper (confusing the newsstands with why I want old news). It’s actually the colour insert of the Cambodian Weekend that I enjoy flicking through while trying to get two and a half year old Mr Happy to take a nap. Articles range from sneak peaks into the workings of a local factory specialising in “stressing” jeans to a report on a rock concert by a peace activist in Cuba.
This Monday I didn’t even make it to the coloured insert (with an extra few pages commemorating the old King’s birthday). The front page held me.
“Father, Four Sons Electrocuted in Floodwaters” by Phann Ana
A father and his four sons were electrocuted and two others were injured in Phnom Penh’s Russei Keo district when an electric cable fell into knee-high floodwaters inside their home, authorities and witnesses said.
The father, Mak En, 65, and his sons Mak Phea, 30, Mak Livon, 28, Mak Livin, 26 and Mak Livan, 23 were all killed when Mr En was electrocuted and his four sons came to his rescue.
“They are all gone!” cried Khin Khon, 58, wife and mother to the five deceased men, at a funeral ceremony held at Wat Uttarawattey in Russei Keo district on Friday. “In just 15 seconds, my husband and four sons… all disappeared.”
Ms Khon and her youngest daughter Mak Dina, 19, suffered electrical shocks and narrowly avoided the same fate when attempting to rescue their five family members who lay motionless in the floodwaters.
Flooding that has plagued Russei Keo district since last year was largely responsible for the deaths, relatives said.
Residents in Russei Keo and other northern parts of the city have said in recent months that the government’s decision to allow real estate developers to fill in natural lakes in the district has lead to severe flooding.
It’s a tragedy on so many levels. In responding to it, my tendency is to despise this country and its leaders that would take $79million to allow the developers to fill the lakes and flood the surrounding suburbs without recourse.
But as Steve reminds me, it’s because of the darkness that we’re here and the hope that it can change that sustains us. Hate momentarily energises us, but will eventually only drain us.
I just pray that I can gain some clear direction over the next year to know where to invest my heart and skills, and gratefully give up my treasured Monday rest-time with the coloured lift-out.
This Monday I didn’t even make it to the coloured insert (with an extra few pages commemorating the old King’s birthday). The front page held me.
“Father, Four Sons Electrocuted in Floodwaters” by Phann Ana
A father and his four sons were electrocuted and two others were injured in Phnom Penh’s Russei Keo district when an electric cable fell into knee-high floodwaters inside their home, authorities and witnesses said.
The father, Mak En, 65, and his sons Mak Phea, 30, Mak Livon, 28, Mak Livin, 26 and Mak Livan, 23 were all killed when Mr En was electrocuted and his four sons came to his rescue.
“They are all gone!” cried Khin Khon, 58, wife and mother to the five deceased men, at a funeral ceremony held at Wat Uttarawattey in Russei Keo district on Friday. “In just 15 seconds, my husband and four sons… all disappeared.”
Ms Khon and her youngest daughter Mak Dina, 19, suffered electrical shocks and narrowly avoided the same fate when attempting to rescue their five family members who lay motionless in the floodwaters.
Flooding that has plagued Russei Keo district since last year was largely responsible for the deaths, relatives said.
Residents in Russei Keo and other northern parts of the city have said in recent months that the government’s decision to allow real estate developers to fill in natural lakes in the district has lead to severe flooding.
It’s a tragedy on so many levels. In responding to it, my tendency is to despise this country and its leaders that would take $79million to allow the developers to fill the lakes and flood the surrounding suburbs without recourse.
But as Steve reminds me, it’s because of the darkness that we’re here and the hope that it can change that sustains us. Hate momentarily energises us, but will eventually only drain us.
I just pray that I can gain some clear direction over the next year to know where to invest my heart and skills, and gratefully give up my treasured Monday rest-time with the coloured lift-out.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
There's a millionaire in our bathroom...
Our 8 year old Velociraptor this morning came to me as I was working on the computer to tell me there’s a millionaire in our bathroom … who spent all his money on flies!
I laughed until the tears came (they weren’t hiding far away as I had just written an email to my Mum). Then I tried to photograph his fortune for you all before Steve flushed them all back down the hole from where they'd come. Unfortunately, the photo is not so clear... so please just imagine the millions of flies on the walls.
Thank you, mate. It was a fine way to get back into my blog after a long break (I’ll spare you the life lesson within his joke).
Thanks to all who asked if we were ok. We’ve just passed through the seasonal alternating bouts of sickness and visitors that has kept me far from the computer and with a “to do” list that took longer to write than this blog.
I laughed until the tears came (they weren’t hiding far away as I had just written an email to my Mum). Then I tried to photograph his fortune for you all before Steve flushed them all back down the hole from where they'd come. Unfortunately, the photo is not so clear... so please just imagine the millions of flies on the walls.
Thank you, mate. It was a fine way to get back into my blog after a long break (I’ll spare you the life lesson within his joke).
Thanks to all who asked if we were ok. We’ve just passed through the seasonal alternating bouts of sickness and visitors that has kept me far from the computer and with a “to do” list that took longer to write than this blog.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
A mucous filled mind
It’s the third week in a row I have missed helping out at my 4th Grader’s “Wednesday swimming” because I and at least one of my children has been unwell. Today there were three of us at home.
Blocked sinuses. Coughs. Sleepless nights. Occasional fever. And a lot of whining.
Strangely enough, I haven’t had the head space to blog as there is little inspiration to be found within a foggy head and soggy tissue.
Today I even got fed up with playing with my camera while lying on the couch (there are only so many photos I can take of the kids, my feet, the dining room table, the coat rack, the reflection off the coffee table...).
Maybe next week.
Blocked sinuses. Coughs. Sleepless nights. Occasional fever. And a lot of whining.
Strangely enough, I haven’t had the head space to blog as there is little inspiration to be found within a foggy head and soggy tissue.
Today I even got fed up with playing with my camera while lying on the couch (there are only so many photos I can take of the kids, my feet, the dining room table, the coat rack, the reflection off the coffee table...).
Maybe next week.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The first 50 hours
Over our recent holidays I enjoyed reading Malcolm Gladwell’s latest book, “The Outliers”, where he researches the secrets of the remarkably successful (as opposed to being a success in one’s own mind). While he banished the myth of the self-made man demonstrating the importance of luck and opportunity, he also introduced me to the law of 10,000 hours. Simply stated, work 10,000 hours at something and you will be a master.
The same holidays I also purchased a new camera. My old one had been dropped one too many times and the lens cover could not decide if it was open or closed, preferring the half-awake look. Securing it open with stickytape, I passed the now startled-looking camera onto my enthusiastic children.
Then I spent a week on research. Shying away from the bulky (showy) digital SLR, I finally decided on a compact point-and-shoot used at a back-up camera by professionals. And I love it – to the annoyance of many around me.
This week I wasn’t so well and so had an opportunity to begin reading through the manual in earnest. From the sick-bed, I began exploring the world of ISO, auto exposure and shutter speeds. I have discovered that it will be some time before I am able to choose better than the automatic mode / pre-set scene suggestions.
I’m not sure why but this photo is my favourite from my first 50 hours. Only 9,950 hours to go.
The same holidays I also purchased a new camera. My old one had been dropped one too many times and the lens cover could not decide if it was open or closed, preferring the half-awake look. Securing it open with stickytape, I passed the now startled-looking camera onto my enthusiastic children.
Then I spent a week on research. Shying away from the bulky (showy) digital SLR, I finally decided on a compact point-and-shoot used at a back-up camera by professionals. And I love it – to the annoyance of many around me.
This week I wasn’t so well and so had an opportunity to begin reading through the manual in earnest. From the sick-bed, I began exploring the world of ISO, auto exposure and shutter speeds. I have discovered that it will be some time before I am able to choose better than the automatic mode / pre-set scene suggestions.
I’m not sure why but this photo is my favourite from my first 50 hours. Only 9,950 hours to go.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
A full schedule.. and homework hassles
I missed a meeting last night. Not sure why. After all, it was written on the calendar...
Thanks to Mr Happy I have a full schedule for the next couple of weeks.
He's also given Princess the most original excuse for not handing in her homework.
"My little brother drew on my homework, then stabbed it over and over with a pen, and then for good measure peed on it."
As you do, when you're two.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Tired
People watching (also unfairly known as "staring") is a past-time that Steve and I enjoy and have developed in this stare-friendly country. On a date, we are frequently found watching and wondering at the glorious mix of diners around us - making up stories about who they are and why they are there.
Last Thursday, a particular group near us was bothering me. Although the foreigners were outnumbered by the Khmer, my gut-instinct told me they were new to the country. Over the next while, we worked out the cues...
* one wore a CLEAN white shirt
* they spoke English
* the ladies' coloured hair showed no roots
* they looked "fresh"
Yes. They didn't look TIRED. I'm back from three weeks of holiday and I'm still tired. I'm also suffering from "who would ever want to live here" post-holiday blues. I think I'll keep my mouth shut for another couple of weeks until it passes...
Last Thursday, a particular group near us was bothering me. Although the foreigners were outnumbered by the Khmer, my gut-instinct told me they were new to the country. Over the next while, we worked out the cues...
* one wore a CLEAN white shirt
* they spoke English
* the ladies' coloured hair showed no roots
* they looked "fresh"
Yes. They didn't look TIRED. I'm back from three weeks of holiday and I'm still tired. I'm also suffering from "who would ever want to live here" post-holiday blues. I think I'll keep my mouth shut for another couple of weeks until it passes...
Evictions up-date
The world doesn't stop while we're on holidays (surprised??). So there is a bit to update on the evictions issue...
* The last man standing was forcibly removed later that day.
