Cambodia: Day 52

Thursday, June 30th, 2011

Sophorn's House

11:42 AM

Yesterday was my last day doing field work. I woke up in the morning excited to be finishing up my surveys, ready to get back to Phnom Penh and started on my report.

Lauren and I sat on the side of the road in front of the guest house while we waited for Sareth to pick us up. We had a long conversation about high school, especially in regard to awkward dates and people who were just awkward in general. In hindsight, I've come to realize that I was probably the awkward one. I just hope that I've changed my ways since then.

But let's be honest, I probably haven't.

I still can't believe that I've been graduated for two years now. I honestly feel like I had the perfect high school career, with amazing friends who were very low-key and avoided drama like the plague. In many aspects high school seems like it was just yesterday, especially when I think about the good times I had. I've found, however, that I more often than not feel like high school was a lifetime ago. The experiences I've had since I've graduated have made me feel older, wiser, and more independent.

Sounds like something an immature person would say, don't you think?

There's no doubt that I still have a lot of growing up to do. I mean, I'm only nineteen! But I have learned things in college that I could have never learned in high school. For one thing, I have a better idea of the kind of person I am. More importantly, though, I have a better idea of what I want to become …

Sareth showed up around 7:30 AM. We hopped in the back of the RACHA/USAID car and made our way to the first village, flying past field workers the entire thirty minutes it took to get there. The village was a large one, with about 1000 inhabitants. We walked from home to home, interviewing women until it was about 10 AM. I hit my quota, ninety women, and called it good. We made our way back to the vehicle; I sat in the back seat and sipped on chocolate soy milk while Sareth figured out what was next on our schedule.

Due to Sareth's English skills, I was able to ask him the few burning questions I had.

"Do many men smoke here?"

"Yeah, most of the men do."

"What about the women?"

"They don't smoke." Most of the older women chew tobacco; thankfully that particular habit is becoming more uncommon for younger women.

"Are there any types of regulations that are put on cigarettes or alcohol in Cambodia? In the United States you have to be at least 21 …"

"No, no regulations. Anybody can buy alcohol or cigarettes, it doesn't matter what age you are. The people who sell only care about the money, they don't care about health … Many children drink and smoke …"

Although there isn't any regulation of the purchasing of narcotics, the Cambodian government has taken a few steps to try to improve the situation: they've banned cigarette ads from TV and other forms of media …

That's about it.

We stuck around the village to watch a quick health seminar put on by Sareth and one of the VHSG's before heading back to the city center. An older Cambodian man (who had teeth eerily similar to Gollum from LOTR) sat in a hammock nearby, staring at us and talking about us with the driver. I only knew that because he kept saying "barang" in his conversation, the Khmer word for "white person" or European.

Luckily we were able to catch a bus back to Phnom Penh that afternoon in time for the branch activity. I sat on the bus next to the window, my head jerking back and forth as I fell in and out of sleep. Wait, why does my arm suddenly feel all wet? Rain was pouring outside the mobile tin can and leaking through the window. This is what you get when you only pay $2.50 for a bus ticket...

[Sareth and me.]

[Don't worry, Mom. I was very tempted to send this baby home, but I resisted.]

Cambodia: Day 51

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Prey Veng

4:27 PM

Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up one person and go to bed someone different?

Today was definitely one of those days.

I began my day at 6:30 AM. We got ready and walked down the street in search of somewhere to eat breakfast before heading out with RACHA. We were able to find a small restaurant in a shack; we knew it was a good place to eat because a handful of locals were already dining there. There weren't any menus, so we just ordered rice and pork. It was simple, but delicious. On our way back we were intercepted by a RACHA car that took us to the hotel to grab our stuff and then back to the office where we parted ways.

I talked to one of the head guys at the office while I waited for Sareth to arrive. Ten minutes passed and we were on our way. I sat in the back of the car, making small talk with Sareth as picturesque acres of rice paddies and palm trees passed outside my window. People were hard at work plowing their fields and transplanting the rice stalks. Sareth turned around in his seat to face me and asked, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I replied smilingly, encouraging him to go on.

"How many siblings do you have?"

I promptly answered his question, "Only one brother."

He proceeded to tell me that he came from a very large family with eleven kids, fourteen people in total. "Only three of them survived the Khmer Rouge."

I was dumbfounded. My heart dropped. Only three survived? I asked how he survived, and he proceeded to tell me his story…

He was born and raised in Phnom Penh. When the Khmer Rouge took over Phnom Penh, he and his family were moved to Battambang. I estimate that he was about ten years old. When they were sent to work in Battambang, he was assigned to be an animal keeper; his job was to watch the cows and other grazing animals to make sure they didn't get into the rice crops. There were four animal keepers, one assigned to each direction (north, south, east, and west). His older brother was given the same assignment.

One day, a few animals got into one of the rice paddies and ate some of the crops. Sareth's older brother took the blame and told the soldiers it was his fault. What did the Khmer Rouge do? They tied his elbows together behind his back and pushed him into the river, right in front of Sareth's face.

Sareth watched his brother die. He had no choice, there was nothing he could have done to save him. Sure, he could have tried to stop the soldiers, but they would have surely killed him, as well.

As for his other family members, I only got the stories of two of them. His father, like many of the other prisoners, were assigned to labor in the fields. His father grew ill, and without the proper medicine to treat his infirmity, he passed away. A case like this was very common in the camps; people were worked too hard, had little to nothing to eat, got sick, and died because there was no way to treat them.

