Routines can be an excellent way to combat uncertainty and provide a sense of comfort in a new environment. For the past several weeks however, my routine has felt more like a rut than a source of structure. That is why when one of the English teachers asked if I would accompany him to his home village near the Thai border, I couldn’t help but say yes (plus my inner yes man told me to say so).
At times I feel as though I’m not really assimilating with the local culture. My frequent trips to the internet cafe to do work remind me of stereotypical NYC. I’ve been eating at the same restaurants, one of them a Mexican restaurant owned by an expat, and I really haven’t made an effort to explore unknown parts of the city in quite some time. I was excited to see a village far away from Siem Reap, as I was expecting to get a real taste of what it means to live locally.
The journey would be to the Banteay Meanchey Province, entirely by motorbike and about 3 hours each way. It was only about an hour and a half in before my ass was starting to become incredibly sore. Luckily, the beauty of the never-ending horizon in all directions was able to keep my head out of my ass. It was our first road stop where I’d really get to live like a local, and try some rather interesting cuisine that's normally found crawling on the ground. On the side of the highway was this little food stand with a few people seated and enjoying their meals. My first instinct was to peruse the selections, which consisted of fertilized duck eggs, grasshoppers, beetles, and snakes. There wasn’t anything normal to eat here, at least by western standards.
Instead of getting grossed out and refusing to try anything, I was overcome with joy as I’d have the opportunity to try some truly Cambodian cuisine. First up was Balut, or the fertilized duck egg. Before coming to Cambodia, I watched a video of Gordon Ramsay turn down the opportunity to try this delicacy, so I was feeling all high and mighty actually having the balls to try this almost barbaric dish. I cracked open my egg, and there she was. A little baby duck mixed in with the egg white and yolk, creating a gooey and mushy paste of gray and pale yellow. It was by far the most repulsive thing I’d ever seen in my life, but I didn’t just crack an egg open to see what was inside. I dug my spoon in, and pulled out a mouthful of egg innards. The duck's right eyeball looked up at me as I examined my spoonful. I took a deep breath in, and scarfed down the pile of goo on my spoon. To my surprise, it actually tasted like a normal egg, with just a little more pizaz. I was able to finish the entire egg and the only thing I could think of was: what’s next?
Next on the menu was the snake, which frankly wasn’t that exciting. It tasted like watered down chicken. The most disgusting thing I would try would be the beetle, as it’s texture was rather beetley and didn’t have any flavor to compensate for it. After my new palette expansion, we continued on our journey.
For the next few kilometers I’d be fishing beetle parts out of my teeth while undergoing the hypnosis of the Cambodian countryside. Whenever I venture to this region of the country it’s like being sucked into a National Geographic cover. Even today I still can’t believe that this is what my eyes are given the opportunity to see on a regular basis. After many more kilometers of expansive countryside and sore rear ends, we reached our destination, and it met my expectations entirely. No running water, dirt floors, and hammocks dominated as the main piece of furniture. This is what I thought of when I thought of Cambodia.
Our first order of business was to visit the pagoda, where people go to honor their dead. A celebration was happening as part of an annual holiday, and I was excited to see what was going on. As we got closer and closer to the pagoda, my excitement started to wane. The deeper into the village I ventured the stranger the looks became, and the more comfortable people were with shouting “barang” at me. I tried my best to smile and wear my scarlet letter with pride, however this only became more strenuous as time passed. At this point I was convinced I had been the only white person most of these people had ever seen, and I was damn sure I was the only white person in the village.
Every which way I caught people staring at me, talking about me, and pointing at me; with absolutely no regard for how it made me feel. At one point I tried whipping around at someone to make sure they knew I knew what barang meant, but it had been a pointless attempt at trying to make them feel any bit bad. As we walked in and around the pagoda I continued to receive strange looks and increased attention. I was the only barang in the entire complex. At night the pagoda would turn into something that resembled a typical Union College party. Dancing, ear-shattering loud music, and tons of people crammed into one small space was now the atmosphere of the once quite and peaceful pagoda I had seen earlier.