* Representatives of the Australian Embassy have agreed to visit the communities that have been relocated outside the city.
* Following the Group 78 evictions, the Australian Embassy joined a number of concerned Embassies, the World Bank and United Nations to make a statement against the forced evictions of communities in disputed areas.
* For the Khmer, it is getting more and more difficult to speak out. Newspapers have been shut down, editors jailed, politicians fined, human rights workers threatened.
Now that our first level of requests have been answered by the Embassy, it's time to consider "what's next?". Hmm.
* The last man standing was forcibly removed later that day.
* Representatives of the Australian Embassy have agreed to visit the communities that have been relocated outside the city.
* Following the Group 78 evictions, the Australian Embassy joined a number of concerned Embassies, the World Bank and United Nations to make a statement against the forced evictions of communities in disputed areas.
* For the Khmer, it is getting more and more difficult to speak out. Newspapers have been shut down, editors jailed, politicians fined, human rights workers threatened.
Now that our first level of requests have been answered by the Embassy, it's time to consider "what's next?". Hmm.
Friday, July 17, 2009
What can one man do?
If he dares to speak up, his voice will be heard.
One man who dared to speak up was an American friend of one of our group who had a chance to meet with the Australian Prime Minister at a function in Rome. He asked his Aussie friend if there were any issues he could raise with the PM and we emailed him a copy of our Embassy meeting notes / briefing material relating to Group 78 and forced evictions in Cambodia.
In a stroke of brilliance attributed to his wife, he transformed these notes into a personalised advocacy package for the PM replete with a photo of Bonhoeffer's statue (whom Rudd has claimed to admire most in the history of the 20th century) and a quote from Rudd himself - "The purpose of the church is not to be socially agreeable; it is to speak robustly to the state on behalf of those who cannot speak effectively for themselves".
His prayerful approach was surely inspired by the Holy Spirit and combined with the package, this American Catholic Deacon who dared speak up was told by our PM "You've pricked my conscience"(for the details see his article).
Since this time, we have been working on how to convert a "pricked conscience" into the political will to do something. However, today time ran out for Group 78.
On Monday, the Court of Appeal heard the Group 78's appeal (assisted by Community Legal Education Centre) for an injunction to prevent the Phnom Penh Municipality from evicting them before a decision has been made about the legality of the eviction. The appeal was unsuccessful.
On Wednesday, the community protested outside the Canadia Bank who has provided loans funding the development. They then met with the World Bank who has provided $38.4million since 2002 towards the Land Management and Administration Project designed to "establish an efficient and transparent land administration system".
It was their last hope because Friday (today) was the scheduled date for their eviction.
I have been following the events from afar - enjoying annual holidays in Thailand actually. Only able to "speak" with the highest of powers, I have sleeplessly wondered how the residents of Group 78 were holding up.
Today's emails tell me that all but one family has finally accepted the offered package. They were witnesses to the strong arm tactics when their neighbours were evicted and were not keen to watch the violent destruction of their own homes with bulldozers and axes, aided by tear gas and a strong police presence.
One man who dared to speak up was an American friend of one of our group who had a chance to meet with the Australian Prime Minister at a function in Rome. He asked his Aussie friend if there were any issues he could raise with the PM and we emailed him a copy of our Embassy meeting notes / briefing material relating to Group 78 and forced evictions in Cambodia.
In a stroke of brilliance attributed to his wife, he transformed these notes into a personalised advocacy package for the PM replete with a photo of Bonhoeffer's statue (whom Rudd has claimed to admire most in the history of the 20th century) and a quote from Rudd himself - "The purpose of the church is not to be socially agreeable; it is to speak robustly to the state on behalf of those who cannot speak effectively for themselves".
His prayerful approach was surely inspired by the Holy Spirit and combined with the package, this American Catholic Deacon who dared speak up was told by our PM "You've pricked my conscience"(for the details see his article).
Since this time, we have been working on how to convert a "pricked conscience" into the political will to do something. However, today time ran out for Group 78.
On Monday, the Court of Appeal heard the Group 78's appeal (assisted by Community Legal Education Centre) for an injunction to prevent the Phnom Penh Municipality from evicting them before a decision has been made about the legality of the eviction. The appeal was unsuccessful.
On Wednesday, the community protested outside the Canadia Bank who has provided loans funding the development. They then met with the World Bank who has provided $38.4million since 2002 towards the Land Management and Administration Project designed to "establish an efficient and transparent land administration system".
It was their last hope because Friday (today) was the scheduled date for their eviction.
I have been following the events from afar - enjoying annual holidays in Thailand actually. Only able to "speak" with the highest of powers, I have sleeplessly wondered how the residents of Group 78 were holding up.
Today's emails tell me that all but one family has finally accepted the offered package. They were witnesses to the strong arm tactics when their neighbours were evicted and were not keen to watch the violent destruction of their own homes with bulldozers and axes, aided by tear gas and a strong police presence.
The one remaining family is standing firm, rightly claiming the offer is neither just nor fair. Surrounded by police, media and monitors, the man of the house is calling out "You all come here with weapons. My family, we have no weapons. You can use your weapons to tear down my house, but I do not agree."
Please join with me and pray for this one man who dares to stand up to the authorities - praying that his voice is heard before it is hushed. Pray also if there is some opportunity where you can speak robustly for the 150,000 others around Cambodia still facing eviction.Thursday, July 9, 2009
The Embassy visit
Six of us met in front of the new Australian Embassy on Tuesday to prepare for a meeting with the Third Secretary and the head of AusAID. Our purpose was to encourage further action to assist the 150,000 Cambodians currently facing forced eviction from their homes due to land grabbing and development.
A short 20 metre walk around the Embassy's 2 metre high wall took us to a community of around 90 families that is under threat of eviction - Group 78. The land has been valued at $14million. The community has been offered a package totalling $400,000 or be forcibly moved to a relocation site 20kms outside of Phnom Penh.
We sat down in blue plastic chairs at the closest tarpolin-roofed "diner", sipping cold waters over brief introductions prior to the meeting lead by Lisa H (see photo). One woman ran a project at the relocation sites where the former neighbours of Group 78 were violently taken three years ago and who still don't have electricity or running water. Two others live in poor communities that are facing eviction in a number of years. The rest of us were hoping our presence at the meeting would be suggestive of the great interest amongst the Australian expat community.
Issues were discussed and questions were divvied up before we headed into the cold bleak modern building. The Embassy staff had moved in only one week ago and we were apparently the first guests to use the Brisbane Room (which was a remarkably similar size to the 6x4m plots of land being provided at the relocation site).
My mp3 player and phone were kept "safe" at the front desk, but there wasn't much to record anyway. The meeting went something like this.
Blah blah BLAH we're monitoring the situation blah blab blab don't get involved in individual cases blah BLAH blah speaking directly to various members of Government blah BLAH hmmm.
It was disappointing. While they indicated their interest in identifying new opportunities to act, they declined our offer to visit the relocation site or fund coordinated advocacy efforts. No mention of the issue is made in the soon-to-be-released country strategic plan and the new wording within the 2009 budget which aims to provide vulnerable groups with "access to justice" was just extra words and didn't reflect a desire to actually do it.
I thought his one final word of advice was odd "just don't write any letters to the editor". However, I've just read that at the national food security forum held that same day the Cambodian PM stated that a number of foreigners have wrong views and are creating friction between the governments of the two countries involved. In the current environment where newspaper's are being forced to shut down and editors are being jailed for "misinformation", speaking publically on the issue could be a good way to get a fast ticket home.
The Third Secretary's advice was timely and perhaps his (and our) efforts are beginning to challenge the status quo after all.
A short 20 metre walk around the Embassy's 2 metre high wall took us to a community of around 90 families that is under threat of eviction - Group 78. The land has been valued at $14million. The community has been offered a package totalling $400,000 or be forcibly moved to a relocation site 20kms outside of Phnom Penh.
We sat down in blue plastic chairs at the closest tarpolin-roofed "diner", sipping cold waters over brief introductions prior to the meeting lead by Lisa H (see photo). One woman ran a project at the relocation sites where the former neighbours of Group 78 were violently taken three years ago and who still don't have electricity or running water. Two others live in poor communities that are facing eviction in a number of years. The rest of us were hoping our presence at the meeting would be suggestive of the great interest amongst the Australian expat community.
Issues were discussed and questions were divvied up before we headed into the cold bleak modern building. The Embassy staff had moved in only one week ago and we were apparently the first guests to use the Brisbane Room (which was a remarkably similar size to the 6x4m plots of land being provided at the relocation site).
My mp3 player and phone were kept "safe" at the front desk, but there wasn't much to record anyway. The meeting went something like this.
Blah blah BLAH we're monitoring the situation blah blab blab don't get involved in individual cases blah BLAH blah speaking directly to various members of Government blah BLAH hmmm.
It was disappointing. While they indicated their interest in identifying new opportunities to act, they declined our offer to visit the relocation site or fund coordinated advocacy efforts. No mention of the issue is made in the soon-to-be-released country strategic plan and the new wording within the 2009 budget which aims to provide vulnerable groups with "access to justice" was just extra words and didn't reflect a desire to actually do it.
I thought his one final word of advice was odd "just don't write any letters to the editor". However, I've just read that at the national food security forum held that same day the Cambodian PM stated that a number of foreigners have wrong views and are creating friction between the governments of the two countries involved. In the current environment where newspaper's are being forced to shut down and editors are being jailed for "misinformation", speaking publically on the issue could be a good way to get a fast ticket home.
The Third Secretary's advice was timely and perhaps his (and our) efforts are beginning to challenge the status quo after all.
