Murky Waters

The waters are stubbornly staying put, and a layer of green sludge has coated itself on every surface of the village. The murky brown soup of raw sewage and solid waste is churned up as the villagers slosh about their daily lives. The rains have abated but the big men in their Lexus's still fail to pump the water from the lake and relieve the poor from life in a sewer. A few people said to me “it happens every year” implying “why are you making such a fuss about it this year?”. This attitude is the plague of Cambodia, maintaining the abysmal status quo, because resources are few, the work is endless and the people that should care, don’t. Well, this year we will make a fuss, because next year there might be nothing left to make a fuss over.

This community will be evicted from their homes next year, as the government has sold the land from under their shacks to a private development company that ingeniously plans to fill in the lake with concrete to make way for high rise apartment blocks. I'd like to take these clever men to visit the flooded houses, and ask if their posh cars would manage to keep operating when the entire of Phnom Penh floods after they fill in the cities’ main drainage system.

We went to visit a lady last week. Her three kids were perched on a wooden raised platform inside the corrugated iron shack, as she fed her 2 month old baby with sweet condensed milk. Her breast milk had dried up and she had no money for powder milk. We asked her what she will do when they get evicted, she has no idea, no body knows what will happen to them, but the messages from up top have been quite clear. Drainage gates have been kept firmly shut, to make way for a more justified and passive eviction of this "uninhabitable area" (that just happens to be prime real estate). We sat on the bench; our legs submerged in over a foot of flood water and promised to bring her some powder milk. She didn’t even manage to muster the obligatory Khmer smile that usually covers up even the worst situations. I guess we can assume that the people left floating in the slops of this city have lost hope.

I was so pleased to receive confirmation from the United Nations that they will fund our entire relief efforts up at the lake. It was a great feeling to submit a proposal to the UN and have a positive response and I’d like to think it was the result of my expert technical writing ability and hours spent trawling through the green sludge making assessments. Alas, it seems they have surplus funding which they need to dispose of in a hurry in order to avoid a funding cut for the following year. If they can dispose of some fast cash and still uphold their dedicated efforts to protect the dignity and human rights of the urban poor wouldn’t the big wigs in Geneva and New York be pleased?
“Would you like to come and have a visit of the site? It’s only a 10 minute drive” I asked the UN representative.
“No thank you, I saw the pictures you sent”.
And so the deal is sealed, blankets, soap, towels, hammocks, bleach, rubber boots, vitamins and medicine will be purchase and Phana and I will be sure to send them pictures of us handing out their aid so they don’t get their feet wet.

We have been running an ad hoc health clinic up at the site with a dedicated team of volunteer doctors and nurses. It’s an inspiration to work with a team of people that are so at ease in a sweltering hot room filled with to the rafters with women and children all waiting for their turn at free health care. Inside this room there are no politics, but outside the soup is simmering to a boil.

The eviction of the 21 villages surrounding Boeng Kak Lake in the heart of Phnom Penh will be the biggest forced displacement of people since the Khmer Rouge army marched the entire city to the countryside in 1975. When that water finally decides to recede and the scum has been scraped off the bridges and walkways, the community will wait for the next disaster to strike their houses: the men in their bulldozers. In the mean time the children will happily play in their new swimming pool, oblivious to the subliminal messages that lurk beneath its surface.

"Survivor" Challenge Cambodia Style

What happens when you take 9 Cambodian teenagers from Phnom Penh’s inner city slums and plonk them on an almost deserted island? Sat in the ramshackle wooden restaurant in the stunning coastal town of Kep, myself, the teachers, students and director of Aziza schoolhouse excitedly made last minute plans for the “survivor challenge”. Their hair still damp from their first ever swim in the ocean; the students loudly cracked crab and shrimp shells with their teeth, dipping them lavishly into the delicious spicy garlic and lime dressing.

The morning greeted us with bright blue sky and sunshine, a miracle during the peak of the rainy season. The students set off in their teams to the market to stock up on supplies for the island. Trundling along on the back of a motorbike drawn cart, we finally made it to the pier and piled into two long-tail boats.


