Luxury

Part of me wanted to be able to make it, to endure anything Phnom Penh could throw at me. I couldn’t. Every night the electricity in my AC-less room went out between about 11pm and 3am, leaving me without fans either. Thrown into a milieu of family affairs, I was constantly invited (read: requested) to be familial. Someone had to drive me an hour each way to work, five days a week. I had no contact to the outside world aside from a few phone calls each day, and I hadn’t had a really solid bowel movement in over week. I couldn’t handle it anymore; I moved to a guesthouse, at least temporarily.

I thought that being with people who spoke no English would hasten my learning of Khmer, and maybe it did. But it was also driving me crazy. It’s one thing to isolate yourself and desire no communication with anyone; it’s another to be thrown in the middle of everything and not being able to communicate at all. To hear my name come up frequently in conversation and not be offered an explanation is also pretty frustrating.

So now I’m in a place called the “Okay Guesthouse,” which at this point, is much better than just “okay.” I have a private room with a double bed and a ceiling fan, AC, a private bathroom with hot water, and access to an internet café downstairs. The electricity stays on all night long, and I can choose when I want to interact with other people. For me, work is a time of interaction, and when I go home, I want to go home to quiet and relaxation. I found that here. I initially was booked for two days, but after my first night here, I decided to extend that stay for at least a week. I told the manager, and he said that was fine and just tell him when I want to leave. I wonder what he would do if I came to him a year later.

So right now I’m in the lap of luxury. It probably takes about ten minutes to get to work from here, and it’s within walking distance of a grocery store and small strip mall. It’s quiet here, and the only drawback is that there are no windows (a small sacrifice for a quiet room). I’m happy here, but it’s a little more than I’d like to pay. At some point I may try to negotiate the price for long term, but for now I’ll be a little extravagant. At $8/night and $2 meals, $1/kg laundry, and transportation just outside, it’s really not that bad. And I’m happy here.

Preparations

Culture shock has taken on a whole new meaning for me. Europe was really a walk in the park; aside from different languages and mealtimes, it was exactly the same as home life. Cambodia is a completely different story. The idea of “self” exists only within a greater definition of “family.” Part of the difficulty arises from my appearance: when people see me, they see Khmer despite the fact that I’ve spent my entire life in the US and don’t yet speak Khmer. They have expectations that I think they wouldn’t have otherwise. Furthermore, I have found myself in the middle of a wedding (luckily, not my own).

Linda, one of the two here who speak English, is getting married tomorrow (Thursday) and has already asked me to be a groomsman. Had I known what that entailed, I might have reconsidered. I still don’t know what it means, but the wedding itself begins in the morning at about 7, and it’s not done until night, so about 9pm. That’s a long wedding. I still don’t know what I’ll be doing in it, but I fear I will be standing for a good part of it.

Today we spent a majority of the day at the airport waiting for Sang Van, owner of this house and friend of my parents, and her son (who is the groom). The bride and groom met once before, and that was four years ago. They didn’t arrive on the flight we were expecting, but on the one after. So we were there significantly early, and Linda said that if the groom didn’t show up, I might have to take his place. Ha Ha. Good joke. I think it was said only partly in jest. Linda and I actually connect really well. I think she’s very perceptive and quite intelligent; my first impression of her groom is not quite so high, but I could be wrong.

For the last few nights, I’ve been wary of my sleeping arrangements. For some reason, the electricity cuts off around midnight and turns back on around 3am. With no fans, some of these nights are pretty hot. Even with fans, they’re only barely tolerable. Luckily, last night I was so tired that I hardly noticed. The night before, I was about to go to bed when the grandmother here opened the door and let two guys about my age into the room. They came in and sat down on the opposite bed, and one started a conversation with me in rough English. We talked about corruption in Cambodia and how he wants to study economics and was going to the US but then ended up unable to go (something about his mother). Anyway, as we talked, I gathered that he would be staying at the house tonight. My own perceptiveness informed me that since there was an empty bed in my room, I knew where he would be sleeping. And I was right.

I don’t mind sharing my room with a guest (very much), especially since there are two beds in this room. However, I do think it would be nice to get some notice before they show up. The next day I was assured that I would have my room to myself the next day. I seem to be skipping around quite a bit in this post, so I’ll go ahead and jump to what’s going on right now.

As I said before, the only downtime I get is when I am asked if I am tired, to which question I always respond that I am. I am always escorted to a room (if at home, my own room), and everyone leaves and shuts the door. Perfect. So I’ve been “sleeping” away the afternoon. A few minutes ago, about ten people came in carrying drinks and boxes, put them all in stacks on the floor and left again. I’m so used to interruption that it didn’t faze me a bit. Through the open door, I saw Linda completely dressed in traditional wedding garb and looking very sweaty and tired. Now there is a monotone drone on loud speakers of the likes that I haven’t heard in years – probably the last time I heard it was at a Khmer festival in Dallas some time ago. The sure sign of a wedding.