Monday, July 6, 2009
One for the Mums
I wrote this one over two and a half years ago, before I had a blog (with a self-imposed word limit) and before Mr Happy was born. I stumbled on it again recently and thought I would post it. The land issue is particularly timely as I go to the Aussie Embassy tomorrow to speak to them about land evictions (something this "at-home" Mum can do). Any prayers appreciated...
+++
As an at home Mum with two children, I have been asked by other Mothers in Australia "what difference is there between me and you?" In essence, there is little difference. I am a Mum, who wants to reach out to others with the love of Jesus in whatever situations I can.
It's the context that is vastly different. I am trying to be a friend cross-culturally in a language I am still learning (although I pretty good at chatting). I am raising my children in a challenging living environment and must teach them how to live across two (even three) worlds. But most of all, it is the people that are uniquely different. Each woman here has a remarkable story of traying to make a life for herself and her family.
Take my friend, Bun. I have known her for about five years from when we first visited Cambodia. She was newly married then. Now, she has two children but six months ago lost her husband to cancer.
I have listened to her heartache and cried with her many times through the pain of loss, uncertainty and loneliness. I have prayed with her and try to encourage her, but most of all I just try to listen and be a friend.
Today, her loss was raw and while my two munchkins raced around making their own games, I listened again. And we cried.
For Christmas, she and her children went to visit the beach with her former boss who was visiting the country. She had been nervous, but was determined that her kids get their first glimpse of the ocean. They had loved it! Also, the sea air was a tonic for her youngest who had been plagued by ill-health for many months.
While there she also visited some of her husband's friends with whom he had bought some land when they were first married. However, they didn't have good news for her. The land purchased by her husband had been stolen by a powerful businessman to further his business interests in the area (palm oil). It's a common story in Cambodia - the rich steal from the poor and then pay off the authorities. Any attempts by communities and activists to secure justice are blocked by the courts. Some even receive death threats of the non-idle kind.
For my friend, the 15 hectares are not as important as the fact that another link to her husband was cruelly severed. Before he even fell sick, he had tried to provide for his family's future, but it was stolen away. And that hurts her deeply.
My friend is fortunate that her former bosses sponsor her children to attend school. She continues to work to pay her day-to-day bills. Her own family and her husband's family also love her deeply and try to support her as best they can. But in her culture, tears are a sign of weakness and so often she is alone in her pain. So, I am a friend who can do little but listen and cry with her, together we are weak, but I pray that our times together will strengthen her.
I know they strengthen me. They strengthen my resolve to learn language, to pray, to be a light and friend to my fellow Mums.
+++
As an at home Mum with two children, I have been asked by other Mothers in Australia "what difference is there between me and you?" In essence, there is little difference. I am a Mum, who wants to reach out to others with the love of Jesus in whatever situations I can.
It's the context that is vastly different. I am trying to be a friend cross-culturally in a language I am still learning (although I pretty good at chatting). I am raising my children in a challenging living environment and must teach them how to live across two (even three) worlds. But most of all, it is the people that are uniquely different. Each woman here has a remarkable story of traying to make a life for herself and her family.
Take my friend, Bun. I have known her for about five years from when we first visited Cambodia. She was newly married then. Now, she has two children but six months ago lost her husband to cancer.
I have listened to her heartache and cried with her many times through the pain of loss, uncertainty and loneliness. I have prayed with her and try to encourage her, but most of all I just try to listen and be a friend.
Today, her loss was raw and while my two munchkins raced around making their own games, I listened again. And we cried.
For Christmas, she and her children went to visit the beach with her former boss who was visiting the country. She had been nervous, but was determined that her kids get their first glimpse of the ocean. They had loved it! Also, the sea air was a tonic for her youngest who had been plagued by ill-health for many months.
While there she also visited some of her husband's friends with whom he had bought some land when they were first married. However, they didn't have good news for her. The land purchased by her husband had been stolen by a powerful businessman to further his business interests in the area (palm oil). It's a common story in Cambodia - the rich steal from the poor and then pay off the authorities. Any attempts by communities and activists to secure justice are blocked by the courts. Some even receive death threats of the non-idle kind.
For my friend, the 15 hectares are not as important as the fact that another link to her husband was cruelly severed. Before he even fell sick, he had tried to provide for his family's future, but it was stolen away. And that hurts her deeply.
My friend is fortunate that her former bosses sponsor her children to attend school. She continues to work to pay her day-to-day bills. Her own family and her husband's family also love her deeply and try to support her as best they can. But in her culture, tears are a sign of weakness and so often she is alone in her pain. So, I am a friend who can do little but listen and cry with her, together we are weak, but I pray that our times together will strengthen her.
I know they strengthen me. They strengthen my resolve to learn language, to pray, to be a light and friend to my fellow Mums.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Just in case I was getting proud of my newly-developed fitness...
Yesterday, Princess (now 6) commented over lunch “Mummy and Daddy are so different!” Expecting a gem, I asked her how we were different. Pointing to her Dad’s muscular chest, she replied “Dad’s got big breasts”.
Then today, she decided not to eat the two pieces of fruit required before she could have a whole peanut butter cookie. “I’ll just have half because I don’t want to get fat”. I told her that it was unlikely she’ll have a problem with that. “Look at Mum and Dad. Are we fat?” Her reply “Well Mummy, you do have fat legs…”
I’m now waiting for the inevitable third strike that will send me to the dugout to sit on the bench with the rest of the flat-chested, fat-thighed, old and ugly Mummies. Innings over! Time to cheer on the next generation.
Then today, she decided not to eat the two pieces of fruit required before she could have a whole peanut butter cookie. “I’ll just have half because I don’t want to get fat”. I told her that it was unlikely she’ll have a problem with that. “Look at Mum and Dad. Are we fat?” Her reply “Well Mummy, you do have fat legs…”
I’m now waiting for the inevitable third strike that will send me to the dugout to sit on the bench with the rest of the flat-chested, fat-thighed, old and ugly Mummies. Innings over! Time to cheer on the next generation.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Puff and buff
The pictured shoes were my Mother’s Day present that I am working hard to deserve - no, not as a mother, as a runner.Around three months ago I began running three times a week at the local sports club. It’s the first time since being in Cambodia that I have been able to find a regular form of exercise (apart from Saturday afternoon touch footy).
While I love sports, I normally hate running. But through the casual comment of a friend who offered to run with me when we go back to Australia, I suddenly have an aim – to get fit enough to run with her. But through the process, I’ve become addicted to the numbers… 1km, 2km, 3km, 10mins, 20mins, 30mins. I’m now regularly doing 5-6kms and working to improve my time.
The newly opened sports club services a growing market for rich Khmer and foreigners seeking to work off the extra kilos that accumulate with wealth. Although some members work hard on avoiding exercise, there are also a number of very determined people who are teaching themselves how to swim. Some sink. Some float. All employ whatever technique it takes to move forward. Their courage is often my inspiration to keep running when I’d rather stop for a walk (or lie down).
Each session as I search for a machine near a fan (and still manage to splatter it with sweat), I also note with irony the construction workers outside building a new extension to the gym area. Their glistening buff bodies are surely the envy of all who workout here.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Fighting despair
In a speech at an anti-corruption concert held on May 30, the US Ambassador to Cambodia Carol Rodley sparked an uproar when she said that the Cambodian Government loses up to $500 million in public funds every year because of corruption.
The concert organisers were pulled in for questioning. Public letters from high level Government officials were sent to advise her that this is not how an Ambassador should speak. And a comedy skit by a well-known comedian (who also happens to be a colonel in the Prime Minister’s personal bodyguard unit) ridiculed local human rights groups for profiting from insulting the Government has been playing daily on three TV networks.
Three days after the concert, Transparency International released its annual corruption barometer revealing that over the last year almost half of Cambodian families have paid bribes, as did three quarters of those who dealt with the judicial system.
From what I could see, no media outlet asked the question as to whether the figures were accurate. No Government statements were made accounting for their income and expenditure. No one dared to dig further. Smoke, mirrors, lights and the issue is closed. The average citizen is no wiser and life will continue on as always. Meanwhile, non-Government organisations (NGOs) are increasingly viewed with suspicion as we seek to serve and assist the exploited poor of this country.
It’s a discouraging scenario for someone considering being involved in seeking social justice.
However, I am rebuked and encouraged by the words of Gary Haugen in his book “Good News about Injustice”.
In the Screwtape Letters, an ingenious reflection on the forces that drain the lifeblood from Christian faith, C.S. Lewis makes a startling statement. He writes that “Despair is a greater sin than any of the sins that provoke it”. And surely for Christians who look at our incredibly evil world of injustice and oppression, despair can always be found lurking at the door of our hearts, waiting to hobble us the moment we begin to take our first steps forward.
In taking one of my first steps forward, I am hoping to meet with the Australian Embassy this week with a number of Aussie friends. We hope to encourage Australia to speak out and act against the unlawful land evictions occurring amongst poor communities here (Group 78 is one community marked for eviction right next to the new Australia Embassy as reported by Dateline). I am told that previous meetings by local NGOs have not been productive.
While I use my previous knowledge and skills in Government policy to seek justice, I need to develop yet another more essential skill – the ability to fight off despair.
The concert organisers were pulled in for questioning. Public letters from high level Government officials were sent to advise her that this is not how an Ambassador should speak. And a comedy skit by a well-known comedian (who also happens to be a colonel in the Prime Minister’s personal bodyguard unit) ridiculed local human rights groups for profiting from insulting the Government has been playing daily on three TV networks.
Three days after the concert, Transparency International released its annual corruption barometer revealing that over the last year almost half of Cambodian families have paid bribes, as did three quarters of those who dealt with the judicial system.
