Monday, August 28, 2006

A city of a thousand tales...







The Cambodian’s have certainly got one thing right: selling a country is like selling a house, first impressions count for everything. Since tourism is now the number one economy booster, they make sure their valued foreign guests are greeted in style. The airport is positively gleaming, highly polished tiles, soft music and amazingly efficient baggage handlers that make Heathrow look like a scummy bus station in Rotherham.

Jumping into a tuk-tuk and making the journey into the city reveals a different story as dusty, grimy streets hopping with activity lay this fascinating nation bare. Phnom Penh is a city of contradictions. Where muddy dirt tracks; strewn with garbage and littered with noodle stalls lead to vast 4 lane boulevards lined with blossoming trees and huge colonial mansions. Where a family of 6 cling on to a clapped out motorbike, struggling to maintain balance as a boisterous American 4x4 land cruiser whooshes by. Where a Buddhist monk; clad in sunset orange robes glides serenely down the riverside, passing grubby little street kids hustling the tourists for a buck.

Phnom Penh was exactly as I left it 8 months ago if not a little cooler and a lot rainier. But I had chosen not to remember the development, the symbols of the West ever present, from the $ bills that fill my purse, to the impressive shopping mall complete with balsamic vinegar and marmite selling supermarket. I don’t know why I chose only to remember the poverty, but the stunning colonial architecture and of course the marmite were a welcomed addition. This capital city is both charming and endearing and the lack of public transport systems, sky scrapers, Starbucks and McDonalds (can you believe it?!) make it feel like a small village with a big attitude. On first impressions, Turbo describes it as rural Thailand 19 years ago, if that’s true, this city has got a long way to go before it reaches Bangkok standards.

I live in a $2 guesthouse by a large lake in backpacker’ ville (re-named rat-packer’ ville, after the fury friend I found in my room last night). It’s actually OK, not too dirty, although after a month of hearing the same backpacker stories about all the places I have already been, I’m ready to get myself a gated apartment complete with guard and iron window bars in the city. Actually P.P is not that dangerous, the gun crime has reduced a lot and as long as your not stupid and walk down dark streets at night, most areas are ok. I haven’t been near any of the slums but my friend who is a volunteer doctor went to visit HIV patients in a big slum area and his stories are horrific. In the governement hospitals, each morning the surgeon team will have more then 50 patients in dire need of treatment, but only 4 people will get seen that day. They do a lottery every morning (i'm not joking) to choose the lucky patient's and the rest will be sent home, many almost certain to a fate of death. Some may have saved up for 6 months to get the money to take a motorbike taxi to Phnom Penh from the provinces, in which time their illness will have got out of control. They will then be sent home untreated. I think we should all stop complaining about the NHS?

My business will not take me to the slums, and it is absolutely unavoidable everywhere you go in this city: prostitution. As Cambodia experiences massive surge in tourism, Phnom Penh now lies at the heart of sex tourist trade in S.E Asia and most worrying paedophile tourism. But there are many misconceptions about the proliferation of children trafficking and paedophilic behaviour. Child sex tourism remains a very small, hidden market, yet thousands of pre-pubescent girls are trafficked from their villages to the city every year in an extremely lucrative market.

So who is having sex with these young girls?

Prostitution is embedded into most Asian societies, and here in Cambodia, the old tradition of polygamy is kept alive by frequenting the brothels. From what I can gather, the concept of paedophilia just does not exist in the way it does in the West. Yes of course sleeping with small children is certainly considered wrong, but for the 14, 15, 16 year old girls from the villages, they give old men vitality and are considered clean and disease free. In a city where 37% of commercial sex workers are HIV+ (compared to 2% of the total population) the tragic irony is that as HIV prevention increases, the demand for younger and younger girls has ballooned. With a nation of condom haters, these young girls are considered clean, yet the very fact that their bodies are not ready for sex with grown men makes them even more susceptible to contracting fatal STD’s.

I’m working for a local NGO just out of the city that rescues children from commercial sexual exploitation and severe sexual abuse. I work at the head quarters in P.P which is also a shelter for around 24 children, mostly girls aged between 12 and 18. Most have been rescued from brothels where they were locked into “dept bondage” (they must work off the cost of their own purchase) often for up to 2 years. We provide food, lodgings, education, vocational training and trauma counselling for a temporary period (around 6 months) until they can be safely reintegrated back into their communities or provided jobs in garment factories or a place in a more permanent shelter. And this is my biggest worry.


What happens to them when they leave?

