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.

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).

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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!