From what I could see, no media outlet asked the question as to whether the figures were accurate. No Government statements were made accounting for their income and expenditure. No one dared to dig further. Smoke, mirrors, lights and the issue is closed. The average citizen is no wiser and life will continue on as always. Meanwhile, non-Government organisations (NGOs) are increasingly viewed with suspicion as we seek to serve and assist the exploited poor of this country.
It’s a discouraging scenario for someone considering being involved in seeking social justice.
However, I am rebuked and encouraged by the words of Gary Haugen in his book “Good News about Injustice”.
In the Screwtape Letters, an ingenious reflection on the forces that drain the lifeblood from Christian faith, C.S. Lewis makes a startling statement. He writes that “Despair is a greater sin than any of the sins that provoke it”. And surely for Christians who look at our incredibly evil world of injustice and oppression, despair can always be found lurking at the door of our hearts, waiting to hobble us the moment we begin to take our first steps forward.
In taking one of my first steps forward, I am hoping to meet with the Australian Embassy this week with a number of Aussie friends. We hope to encourage Australia to speak out and act against the unlawful land evictions occurring amongst poor communities here (Group 78 is one community marked for eviction right next to the new Australia Embassy as reported by Dateline). I am told that previous meetings by local NGOs have not been productive.
While I use my previous knowledge and skills in Government policy to seek justice, I need to develop yet another more essential skill – the ability to fight off despair.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Gentle servanthood
I’ve been a bit quiet lately, because I’m rediscovering the world of pen and paper - a diary for some thoughts best kept to myself. However, one entry this week was particularly significant (and a bit emotional .. so I’ve edited a little).
7.15am Thursday 27 May 2009 Kloth (known as Malaky to his family) died. His death leaves an empty chair at our team office, an ache in our hearts and a gaping hole in the Universe for his family. As I was told many times, “Malaky loved his Mum”.
Cancer of the liver (a curiously common disease here) had destroyed his insides and only 10 days after he left work it had eaten him out. There was nothing the doctors could do – it was too far gone.
Only 34. So young. Too young to die. Even the Khmer are known to comment.. “The good die young”. And he was good.
Although he was the only Christian in his immediate family (making him an embarrassment and outcast) and fifth of nine brothers and sisters, he was also one of its pillars supporting a younger sister and brother through their studies. I’m sure most of his money went to the rest of the family living in the province. He loved them with all he had and never even got the chance to marry despite his reasonable pay packet.
It was his dedication that seems to be his undoing. He would not stop work, even though he seemed to recover somewhat when he did get a break. His family now blames us. In their grief they cannot see their own complicity in his death – their reliance on his income so that he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, stop work. Now they have neither him nor his income. Their loss is huge.
At the funeral, his father reminisced with a mix of pride and grief while we quietly sipped softdrinks with chunks of melting ice. His mother was too grief stricken to receive us and kept a tearful vigil by his body.
One guest asked to see his face – the white sheet was drawn back to reveal his face, yellow and fragile with colourless eyes half open keeping an eye on proceedings. He’s making sure his family honours his final wish for his ashes being scattered where the four rivers meet in front of the royal palace. They will cremate him tonight at home, framed by banana trees on a bed of charcoal fuelled by petrol.
Kloth (a Khmer spelling for “Claude”) will no longer greet us at the office, reminding us of unpaid postage for parcels and visas due for renewal. He won’t be able to encourage me in my language efforts or smile gently (then wearily) as we chatted.
He’s now free – in peace and without pain. He’s gone to be with Jesus – the other Gentle Servant who gave His all.
7.15am Thursday 27 May 2009 Kloth (known as Malaky to his family) died. His death leaves an empty chair at our team office, an ache in our hearts and a gaping hole in the Universe for his family. As I was told many times, “Malaky loved his Mum”.
Cancer of the liver (a curiously common disease here) had destroyed his insides and only 10 days after he left work it had eaten him out. There was nothing the doctors could do – it was too far gone.
Only 34. So young. Too young to die. Even the Khmer are known to comment.. “The good die young”. And he was good.
Although he was the only Christian in his immediate family (making him an embarrassment and outcast) and fifth of nine brothers and sisters, he was also one of its pillars supporting a younger sister and brother through their studies. I’m sure most of his money went to the rest of the family living in the province. He loved them with all he had and never even got the chance to marry despite his reasonable pay packet.
It was his dedication that seems to be his undoing. He would not stop work, even though he seemed to recover somewhat when he did get a break. His family now blames us. In their grief they cannot see their own complicity in his death – their reliance on his income so that he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, stop work. Now they have neither him nor his income. Their loss is huge.
At the funeral, his father reminisced with a mix of pride and grief while we quietly sipped softdrinks with chunks of melting ice. His mother was too grief stricken to receive us and kept a tearful vigil by his body.
One guest asked to see his face – the white sheet was drawn back to reveal his face, yellow and fragile with colourless eyes half open keeping an eye on proceedings. He’s making sure his family honours his final wish for his ashes being scattered where the four rivers meet in front of the royal palace. They will cremate him tonight at home, framed by banana trees on a bed of charcoal fuelled by petrol.
Kloth (a Khmer spelling for “Claude”) will no longer greet us at the office, reminding us of unpaid postage for parcels and visas due for renewal. He won’t be able to encourage me in my language efforts or smile gently (then wearily) as we chatted.
He’s now free – in peace and without pain. He’s gone to be with Jesus – the other Gentle Servant who gave His all.
Friday, May 22, 2009
They're the people that you meet...
A while ago now, I worked up the guts to take my camera out onto my street. No, I’m not afraid of thieves, I just hate doing the “tourist thing” with my neighbours. But I realise that most of you will never get a chance to come and see this place so I shyly asked each of the people along my way to school to pose for a photo that I could send to my “brothers and sisters in Australia”. They too were quite shy but gave me some brilliant smiles. ... They were particularly pleased when I gave them each a copy of the best photos.
Introducing… the guy waiting to cook noodle lunches for the volleyball players on our corner.
The lady selling sesame flavoured waffles for 200riel (5cents) each
The motodop drivers waiting at the t-intersection for morning clients (my brother danced cheek to cheek with the one on the far left).
The convenience store where I get my phone cards and small packets of milo for fussy visitors.
Breakfast is served by the lady who's daughter managed to marry "up" so that she no longer sells breakfast out the front of her place. (I went to the Wedding and the daughter didn't seem so pleased...).
Tyre pumps and repairs (with an extra charge for the unsuspecting foreigners).
Introducing… the guy waiting to cook noodle lunches for the volleyball players on our corner.
The lady selling sesame flavoured waffles for 200riel (5cents) each
The motodop drivers waiting at the t-intersection for morning clients (my brother danced cheek to cheek with the one on the far left).The convenience store where I get my phone cards and small packets of milo for fussy visitors.
Breakfast is served by the lady who's daughter managed to marry "up" so that she no longer sells breakfast out the front of her place. (I went to the Wedding and the daughter didn't seem so pleased...).
Tyre pumps and repairs (with an extra charge for the unsuspecting foreigners).
Our Wednesday afternoon treat… deep fried bananas cooked over a charcoal fire. (love the smile)
With plenty of other snacks... equally unhealthy.
Although the walk to school is barely 150 meters, it can sometimes take a long time to get there.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
I've hit the jackpot
I have come home from my second meeting of Christians for Social Justice jumping with excitement. No, it wasn't the food, the stimulating discussion, the opportunities to act, or the great group of people there.
It is the fact that my bag is weighed down with six books for me to chew through - short stories, political essays, optimistic models for development and justice by Professors of Economics and Nobel Peace Prize winners. They all come photocopied and highly recommended. I feel like I've won the lotto!
See you in a month...
It is the fact that my bag is weighed down with six books for me to chew through - short stories, political essays, optimistic models for development and justice by Professors of Economics and Nobel Peace Prize winners. They all come photocopied and highly recommended. I feel like I've won the lotto!
See you in a month...
I love my fan
1.30pm Tuesday last week my fan (my friend) glided to a stop, as did all the electrical appliances in my house and along the street. It was just another black-out. We have them regularly throughout the hot season when load-shedding ensures that the city can continue to run (albeit with a noticeable limp) throughout peak usage times.
The quietness was then shattered as the generator for the bean sprout farm across the road chugged into life. (It was the noise that accompanied our every moment over the next 22 hours.)
But it wasn’t until the sun set that afternoon that I realised we were in for a dark, hot night. This was not just load-shedding - there was a problem that was not going to be fixed throughout the night. Workers need to eat and sleep. I just hope that someone had notified them of the problem and our entire street wasn’t just accepting the situation as “bad luck”. I certainly didn’t call the electricity company.
However, the kids always love black-outs. The candles cause rousing renditions of “happy birthday”. Dinner is eaten with far less complaints although it is interrupted by numerous trips to the toilet / kitchen just so they can hold the candle on their own. The muted light also seems to help reduce fights and lulls our senses to sleep.
At bed time, we moved the kid’s mattress so that they could sleep on the tiles under their mosquito net. Then we all chose our weapons for tackling the night.
Velociraptor asked for a wet towel to drape over his body. Princess wet her hair and wriggled her way to sleep closest to the battery operated fan. Mr Happy went nude but demanded that the mattress be returned to its normal spot. Steve smothered himself with RID and chose to sleep on the bare tiles downstairs, deciding cool was more important than comfort.
With a Mum’s protective instincts I slept upstairs just outside the kid’s room under a wet sheet for the dual purpose of protecting me from heat and mozzies. Or rather, tried to sleep. It was the perfect opportunity to catch up on a little thinking but I just wasn’t in the mood.