Towards the end of the night I joined Soben and his brother for some chicken heart and drinks. A street vendor pulled out the smallest child table and chairs set I think has ever been fabricated, and we, four grown men, proceeded to sit down and have a meal together. I imagine it was a pretty hilarious sight to see while passing by, but it was nice to relax and take in my surroundings.
It was only 9 o'clock before I was starting to feel sleepy, so we headed back and I was introduced to my bed for the weekend. My “bed” would be a thin blanket sprawled out on a hardwood floor, with a mosquito net draped above. My bony hips prevented me from sleeping on my side, which I always do, so my quality of sleep was that of a Union College student in their tenth week of Winter term. The litter of kittens didn't make matters any better.
Most of the weekend was spent waiting and relaxing, as there were about five young children that needed constant attention as they cried for food and mother's love. In this time I drew in my Batik Boutique sketchbook I made with Sydney and Gillian, and thought about Cambodian hospitality. Whenever you are a guest at someone's home in Cambodia, you are treated like royalty. You are offered the best seat, given as much food as you'd like, and everyone goes out of their way to make sure you don't lift a finger. It's hard to let my hosts do all this work for me, as I am the type who doesn't care for special attention. But I realized that turning down someone's generosity can be extremely offensive, so I complied and took some mental notes.
As I mentioned, the weekend was spent mostly waiting around, and I realized that even when there is no television and the language barrier prevents any sort of meaningful conversation, there is still no reason to be bored. As John Kabat-Zinn once said, "When you pay attention to boredom it gets unbelievably interesting." And I found this to ring incredibly true. Most of the people in Banteay Meanchey don't have many possessions or gadgets to keep them occupied, but everyone still seems happy and content. Even when there is nothing to do there is always something to do. Whether that is to draw, or simply think. My new environment and interactions have allowed me to think about the world in entirely new ways, and I have discovered a newfound appreciation for the opportunity to simply sit and think like an ancient philosopher, asking questions that may never have a true answer.
One of the more exciting moments of the trip was my trip to the shower one morning. There was no running water and a squatter in place of the toilet, which I had always wanted to try out (everything they say about squatting is true by the way). There were two main sources of water, a large rectangular tub for bathing and one for "flushing" the squatter. You simply keep pouring water into it until all the waste is out of sight. I was brushing my teeth when I was looking at the selection of cleaning products on the edge of the tub. As I picked up one of the bottles to inspect it further, a large black spot quickly scurried up the wall in my periphery. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was a massive tarantula, and it didn't move the rest of the time I spent in the enclosed washroom, ominously watching my every move. I hurriedly finished brushing my teeth and got the hell out of there, keeping a close lookout each time I had to go back in.
All that waiting around eventually led me to the end of my stay, with all my new country-life experiences fresh in mind. On the three hour trip back I had the chance to simply think about what I had seen and done, and it felt humbling to not only see how people in this region lived, but to experience it as well. One observation I made while we cruised down the highway was that the banks I had seen in different parts of Cambodia all have the same exterior; a towering reflective wall of opaque blue glass, which I believe is symbolic of the lack of transparency in the banking system as a whole.
When I finally returned to my apartment, I could not sit another second on the back of Soben's motorbike. I couldn't wait to lay down in my soft bed and relax for a few moments before I unpacked. I noticed that my apartment had a new look to it that I couldn't quite explain. But then it dawned on me, my short time in the country was enough to change my perspective of my own living situation, which now seemed luxurious and privileged. I cannot help but wonder what my perception of my home back in Stillwater will be after this experience, but I know for sure it will be drastically different than when I had left.
Unfortunately, it often takes a disaster to inspire change or reform, as history has demonstrated with various mass shootings, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, and even traffic accidents. The same goes for appreciation. In order to truly appreciate something, you must lose it, and experience what life is like without it. So I encourage you, the next time you feel as though you are unhappy with what you have, imagine if you didn't have it at all.
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
Thursday, October 26, 2017
CollabCamb
At the end of August, which now seems like a distant memory, I attended a meeting hosted by Collaboration Cambodia, an ambitious group of expats and locals that get together to discuss prevalent topics in the NGO community. The past two meetings have centered around the topic of responsible volunteering, encompassing a variety of subtopics including vetting volunteers, voluntourism, and what to do with volunteers once their boots hit the ground. Today we discussed the vetting process, and I was able to offer my insights into the extremely unique manner in which The Global Child acquires its volunteers.