“Grandma” of the island, greeted us, hair wrapped up in a traditional Kramer, a machete and a pineapple in one hand and a mobile phone in the other, classic! She led us on a short trek through a jungle of coconut trees, which opened up onto a stunning little beach with a few wooden huts, plenty of hammocks and a couple of food shacks. Thoughts of Phnom Penh instantly evaporated.








The students enthusiastically began their first challenge, each team preparing lunch for which they would be judged on taste, presentation and imagination. We were stunned by the plethora of seafood and tropical fruit that was proudly presented to us. If we were in Thailand, I would have thought they had stolen from some 5 star resort buffet down the beach, but somehow they had managed to cook up this incredible feast on this empty beach. God only knows when they learned to cook seafood in the slums, but it was divine.

Bellies full, it was time for the adults to sit back in our hammocks armed with a good novel while the students slaved away building our shelter for the night. What? Who said we were exploiting the youth? We let them swim in the ocean… for 10 minutes before they collected wood for the fire, cooked our dinner (we chose the chicken running around on the sand, and within 5 minutes saw it decapitated, plucked and plopped in a pan of boiling water), and finally, when it was pitch black we went crabbing. It was hilarious to see them grabbing crabs big and small, from tiny crevices in the rocks, fingers bleeding they kept going un-phased until they had a whole bag full. Adults tucked up under our tarp after an exhausting day lounging on the beach, the students stayed up for hours boiling the crabs and eating them whole, shells included under the light of the stars.






By 6am the girls were back in the “kitchen” boiling rice and noodles for breakfast while the rest of us congregated on the beach for a spot of yoga and meditation. Sitting crossed legged listening to the soft sounds of the ocean we all made a blessing to someone that was less fortunate then ourselves sat on this paradise island. I couldn’t help but wonder if the students thought of their friends and family stuck in the slum surrounded by riots as people were being forcibly evicted from their homes.

The various survivor challenges the students pulled off are insignificant in my mind, there was a winner, but of course their team spirit and admirable talents and skills made them all winners. As we drove back to the city through the stunning green rice feilds, the whole van was filled with the sounds of beautiful Khmer folk songs.





We arrived back in Phnom Penh, greeted by black clouds, rain and the smell of garbage. Given the choice, perhaps we would all like to live on a deserted island. These kids have few choices, but they have big dreams, youthful energy and an astounding attitude towards life that might teach all of us in the West, with our obsession for watching dreadful D list celebrities “stuck” on a paradise island, a thing or two!

Home is where the heart is

“Oooooh pleung clang na!” (“it’s chucking it down!”)

A sudden blackness falls over the city and phenomenal crashing causes us to scream and run to the window. Incredible rows of fork lightning cut through the black sky in pinks, organges and purples forcing everyone to and stop in awe at the earth’s magnificence. I look down from my balcony and hear screeches of joy and laughter as naked children skip through vast puddles and open their face to the golf ball sized drops splashing over their little bodies. We welcome the monsoon with cravings for cool air, taming of the dust, and to feel the new energy of life as the bright green rice fields come into bloom.

This gift of the earth’s ability to replenish itself after a long harsh season of 40 degree day and night heat, has been hampered by the troubles of man. For many the build up to this season was filled with anxiety and fear. One year ago the people of Sombok Chap were faced by their worst nightmare as the military armed with AK47’s forcibly evicted them from their homes in the centre of Phnom Penh. They were ushered at gunpoint to an undeveloped rice field some 20K outside of the city and given a bucket and a tarpaulin. 1000 families sat month after month waiting in limbo on the promise of small plots of land and a chance to re-build their lives. With no means of earning an income, these families quickly fell into unimaginable depths of despair as malnutrition swelled the children’s bellies, skin diseases covered their bodies, typhoid engulfed the community, and hope evaporated in the oppressive heat.