His sister was married with a few children. While in the camp, the soldiers found out that she had been married to a Lon Nol soldier back in Phnom Penh. Since Lon Nol was one of the top enemies of the Khmer Rouge, anyone that was associated with that particular regime was killed without question. Such was the unfortunate fate of her and her children.

I didn't know what to say. There wasn't anything I could say. An overwhelming feeling overcame me as I considered the fact that I had never been taught anything about the Khmer Rouge in school. It pains me to know that I probably would have never known about the atrocities that occurred under Pol Pot's regime had I not signed up for this internship.

I was lost in thought as we continued on our journey to the food distribution. I was able to, with Sareth's help, interview eighteen women throughout the morning. A crowd gathered everywhere we went. I would like to say I'm used to dozens of pairs of eyes being on me, but I'm still not.

The distribution ended and about fifteen of us gathered to eat lunch. The VHSG had made all of us a meal with various components: sticky rice, steamed rice, fried fish, eggs and ginger, bamboo and frog, field crab, the list went on and on. It was delicious. It was so amazing to be able to eat what the villagers eat and be in their company. I loved every moment of it.

Cambodia: Day 47

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Om Loon's in Phnom Penh

10:13 PM

Yesterday morning we embarked on an adventure to Kirirum, a national park southwest of Phnom Penh. I didn't know much about it beforehand; all I knew was that there was a waterfall. Although waterfalls are pretty cool, I sometimes get the feeling that once you've seen one waterfall, you've seen them all. Either way, I was still pretty excited to go on the trip. I love a good hike.

We met at the church building and piled into a large van, Eng in the front passenger seat and a large Cambodian man at the helm. Like a lot of Cambodian men I've seen, this guy had a gnarly patch of hair growing from a mole on his chin. According to Cambodian culture, facial hair growing from a mole is a sign of luck.

I'm not sure if I'd be willing to trade "luck" for such an atrocious facial feature. But hey, that's just me.

I don’t know what was going on with the man at the wheel, but he seemed to have a mission to get to Kirirum in as fast a manner as possible. He was driving all over the road, straight into oncoming traffic on multiple occasions, honking his horn at anyone who was within a ten foot radius of our vehicle. I can't tell you how many times I looked up from my seat just behind Eng to find a semi heading straight for us.We're going to die!

Despite the onslaught of oncoming traffic, we arrived in Kirirum that afternoon safe and sound. We had just enough time to change into our swimsuits before we were loaded into ox carts for a quick ride to the trailhead. Spencer, Kaitlin, Eng, and the Cambodian commander were in one while Tuni, Lauren, Mike, and I were piled in the other.

In retrospect, I feel like riding those ox carts was something that we did just to say that we did it. I mean, it's not like the path was so terrible that we only had the option of the ox carts; on the contrary, the path was perfectly fine, and I'm pretty sure I could have walked it faster than the speed we were going in the carts. Not to mention, I would have been spared the threat of getting lime disease by the blood-sucking ticks that were latched to the oxen.

It's all for the experience, Andee. All for the experience.

About ten minutes passed and we were at the trailhead. Dense jungle surrounded us, the sounds of frogs and crickets emanating from the depths. Every so often I'd feel webbing on one or more extremities of my body, forcing me to stop and make sure there weren't any spiders attached. A half hour later, we came up over a ridge and I found myself viewing of one of the most beautiful waterfalls I'd ever seen. Needless to say, I immediately took back my notion that all waterfalls are the same.

We hiked down the ridge to a giant pile of boulders that formed the base of the waterfall. Cold spray from the force of the water graced our presence. I pulled out a camera and got to work documenting the scene while the rest of the pack made their attempts to get closer to the steady stream of water diving over the cliff. I would have followed, but I've had bad experiences with slippery rocks. I decided this was not the occasion to take a trip down memory lane. Literally.

The sun started to sink in the sky and we decided to head back. Surprisingly, and maybe a little disappointingly, the ox carts were still waiting for us when we got back to the trailhead. I hopped inside the cart and squished my legs to my chest as Mike, Tuni, and the large-and-in-charge Cambodian driver took their spots. While riding back, I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the present situation. We hit rock after rock, bumping all over the place as the driver swore in Khmer under his breath.

We ate a scrumptious dinner of rice, bamboo, fried noodles, and stew. We set up camp in a one room stilted home, secluded from the hustle and bustle of the city. Eng, Mike, and the driver slept underneath the home while the rest of us sought refuge beneath bright blue mosquito nets and paper-thin mattresses inside. Cards were played, a movie was watched, and then it was time to sleep.

Well, at least I thought it was time for sleep. Between the demon gecko that was scurrying around the walls, the snoring Cambodian driver, and my fear of getting raped by mosquitoes and other insects, sleep wasn't really an option.

Despite the lack of sleep, I loved the experience. I definitely came to a greater appreciation of the lifestyle that rural Cambodians live. Their simplicity of life made it easy to forget all of my worries and allowed me to just live in the moment, something that I definitely need to integrate into my everyday lifestyle.

[Lauren and I on the ox cart. This was a candid shot, just in case you couldn't tell.]

[Mike, Lauren, Tuni, and me on the ox cart headed up to the trail head.]

[This is where we slept. Or attempted to sleep.]

[This is the house we stayed in.]

[Me after my not-so-good night's sleep. Still smiling!]

Cambodia: Day 45

Thursday, June 23rd, 2011

Om Loon's House in Phnom Penh

8:33 AM

Well, I'm back an entire day early from Pursat. I'm not going to lie, I was pretty happy to be leaving that particular province. It's not that I didn't like the province or anything, because I actually loved it (the rural parts, at least). It's just that Phnom Penh is kind of like my home away from home now, a place where I come back and feel like I belong...

