Tragedy in Cambodia

(Srey Pov in Nov. 2008)
It’s been a long sad day for people in Cambodia, and driving the streets you can see the offering in front of most houses; a candle, rice, fruit or wine. It’s somber and makes me feel empty. I just returned from the hospital where a former student who I have always been close with is in the hospital after being trampled last night. Fourteen year old Srey Pov was unconscious for 2 hours last night. She awoke and was numb on her lower body, but seems to be recovering ok and even smiled at a few of my stupid jokes. It’s one of those cliché universe-calling-to-me where the only person I knew who was affected by a massive tragedy was the student who I love perhaps more than the rest. She is so special – always the joker and a real tomboy at heart, but there is really no explanation for why we connect so well. She was also evicted early last year and I haven’t been the best at keeping in touch. I did try to buy her a bike and periodically talk to her father who is a tuk tuk driver. It seems she barely escaped with her life, and I thank god she is alive.

As for the 349 people who died, I didn’t know any of them, and I don’t know any of the other 700 injured. Which is good luck for me really. I am sensitive, and this tragedy is more than enough to get to me with only a friend who is going to be alright (I hope).

But the tragedy is so incredibly sad. These were young people, mostly women (I’d guess around 85%), who were out having fun during the big festival. Many were wearing their best clothes, some people were coming to the big city for their first time, seeing the lightning fast transformation of their capital, standing on a new bridge that was covered with rainbow-light-show colors that could be seen from kilometers away. Oh, Cambodia was going to be proud of how so many people could afford to come to celebrate Water Festival (an estimated 4 million out of a population of 14 million), and in just a few more hours they could celebrate that the festival went smoothly. But that dream was stopped short, and Cambodia has a new chapter in its history.

People should to be aware that when police take money and let vehicles through barricades meant to stop traffic, it makes something like this more likely. I hope that the chapter has some good lessons learned, that some people are held accountable, that families grieve and heal. I imagine the investigation will reveal some incompetence but will mostly just blame too many people.

Unfortunately the Cambodians I know seem to want to chalk it up to bad luck and move on. The government has the good fortune of largely representing a population that won’t challenge what they’re told. I really want to know why there was what seemed very much like tight censorship on the TV stations in the hours after the tragedy. I could speculate that they didn’t want to have someone get on TV and say something that would anger a mob and disorder would ensue, or I could speculate that they wanted to protect powerful people if indeed someone was at fault. Whatever the reason I want to hear it. I will ask for it.

Good bye my friend. Quentin has left the living.

September 10th, 2009.
After a 10-month battle with renal cell (kidney) cancer, my former mentee, Quentin, passed away at the age of 23. We were partnered in a 1 year mentoring program with Colorado Youth at Risk in 2001, and have kept in touch ever since.

I met Quentin at the launch of our program at a retreat in the mountains. It was a transformational experience, with kids sharing emotional burdens they had carried with them. I talked with Quentin toward the end of the program and he was really pleasant and eager to be my friend. A few days later I ran into him and his mom in downtown Denver, which seemed like a sign that we were to be matched.

Over our year we had some good talks, and I listened to his life challenges. We filled a lot of our time together with activities; I took him snowboarding, which he was able to learn quickly, and he took me to the skate park, which gave me a sore ass after a failed attempt to launch into a half pipe. We had some disconnection as well, and I struggled with his determination to make decisions that a teenager with angst would make.

Since our program finished I have kept in contact with him primarily because of my relationship with his younger brother, Monty, who asked me to be his mentor after Quentin and I finished our year. I am also close with their mom, Isobel, who is a remarkably strong and able woman. Over the years I would occasionally meet Quentin for dinner. I think our greatest bond was our sense of humor, and being able to joke about anything. He could also share about his challenges in life with candor and had a very mature way of taking responsibility for his decisions. For a long time his life was not going in a lot of positive directions, and he didn’t work full time after dropping out of school. Two years ago his girlfriend became pregnant, and he stepped up to the challenge and started working multiple jobs to supporting his child since she was born in July 2008. I visited him 1 year ago, and he seemed to be doing quite well. He was really in love with his daughter, Brooklyn, and we had some good conversations. I saw him in a new light and realized that he was really a smart kid and spoke with great articulation.

It was tough to see him in May and June as his once-able body was deteriorating. Quentin was very encouraging of me and said some very special things about my work in Cambodia, and I was especially proud to hear it coming from him.

When I was about to start the 1-year mentoring program a friend said “that’s a life commitment,” wanting to get me present to the implications of getting involved with someone’s life. I figured I’d see how it went and not feel a burden to try it. It was never expected to end this way. But it lives on, and I am grateful for the experience of our time together, and reflect on how this prepared me for the path I have taken.

I am sad to be far away during this time, though it is of great consolation that Isobel is completely understanding. Quentin was a practical, non-sentimental person who would have supported me to stay and do my work. I have to say my farewells from afar.

There will be a memorial celebration of Quentin's life late next week, time and place to be determined. In lieu of flowers, people are asked to consider making a contribution to one of the following charities:
http://www.kidneycancer.org/
http://www.imtooyoungforthis.com/
and/or to the educational trust fund that that his mom has established for his 13-month-old daughter, Brooklyn Quianna Delgado:
Julie Riley, Trustee
c/o Julie Riley & Associates
2247 Kearney Street
Denver, CO 80207
720-974-0683
In addition, please visit the website
http://www.whyquit.com/
view the post for Quentin in the "Memorials" section, and consider becoming an advocate for smoking cessation and deterrence in your community. In the near future, his mom plans to begin developing a program to promote effective education, peer and mentor counseling, and support for young people at junior high and high school levels who are trying to avoid picking up the smoking addiction or are trying to kick the habit.

Peace,
Drew

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.