After listening to the representatives from local NGOs speak, I realized that TGC is blessed to have the Minerva Fellowship as a core component if its operation. Many NGOs have to select volunteers based on rigorous, complicated, and frankly uncertain hiring processes that may result in a volunteer whose expectations are widely out of sync with the organization's. With the Minerva Fellowship however, TGC bears none of the burden of selection, as this is handled 100% by Union College. Before news of the next pair of volunteers even reaches TGC, the staff and students know with full confidence they will be receiving near-perfect candidates for the role, thanks to the amazing intuition of Tom McEvoy and the fellowship selection committee. It is this intuition that led to my placement in Cambodia!
Another unique aspect of the Minerva Fellowship, is that Union College bears all of the volunteers' expenses, which is largely unheard of in the NGO community. I was very excited to share TGC's unique advantage in the volunteer selection process, and when it was time to break out into smaller groups during today's meeting, I found myself impatiently waiting through constant rambling of problems without solutions. I felt as though I had a viable solution, so I wanted to share it before I ran out of time.
When it came to be my turn to speak, my thoughts barely escaped my mouth before it was time to rejoin into one large group for a summary of what was discussed. But in that short time, I learned my group's moderator is from Saratoga, NY. The power of the common thread is not to be taken lightly, as I felt an instant connection with the moderator and we would later get drinks together with the rest of the meeting organizers, but I will get to that later.
After my group moderator summarized what we talked about, he made sure to point me out and let everyone know that they could talk to me about TGC and its unique vetting process. As I was about to get another donut (or what seemed to be a donut) from the back of the room, a woman approached me with questions about Union College and the fellowship. Before I knew it, at least five people were huddled around me, listening in to the insights I had to offer. It felt empowering to share valuable knowledge to people looking for solutions to an extremely complex problem, and I hope I can continue to provide further value in the future.
After the conference room emptied out, I went to approach my new friend from Saratoga and just like that, a small group of us were headed to a Mexican Restaurant to discuss how the meeting went. This is where I met the main facilitator; a retired principal and teacher from Rochester, NY, who at one point owned a bar in Nicaragua. He taught me about the inefficiencies of the Cambodian trash removal system, a Bier garden that gives you back massages as you're trying to take a piss, and even the inner workings of the prison system. I can't say too much, or else I may end up in one...
I even met a former Peace Corps volunteer, and was able to talk to her about her experiences living with a host family in Cambodia. I must say the Peace Corps sounds like the Minerva Fellowship on crack. The contract is for 2 years as opposed to 9 months, and the missions are typically much harder and the sense of purpose can sometimes be nonexistent, which can often be the hardest part about such an experience. I continued to have drinks with the facilitator long after everyone else had left, and he shared stories of someone he knew that was featured on Shark Tank, his maneuvering through the 2008 financial crisis, and even when Quentin Tarantino walked into a restaurant he worked at, entourage in tow. Apparently he's pretty damn tall.
One of the last things I learned was that the facilitator is a piano player, which naturally led me to mention my drumming prowess. His immediate reaction was to ask me if I wanted a gig, and I expressed both my interest and concern, as I have not honed the ability to play alongside other musicians. That being said, maybe the band will happen after all!
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
Identity
For the past couple of months, I have been involved with a photography group comprised of expats and locals that get together and offer critiques, advice, and other insights related to the art of photography. Today was the 6th meeting, and one of the members gave a presentation showing off photos of his pediatric surgical journey in Nigeria, as well as nearly all 50 states. After seeing the great United States through the lens of this professional photographer, I began to miss America more than I have yet. The photos even tugged at the group leader's heartstrings, who expressed he doesn't miss America often. The images of desert landscapes and sunsets reminded me of a land where I felt like I belonged.
You can view his US presentation here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRtKBqMQVB0
Many things have changed since I first landed in Cambodia, but there is one thing that will never change; and that is the scarlet letter I feel plastered on my chest; except in this case it is "F" for foreigner, or "O" for outsider, or "B" for barang. As a white American male, I have never truly experienced discrimination. And I must say, it can be extremely frustrating to put it lightly. Weird looks, the feeling that everyone around me is making fun of me for whatever reason, and "special" prices have become the new norm.