Yesterday morning I woke up and quickly got ready for the day. The night before, Tuni and I ate dinner at a noodle house a few blocks away from the place we were staying. Before I went to bed I started to feel a little bleh. You know what I’m talking about, the kind of bleh where your stomach doesn't hurt, but you feel like you want to throw up anyway. It was almost like the food I had for dinner was stuck somewhere between my mouth and my intestines and couldn't make up its mind which way to go. Needless to say, every time I thought about food I felt worse and just attempted to sleep it off.

It didn't work. Every time I woke up in the night, which was multiple times, I felt gross. In the end, I think I was just very dehydrated; my legs kept getting a little cramped up and restless, a tell-tale sign of dehydration.

This leads me to my next adventure. Ready for the day, Tuni and I headed downstairs, my first objective being to find water. I wasn't feeling any better; if anything, I was feeling worse. All I wanted was water. I knew that the guest house left free bottles of water in the room every time it got cleaned, so naturally I went to the front desk and asked for some.

"Do you have any water?"

Blank stares.

"Umm … Water?" I pulled out an empty water bottle from my backpack and held it up. There was some conversation between the employees behind the desk and next thing I knew, the guy was on the phone calling for backup.

What is he doing, calling the police? It's just water. Not more than five feet away stood a small glass refrigerator with precious water inside.

A boy from the restaurant came walking in and up to us. "What do you need?"

"Do you have any water?"

Blank stares. Again.

"WATER. DO. YOU. HAVE. ANY. WATER." I tried to be as calm as possible as I held up and pointed to the empty bottle again.

"In the restaurant."

Of course it's in the restaurant.

Tuni and I made our way over to the restaurant and sat down. Smells wafted from the large dark kitchen in the back, enhancing my sickness and curbing any appetite I had left. We were there for a good ten minutes before our orders were taken, me making sure to order a large water and rice with pork. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to eat it, but I thought I'd try to anyway.

I got my water and began watching the clock. We had to be at the RACHA office by eight, and the current time was 7:30. Perfect, fifteen minutes to eat and then we'll be on our way.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Umm, how long does it take to shovel some rice into a bowl and cook up some pork?

Tuni called the waitress over and asked where our food was. She looked at us as if we were crazy, then looked down at the table and noticed there was no food there. She rushed back to the kitchen, yelling. Thirty seconds later she was back.

"I'm sorry, we have no pork."

Of course you don't.

"You have omelet instead?"

By this time we just agreed to whatever. Five minutes later the omelets were on our table and I was eating the little I could. A woman gently walked into the restaurant, carrying her small toddler in her arms. She went around to the tables begging for money.

While beggars are a normal sight in Cambodia, I still have yet to feel comfortable when put into such a position. I was sitting there, eating my breakfast that would total to only two dollars, not even able to finish the whole thing while this woman stood over my shoulder, watching me and hoping I would pull out my wallet. It's a moral dilemma; yes, I feel bad for their lot in life, but at the same time I don't want to prove to them that begging for money works. I can't make that judgment, though. Maybe it really is all that the woman could do to survive. I pulled out 500 Riel (about 12.5 cents in American currency) and handed it to the woman. She walked out the door and her son grinned at me from over her shoulder, his eyes sparkling; it had been all worth it just for that...

Anyway, we finished and Sophal came and picked us up from the hotel in the car so we didn't have to walk to the office.

Now, I know that I sound like a snooty high-maintenance American tourist when I tell this story, but you have to understand that I was not feeling good at all. All I felt like doing was sitting in my room and getting water pumped into my body.

We drove out to the villages and started the survey. Two villages were completed by 12:45 PM, with 16 women interviewed. We got back to the hotel and, after some debate, decided we'd take a taxi home that night instead of waiting around to ride the bus the next day. Sophal helped us out in the process and we were home by 6 PM.

Some statistics from today:

1 - The number of dog fights I witnessed.

3 - The number of packs of crackers I downed for lunch.

3 - The number of liters of water I drank throughout the day.

1 - The number of cows Tuni accidentally called a horse.

Cambodia: Day 44

Tuesday, June 21st, 2011

Pursat

10:19 PM

We walked the fifteen minutes it took to get to the RACHA office this morning in the mud. Once we arrived, we met with the head officer of the province. A small Cambodian woman with dark wavy hair, she stood at least five inches shorter than me, her floral blouse buttoned all the way up to her neck. Jeni, Tuni, and I piled into her office and took a seat in front of a large desk.

A man came in and sat down behind the desk. He began talking to Jeni about the DOTS program that the infectious disease unit administers to people with TB. He invited us to listen, as well. Bless his heart, he was obviously very nervous as he stumbled through his minimal English. I mostly just stared at the desk, half-aware of what was going on, looking up every so often and smiling to encourage him to go on.

He finally finished. Jeni left to take a tour of the hospital nearby while Tuni and I sat in the office, reading our books. Around nine o' clock, Sophal walked in and asked if we were ready to go.

I walked outside to the car that was going to take us to the villages. The RACHA sticker on the side was framed by mud. I hopped inside, remembering that it had been weeks since I had last been inside a car.

We made our way to the outskirts of town until we were surrounded by rice paddies. We drove for about 20 kilometers and ended up in a small village. Stilted homes lined the dirt road, Khmer family clans gathering in large groups underneath their huts. We parked the car and made our way to a small roadside stand where a woman sat with her small child. Sophal asked if we could ask her some questions and our survey marathon began.

