Rest in Peace Nader

There was a terrible loss on March 2, 2009 with the passing of Nader Ebrahimi from Aziza’s Place. He was 41 years old.

I met Nader when I first arrived in Phnom Penh 3 years ago in a slum orphanage, CLCA. He had just arrived as well. We worked together on behalf of the kids staying there, and shared a passion for wanting to affect change with the mismanagement of the organization and neglect of the children. Shortly after he went on to found Aziza’s Place, an orphanage in Phnom Penh for 20 children coming from CLCA and Stung Meanchay. He also co-founded a medical clinic, Moto Medics, within Stung Meanchay dump site, providing free medical care for members of that community.

Nader was a fine artist, photographer, film maker, and humanitarian. He was passionate and very intelligent; speaking 5 languages and able to converse on an array of subjects, had a great sense of humor, and loved Cambodia, especially it’s children.

Peace,
Drew

Party at my landlord's

My landlord had a BIG party in front of our house to celebrate their mother, now that she is 65, to thank her for bringing them into this world, wish her health and long life. The extravagance could not be expressed in words, with a giant stuppa where she sat during the ceremony, a party tent taking up three-quarters of the road and extending down in front of 6 neighbors houses, a procession of monks, chanting... I forgot to call my mom on her 65th birthday until the day after.*
The street was blocked off during the party, which was the bulk of 2 days. My landlord is of an elite, educated, wealthy family, and is an engineer with the military police.
I put on my best shirt and went down for dinner. I placed a $10 bill in the invitation envelope and gave it to the layman, an older person like a monk but not an actual monk. He blessed me and I focused on his rotten front tooth, which was now just a sliver of a tooth really. I wanted to pull it out for him. We had been taking the kids to the dentist a lot lately and they are having a lot of rotten teeth pulled out.
After receiving my blessing, I was handed a whiskey and soda, and sat down at a table with several beautiful, single women. Everyone was toasting repeatedly, drinking lots, while I would clink my glass and pretend to take a drink. I tried to explain to my hostess that I had just taken Tinidazole to treat my Guardia, so couldn’t drink alcohol for 24 hours. She basically called me a wuss, a half man, and said she had a stomach problem too, but alcohol was no problem. It was almost enough to get me to drink. She wanted me to go dancing later, and she was put the whiskey back like an Irishman (it is not traditional for Cambodian women to drink much alcohol).
About the time the food arrived, a black Hummer pulled up, right to the front of the tent, even though there was no parking space. In walked a middle aged Khmer man with a really nice silk shirt. The shirt alone made me respect him instantly. There was some to-do about his arrival, and then he was sat right next to me. I don’t remember his name, but he is a general with the military police, my landlord’s boss no doubt. He spoke a little English, and we talked a bit. He was quite friendly.
As dinner wound down, the street kids started sticking their arms through the tent’s sides asking for the empty cans, Phnom Penh’s equivalent to the Serengeti’s raven. The elite have no illusions that there are not vast problems here, as you can’t get away from the poor children. As I was slipping away from a drinking frenzy, which seemed quite fun, a few of the street kids were allowed to harvest the cans and leftovers at one of the tables. A skinny young boy was popping food in his mouth with one hand, while grabbing cans with the other. I stood and watched him with amusement before retreating to my apartment, where I spent a Friday evening reflecting on the night’s activities. Street kids and Hummers; the absurdity of Phnom Penh.

*My understanding is this Buddhist tradition is not to mark a specific birthday, but to wish good health and long life as a woman gets older.

The robbery

To say Cambodia has a crime problem is an understatement. It's not hard to figure out that Cambodia has a problem with just about everything, except perhaps fertility, which is a problem as well. Foreigners, I sense, have less problems that the Khmers, but we have plenty of problems as well (in addition to the problems we brought here). Theft is common, and you learn not to leave any windows of opportunity, or you just don’t worry too much and know that your stuff will be stolen at some point, or both.

My house was broken into in October, and while I didn’t let it affect me too much, I realized it has affected me when my heart dropped recently as I saw a face in the window one night, only to realize it was a reflection from the TV (I think it was David Hasselhoff). Anyway, I was lucky, and now lock my balcony door. Here is an e-mail I sent to my local friends 2 days later:

“You know the phenomenon where you have to tell everyone ‘the story’ when you walk around with a caste on your arm? Eventually you want to pretend you are dumb and hand out pre-printed cards detailing the events. I fear it may eventually be the same with getting robbed. Some of you heard about it and have been checking in with me (thanks so much for your concern), so I thought I could save a lot of talking and write you all about what happened. For those with limited interest I can tell you that I am fine and it’s not a great story, but here it is...

While I was sleeping Wednesday morning, someone climbed to my 3rd story balcony and cut through the screen of my door (which was unlocked). I had my bedroom door mostly shut, and they grabbed my laptop, I-pod, phone, bag and camera. They took the stairs out, and broke the lock to get my motorbike as well. They left a pair of women’s shoes behind.