Most families will tell the authorities that they were tricked into selling their daughter, believing they were going to be domestic servants. But sadly, it is common knowledge that in rural communities where families do not have enough food to feed their children, the sale of one daughter (average $150 US depending on how beautiful they are) and the promise of regular income is a sacrifice that is too frequently made. So the reintegration of these girls back into the communities that sold them in the first place is not only distressing but can be extremely dangerous. Trafficking rings are run by Mafioso style groups and often supported by the police and corrupt government officials, so if a girl is rescued before she has paid off her dept; the family will be in great danger and may have to go into hiding. Last year around 100 underage girls were rescued in a huge brothel raid by NGO’s and the UN and placed in shelters all round the city. We got about 50, double our capacity and within 2 days the police and authorities had stolen all the girls back and returned them to the brothels. One of the biggest challenges for trafficking NGO’s is trying to get the police and authorities on their side. It’s not all this corrupt and many of our girls come through the authorities but there are still too many examples of bad practices.

As if things couldn’t get worse, there is a massive stigma attached to girls who have lost their virginity before marriage, even if they have been raped. There is a great risk of the girl being shunned by her community and deemed eternally unfit for marriage. And for a nation where women’s rights are at the very bottom of the agenda, marriage is essential for all women’s survival.

Do I feel like I’m involved in a hopeless situation?

Absolutely not. There is so much potential for change and development in Cambodia particularly for women’s rights. Yes, there is a mammoth task ahead, of which corruption and ineffective leadership is creating a huge barrier, but there are also some very good people dedicating their lives to change. Under 30 years ago this country lost ¼ of its population to one of the bloodiest genocides in history, and to this day you will not meet one person that wasn’t directly affected by the war. Some say this has created a population that live only for the moment, because they have lost faith in the future. But I have been overwhelmed by the courage and strength of the people I come across, and the warmth they have shown me. The girls I work with have been through the most horrific trauma, yet they battle through daily life with determination and dignity. They support each other and dedicate themselves to learning life skills and education because they know they have to do everything they can to relieve themselves from this situation.

When I first arrived, I wondered why the children never got cuddles when they cried, but now I’m beginning to understand. They are no longer children, they don’t have any toys, and I rarely see them play. We have to teach them as much, and as fast as we possibly can to enable them to survive in the harsh world they live. Crying will not help them, they have to be strong. Right now I can hear laughter, and as the girls sit in the classroom, they can learn in a calm and safe environment. Yes it’s temporary, but they now know that they are not completely alone in a hopeless situation. They can see that people do care, and believe they are worth more then their beautiful face. I hope they carry this knowledge with them before they loose all faith in humanity.

Life in post conflict developing societies is harsh. But life for women in post conflict developing societies can be impossible. Women are the protectors of children, and their well-being is fundamental to the development of this country. It isn’t a hopeless situation, and I feel truly blessed for the opportunity to be involved in lives of 24 children that have captured a piece of my heart.






Thursday, August 03, 2006

From a cultural Desert to Cultural Carnival

It took 7 months of dreaming but finally I made it back to Asia . Having discarded the rest of my round the world ticket; armed with a one way ticket to Bali, my passport and backpack, I was ready to start learning again. Australia had not only stripped my bank account, it had sapped my energy and inspiration for travel. The glitzy modern buildings and pristine streets failed to tell the stories of it's cultural heritage; of the fractured identities of the people who walked this land long before concrete and rampant agriculture stamped it's mark. This is not the right place for me to start "sociologising" about that massive gulf that exists between the ideals and prosperity of a booming nation, and the harsh realitly of life in the outback for Australia's indigenous population. But I can't hide my discontent for a country where the banal mainstream culture overwhelmed it's "real history". And, for all the ozzies reading this, believe me, if I was a tourist in my own country I would have more then enough criticism for our disgusting racial relations and the benality of our modern culture, so please don't take it personally!




Anyway.....On to a place where traditional cultural heritage is celebrated almost continually. Where a vast rainbow of colour, and an orchestra of sounds bombard all of your senses. This is Bali, the land of smiles, the land where beauty is embraced and celebrated over every crevice of her surface.









If it hadn't happened, I wouldn't have believed it myself. Stepping through customs and into the arrival gate, POW, it slapped me right in the face, knocking me off balance: Culture Shock. I didn't think this was possible after already speeding 3 months in Asia, but I guess that was part of the problem. "Holidaying" in Australia and NZ for too long had made me an over-confident and arrogant traveler, and I didn't in any way prepare myself for the onslaught.

"Taxi, Taxi",
"Where you going miss",
"Transport, Transport",
"How much you wanna pay?"

"I don't know, what the hell is this currency anyway? 8,700 to the dollar, too many 0's I'm confused, it's too hot, ahhhh, where the airport bus, what do you mean there's no tourist info! I need two minutes to think, please stop shouting at me!"