Finished with questioning one woman, we'd set out to find another somewhere down the road. People would stare at us as we walked past; it's not everyday that they see a white girl voluntarily visiting their community. We hadn't made any appointments, so we just looked for women who were of reproductive age. We'd find them hanging around their homes, doing everyday chores and taking care of their children. All of them agreed to participate in the survey. By the time we were halfway done with a survey, I would look up to see a crowd gathered around us, pairs of eyes staring at me.

Welcome to being a minority, Andee.

We were in a village called Tram when we got caught in a heavy rainstorm. We finished an interview with a woman when Sophal suggested we do one more with another woman that was at the same home. I ducked out from underneath the house to check the sky that was quickly turning grey and black.

"Uhh … ok?"

Just as we concluded the interview, the rain began to fall. Large ceramic pots on the side of the house quickly filled with water and the whole yard was flooded, making a small waterfall down the path to the fields. I stared across the land, barely able to make out the figures of palm trees and grazing oxen. Lightning and thunder fired overhead and I knew I was experiencing something I'd never forget. Sophal said that the people were very happy about this because it meant they could start planting their rice crops.

We were stuck for a good twenty minutes before we decided to just go for it. Our car and driver were almost a mile away, so I strapped on my backpack cover and we ran. Eventually we found our driver and made our way back to the city center.

Some quick statistics from today:

2 - The number of babies that publicly urinated all over the place during our interviews.

3 - The number of dogs I almost had to kick.

1 - The number of times I saw a two-year-old playing with a hatchet.

Cambodia: Day 43

Monday, June 20th, 2011

Pursat

8:41 PM

This week begins my second round of interviews for my survey. I'm really hoping that it's more efficient than my first week, seeing as how I was only able to get about 35 surveys completed and I have to be back in Phnom Penh Thursday night. Either way, I'm looking forward to being out in the provinces again.

This morning I woke up to Cambodian music blaring from the TV downstairs. You would think I'd be to the point where I can just sleep through it, but unfortunately that's not the case. I typically lay on my side of the bed and stare out the window at the murky grey sky until I fall back asleep.

Tuni and I didn't have to catch our bus to Pursat until 10:30 AM, so I finished packing up while Lauren got ready for her work day at RACHA. I was a very happy girl when I walked downstairs for breakfast to find my favorite Khmer dish sitting on the table. It's called something like "ming howey". I'm definitely going to need to get the recipe.

10 AM rolled around and we got a ride to Apsara Khmer from our friendly neighborhood tuk-tuk driver. He was the same one that was confused the last time he attempted to take us there; I only had to give him directions once this time around. He's really improving!

We were shuttled to the bus station where we got on our tour bus. There were about five buses there and we weren't sure which one to get on, so we asked an employee. He pointed to the bus parked closest to the station.

It was a fairly quick ride. I listened to my music and played sudoku as rice paddies and stilted homes passed outside my window. I've seen this landscape for the last month-and-a-half, yet it still manages to take my breath away. The beauty was only enhanced as I witnessed a storm coming in, the rice stalks swaying in the breeze like waves of a lime green sea. Far away palm trees became obscured by misty rain, giving an ominous yet peaceful feeling to the observant eye.

We stopped at a small restaurant for a quick snack, rain pouring outside. I saw a road sign pointing us to the Pursat city center just after the river. We must be close!

We hopped on the bus. We passed the river. We turned … Nope, we didn't turn. We kept going straight. Oh, it must be further than I thought …

Signs saying "Pursat" passed. I kept hearing people around me saying things about Battambang, a province west of Pursat …

This doesn't feel right …

"Hey Tuni, we should probably ask the driver about where we're supposed to get off." She promptly got up and made her way to the front of the bus. I watched as the bus driver made hand motions, pointing back down the road where we had come from.

Crap.

Tuni turned around and walked back to our seats. "We're getting off."

The bus pulled over and we hopped out into the mud, rain pouring down. A road sign said we were six kilometers from Pursat.

Great.

We made our way back down the road until we took refuge underneath an overhang at a weigh station. It was kind of fun to be walking down a lonely road in the middle of nowhere in Cambodia. Despite the fact that things weren't ideal, I just had a feeling that everything was going to be ok.

A security guard and another man stood underneath, watching us as we walked up to join them under the shelter. I called Sophal, the Child Health officer for Pursat. She wasn't able to understand me, so I handed the phone to one of the men nearby. He explained to her where we were, even offering to use his phone when mine stopped working.

Sophal showed up on a moto, decked out in a USAID poncho. We climbed on the back of the machine and made our way to the RACHA office where we met Jeni and went over our plans for the week...

Cambodia: Day 30

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Child Health and Nutrition Unit

11:22 AM

Yesterday was just another typical day at the office.

Eww. I hate saying that. I never want to work in an office.

It's not like this internship has made me begin to think that way; I've always known that about myself. It's just that this internship is beginning to reinforce that belief.

I'm not bashing on RACHA at all; they're actually an amazing organization that has made an invaluable difference to the women and children of Cambodia. I would even go so far as to say that they're the best organized NGO that I've ever seen, not to mention one of the largest. But I seriously can't sit in this desk for eight hours every day and not begin to go a little crazy, especially when I have such a small amount of work to do.

Things should improve next week, though. I'm heading out to the provinces, my main goal (other than collecting precious data) being to get as far away from a desk as possible.