My mood in the morning wasn’t much better (nor was anyone else’s). But we were pleased to see evidence of the suffering of others around us – dragging feet, stooped shoulders, bleary eyes. Misery loves company.
And I realise now that there is nothing the “haves” can say to the “have nots” that will make them feel any better. Optimism is particularly distasteful while a helping hand is MUCH appreciated (a friend was happy to take my perishables into her fridge… although I still made us sick on some old cheerios).
But what I really wanted was to “have also”.
This, I did, at 11.30am. The generator ceased and in the quiet, I could again enjoy the cheery whirr of my fan. Ahhh. Bliss.
The quietness was then shattered as the generator for the bean sprout farm across the road chugged into life. (It was the noise that accompanied our every moment over the next 22 hours.)
But it wasn’t until the sun set that afternoon that I realised we were in for a dark, hot night. This was not just load-shedding - there was a problem that was not going to be fixed throughout the night. Workers need to eat and sleep. I just hope that someone had notified them of the problem and our entire street wasn’t just accepting the situation as “bad luck”. I certainly didn’t call the electricity company.
However, the kids always love black-outs. The candles cause rousing renditions of “happy birthday”. Dinner is eaten with far less complaints although it is interrupted by numerous trips to the toilet / kitchen just so they can hold the candle on their own. The muted light also seems to help reduce fights and lulls our senses to sleep.
At bed time, we moved the kid’s mattress so that they could sleep on the tiles under their mosquito net. Then we all chose our weapons for tackling the night.
Velociraptor asked for a wet towel to drape over his body. Princess wet her hair and wriggled her way to sleep closest to the battery operated fan. Mr Happy went nude but demanded that the mattress be returned to its normal spot. Steve smothered himself with RID and chose to sleep on the bare tiles downstairs, deciding cool was more important than comfort.
With a Mum’s protective instincts I slept upstairs just outside the kid’s room under a wet sheet for the dual purpose of protecting me from heat and mozzies. Or rather, tried to sleep. It was the perfect opportunity to catch up on a little thinking but I just wasn’t in the mood.
My mood in the morning wasn’t much better (nor was anyone else’s). But we were pleased to see evidence of the suffering of others around us – dragging feet, stooped shoulders, bleary eyes. Misery loves company.
And I realise now that there is nothing the “haves” can say to the “have nots” that will make them feel any better. Optimism is particularly distasteful while a helping hand is MUCH appreciated (a friend was happy to take my perishables into her fridge… although I still made us sick on some old cheerios).
But what I really wanted was to “have also”.
This, I did, at 11.30am. The generator ceased and in the quiet, I could again enjoy the cheery whirr of my fan. Ahhh. Bliss.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Pigging out on mango
April in Cambodia is undeniably HOT (the feeling of sweat running down the back of my legs is no longer a remarkable event).
But, it is also mango season. Due to the unseasonal rains, it has been a bumper crop and we can buy them ripe for as little as 500 riel (US$0.12) each. My upset belly tells me that it had better end soon, while my mouth waters for more.
It's just another one of the perks of living here, I guess. Not that I expect it will be enough to attract workers to the following urgent staffing needs...
* Teachers are needed for Hope International School, beginning in August 2009, specifically a Year 1 and Year 5 teacher as well as a high school maths teacher.
* Our Christian Care for Cambodia team needs a leader. The job would be ideal for someone with management and pastoral care skills, committed to missions but with limited capacity for learning language.
All positions require an ability to moan loudly about the horrible heat combined with a large capacity for pigging out on copious amounts of fresh, juicy mango.
But, it is also mango season. Due to the unseasonal rains, it has been a bumper crop and we can buy them ripe for as little as 500 riel (US$0.12) each. My upset belly tells me that it had better end soon, while my mouth waters for more.
It's just another one of the perks of living here, I guess. Not that I expect it will be enough to attract workers to the following urgent staffing needs...
* Teachers are needed for Hope International School, beginning in August 2009, specifically a Year 1 and Year 5 teacher as well as a high school maths teacher.
* Our Christian Care for Cambodia team needs a leader. The job would be ideal for someone with management and pastoral care skills, committed to missions but with limited capacity for learning language.
All positions require an ability to moan loudly about the horrible heat combined with a large capacity for pigging out on copious amounts of fresh, juicy mango.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Pancakes...
That’s what the unconscious lady on the road (previous blog) sold for a living. Selling yellow pancakes with dried shrimp and bean sprouts along the road, she earns enough each day for her daughters and her to survive. When she managed to turn a profit, she bought a necklace (the most common form of savings here).
Unfortunately, it was only a gold-plated necklace so the thieves will be very disappointed that they robbed someone so poor.
She is poor. My slum-living Aussie friend who coincidently lives on the same street described her place as a “hovel”. (My friend lives in a two room, tin roofed “toilet block” so she would know a hovel when she saw one.)
My friend also tells me that the equally-poor neighbours on the street took up a collection so that the public hospital would agree to do the necessary tests. It took 14 hours – the doctors finally agreeing to look at her at 2am in the morning when the initial US$100 was delivered. They operated soon after.
The next morning my friend heard the two daughters discussing whether to go out selling pancakes or stay with their critically ill mother (who would have no nursing staff waiting on her). They chose to sell pancakes to help pay for the mounting hospital bills.
My friend’s husband visited the lady last Friday in hospital and says that she is improving but her speech is not yet recovered. It will take time to know how serious her head injuries are.
I could tell you this has been a good opportunity for our children to learn how to pray for and give to others in need, but it would be hollow.
I’d just rather it never happened.
Unfortunately, it was only a gold-plated necklace so the thieves will be very disappointed that they robbed someone so poor.
She is poor. My slum-living Aussie friend who coincidently lives on the same street described her place as a “hovel”. (My friend lives in a two room, tin roofed “toilet block” so she would know a hovel when she saw one.)
My friend also tells me that the equally-poor neighbours on the street took up a collection so that the public hospital would agree to do the necessary tests. It took 14 hours – the doctors finally agreeing to look at her at 2am in the morning when the initial US$100 was delivered. They operated soon after.
The next morning my friend heard the two daughters discussing whether to go out selling pancakes or stay with their critically ill mother (who would have no nursing staff waiting on her). They chose to sell pancakes to help pay for the mounting hospital bills.
My friend’s husband visited the lady last Friday in hospital and says that she is improving but her speech is not yet recovered. It will take time to know how serious her head injuries are.
I could tell you this has been a good opportunity for our children to learn how to pray for and give to others in need, but it would be hollow.
I’d just rather it never happened.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Think you're safe?
Without fail, visitors to Cambodia comment on the crazy traffic.
Drivers use rear view mirrors only for personal primping. Stop lights are optional and lane markings only suggestions. Large, shiny 4WDs flash their lights while careening towards you in “your” lane. Dodge them along with the motorbikes, bicycles, carts, pedestrians, police, potholes and piles of rubbish and you may reach your goal safely.
The lady I saw on Friday lying unconscious in the centre of a main road didn’t make it.
She had been riding a motorbike taxi when her necklace was ripped from her neck by thieves on motorbikes. She fell, hitting her bare head on the bitumen of the busy main road. Her motorbike taxi driver took off while a crowd of men collected around her, their curiosity protecting her from being run over by the midday traffic. A Good Samaritan with some knowledge of first aid laid her in the lateral position and phoned the ambulance.
Road accidents are horribly common here. I’ve seen more bleeding, twisted bodies than I want to remember.
The Road Safety Committee here in Cambodia reports that road accidents seriously wounded 32 people and killed 4.5 on an average day. This is an annual rate of 11.5 deaths and 82.25 serious injuries per 100,000 people. This is in a country where helmet wearing was only recently made law (however the US$2.50 ice-cream bucket impersonators used by most are colloquially called “helmets that protect from police” rather than “safety helmets”).
For interest sake, I decided to google Australia’s stats (yeah, insomnia again) and found some interesting results. In comparison, the most recently available data shows that 4.42 people die and 138 are injured on Australia’s roads each day. This is an annual rate of 7.7 deaths and 248 hospital admissions per 100,000 people.
On the surface (not accounting for under-reporting), it would seem that more bravery is needed to venture onto the roads in Australia.
Happy Easter!
Drivers use rear view mirrors only for personal primping. Stop lights are optional and lane markings only suggestions. Large, shiny 4WDs flash their lights while careening towards you in “your” lane. Dodge them along with the motorbikes, bicycles, carts, pedestrians, police, potholes and piles of rubbish and you may reach your goal safely.
The lady I saw on Friday lying unconscious in the centre of a main road didn’t make it.
She had been riding a motorbike taxi when her necklace was ripped from her neck by thieves on motorbikes. She fell, hitting her bare head on the bitumen of the busy main road. Her motorbike taxi driver took off while a crowd of men collected around her, their curiosity protecting her from being run over by the midday traffic. A Good Samaritan with some knowledge of first aid laid her in the lateral position and phoned the ambulance.
Road accidents are horribly common here. I’ve seen more bleeding, twisted bodies than I want to remember.
The Road Safety Committee here in Cambodia reports that road accidents seriously wounded 32 people and killed 4.5 on an average day. This is an annual rate of 11.5 deaths and 82.25 serious injuries per 100,000 people. This is in a country where helmet wearing was only recently made law (however the US$2.50 ice-cream bucket impersonators used by most are colloquially called “helmets that protect from police” rather than “safety helmets”).
For interest sake, I decided to google Australia’s stats (yeah, insomnia again) and found some interesting results. In comparison, the most recently available data shows that 4.42 people die and 138 are injured on Australia’s roads each day. This is an annual rate of 7.7 deaths and 248 hospital admissions per 100,000 people.