We sat in the lavish Foreign Correspondence Club, a magnificent old colonial mansion nestled between the great Tonle Sap River and the golden turrets of the Royal Palace, where French diplomats and intelligencer once philosophised over cups of strong black coffee. 40 or so members of Phnom Penh’s international community sat in rows sipping red wine and cappuccinos as two women stood with outstanding courage and told of their stories at the relocation site. They stood clutching their shoeless children, unable to suppress a public show of emotion, normally unthinkable in Khmer culture. They told of their husbands who never came home because their work on the construction sites did not pay enough to afford the journey back to the remote rice paddy. They told of their children living in squalor with no access to education or even nutritional food. They looked to the ceiling and back into our eyes, placed their hands in a prayer position and begged us to help them get out of the field before the rains came. But now it’s already too late, many of then live in a lake as the rain pours through the hole in their canvas roof and the ground of their shack is muddy sludge.








On June 6th this international community stood hand in hand with local community representatives at a vigil to mark the one year anniversary of the eviction at Sombok Chap. We stood in silence holding candles as Buddhist monks blessed the ceremony. The message was clear: those families living in destitute will not be forgotten, and we plead that the government reforms it’s barbaric, inhumane eviction policies so that this does not happen again.


But nobody listened, and just weeks ago, the seaside town of Sihanoukville experienced one of the most violent evictions to date. As the military rolled in, they fired their guns in the air and on the ground. They looted the houses, stole motorbikes, and then deluged the wooden houses in petrol and torched them as their inhabitants stood in disbelief staring as their life went up in flames. Residents trying to trying to protect themselves and resist these acts of insanity were beaten, arrested and now face prison sentences.










My organisation Bridges Across Borders (www.babsea.org) went this weekend to deliver 2 tons of rice, tarpaulins, mosquito nets (essential as Cambodia now faces an epidemic of Dengue fever, worsened by breeding of mosquitoes in the rainy season) to this community that now live on the side of the main road near to where their village once was.














As the rain pours down, it serves as a reminder to all of us sitting in Foreign Correspondence Clubs, or squishy sofas in air conditioned houses, of those who don’t have access to one of the most basic human rights: a home. The world was encouraged to stop and think about all those relocated and left destitute by war, famine and natural disaster on International Refugee Day. I ask you to think today that as for every drop of rain that falls, so does a tear for those who are left squatting by the side of the road, wondering what they ever did to deserve this fate.

Crafting smiles...

Going to Svay Rieng always inspires me to post a new blog entry. Maybe it’s because being in a small sleepy provincial town gives me time to really stop, look around and think. But also, consumed with the hustle and bustle of Phnom Penh; it’s clear, as with all capital cities, you don’t experience the “real” Cambodia. About 85% of the population live in rural provinces, and the contrast in lifestyle is stark.

Gazing out the window of the overloaded taxi, I was wondering if being poor in the countryside, might be a better existence then on the dirty, dangerous streets of the city, where so many rural people end up in their search for a way to scrape a living. Overtaking 4 huge camo green World Food Program (WFP) trucks laden with bags of rice bound for one of Cambodia’s poorest provinces; I realised that the reality of acute poverty in the countryside is starvation.

Even though my friend works for WFP, I somehow overlooked the fact that many people in the provinces rely on food drops for their immediate subsistence. It took seeing those bulging trucks to comprehend that even 30 years after the war and country-wide famine and with no recent natural disaster; whole villages are still living on hand-outs. Having never felt hunger pains for more then a couple of hours, its clear that I have nothing to go on when considering the pros and cons of living in different environments with the same struggles. But when you are starting to feel jaded about working in development, these images put things into perspective.

Anyway, this week was not consumed by melancholy daydreaming; rather it was so full of creativity, joy and inspiration, that clearly this was why I had to write this blog. My wonderful (and too soon departing) housemate Geerteke, received the special treat of a visit by her mum Odette, who happens to be an amazing artist and jewellery designer. She turned up from Holland with a suitcase loaded with beads of all shapes, colours and sizes, wire, tools, craft magazines, crayons and all kinds of other treats. We were going to do a jewellery workshop with the girls that live in the trafficking shelter near the Vietnam boarder.