So what do I do to help me get through my days that sometimes seem to move at a glacial pace? I work on my survey ... I revise my survey ... I sometimes get a chance to talk to Dr. Ketsana about my survey ... I chat online with Tuni ... I daydream about riding my bike … I revise my survey (again) while simultaneously looking up articles online about outdoorsy things … I write in my journal ... I contemplate medical school, which inevitably evolves into stressing about medical school ... I check my email far more often than is necessary … I plan out my calendar ... I fantasize about eating a bowl of cereal with ice cold milk … I revise my survey for the eleventy billionth time …

Sometimes I even use the restroom.

I know that I probably sound like the worst intern ever right now, because that's kind of how I feel. However, I know that once I actually get my research going I'll be back to normal (whatever "normal" is). It's been a slow start, but I have no doubt that things are going to pick up. Three straight weeks out in the provinces, a month of writing a kick-butt report, and then a final presentation.

Maybe it's a difference in cultural norms that is causing me to feel this way. Things in Cambodia move at a much slower rate, as opposed to America where "time is money." I remember the first day that I talked to Dr. Ketsana about getting my survey written. I asked her when she wanted to have a rough draft of the survey and she seemed a little confused.

"When would you like a rough draft?"

"… Uhh …"

"… Uhh … What day do you want my survey to be done?"

"Oh, oh … Uhh … Wednesday …"

Maybe having a set deadline for things like this isn't what they're used to around here. I had my survey to her the day she wanted it, and after a few revisions she said, "We in no rush, we in no rush."

As much as I wish that I could have my entire survey finalized and already be out in the field, I have to recognize a few things: First, Dr. Ketsana has a lot on her plate. As the team leader for the Child Health and Nutrition unit, she is constantly going from one meeting to another, from province to province. It's impossible for her to focus all of her attention on my little project, especially when she has so many other more important things to be doing.

Secondly, I'm here on their time, not my own. I need to be more grateful for the opportunity I have to be participating in this internship. I'm here to observe and learn. These people have had extensive experience and success in the field of development, attributes which I, not surprisingly, lack.

Even though I sit behind this desk all day, I still have many opportunities to learn. Everyday I hear about a new program or project that RACHA is implementing or involved in, in one form or another. They address a multitude of topics that I didn't even realize were issues.

In addition to that, I'm also getting a more "behind-the-scenes" look at how a successful NGO operates. For some crazy reason I always had the idea in my brain that running an NGO would be a fairly simple task. Approve a few things here, sign a few papers there, and then you're good to go and change the world.

No, Andee. You must have been on crack when you thought that.

First you have to have an idea. To attempt to implement that idea, you have to have funds and people who are interested in working with/for you. To get those funds, you have to find some sort of partner or donor who is willing to invest in your cause. Oh, and those people you hired? They're not going to work for free. They need to be paid, too.

But wait, there's more!

Sometimes you have to go through this thing called the government to get approval to do anything.

Yeah. It's not that easy. Not that easy at all.

Cambodia: Day 29

Wednesday, June 7th, 2011

RACHA Child Health and Nutrition Unit

8:52 AM

[A shot from an Indian soap opera. Read on and you'll understand why it's on here. Trust me.]

I'm currently waiting for Dr. Ketsana to finish her little pow-wow with one of the guys that works in my unit. My survey is finished, I just need her to take a look at it to make sure it's all good to go.

Oh, wait! She just finished!

And there she goes … out the door.

Great.

In the meantime, I'm going to go ahead and tell you about my day yesterday. Not only will I be able to get caught up on my journaling, but I will also look like I'm being a busy and productive intern in the process. Killing two birds with one stone, right?

Yesterday was productive. I was able to sit down with Dr. Juliette and go over the draft I had of my survey. She gave me a lot of great tips and I think we've worked out most of the kinks. We also talked about scheduling. Apparently Dr. Ketsana wants me to stay within the provinces where the program was offered and not go outside of that, so my plan to go to Koh Kong next week with Mike's team isn't going to happen.

Rule #1 of interning: Never assume that any of your plans are going to work out. Ever.

With no trip to Koh Kong, I'm going to be either going to Siem Reap, Pursat, or Prey Veng. I would like for someone from my program to go with me, but we'll see if that happens.

Our lunch break finally came and I headed home with Tuni. Lauren had left for Kampot province at about 11:30 with her team, so I was going to be eating alone for the next four or five days. I got home and promptly set my bag on the floor and grabbed my bowl. Sitting at a desk for hours makes you surprisingly ravenous.

Om Loon swung in her blue hammock in the middle of the living room, her brown belly sticking out of the bottom of her blouse. I sat down at the table and piled food on top of my bowl full of rice. I was surprised and a little disappointed that she wasn't watching her usual Indian soap opera.

Allow me to interject for a moment. What do you get when you combine terrible acting, horrible cinematography, and atrocious plot lines?

What is an "Indian soap opera", Alex.

Despite the fact that so many awful elements go into the production of such a program, I have to say that they're surprisingly entertaining. The show is in Hindi, but fortunately for me they have subtitles in English. The subtitles are a little rough, with grammar problems here and there, but if anything they enhance the program and make it seem that much more dramatic.

What is impressive, though, is that Om Loon understands what's going on! The first day I watched the show with her, she was explaining to me as best she could what was happening. I was reading the subtitles and still couldn't fully follow what was going on, but she had it down. Every so often she'd see a word pop up on the subtitles that she knew and she'd repeat it.

"… I will break you out of jail, Mr. Indian Man that is Actually the Rebellious Semi-Evil Twin of Me. You have my word. I know you're innocent!"

"Innocent! Innocent!"

It's quite the phenomenon, really.