On the surface (not accounting for under-reporting), it would seem that more bravery is needed to venture onto the roads in Australia.
Happy Easter!
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Language learning and dishwashing liquid
I love language learning. I know that most people hate it and they think I am mad … but I love that having a chin-wag with my teacher for three hours a week is considered “work”.
My current lessons are actually more productive beyond just learning new words and developing greater cultural understanding. Since taking up study again last year, my language teacher has not only persevered through the marketing text book with me, but he has been inspired to start his own business.
“Green Cleaner” is a dishwashing liquid that he sells in 500ml water bottles with a laser-printed label. Produced on a shoe-string budget, the product doesn’t look much, but he has trained all his salespeople to groom themselves well and speak beautifully to even the rudest customers.
His unique selling point is that it is made in Cambodia and is very successful with the current climate of increased antagonism towards neighbouring countries. Old ladies are patting him on the arm and saying “If I can’t support Cambodian business, who can I support?” So business is growing fast, and he now employs 7 full-time staff and another 15-20 people on the weekends.
Priced at only 1,500 riel (US$0.37), his staff earning 300 riel (US$0.07) with each sale (up to US$80 per month), are making more money than he is… but he is not concerned. He is delighted to be helping out young people in his neighbourhood who have just lost their jobs in garment factories due to the global financial crisis. He is also committed to tithing 10% of his turnover to the local church, despite my protests that tithing off profit is sufficient and will leave more money for re-investing.
My role in this has been so insignificant but I can’t help wondering if my motivation and advice has been more effective than if I had tried to start my own business from one of the many business ideas swimming around my head. My teacher is far more committed, motivated and skilled than I could have ever hoped to find in a business manager because he is investing his own money, energy and ideas in a business that he (not a donor) controls.
He now needs at least US$6,000 to take the business to the next level which includes registering with the Government, buying a tuk-tuk for transport, buying moulds and producing bottles that cannot be copied by others (there is already some con-artist selling identically labelled green-coloured “water” in one market for 1,000riel).
I have no troubles advocating for him as this would be money very well spent.
My current lessons are actually more productive beyond just learning new words and developing greater cultural understanding. Since taking up study again last year, my language teacher has not only persevered through the marketing text book with me, but he has been inspired to start his own business.
“Green Cleaner” is a dishwashing liquid that he sells in 500ml water bottles with a laser-printed label. Produced on a shoe-string budget, the product doesn’t look much, but he has trained all his salespeople to groom themselves well and speak beautifully to even the rudest customers.
His unique selling point is that it is made in Cambodia and is very successful with the current climate of increased antagonism towards neighbouring countries. Old ladies are patting him on the arm and saying “If I can’t support Cambodian business, who can I support?” So business is growing fast, and he now employs 7 full-time staff and another 15-20 people on the weekends.
Priced at only 1,500 riel (US$0.37), his staff earning 300 riel (US$0.07) with each sale (up to US$80 per month), are making more money than he is… but he is not concerned. He is delighted to be helping out young people in his neighbourhood who have just lost their jobs in garment factories due to the global financial crisis. He is also committed to tithing 10% of his turnover to the local church, despite my protests that tithing off profit is sufficient and will leave more money for re-investing.
My role in this has been so insignificant but I can’t help wondering if my motivation and advice has been more effective than if I had tried to start my own business from one of the many business ideas swimming around my head. My teacher is far more committed, motivated and skilled than I could have ever hoped to find in a business manager because he is investing his own money, energy and ideas in a business that he (not a donor) controls.
He now needs at least US$6,000 to take the business to the next level which includes registering with the Government, buying a tuk-tuk for transport, buying moulds and producing bottles that cannot be copied by others (there is already some con-artist selling identically labelled green-coloured “water” in one market for 1,000riel).
I have no troubles advocating for him as this would be money very well spent.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
My enemy my friend
The Economist Intelligence Unit last month rated Cambodia with a very high risk of social instability (fourth out of 165 countries) due to economic challenges, underpinned by other social factors such as unemployment, inequality, lack of trust in institutions, corruption etc.
It’s not surprising at all really. Increasing reports of land grabbing, justice systems that are simply an oxymoron, a large population of youth with low education, a country rich in natural resources and a growing base of people with nothing left to lose are all factors that could lead to violence. The global economic crisis only turns up the heat further in this pressure-cooker environment.
Then last week I attended a workshop organised by the Advocacy and Policy Institute (a locally-run NGO), supported by the British Embassy. There were around 200 people there, amongst them I was one of only five foreigners (hooray!). The workshop followed a three day training course in the development of lobbying in Cambodia and culminated in the establishment of a Civil Society Lobby group.
As the speakers summarised their training presentations into bite-sized bits, I was greatly encouraged by an ongoing theme – developing relationships with people in power to advocate change.
Chris Baker-Evans, the instigator of Christians for Social Justice, comments “The more we are willing to see our opponents as part of the solution the more we are able to find creative and effective methods of addressing the underlying issues, which exist no matter who is in charge.”
It is easy to demonise the “enemy” but Jesus commands us to “love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). Building relationships and seeking a common ground help us humanise the perpetrators of injustice and work together towards change.
I have no idea if this is possible in Cambodia for I find it hard to put this into practice in my own life. But it is imperative that we try.
The Economist Index claims an impressive 70% hit rate or in other words, there is a two in three chance of social instability spilling over into violence in Cambodia over the next year.
Let’s pray they are wrong.
It’s not surprising at all really. Increasing reports of land grabbing, justice systems that are simply an oxymoron, a large population of youth with low education, a country rich in natural resources and a growing base of people with nothing left to lose are all factors that could lead to violence. The global economic crisis only turns up the heat further in this pressure-cooker environment.
Then last week I attended a workshop organised by the Advocacy and Policy Institute (a locally-run NGO), supported by the British Embassy. There were around 200 people there, amongst them I was one of only five foreigners (hooray!). The workshop followed a three day training course in the development of lobbying in Cambodia and culminated in the establishment of a Civil Society Lobby group.
As the speakers summarised their training presentations into bite-sized bits, I was greatly encouraged by an ongoing theme – developing relationships with people in power to advocate change.
Chris Baker-Evans, the instigator of Christians for Social Justice, comments “The more we are willing to see our opponents as part of the solution the more we are able to find creative and effective methods of addressing the underlying issues, which exist no matter who is in charge.”
It is easy to demonise the “enemy” but Jesus commands us to “love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). Building relationships and seeking a common ground help us humanise the perpetrators of injustice and work together towards change.
I have no idea if this is possible in Cambodia for I find it hard to put this into practice in my own life. But it is imperative that we try.
The Economist Index claims an impressive 70% hit rate or in other words, there is a two in three chance of social instability spilling over into violence in Cambodia over the next year.
Let’s pray they are wrong.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
A life worth living
When told of Mickey Sampson’s death last Friday, I had one immediate thought, “What a GREAT life he lived”.
American born Mickey moved with his family to Cambodia in 1998 to use his PhD in chemistry to improve water quality and sanitation for the Cambodian people. After working with other non-Government organisations, Mickey established Resource Development International-Cambodia to address Cambodia’s health and development problems in holistic ways focusing on water, agriculture, health and education.
The work there is inspiring. A visit to the project site in Kien Svay last year almost tempted me to seek a new vocation in sustainable agriculture.
His most well-known project was the development of ceramic water filters “with a silver lining” that proved very effective in reducing diarrheal disease (even in my own family!). In 2008, they produced and distributed 250,000 life-giving water filters. In a country where one in twelve children die before the age of 5 (mostly from diarrheal disease), this is a significant contribution.
After experiencing heart problems on March 18, Mickey went to Bangkok for specialist treatment but died in transit on March 19. He is survived by his wife and five children, and will be mourned and missed by many more.
However, I’m sure all will say that he lived a life worth living, serving a God worth loving.
American born Mickey moved with his family to Cambodia in 1998 to use his PhD in chemistry to improve water quality and sanitation for the Cambodian people. After working with other non-Government organisations, Mickey established Resource Development International-Cambodia to address Cambodia’s health and development problems in holistic ways focusing on water, agriculture, health and education.
The work there is inspiring. A visit to the project site in Kien Svay last year almost tempted me to seek a new vocation in sustainable agriculture.
His most well-known project was the development of ceramic water filters “with a silver lining” that proved very effective in reducing diarrheal disease (even in my own family!). In 2008, they produced and distributed 250,000 life-giving water filters. In a country where one in twelve children die before the age of 5 (mostly from diarrheal disease), this is a significant contribution.
After experiencing heart problems on March 18, Mickey went to Bangkok for specialist treatment but died in transit on March 19. He is survived by his wife and five children, and will be mourned and missed by many more.
However, I’m sure all will say that he lived a life worth living, serving a God worth loving.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Adding knowledge to zeal
With a growing conviction that “It is not good to have zeal without knowledge” (Proverbs 19:2), I have reapplied myself to study lately.
I have been reading books like “Poor Story” by Giles Bolton on how globalisation and good intentions have failed the world’s poor (and what we can do about it), and “Economics Today – A Christian critique” by Donald A. Hay (a slow read). Also personal stories like “The Urban Halo” by Craig Greenfield on his life and work in the slums of Cambodia, empowering communities for orphan care.
I have resubscribed to e-newsletters by a range of organisations from Christian-based groups like sojourners to the “think tank” Australia Institute. I’ve even forked out a bit of cash to renew my subscription to New Internationalist – an independent magazine focused on justice issues. Meanwhile, my “favourites” list of websites on fighting poverty is growing out of control!