There was one instance in which I took a few of my students to the gym, and they all paid ahead of me. $0.50 each. I got up to pay, and the price somehow jumped up to $1. All because of the color of my skin. I'm not saying $0.50 is a big deal, it's not, but it's the principle. While experiences such as this frustrate the absolute fucking hell out of me, they have shown me something that I honestly could not see in America. People think they understand it, but until it happens to you, you don't.
The longer I stay in Cambodia, the longer my hair reaches. I told some friends back home that I would grow it out, so I don't see it getting shorter anytime soon. My long hair has given me something to think about though, and that is identity.
As my hair grows longer, I've been able to see how it looks "naturally." Is this how I was meant to look? Do people see me differently than if I had short hair? Do these perceptions people have of me change the way "I" act? If so, do I even have a choice in what I do? Am I even in control? These are the questions that I ponder as I look in the mirror and slowly see myself becoming a different person. It is surreal to see yourself transform in a meaningful way right before your very eyes.
My hair is not the only way I've been measuring the time I've spent in Cambodia. Time doesn't have to be measured by a ticking clock, hourglass, or the cliche "_____ days to home" scrawled on a white board. Rent bills, toothpaste tubes, flosser bags, books, peanut butter jars stacking up on the kitchen counter, gummy vitamins; these are all metrics which measure the length of time I've been in Cambodia. When I'm done with my first bottle of gummy vitamins, I'll have been here 115 days. And it's almost empty!!
You can view his US presentation here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRtKBqMQVB0
Many things have changed since I first landed in Cambodia, but there is one thing that will never change; and that is the scarlet letter I feel plastered on my chest; except in this case it is "F" for foreigner, or "O" for outsider, or "B" for barang. As a white American male, I have never truly experienced discrimination. And I must say, it can be extremely frustrating to put it lightly. Weird looks, the feeling that everyone around me is making fun of me for whatever reason, and "special" prices have become the new norm.
There was one instance in which I took a few of my students to the gym, and they all paid ahead of me. $0.50 each. I got up to pay, and the price somehow jumped up to $1. All because of the color of my skin. I'm not saying $0.50 is a big deal, it's not, but it's the principle. While experiences such as this frustrate the absolute fucking hell out of me, they have shown me something that I honestly could not see in America. People think they understand it, but until it happens to you, you don't.
The longer I stay in Cambodia, the longer my hair reaches. I told some friends back home that I would grow it out, so I don't see it getting shorter anytime soon. My long hair has given me something to think about though, and that is identity.
As my hair grows longer, I've been able to see how it looks "naturally." Is this how I was meant to look? Do people see me differently than if I had short hair? Do these perceptions people have of me change the way "I" act? If so, do I even have a choice in what I do? Am I even in control? These are the questions that I ponder as I look in the mirror and slowly see myself becoming a different person. It is surreal to see yourself transform in a meaningful way right before your very eyes.
My hair is not the only way I've been measuring the time I've spent in Cambodia. Time doesn't have to be measured by a ticking clock, hourglass, or the cliche "_____ days to home" scrawled on a white board. Rent bills, toothpaste tubes, flosser bags, books, peanut butter jars stacking up on the kitchen counter, gummy vitamins; these are all metrics which measure the length of time I've been in Cambodia. When I'm done with my first bottle of gummy vitamins, I'll have been here 115 days. And it's almost empty!!
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Monday, October 9, 2017
1/3
It's hard to believe that I'm already a third of the way through this crazy journey. With summer school over, it is time to make way for the serious shit. Sydney and I just got our fifth iteration of our schedules for the year (and it won't be the last), and we can't help but feel a little overwhelmed. We are required to create course outlines for our classes, and it's a bit surreal planning out how we will spend the rest of our days in Cambodia.
This year we are the guinea pigs for a new English class structure. The English students have been separated into two groups per grade; one advanced and one needing a little extra help. I didn't think we would get past the scheduling phase, as the split added numerous classes and confusion to the already packed schedule. The books didn't arrive for some time either, and we're still waiting on a few. But I have to say, after getting the chance to experience some of my new classes, I think this change will be beneficial for both the students and teachers.