Odette is someone who knows few boundaries, and once an idea is planted, determination takes over. Having heard her mention bamboo in the guest house in Phnom Penh, the waiter got excited.
“I live in Kandal province, I can bring you some bamboo back tonight!”
And sure enough 4 hours later he produced a huge green stem of bamboo, smiling proudly. This was the start of the bamboo journey that became a running joke over the week. Jumping in the tuk-tuk by the bustling market underneath my house, we made it just 100 metres before having to turn around and pick-up Odette’s forgotten treasure.

The bamboo arrived safely at the shelter in Svay Rieng, and was an instant source of curiosity (“why has the Dutch lady brought bamboo from the city to the countryside?”) amongst warm greetings and big smiles from the girls and staff. Our first project was crafting beautiful necklaces from brown coconut shells. Scraping, filing and sanding coconuts, the girls sporadically broke into beautiful Khmer song, and the occasional intermittence of the mandatory “heads, shoulders, knees and toes” (a song that volunteers from all over the world have imprinted on Cambodian youth).

Throughout the workshop, the girls made earrings, necklaces, bracelets and belts which they could all keep for themselves. Convincing the shelter manager that this workshop was for fun and not for income generation, was a bit outside his comprehension. Cambodian’s are extremely practical people and arts and crafts for pleasure is not something that most have experienced before, but the benefits were clear to all. On the final day the girls sat dripping in new jewellery not being able to contain their pride and joy as we presented them all with certificates for completing the course.

The atmosphere in the shelter was magical, and I learned that therapy was not just about the consulting room. It was right there when we hammered, filed, sanded, sawed, strung beads, sang, bickered over the best beads, women working together, with no need for words.

Oh, and for those wondering what happened to the bamboo? Hours before we left for the city again, Odette disappeared on the back of one of the enthusiastic staff members’ motorbike, and after convincing a carpenter that $2.50 might help his “bad” arm cut the bamboo into rings, she returned to complete her mission. One of the girls that struck me with eyes revealing a great burden quietly worked one-on-one with Odette making a beautiful mobile from a bamboo ring. For the first time she smiled deeply from her heart, and I think it was site that we will eternally remember.

Sausadi Chanam Themei!

Happy Khmer New Year!

It’s the biggest celebration of the year, and the Cambodian’s sure know how to party, there have been street party’s every night for about a month now (this can get slightly annoying when your bed time lullaby is Khmer pop music!).

Last week one of my Khmer friends Phana and I set up a mum’s group in a slum area where my friend Drew has opened a community centre. The turnout was impressive, and there were so many babies it was hectic to say the least!

Milly's new vocation as official "baby entertainer" at the mum's group!

This will be an on-going project that we hope will be a helpful resource when the slum faces imminent eviction over the next 2 years. As you can imagine, and see from the picture, health and hygiene are some of the biggest risks in this community, so we have a nurse working with us from New Zealand who is providing training to the women about how to keep their families healthy.

My new housemate Milly and I have been embracing all that is Cambodian from communist style public aerobics at Olympic Stadium, to Khmer boxing on a Sunday afternoon, and of course dancing, dancing, dancing with the locals. The street party’s are basically a sound system that blares out piercing Khmer hip-hop and the tackiest pop music (which Milly and I have grown to love). The locals are so pleased that we have learned the special dance steps to their favorite songs, and we practiced these last night at our local street party to the most welcoming crowd.

Because everything is so different and alien in Cambodia to anything we “barrang” (foreigners) have ever known, I have spent such a long time living here and feeling like an outsider. But when you really start to accept the culture and take part in the things that the locals love, you begin to start closing the void between “us” and “them”. Despite all their troubles, Cambodian’s are some of the warmest, welcoming people in the world, and when I am dancing like a nutter with all the children and the young people, I couldn’t think of any place I would rather be.

Cambodian’s teach me some profound lessons, and I feel so privileged to be able to peak into their world without being jaded by my Western opinions and view points. It has taken a long time to develop a real appreciation for this culture and to understand that no matter what happened in the past, and what is happening now, life must go on, and let’s make sure we have some fun while we live it!