These have all served to enrich my mind and stir our consciences, creating some quite challenging discussion about our response (my husband and I had to limit our evening conversations to ensure we get enough sleep!). In addition to adjusting our lifestyle and attitudes, I am hoping one day my Marketing degree, career in public policy and experiences here in Cambodia will combine for some use in the justice movement.
In the meantime, I am currently working through a book “Not for Sale” by David Batstone about the modern day slave trade of an estimated 27 million people (that’s more than the population of Australia!). As I read horrifying accounts of trafficked sex slaves and generations of bonded slaves within Cambodia, I am often left deeply disturbed and need to put it down for a couple of days to ponder my role in all this.
Then last weekend, I unintentionally mentioned something to my husband Steve about the child soldiers of Uganda while my own children were in the room. Our seven year old son wanted to know more. Keenly aware that I could cause him more worry, I kicked myself for my stupidity and carefully explained a little about it. In conclusion, I encouraged him not to despair because there is something we can do about the injustices of this world. His decisive reply was “Mummy. I want to help you”.
Then yesterday, when his five year old sister was planning her upcoming birthday extravaganza, he told me “Mum. You can choose what we do for my birthday like what to eat and where to have it. I’ll even be happy for it to be on the roof”. When I asked, “Are you trying to make less work for Mummy?”, he nodded.
When told I was going to my first meeting tonight with a group, Christians for Social Justice, he said "Good. I'm very happy about that."
As my passion for nuturing my children and working for social justice comes together, the challenge for this Mum will be to gently add knowledge to the zeal of her young abolitionist.
I have been reading books like “Poor Story” by Giles Bolton on how globalisation and good intentions have failed the world’s poor (and what we can do about it), and “Economics Today – A Christian critique” by Donald A. Hay (a slow read). Also personal stories like “The Urban Halo” by Craig Greenfield on his life and work in the slums of Cambodia, empowering communities for orphan care.
I have resubscribed to e-newsletters by a range of organisations from Christian-based groups like sojourners to the “think tank” Australia Institute. I’ve even forked out a bit of cash to renew my subscription to New Internationalist – an independent magazine focused on justice issues. Meanwhile, my “favourites” list of websites on fighting poverty is growing out of control!
These have all served to enrich my mind and stir our consciences, creating some quite challenging discussion about our response (my husband and I had to limit our evening conversations to ensure we get enough sleep!). In addition to adjusting our lifestyle and attitudes, I am hoping one day my Marketing degree, career in public policy and experiences here in Cambodia will combine for some use in the justice movement.
In the meantime, I am currently working through a book “Not for Sale” by David Batstone about the modern day slave trade of an estimated 27 million people (that’s more than the population of Australia!). As I read horrifying accounts of trafficked sex slaves and generations of bonded slaves within Cambodia, I am often left deeply disturbed and need to put it down for a couple of days to ponder my role in all this.
Then last weekend, I unintentionally mentioned something to my husband Steve about the child soldiers of Uganda while my own children were in the room. Our seven year old son wanted to know more. Keenly aware that I could cause him more worry, I kicked myself for my stupidity and carefully explained a little about it. In conclusion, I encouraged him not to despair because there is something we can do about the injustices of this world. His decisive reply was “Mummy. I want to help you”.
Then yesterday, when his five year old sister was planning her upcoming birthday extravaganza, he told me “Mum. You can choose what we do for my birthday like what to eat and where to have it. I’ll even be happy for it to be on the roof”. When I asked, “Are you trying to make less work for Mummy?”, he nodded.
When told I was going to my first meeting tonight with a group, Christians for Social Justice, he said "Good. I'm very happy about that."
As my passion for nuturing my children and working for social justice comes together, the challenge for this Mum will be to gently add knowledge to the zeal of her young abolitionist.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Storm in a lunch box
I haven’t been so well for the last three weeks or so. Nothing serious - just colds, sore throats and a dog bite (the bite wasn’t so much of a problem as was my reaction to the precautionary rabies shots). I’d been pressing on regardless, but this morning it all got on top of me. It was Monday, of course.
The issue was pathetically insignificant - whether to take jelly beans or nuts to the lunch-time birthday party for the Grade 1 teacher’s aide. I demanded the healthy option while everyone wailed for the jelly beans (including my life partner). The whining uproar was too much and I angrily flicked the decision to Steve while fleeing upstairs for my morning quiet time.
I walked and raged, while the tears flowed. I was ready to resign after such mutiny. It took quite a number of laps on the roof-top before I was ready to open the Bible. “What are YOU going to say about this?” I challenged God, opening the Bible at my bookmark.
The title so surprised me that I laughed out loud, snorting through my mucous-filled nose. “Jesus calms the storm”. Squinting my watery eyes, I continued to chuckle as I read the story of the disciples’ panic and Jesus’ authority over the wind and the waves. By the time I reached His question, I too was calmed and ready to hear.
“Where is your faith?” He asked (Luke 8:25).
Indeed. Where is my faith? Do I think I am doing this mothering-job on my own or do I have the God of the wind and waves walking with me? Is it all on my shoulders or is He the one who is carrying us all?
As I stood to walk / pray once more, I wiped away my tears and marvelled at our God who calms storms, gives peace and instils hope in 2 minutes flat. Even for tired and unwell Mummies. Maybe especially so.
And for those of you who are wondering jelly beans or nuts? She took both.
The issue was pathetically insignificant - whether to take jelly beans or nuts to the lunch-time birthday party for the Grade 1 teacher’s aide. I demanded the healthy option while everyone wailed for the jelly beans (including my life partner). The whining uproar was too much and I angrily flicked the decision to Steve while fleeing upstairs for my morning quiet time.
I walked and raged, while the tears flowed. I was ready to resign after such mutiny. It took quite a number of laps on the roof-top before I was ready to open the Bible. “What are YOU going to say about this?” I challenged God, opening the Bible at my bookmark.
The title so surprised me that I laughed out loud, snorting through my mucous-filled nose. “Jesus calms the storm”. Squinting my watery eyes, I continued to chuckle as I read the story of the disciples’ panic and Jesus’ authority over the wind and the waves. By the time I reached His question, I too was calmed and ready to hear.
“Where is your faith?” He asked (Luke 8:25).
Indeed. Where is my faith? Do I think I am doing this mothering-job on my own or do I have the God of the wind and waves walking with me? Is it all on my shoulders or is He the one who is carrying us all?
As I stood to walk / pray once more, I wiped away my tears and marvelled at our God who calms storms, gives peace and instils hope in 2 minutes flat. Even for tired and unwell Mummies. Maybe especially so.
And for those of you who are wondering jelly beans or nuts? She took both.
Caring for cons
Within the 5x10m prison cell home to around 20 men, Steve’s attention was drawn to the weighty butcher’s knife raised towards him. In Crocodile Dundee-style, the inmate magnanimously reached out, “Here, use this knife. It will cut much better”.
With relief and gratitude, Steve discarded his scissors that had been carefully checked through security and had required a guard escort (cameras, which are far more dangerous, are allowed under NO circumstances). He took the butchers knife and attacked the ill-fitting mattress. It didn’t cut much better, so another prisoner offered his knife - each prisoner had at least one for cooking his own food despite the obvious security risk. Hungry tummies are riskier still.
Steve had been visiting a particular inmate every other day for the last three weeks. First, he had visited him at the police hospital that has a room for desperately ill prisoners that is best described as the Nil-Care-Unit where a doctor is rarely seen and patients mostly die of neglect. Later, the patient had been moved back out to the medical unit based at one of the prisons outside of Phnom Penh.
The man had a mystery illness that wasn’t responding to treatment so Steve was just making him as comfortable as possible while staff of Prison Fellowship worked to gain more tests. He had also taught two other inmates how to assist the patient in his daily exercise program. The mattress was the only one in the prison’s medical ward where the other patients lay on woven mats or bare boards.
It’s a luxury that he’s going to need as he might be waiting there for a while. There is much red-tape to wade through to get the necessary tests and if an operation is required, there will be much more. Steve fears it will all probably be too late for the patient who will most likely sustain irreparable damage as a result of the delays.
The take home lesson?
Don’t break the law in Cambodia, even if it looks like everyone else is.
With relief and gratitude, Steve discarded his scissors that had been carefully checked through security and had required a guard escort (cameras, which are far more dangerous, are allowed under NO circumstances). He took the butchers knife and attacked the ill-fitting mattress. It didn’t cut much better, so another prisoner offered his knife - each prisoner had at least one for cooking his own food despite the obvious security risk. Hungry tummies are riskier still.
Steve had been visiting a particular inmate every other day for the last three weeks. First, he had visited him at the police hospital that has a room for desperately ill prisoners that is best described as the Nil-Care-Unit where a doctor is rarely seen and patients mostly die of neglect. Later, the patient had been moved back out to the medical unit based at one of the prisons outside of Phnom Penh.
The man had a mystery illness that wasn’t responding to treatment so Steve was just making him as comfortable as possible while staff of Prison Fellowship worked to gain more tests. He had also taught two other inmates how to assist the patient in his daily exercise program. The mattress was the only one in the prison’s medical ward where the other patients lay on woven mats or bare boards.
It’s a luxury that he’s going to need as he might be waiting there for a while. There is much red-tape to wade through to get the necessary tests and if an operation is required, there will be much more. Steve fears it will all probably be too late for the patient who will most likely sustain irreparable damage as a result of the delays.
The take home lesson?
Don’t break the law in Cambodia, even if it looks like everyone else is.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Children's ministry
The cool season not only brought a plague of mossies but also a three week school break. Over this sometimes chilly period, there was a significant warming in our relationship with the landlord as the kids frequently played outside in their dusty yard. Our children are often the oil that eases relationships!