Anyway, back to what I was talking about originally. I ate lunch and retired to my room, not quite sure what I was going to do with the ginormous bed that was now all mine for the next few days.

Yeah, right. I totally know what I'm going to do. Sleep!

I returned to work that afternoon and continued with my survey. Dr. Juliette spent a good chunk of time helping me figure out how to most efficiently conduct my research. I'm definitely going to need to make some nice baked goods for that woman before I leave.

I returned to my corner and continued with my work. Eventually the clock struck 5:30 and Tuni and I got our stuff together to leave. It was raining outside, and I was in no mood to have all of my goods soaked in my backpack, so I threw my waterproof cover on and headed out to the hall.

What we found wasn't just rain, though. It was a downpour. Cambodians huddled underneath the overhang outside, trying to decide if it was worth it to drown or wait it out. All I knew was that I wanted to get home, so Tuni and I decided to take on the challenge and grabbed our bikes.

I don't remember "Olympic swimmer" being in the list of qualifications for this internship position...

I was soaked within seconds. Water droplets poured down my face and made it difficult to see. I spit to the side multiple times, trying my hardest to keep the rainwater out of my mouth. We drove past a dump truck full of men, all of which were attempting to fit themselves underneath a clear plastic tarp. They laughed at us as we went by. I don't blame them, I'm sure we looked absolutely ridiculous.

Not to mention, they looked pretty ridiculous themselves.

We finally made it to Tuni's house where we stored our bikes and posed for some pictures. Khmuuii came out to greet us in his pajamas and it wasn't long before he was splashing out in the rain. I walked across the street to my house, only to find that it was empty. Dinner was set on the table, so I hurriedly ran upstairs and exchanged my sopping clothes for dry ones.

The crazy thing?

It's not even the rainy season yet.

Cambodia: Day 28

Monday, June 6th, 2011

Om Loon's House in Phnom Penh

9:42 PM

Remember how I went on that tangent a few days ago about the survey I was excited to conduct? The one about the iron and folic acid stuff?

Yeah. You can forget about it.

I walked into the Child Health and Nutrition unit this morning feeling a little nervous. I was planning on talking to Dr. Ketsana about my survey proposal and whether or not it would be a good project. I took my seat at my new desk and logged onto the internet to take care of some emails before I dove into research about previous iron and folic acid programs instituted in developing countries.

Dr. Ketsana came in a little after seven, as did Chris. To some degree I think that Dr. Ketsana is more intimidated by me than I am of her. A sweet little Cambodian woman of about 45 years of age, she received her medical degree from a Russian university and worked in a hospital in Cambodia for quite a few years. They had her working ridiculously long shifts that kept her from eating or sleeping, so she eventually decided she needed a career change and came to work for RACHA.

She's a very impressive lady, to say the very least.

She came over to my desk and shyly told me that she hadn't thought much about what she was going to do with me. I met her smile with my own and told her it was ok, that Chris and I had talked about my options for a long time on Friday and that we had come up with a few different ideas. I tried to explain them to her as best I could, but she had another suggestion for me.

RACHA has been partnered with a UN organization known as the World Food Programme (WFP) for about two-and-a-half years now. They have recently begun phasing out the program and are in need of some feedback about the impact the project had on the health of the women and children in the villages they administered to.

That's where I come in.

The way it works is this: every month, the WFP distributes food to a few villages in three different provinces within Cambodia: Siem Reap, Prey Veng, and Pursat. The food rations are targeted towards women who are pregnant or lactating, and women who have children who are 0-23 months of age. In order to receive the rations of food, though, the women must attend a health seminar put on by village health volunteers under the guidance and direction of RACHA. These seminars educate the women on a wide variety of topics, including HIV/AIDS and other diseases, nutrition, sanitation and hygiene, breastfeeding and complementary feeding, pre-and post-natal care, etc.

Dr. Ketsana gave me the proposal for the project and left me to go off of that. I sat at my desk, spewing over the text, trying to think of some possible questions I could throw together for a survey that would be simple to analyze, but in-depth enough to give me some good statistics. I obviously didn't have enough background information to make an informed questionnaire, so I finally got up the courage to ask Dr. Ketsana if I could sit down with her and clarify a few things.

Once that was said and done, I felt much more at ease and got to work. I came up with a few questions, did some revising, and then searched on my word processor for a template to do a survey.

Then the frustration came.

Have you ever tried to make a table in Microsoft Word? Not that hard, right? Well what about a table that's asymmetrical, with cells of varying sizes? And then you have to write in them while making sure the text isn't too big or too small? Oh, and you also have to make sure it all looks nice and pretty with all the words using the same orientation. Wait, you want to use bullet points, too? It's not easy, not one bit. Then try moving your table around to the area you want it to be, while making sure the rest of the text on the page doesn't get garbled.

Oh, yeah, and remember how my computer has the newest version of Microsoft Word while all the other computers that are connected to the printer have an outdated version? The kind of outdated version that causes all of your blood, sweat, and tears to go down the crapper when you try to transfer your document to get printed?

There comes a point when I can no longer be held accountable for my actions.

I may or may not have reached that point today.

Cambodia: Day 27

Sunday, June 5th, 2011

Om Loon's House in Phnom Penh

10:03 PM

Sundays are always a good time here in Cambodia. Most mornings I wake up to the sound of Om Loon's voice or the radio (or both) bellowing from downstairs, but this morning was a little different. I crawled out of bed, trying to not make any noise to wake up Lauren...