Instead of having a large uncontrollable group of hyperactive kids, I now have extremely small groups of children that are quiet, respectful, and eager to learn. I have the ability to engage in more meaningful discussions and cover more interesting topics. So even with all the confusion and added stress, I am grateful to be the guinea pig.
When I first started teaching, I was a bit worried because of one particular idiosyncrasy of my own mind. Whenever I have something marked on my mental calendar, I unintentionally devote a great deal of mental resources to worrying about the upcoming event, and greatly look forward to crossing it off my to-do list. Fortunately for me, my teaching schedule has challenged this manner of thinking. Sometimes I have one class in the morning, and not another until 4 in the afternoon, forcing me to just go with the flow and not give a damn about it until the time comes.
It is this going with the flow that I have become much better at. Despite the overwhelming nature of the school year at present, I know in a few weeks it will all feel normal again. I just need to give it time. So next time you're stressing, just tell yourself it'll all be okay in the end, and just go with the flow. You'll be surprised where it can take you.
I have always considered myself a "yes man," trying to make everyone happy at the same time. I usually succeeded, but at the cost of my own happiness. While waiting for books to arrive, I decided to show my students Yes Man starring Jim Carey. A film about a real sad sack of a man who learns what the power of yes can do for one's life. Being a yes man myself, when one of the TGC accountants asked if I wanted to go on a boat ride this past weekend, I couldn't help but say yes, and I'm sure as hell happy I did.
The journey started with a trip to pick up a friend, and yet another friend with an alligator farm. I've seen alligators at zoos, where they just mope around and hardly move, but never before have I been able to see so many alligators up close and personal. On top of that, they were extremely active. One of the little ones even snapped at me ferociously from beneath the wire fence. We then made our way to the lake where we would be taking our boat ride, which was the same place Sydney and I had been taken before by one of the English teachers. Except this time, I'd be experiencing it in an entirely different way.
We all piled into a boat which sort of resembled a giant motorized canoe, and set sail for the horizon. Monsoon season has recently begun, and because of all the rain we were floating eye-level with the tops of trees inhabiting the lake. We ventured through a thick patch of vegetation and came out clean on the other side, where we stopped for a little swimming. I was fully clothed so I was hesitant to jump in, but as more and more people jumped into the water, I couldn't help but dive in as well. Clothes and all.
The water was perfect, even slightly hot in some places, as the scorching Cambodian sun beats down on it day in and day out. We piled back into the boat and moved towards the center of the lake. It was so vast that I would have thought I was in the ocean, if it weren't for the occasional patch of trees watching us in the distance. I was worried that I would be the only one who spoke English, however one of the people with us spoke excellent English, and we became friends while floating in the water and talking about each other's pasts.
When it was time to go back, the sun was beginning to set, and the whole ride was spent reflecting about how fortunate I am to have this experience, and that at times it seems too good to be true. I felt like I was in some sort of movie. My eyes were focused on the horizon as water splashed up from the boat and the sunset grew more and more intense as we cruised further and further away. At one point it alligned perfectly with the top of the only mountain in sight, and the clouds resembled a city in the sky (Bespin perhaps?).
Unable to say no, I agreed to having dinner with everyone at my new friend's house, where I was shown a mushroom farm containing thousands of bags of mushrooms from which they grew. The bags were hung from the ceiling and created what seemed like catacombs, except for mushrooms; dimly lit by a few light bulbs in the night air. When it was time to eat, I joined everyone at the table and put my novice chopstick skills to the test, eating whatever was it front of me. I have to say, it was pretty good, however it took three water bottles to wash it down on account of how spicy it was! My lips felt like I kissed the devil.
Before I knew it it was time to go, and I reflected on all the new friends I had made and how grateful I was for saying yes. I'm the type of person who enjoys his alone time, drawing or getting lost in a good book. But in Cambodia, a journey into the unknown is always more fun. And from now on, I won't think twice about saying yes.