Honour your father and your mother
I had a good chuckle the other day as I returned downstairs from hanging clothes on the roof top. Below me, our landlord’s 40-plus son (who also lives with their house with the entire extended family) was lounging back on the concrete outdoor setting. His arms were spread across the backs of the curved bench and his legs extended across the round table so that his pot-belly was nestled comfortably in between. With a beer close at hand and his teenage son laboriously digging around a leaking water pipe, he had the smile of a satisfied man.
The teenage son was in the process of repaying a lifelong debt to his father for the gift of his own life. It is such a strong cultural value that there is a Khmer proverb that warns a child “Don’t trust a mother that says there is no debt”. There is always a debt. It is through this debt that parents are obeyed, revered and then cared for in their old age. And in most cases, it works (no nursing homes here!).
Now as a mother of three, I can more clearly see the immensity of this gift of life and love given to each child and I can only conclude that the Khmer, like other Asian cultures, have got it right.
With recent visits by my in-laws and my Mum, I am reminded that my own tendency is to rely on my parents and in-laws for baby sitting, managing our finances and their handy skills. They even cross the seas to maintain a relationship with us and their grandchildren! All this they lovingly do without a hint of the huge debt I owe.
Next time, I need to take more seriously the command to “honour your father and your mother” and have a beer / wine chilled and myself readied to serve. However, I think that my “taut and terrific” Mum needs to work harder on developing a pot-belly in order to gain the full effect of that satisfied smile.
The teenage son was in the process of repaying a lifelong debt to his father for the gift of his own life. It is such a strong cultural value that there is a Khmer proverb that warns a child “Don’t trust a mother that says there is no debt”. There is always a debt. It is through this debt that parents are obeyed, revered and then cared for in their old age. And in most cases, it works (no nursing homes here!).
Now as a mother of three, I can more clearly see the immensity of this gift of life and love given to each child and I can only conclude that the Khmer, like other Asian cultures, have got it right.
With recent visits by my in-laws and my Mum, I am reminded that my own tendency is to rely on my parents and in-laws for baby sitting, managing our finances and their handy skills. They even cross the seas to maintain a relationship with us and their grandchildren! All this they lovingly do without a hint of the huge debt I owe.
Next time, I need to take more seriously the command to “honour your father and your mother” and have a beer / wine chilled and myself readied to serve. However, I think that my “taut and terrific” Mum needs to work harder on developing a pot-belly in order to gain the full effect of that satisfied smile.
Friday, February 6, 2009
And the answer is... mossies!
It is mosquito season here in Phnom Penh. Each time the weather cools and the dry season begins they multiply dramatically. Funny enough, we always look forward to the cooler weather forgetting the not-so-enjoyable aspects.
However, I do enjoy swatting the abundance of mossies with my handy zapping racquet. It gives such a satisfying crack (and if they get caught in it you can really make them sizzle!). The day I took the photo (which is why I was lying down) I had been swatting those hiding amongst our laundry for about 20 minutes before noticing them accumulating on the soles of my feet.
Thanks for your good natured guesses and your patience with the clues and answer. I have been busy with visitors and then haven’t been well the past week but I am now back on board. The cool season is even over! More posts coming soon…
However, I do enjoy swatting the abundance of mossies with my handy zapping racquet. It gives such a satisfying crack (and if they get caught in it you can really make them sizzle!). The day I took the photo (which is why I was lying down) I had been swatting those hiding amongst our laundry for about 20 minutes before noticing them accumulating on the soles of my feet.
Thanks for your good natured guesses and your patience with the clues and answer. I have been busy with visitors and then haven’t been well the past week but I am now back on board. The cool season is even over! More posts coming soon…
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Final Hint
Some very good guesses from some late starters makes this hint almost redundant.
For the final clue, this is a photo of my weapon of choice with evidence of the slaughter all around.
For the final clue, this is a photo of my weapon of choice with evidence of the slaughter all around.
Monday, January 19, 2009
The love of a father
As I shared recently, it is easy to think more highly of ourselves than we should because we lack God’s perspective. Today, I found the clearest picture of what is really happening in my life.
Dick and Rick Hoyt are a father / son team who compete together in marathons and ironman triathlons, except that Rick has cerebral palsy and can’t even walk and talk. He is pushed, pulled and carried through to each finish line by his loving Dad.
Likewise, if I make it to the finish line of Life with shouts and cheers, it is because my broken body is being powered onward by my ever-loving Father.
If you haven’t yet heard of Team Hoyt, watch and be inspired.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flRvsO8m_KI
Dick and Rick Hoyt are a father / son team who compete together in marathons and ironman triathlons, except that Rick has cerebral palsy and can’t even walk and talk. He is pushed, pulled and carried through to each finish line by his loving Dad.
Likewise, if I make it to the finish line of Life with shouts and cheers, it is because my broken body is being powered onward by my ever-loving Father.
If you haven’t yet heard of Team Hoyt, watch and be inspired.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flRvsO8m_KI
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Beneath the surface...
He stood amongst the men’s group ready to sing to the Sunday congregation with a silly grin on his face, feeling and looking like he didn’t belong. Actually, he looked like someone who didn’t belong anywhere other than in a Bible College Library.
Everything about him shouted geek. Awkward shuffle. Glasses. A golden arches hairline. Pale saggy skin. Pokey teeth. A podge tucked into his belted pants. A middle-aged geek. I cringed. It is guys like this that give missionaries a bad name.
And it only got worse. He wasn’t just another voice singing from the purple hymn book, he was also the visiting preacher.
Inwardly I groaned as I saw him rise to the lectern. With the same silly grin, he began the sermon, massacring the Khmer language with his broad Canadian accent. At least the words he used were simple, making it easy to follow. He also spoke slowly but this only made me wonder about his intelligence.
Yet as I listened, my smug internal criticisms were muffled and silenced.
Four years earlier he had left Cambodia to return to Canada. He was determined to study at Bible College (see, I picked it) while also sending his two children to University despite not having any money of his own. Fellow churchgoers had looked down on him there – a returned missionary with nothing to show for himself. Yet, God had stood by him and provided for their every need.
It was an enthralling story. Everyone loves to hear how God provides. Yet, he wasn’t done. With the precision of a surgeon, the geeky preacher man then took a knife to my heart.
He led us to a story in Luke 7 of Jesus and the prostitute in Simon the Pharisee’s house. In what felt like excruciating detail, He showed us how Jesus looked beyond the outside, and then dealt with people who “merl ngee-ay” (look down on) others.
Had anyone else given this sermon, I would have nodded and keenly agreed with a warm glow of self-righteousness. It was only through my geeky preacher friend with the horrible accent that I could see the blackness of my own heart.
I wasn’t the only one. The Pastor was blown away. Others who normally sit tall were hanging their heads. Then the Holy Spirit did His work while we ate and drank from the communion table as a church.
It was a forceful example of God’s power being made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 5:9).
This guy is now a pin-up boy for me and I will always remember his sermon. I will also choose to reject the wide-spread mantra of “professionalism is next to godliness” for such thinking only serves to harden the masks of exterior holiness and deepen hypocrisy, destroying the power of God in our lives.
And I will celebrate that I am counted in the company of this great man.
Everything about him shouted geek. Awkward shuffle. Glasses. A golden arches hairline. Pale saggy skin. Pokey teeth. A podge tucked into his belted pants. A middle-aged geek. I cringed. It is guys like this that give missionaries a bad name.
And it only got worse. He wasn’t just another voice singing from the purple hymn book, he was also the visiting preacher.
Inwardly I groaned as I saw him rise to the lectern. With the same silly grin, he began the sermon, massacring the Khmer language with his broad Canadian accent. At least the words he used were simple, making it easy to follow. He also spoke slowly but this only made me wonder about his intelligence.
Yet as I listened, my smug internal criticisms were muffled and silenced.
Four years earlier he had left Cambodia to return to Canada. He was determined to study at Bible College (see, I picked it) while also sending his two children to University despite not having any money of his own. Fellow churchgoers had looked down on him there – a returned missionary with nothing to show for himself. Yet, God had stood by him and provided for their every need.
It was an enthralling story. Everyone loves to hear how God provides. Yet, he wasn’t done. With the precision of a surgeon, the geeky preacher man then took a knife to my heart.
He led us to a story in Luke 7 of Jesus and the prostitute in Simon the Pharisee’s house. In what felt like excruciating detail, He showed us how Jesus looked beyond the outside, and then dealt with people who “merl ngee-ay” (look down on) others.
Had anyone else given this sermon, I would have nodded and keenly agreed with a warm glow of self-righteousness. It was only through my geeky preacher friend with the horrible accent that I could see the blackness of my own heart.
I wasn’t the only one. The Pastor was blown away. Others who normally sit tall were hanging their heads. Then the Holy Spirit did His work while we ate and drank from the communion table as a church.
It was a forceful example of God’s power being made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 5:9).
This guy is now a pin-up boy for me and I will always remember his sermon. I will also choose to reject the wide-spread mantra of “professionalism is next to godliness” for such thinking only serves to harden the masks of exterior holiness and deepen hypocrisy, destroying the power of God in our lives.
And I will celebrate that I am counted in the company of this great man.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Any guesses?
Happy New Year everyone. Rather than bore you with New Year Resolutions that I'll never keep, I am starting the new year with a photo quiz instead.
Can anyone tell me what I have been doing (besides neglecting my "velcro" heels)?
Can anyone tell me what I have been doing (besides neglecting my "velcro" heels)?
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