Anyway, I’m grateful that it’s not my wedding. The fact that everyone expects me to marry Tol is no longer a secret, though really it never was. Now, though, people directly ask about it: “What do you think of Tol?” (“She’s nice”) usually precedes “You should marry her.” (I’m usually speechless at that point). They waste no time here. Linda met her groom at 16 and hasn’t seen him since until today (the day before the wedding). That’s not really my style, but I’m not about to tell them that. Luckily I have to have my parents’ approval first, and they’re on my side.

So that’s it for today. Per instruction, I locked up all my valuables and money in a chest inside these huge hardwood beds. I’m sitting blissfully alone with my computer with only the penetrating drone of the wedding procedure drifting (or slithering, rather) through the walls and windows. I’m sure I will soon be summoned to my groomsman duties, but until them, I am quite content.

A Fitting Assignment

I began working at the hospital yesterday, and already I am very excited about my work there. My first assignment was to interview some patients and write patient stories to go in the annual report. I was thrilled at the opportunity for several reasons. For one, it was something much more interesting than sitting at a desk reading paperwork. Secondly, it was an opportunity to use my skills; writing and assessing people are two of my fortes. That assignment gave me the opportunity to do both. Also, it gave me a chance to feed my own curiosity about the hospital and the people there. It was almost noon by the time I received this assignment, so I took the lunch break before I began.

During lunch, I had a really great talk with an Australian guy who works there in the finance department, and then afterwards, I went to the PR department (where I am officially working right now) to get a translator. I was assigned a young Khmer man, about my age, who had never done patient or interviews, nor did he have much translation practice. His English was not great, and I was a little concerned about using him. But it was the first time for both of us, and I figured we could give it a shot. We went to the medical ward, where there are several beds with the more serious patients. After talking with a nurse about which patients she recommended we try, we chose one in Bed 5. It was a small, older woman, and a young man (maybe 16) sat beside her. We walked up and introduced ourselves and told them what we were doing. They agreed to answer some questions, so we began.

It was difficult at first because sometimes my translator didn’t understand my question or he couldn’t explain the woman’s answer. But we both took notes as we went along and struggled only moderately along the way. It was frustrating for me that my translator didn’t like to ask questions when he wasn’t sure why I wanted to know, or if he thought the answer was obvious. I think he didn’t understand that if the woman doesn’t say it, I can’t write it. It was a strong incentive for me to learn Khmer as quickly as I can so that I don’t have to rely on a translator.

I took what sparse notes and vague understanding I had when we left, and I clarified a few things with my translator after the interview. I thanked him and told him that if I could write a story from it, I would. The director of the hospital, who gave me the assignment, took a very long time explaining that he didn’t want “an everyday ‘I was sick, then I came here, the doctors healed me, and I am very grateful’ story.” I nodded while he was explaining this, but inside I was thinking that it is the writer that makes a story, not the subject. I believe that every person has a story worth telling; it’s just a matter of probing and finding what story to tell. Therefore, it was my goal with this first interview to make it into a story. The director said that I would probably have to interview many people before I got an interesting one. I wanted to prove him wrong. And I did.

I went home and wrote a story on Chrreang Heng, which I will reproduce (without permission, but it will be published anyway) here.

Chhreang Heng lay in bed, her eyes closed and a blue mask over her nose and mouth. Every few minutes, her son, who sat beside the bed, took her hand in his and held it there, a tender embrace for a frail woman. Ten years ago, she might have been lying in her own bed, with not one, but all four of her sons at her side, heaving her last breaths. Today, though, Ms. Chhreang lies in a hospital bed, with state-of-the-art medical equipment and professionally-trained medical personnel only seconds away. “I was afraid, at first, but the doctor takes very good care of me. I am not afraid anymore.”

Ms. Chhreang has been in the Sihanouk Hospital Center of Hope for eight days and is being treated for congestive heart failure, atrial fibrillation, severe pneumonia, hyperthyroidism, and related complications. Having suffered from some of these illnesses for many years, she initially sought help from a traditional-medicine hospital over 150 km from her home. After spending more than she could afford on ineffective treatment, Ms. Chhreang returned to her home in Kratie, a province in rural Cambodia. Her husband suffered from a stroke, disabling him from work, and he died shortly thereafter, leaving a sick widow and four sons.

Finally, after more than four years of struggling with her medical condition and the hardships of severe poverty, Ms. Chhreang heard from a neighbor about the Sihanouk Hospital Center of Hope, in Phnom Penh. The neighbor told her that she could receive free medical help there and that the doctors would treat her with respect and dignity despite her poverty. Suddenly, the three hundred kilometers to the hospital seemed manageable. She and her third son left for Phnom Penh – a grueling journey, but they were rewarded upon reaching their destination. She was seen and considered critical enough to receive one of the few precious beds available in the hospital facility. She was treated, both with modern medicine and with respect, and she is on the mend. And there she remains today, happy and unafraid, waiting for enough strength to return that she may go home again.

When I showed my immediate supervisor (who is the director’s wife and director of PR), she was ecstatic and said that it would definitely go into the annual report. I was pleased.

On the second day, I did two more interviews. One I did not use because I sensed during the interview that it would take too much probing and time (perhaps above the ability of my poor translator) to be worth the effort. Of course, I did not tell her that, but I did end the interview fairly quickly. The second took quite a bit of effort as well, but I think I managed to make something of it. I am working on that story right now and will post it when I finish.