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.
Monday, June 22, 2009
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.
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