Allow me to go on a tangent for a moment. I'll have you know it is quite the dangerous endeavor to try to get on and off my side of the bed. My side is positioned right next to the wall, so if Lauren's on the bed and I want to get on or off, I have to crawl off at the foot of the bed. The frame is made of wood, and I can't tell you how many times I have banged my knee or scraped my shin in all of my futile attempts. Anyway …

I took a glimpse out of our window to see what was being offered for breakfast that morning. To my surprise, almost all of the furniture had been cleared from the room and set outside. Bamboo mats were spread out, covering the majority of the wood floor. About four women dressed in white blouses and sarongs were sitting on the mats, eating yogurt and other breakfast items. Their white garb signaled to me that they were friends of Om Loon's from the pagoda she attends.

Something of a Buddhist nature is going down.

I wanted to go downstairs and observe what was going on, but I had told June, our Vietnamese friend from the international branch, that we were going to be in church that morning at ten. Had I known that this little shindig was scheduled, I would have just gone to the Khmer branch later in the afternoon at two.

I got ready for church and ventured downstairs. Om Loon told me I looked very pretty as I stood at her bedroom door and told her good morning; I don't think she's used to me dressing nicely. She's used to seeing the sweaty, haggard version of myself. She gave me a bowl full of noodles and motioned for me to eat at the table outside.

But I want to stay inside and observe! I want to watch! Please!

I tried my best to bow as I walked past the older women in the room and took my place outside. I scarfed down the noodles, careful to not drop anything on my new blue dress. I went to wash my dishes in the kitchen and saw a large bowl full of bananas sitting on the counter. Still a little hungry, I checked the area to make sure they weren't an offering and thus off-limits.

No Buddha in sight. No pictures of dead ancestors in sight. I think these are fair game.

I broke off a banana and quickly ate it in the kitchen. I headed back up to the bedroom to do some more journaling before we had to make the pilgrimage to church. At one point, Om Loon came walking in with bowls full of fruit and some muffins. We thought they were for us, but she opened the window and set the offerings outside by some ancestral shrines that were on the shelf.

I totally just ate one of Buddha's bananas. Crap.

9:40 rolled around and Lauren and I left to go see if Tuni was ready. Many people were in the room now, both men and women. An elderly monk sat on a bench next to the wall.

What is going on here? I want to stay!

I was reluctantly strapping on my brown shoes when a tuk-tuk pulled up outside the gate. Who was riding inside? A horde of monks.

Really? Really. The monks are coming to our house, and I'm leaving. I see something wrong with this picture.

We sompeahed to them as we passed out the gate. When we got to Tuni's, we asked Sophorn if she knew what was going on at our house. Apparently Om Loon had paid a large donation to buy some new tiling for the pagoda she attends, so the monks were coming over to bless her and, I think, the tiles as well.

I think it's neat how religious Om Loon is. The only other Buddhists I had met before coming to Cambodia claimed to only be Buddhists on holidays. Om Loon takes her religion seriously, though. She attends the pagoda regularly and is a very faithful member.

What a woman.

Cambodia: Day 26

Sunday, June 5th, 2011

Om Loon's House in Phnom Penh

9:12 AM

All of my dreams came true yesterday. I'll start from the beginning.

I woke up around 8:30 AM and ate breakfast with Lauren and Om Loon. I was doing dishes in the kitchen when Lauren came running around the corner, telling me to hurry and grab my camera because there was a monk outside.

A monk's outside. A monk's outside. A monk's outside!

I dropped what I was doing and ran up the stairs to grab my camera. From our window, we watched as Om Loon gave a few offerings to a monk, decked out in bright orange and a parasol. She put her hands together in a sompeah and bowed her head as the monk chanted blessings upon her. We ran back downstairs, hoping to catch a last glimpse, but we were too late.

Om Loon motioned for us to go over to her daughter's house across the street, where a couple of monks were standing outside her gate. Still wearing our pajamas, we scuttled across the road and edged our way around the monks. Inside the yard, Khmuii was there helping his aunt (Om Loon's daughter Sophorn) get some things together for the monks. He happily grabbed one of the offerings, a can of Yeo lychee soda with some Riel attached, and took it to one of the monks and put it inside his bag. Sophorn then handed each of us an offering and motioned for us to follow Khmuii's lead. I placed the bottle of water inside the bag of the monk on the right and then followed their example as they bowed their head in sompeah. The monks began their chant, sometimes doing solo verses and then coming back together. I opened my eyes to see Khmuii looking up at me, slyly grinning and then returning to the sompeah.

I totally just got blessed by a monk. I feel so cool.

A couple more monks stopped by the house and we repeated the service. Being able to have the opportunity to participate in that made me feel like I'm really getting immersed in the culture here. It's one thing to observe, but it's a completely different experience when you actually get to participate.

We returned to the house. I cleaned up my side of the room and got ready for the day. I needed some cash and a water bottle, so I hit the town. I went to the Caltex gas station a couple of blocks away in search of water and an ATM. I found the water, but no ATM. I took a right from the gas station and headed down Norodom (I think). I rode for a solid five minutes before I finally found another gas station with an ATM inside. I withdrew my needed funds and headed back home. I have to say, I find riding around the city on my own so much more enjoyable than with a group.

Mike and Tuni were going to come over around noon so that we could ride our bikes all the way up to Chinatown before meeting with Kaitilin and Spencer at the Royal Palace at two. Om Loon was still making our lunch when noon rolled around, so Mike ate with us and Tuni showed up about twenty minutes later. We decided to test our biking skills, so we headed out at about a quarter to one and made our way north to the complete other side of town.