Yesterday was a long day of running around to get my phone number back, getting in an argument with my landlord, ‘making-up’ with my landlord, filling out the police report... At the end of the day I was truly moved that so many people helped me, including a restaurant manager who I grabbed to help me translate (for hours). No one would take my money (the landlord gave the cop $10, he is also a policeman). Everyone was concerned and supportive, and the Khmer’s feel genuine guilt that it happened to me in their country. Through the long day, I had a responsibility to not let any bad energy go to those around me and was called to be at my best. My cleaning lady came by to check on me while the cop was taking the report (I don’t know how this news got around so fast), and he asked her how long she had worked for me. I felt bad for her and had to make it known that we have a great relationship, mostly without language. The landlord is installing bigger metal barriers to make it harder to access my balcony from the neighbors, and I realized that they felt a lot of pressure that it happened on their premises, and remembered how they are always looking out for me and my moto. I haven’t slowed down too much to think about it a lot, but am doing fine and am finding many reminders of how lucky I am and all that I have to be grateful for. I do have my files backed up, and am slowly getting phone numbers back into my phone. I even have an extra laptop, phone, and I-pod.”

In the aftermath, I realized what a big deal a robbery is to Cambodians. For them, having a motorbike stolen is equivalent to many years of savings. One of the students mothers looked at me and conveyed the most sincere, empathetic ‘sorry’ you could imagine. They worry about me, and I love them for it.

Cyclo (Psyclo) Ride in Angkor

On Dec 1st we participated in the Angkor Wat 50K bicycle rally, but we did it in cyclos. Pictured are Dennis, Michael, Katarina, as well as myself, who all alternated pedaling and riding. It was a great weekend, and well worth the effort since all the women were throwing themselves at me afterward (not really, but I kind of thought it was going to work that way). We placed last and 2nd-to-last (its hard to pedal those damned things). I thought often of my fellow MegaSaurass riders from the MS 150 in Colorado.

Recent pictures

Pictures from our recent trip to Angkor Wat.

Miracle Cream

There is a lot of misinformation here. You have superstitions, traditions that contradict science, scams, and corporate greed. While shopping in the modern Pencil Superstore, I noticed breast-firming creams at the end of the isle. One had the kind of marketing that made me think it would be a good wedding shower gift for a friend (Paige), as a joke. It was $3.60 so I was too cheap to buy it. While I stood there a petite Khmer girl, maybe 18 years old, came and grabbed one and threw it in her basket. Being outspoken and overbearing, I told her is doesn’t work. She didn’t seem to understand English, but was flustered by me speaking to her. I spoke Khmer, “at la-ow” or no good. She instantly put it back on the shelf and thanked me. Twice. She was probably from a well-to-do family, but even for the well-off here money isn’t so abundant. I passed her and her friend a few times while shopping and they giggled. I wondered why she needed to firm her breasts.

Later I made small talk with the store manager, who spoke excellent English. I brought up that I thought these creams were probably a scam. We went and looked at them, and I saw that the firming cream promised enlargement as well (a-ha). She told me that the firming does work, if you use it for a long time and rub it in a large circumference around the breast. The enlargement, she agreed, would not work.

The point is that there is no consumer protection here. The English newspaper here did a story on whitening creams, used to make women’s faces whiter. Many of them are highly toxic, and are even sold in bulk at local markets.

The Khmer Rouge targeted educated people, and most of them were killed in the war. Everywhere you look there is a need for education. An idea in case anyone wants to start a consumer education campaign here… It could be a while before the government teaches young girls about fact and fiction. I don’t wish to bash an ignorant society, but doubt they know themselves.

Mom on the Sidewalk

I was driving my motorbike a few blocks from my house when I noticed a crowd beginning to form on the sidewalk. I stopped and saw a young woman lying motionless, but fortunately she was breathing. I next noticed her baby girl sitting next to her on the sidewalk who began to cry. A female bystander pulled the woman’s shirt up, exposing her breast. The infant climbed on top of her and began breast-feeding while she was unconscious. It was a sight I will likely remember forever. When the baby finished she climbed back down and sat on the sidewalk with a smile.

I offered to pay to get her to the hospital. A tuk tuk pulled up and two concerned Khmer woman came along as we went to 3 different clinics before finding the only open emergency room, the woman gaining consciousness as we drove.

The ER looked like the infirmary in a war zone. The 6 waiting patients all had the exact description; young men, all having injuries to the face as well as other parts of the body, almost certainly from motorbike accidents without wearing helmets. The hospital staff were gathered by a desk while the patients moaned in agony, their dirty wounds left unattended. I offered to help the man who seemed the worst, and the staff indicated they were OK and rolled him out for treatment shortly after. I was now numb.

The woman was given a saline drip bag, the standard treatment for just about everything here (I have seen many people riding on the back of a motorbike with a saline bag on a pole above them). They wheeled her to what I assume is the no-money part of the hospital, a large balcony on the third floor with patience strewn across the floor. Here she became fully conscious, and decided she was ready to leave even though her saline bag was just part way into her. I think the Coke I bought her was what mostly revived her, as she said she hadn’t eaten. Others said she had been drinking and not eating, a mistake I never make. Whatever her situation, she walked out of there 1 hour after I met her, with her baby, down the sidewalk back to her world on the streets.