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.