Chinatown was kind of a bust. There were a few things that were Chinese, but for the most part it looked like every other part of the city. Mike and I needed to get our tires filled with air, so we stopped at a random shack-like house and got them filled. A young boy helped us out while his father sat in a chair at the entrance, looking in a small hand mirror and picking at the extremities of his face. I was sad for the young boy, probably about ten years of age. Who knows if he had the opportunity to go to school.

We continued our journey, weaving our way through the maze of dirty alleys. We came to a point where we crossed some railroad tracks. I don't think they're in use any longer, seeing as how the houses sit very close to the tracks, possibly too close together for a train to pass through. Immediately after the tracks was a pagoda. The gate was open, so we rode our bikes inside and were quickly greeted by a young Cambodian boy yelling, "Hello! Hello!"

We took a ride around, stopped for some photos, and then decided it was time to head to the Royal Palace to meet Kaitlin and Spencer. I checked the map and was delegated to lead this leg of our journey. Roughly 15 minutes later, and right on time, we arrived at the Royal Palace unscathed.

The Royal Palace wasn't what I thought it would be like. I’m actually not exactly sure what I thought it would be like, maybe something more like the White House. I guess when I thought of a palace, I thought of a place of residence, but there was no such thing. I'm assuming that part of the tour was just closed to the public.

One thing that was awesome, though, was all the monks that were there. We pulled up to the entrance at the Royal Palace and watched as dozens of monks walked by, all headed for the same destination, probably a pagoda right around the corner. As Mike and I were perusing the grounds, we decided to take a look at one of the larger buildings and began walking up some side stairs. There we happened upon a group of four monks who just seemed to be hanging out on one of the landings. One of them eyed us, looking as if he wanted to talk. You can imagine my surprise when I, under the assumption that monks weren't really allowed to talk to anyone at all, heard one of the monks say, "Hello. Where are you from?", as we passed by.

I stopped in my tracks and turned. Did that monk just talk to me?

"A… America?"

From there on, we had a very nice little conversation. The monk that initiated the conversation explained in a thick Khmer accent that he had been studying English in his monastery for three months and needed to practice. I asked if I could get a picture with them, and they kindly obliged as Mike snapped the photo.

Oh man, talk about being on Cloud Nine.

We departed from our new friends and eventually made our way into another large building. It was some sort of a museum that depicted many figurines of some spiritual leader, like Buddha. We were only inside for a few minutes when another monk got Mike's attention and started talking to him. Three other monks came up to join the conversation. This monk was much more fluent in English than the previous one, so we took the opportunity to ask him a few questions that we had. Every so often he wouldn't be able to answer, but a taller monk who was more fluent would step in and answer the question for him.

One of them told us that he had been studying English for a few months and asked his teacher what the best thing would be for him to do to get better. The teacher told him to talk to foreigners for practice. So, that's why they were at the Royal Palace, so that they could talk to foreigners to practice and become better. Talk about courage! If I were trying to learn a new language, I would be very scared to talk to foreigners for fear that I would mess up or say something completely wrong.

"Why is your robe red while everyone else is wearing orange?"

"We get to choose what color we want to wear."

"How long have you been a monk?"

Three out of the four were 24 or 25 years old. The other one was 19. The older ones had been studying for a decade, the other only five years. I'm not going to lie, we had some pretty dumb questions. It was obvious that we didn't know much about them or their lifestyle.

"Do you guys watch TV?"

"Oh, yes, yes."

They had questions for us, too, but they were geared more towards America in general.

"Do you have a palace like this in America?"

"Well, kind of. It's more of a house, though, and it's smaller. It's called the White House…"

"Can you tell me about the religion in America?"

"Yes. I'd say that the main religion practiced in America is Christianity, but we also have a lot of Muslims and Jews..."

"What religion are you?"

"I'm Christian..."

"Do you know about your religion?"

I had to laugh a little bit. "Oh yes, very much..."

"Are there many Cambodians in America?"

"For the part of America that I'm from, there aren't many. But there are a lot in California..."

The tall monk suggested we walk and talk, to save us time. We looked at the exhibit and chatted here and there. I realized I had assumed so many things about them that were completely false. I was under the impression that they could only talk to each other and, sadly, had no personalities. Thankfully I was very, very wrong.

I found monks to be extremely friendly people and highly intelligent and motivated. They each had their own personality that came off as very likeable and care free. They smiled often, joking with each other as they communicated with us.

I knew there was a reason that I loved monks. Now I know it's not just one reason, but several.

Obviously, I asked to take a picture outside with them. We found a kindly Japanese tourist who helped us out so that both Mike and I could be in the picture.

We continued on our tour. We checked out a few other buildings, and then another monk intercepted us. He was extremely smiley and spoke pretty good English through a thick Khmer accent that I hadn't yet experienced. He reminded me vaguely of a girl I know, both in looks and personality.

Oh my holy crap. It's K_____ H_______, monk style. (The names here have been omitted for privacy reasons. Or whatever.)

You see, my friend K_____ is one of those people that speaks in such a way that makes it difficult to understand what she's saying; she zooms through her words and doesn't breathe until she has managed to blurt her peace. She's smiling the whole time, though, no matter what. Even if she knows you don't have a clue what she's saying, she goes on anyway, smiling and babbling. It's quite tiring for the listener, actually.

He followed us to the exit where he met the rest of our group.

Best. Day. Ever.

[Probably the greatest moment of my life.]

[The Royal Palace.]

[Buddha.]

[A storm coming in over the Royal Palace.]