This year we are the guinea pigs for a new English class structure. The English students have been separated into two groups per grade; one advanced and one needing a little extra help. I didn't think we would get past the scheduling phase, as the split added numerous classes and confusion to the already packed schedule. The books didn't arrive for some time either, and we're still waiting on a few. But I have to say, after getting the chance to experience some of my new classes, I think this change will be beneficial for both the students and teachers.
Instead of having a large uncontrollable group of hyperactive kids, I now have extremely small groups of children that are quiet, respectful, and eager to learn. I have the ability to engage in more meaningful discussions and cover more interesting topics. So even with all the confusion and added stress, I am grateful to be the guinea pig.
When I first started teaching, I was a bit worried because of one particular idiosyncrasy of my own mind. Whenever I have something marked on my mental calendar, I unintentionally devote a great deal of mental resources to worrying about the upcoming event, and greatly look forward to crossing it off my to-do list. Fortunately for me, my teaching schedule has challenged this manner of thinking. Sometimes I have one class in the morning, and not another until 4 in the afternoon, forcing me to just go with the flow and not give a damn about it until the time comes.
It is this going with the flow that I have become much better at. Despite the overwhelming nature of the school year at present, I know in a few weeks it will all feel normal again. I just need to give it time. So next time you're stressing, just tell yourself it'll all be okay in the end, and just go with the flow. You'll be surprised where it can take you.
I have always considered myself a "yes man," trying to make everyone happy at the same time. I usually succeeded, but at the cost of my own happiness. While waiting for books to arrive, I decided to show my students Yes Man starring Jim Carey. A film about a real sad sack of a man who learns what the power of yes can do for one's life. Being a yes man myself, when one of the TGC accountants asked if I wanted to go on a boat ride this past weekend, I couldn't help but say yes, and I'm sure as hell happy I did.
The journey started with a trip to pick up a friend, and yet another friend with an alligator farm. I've seen alligators at zoos, where they just mope around and hardly move, but never before have I been able to see so many alligators up close and personal. On top of that, they were extremely active. One of the little ones even snapped at me ferociously from beneath the wire fence. We then made our way to the lake where we would be taking our boat ride, which was the same place Sydney and I had been taken before by one of the English teachers. Except this time, I'd be experiencing it in an entirely different way.
We all piled into a boat which sort of resembled a giant motorized canoe, and set sail for the horizon. Monsoon season has recently begun, and because of all the rain we were floating eye-level with the tops of trees inhabiting the lake. We ventured through a thick patch of vegetation and came out clean on the other side, where we stopped for a little swimming. I was fully clothed so I was hesitant to jump in, but as more and more people jumped into the water, I couldn't help but dive in as well. Clothes and all.
The water was perfect, even slightly hot in some places, as the scorching Cambodian sun beats down on it day in and day out. We piled back into the boat and moved towards the center of the lake. It was so vast that I would have thought I was in the ocean, if it weren't for the occasional patch of trees watching us in the distance. I was worried that I would be the only one who spoke English, however one of the people with us spoke excellent English, and we became friends while floating in the water and talking about each other's pasts.
When it was time to go back, the sun was beginning to set, and the whole ride was spent reflecting about how fortunate I am to have this experience, and that at times it seems too good to be true. I felt like I was in some sort of movie. My eyes were focused on the horizon as water splashed up from the boat and the sunset grew more and more intense as we cruised further and further away. At one point it alligned perfectly with the top of the only mountain in sight, and the clouds resembled a city in the sky (Bespin perhaps?).
Unable to say no, I agreed to having dinner with everyone at my new friend's house, where I was shown a mushroom farm containing thousands of bags of mushrooms from which they grew. The bags were hung from the ceiling and created what seemed like catacombs, except for mushrooms; dimly lit by a few light bulbs in the night air. When it was time to eat, I joined everyone at the table and put my novice chopstick skills to the test, eating whatever was it front of me. I have to say, it was pretty good, however it took three water bottles to wash it down on account of how spicy it was! My lips felt like I kissed the devil.
Before I knew it it was time to go, and I reflected on all the new friends I had made and how grateful I was for saying yes. I'm the type of person who enjoys his alone time, drawing or getting lost in a good book. But in Cambodia, a journey into the unknown is always more fun. And from now on, I won't think twice about saying yes.
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