A Powerful Silence

Quilted in a layer of red dust, the banana, mango and palm trees looked tired. Great clouds bellowed through the open window covering my sweaty skin and hair as we sped along the road towards Vietnam. It had been 4 months since my last trip to Svay Rieng, (one of Cambodia’s poorest provinces, bordering Vietnam); and the once lush green rice paddies were now brown, dry and etched with the wrinkles of cracked mud.

But the three hour journey from Phnom Penh had not lost any of its charm. Ramshackle wooden houses stood proudly on stilts above the dirt, teams of men kicked deflated footballs in the empty fields and laden ox carts slowly marched on the roadside. We are now well and truly into the “hot season”, where the relentless sun bakes the soil and wilts the trees. It’s my favourite time of the day: 5pm, and everything is painted glorious gold as the sun begins its descent.

The car slows to a stop at the ferry dock where we are immediately surrounded by hustle and bustle. Small arms poke through the window brandishing chewing gum, boiled eggs, cold cokes, green mango, sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves and dried fish. Old women and blind men come to join the crowd, opening their palms to me through the window. Two grubby boys put their hands in the prayer position in front of their nose and call in a small, whiney voice “loi, loi (money), moi dollar, one dollar”.

As the minibus in front boards the small ferry, one of the boys hops on its ladder for a lift on board so he can continue begging to me for the 10 minute journey across the river. This was the live introduction to my week as I was travelling to meet international Non-Government Organisation’s (NGO’s) to address the issue of child trafficking from Cambodia to Vietnam for begging.

The International Office of Migration (IOM) presented their study which found that scores of children were crossing the boarder daily to beg on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City. Most were supported and encouraged by adult members of family, neighbours or friends so fall under the trafficking category. Once caught on Vietnam’s streets, they are often arrested, placed in a shelter then repatriated back to Cambodia, where they receive little or no support by the Cambodian government.

We travelled to a small village down a bumpy dirt road, where a small NGO had set up a skills-training centre to encourage children not to go to Vietnam. Mainly boys and one girl were learning to make bamboo furniture to sell at the local market and in Phnom Penh. The project proposed to pay the trainees $1.50 a day instead of the $1 they would make to working in Vietnams fields planting rice.

There are many rich people in Cambodia. Hugely high profile recent events in the Capital have opened my eyes to a whole world of corruption that exists, that no one even cares to cover up.

On Friday morning Cambodia’s most famous female pop star Pov Panhapich was shot twice by an assassin as she emerged from her English class at a school in Phnom Penh. This is the forth or fifth similar case, in a previous one, a beautiful young star was utterly disfigured by an acid attack in the street. The story is always the same. All young female celebrities are forced to sleep their way to the top and when you are the most beautiful, idolised women in the country; some pretty powerful men will want to sleep with you. When their high ranking wives find out about the affair, the girl is silenced. Priviously Hun Seng, the current Prime Minister was caught having an affair with a young celebrity and his wife had her shot, of course nothing happened to him (can you imagine Tony Blair sleeping with Britney Spears and Cherie having her bumped off?!).

On Monday a member of a trade union party who was pushing for better working conditions for the tens of thousands of women working in garment factories was assassinated while riding home from work on a motorbike. He was the forth member of his party to be murdered, but I doubt Gap, H+M and Topshop wanted you to know that.

Growing up in a world where you are constanlty wrapped up in cotton wool and generally don't have to fight too hard for your basic human rights, these things come as a shock. But for Cambodian's this is everyday life. It's too easy to become cynical here and this is a disease that periodially inflicts itself upon me and saps my energy. However, it is a handful of amazing young Cambodian's that bolster me up, they know what corruption does and they want a better future for their people, and to have friends like these who, is to be inspired.

This is a sad poem that I read the other day, but I think it is so beautiful in it's honesty:

I am a karaoke girl

Straight black hair, fair complexion,
My round eyes, a karaoke star,
and mans duo in bed and bar.

I sell beer,
I am beaten and raped,
I light their cigarettes,
I wait on them.

I pore beer, I play sexy, I clean their trash.

I do anything.