Ok, call Turbo, get coins for payphone.....Water, I need water, 4000Rp, was that a rip-off? Shit, how does the payphone work?
Ok, no payphone, I'll take a taxi half way then change to the local bus and save half the money. Why is it that after 7 months of paying exorbitant western prices, the second I land in a place where everything is cheap I start cutting corners?

Within my first hour, I had learned a new concept: Bali time. As I sat on a Bemo (local bus) for over an hour waiting for enough people to warrant the journey, I finally gave up and moved to the busy street to wait for another hour for a bus going in my direction. Finally I found one and after paying 10x the local rate (by then I would have paid 20x), we slowly trundled up the road picking up and dropping off what felt like every other person in Bali.

The road to Ubud was literally lined with carving shops making and selling every imaginable item out of wood, many of which will eventually make it's way to our bedrooms and living rooms. Ubud is nestled amongst stunning rice terraces which mould themselves around the landscape, illustrating the contours of the hills. Everywhere you look you see beautiful things from huge grand stone carving in the middle of round-abouts, to stunning houses and temples all with thatched roofs. Women walk around the streets carrying great big trays filled with fresh flowers and incense which they use to make offerings to the gods. Everywhere you go beautiful white, yellow and bright red flowers litter the pavements, house entrances, car windscreens, shrines and anything else that needs blessing!

After finally contacting Turbo, a friend I met in Chiang Mai 9 months ago; the sight of his gentle face and blindingly bright clothes instantly lifted my spirits. I couldn't bring myself to tell him the depths of the bumbling mess I had made out of my first 3 hours back in Asia... Well now you know! Fortunately the culture shock evaporated almost as fast as it appeared and I was once again awed by Asia's quirky beauty.

My visit to Bali came at the perfect time in my life and as it happens also my Dad's. After one e mail from me protesting that he should dump his holiday plans in Scotland and come to Bali, he booked his ticket and was by my side in under a week. Talk about spontaneity, it was so wonderful to see him after almost a year. As I was contemplating my dream of returning to Cambodia to work with victims of human trafficking, I found myself surrounded by people all doing amazing work to help others. On the first day that my Dad arrived from England, Robyn from Australia took us to an orphanage that she visits regularly.On the way Robyn bought huge sacks of rice, noodles, fruit and other things needed by the children and also a whole selection of musical instruments for Dad's "percussion workshop". I couldn't help but be moved by the generosity and compassion that she showed these children who had obviously captured a little piece of her heart. Most of the children here are "economic orphans" which essencially means they do have a family but for economic reasons they cannot live at home. Many however, have no family at all. It comes as a surprise to many tourists that such poverty exists in Bali, but much of it is hidden poverty. I couldn't help but wonder what the future would hold for these children but for the 3 hours we spent making the most ridiculous racket with the instruments, their smiles and laughter melted our hearts and warmed our day. Who said charity was selfless?!

Since the bombings in Kuta, tourism in Bali dropped by around 90%. For a country who's economy is driven by tourism, this has had catastrophic effect on the local population. It's both shocking and depressing riding around Ubud in the evening and seeing all the restaurants empty bar one table that the bored looking staff occupy. However, I think they are having a pretty good season now by all accounts.

One morning in May, the earth creaked, shuddered and groaned waking up Java's Jogjakarta region to the shock of their lives.Before the aid even reached the area, pictures of the mass destruction caused by the earths latest protest in Java filled our livingrooms and just as rapidly disappeared from our screens and conscience. As the world moved to the next disaster, the plight of the 5000 killed and hundreds of thousands injured and displaced gripped Turbo too tightly and his only release was to take the short flight to his neighboring island and see what he could do. Just a few days after the quake, Turbo rocks up to a village where no aid other had reached, to be confronted by mass panic as people rushed around trying to make sense of the unrecognisable world that now surrounded them. It takes a seriously courageous and equally stupid foreigner to arrive in a rural village in a state of absolute carnage and roll his sleeves up and get working. In a month Turbo became a disater relief expert, project manager, event's coordinator, child entertainer, psychotherapist, fundraiser, accounts manager, population statistician and an all round celebrity. I cannot do this story justice, but please read the amazing blog written by one of his local volunteers about what happened when a Japanese Samari showed up in town!

http://artgralife.blogs.friendster.com

I don't think Turbo really has any comprehension of the enormity of what he did for these people who lost everything. All I can do is stand back in awe and wonder what the world would be like if everyone had the courage and vision to look outside of their little bubbles and realise the world needs them.

As I sat around the table in Flava lounge surrounded by all my new friends and my ever supporting and loving father, I felt like a battery that had just been re-charged. The lessons I had learnt and the strength I had received over the last month had filled me with the happy/nervous feeling I always get at the start of a new adventure. Bali had changed me and there was no going back, I knew where I was going and why I was going....

To the magnificent Kingdom of Cambodia........