After the terror of Pol Pot’s rule…thirty years ago in Phnom Penh there wasn't a doctor, lawyer, dentist, painter, teacher, or even a street sweeper, plumber, or builder...! They either fled or were killed off by the Khmer Rouge. A whole generation is missing and it will take probably another two generations to bring the country up to speed. Despite this, there really is some dynamic growth.
A foreign resident here writes that: he loves it in Cambodia, but lives by two basic principles: 1. Murphy’s Law, whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment; and 2. Negative Expectations yield Negative Results and Positive Expectations yield Negative Results.
The average median age is just 23 years - and they seem to be breeding like proverbial ‘rabbits’…there are small kids and pregnant women just everywhere.
There seemed to be a constant series of Buddhist funerals in villages close by - they can start from around 3am with amplified chanting, crashing cymbals and flute-type what could loosely be called ‘music’. I never could figure out just why the high level of amplification - I’ve never seen statues or paintings of Buddha with him clutching a microphone!
In a country that has (only relatively recently) seen the strictest form of what could be called ‘communism’, 95% of Cambodians are Buddhists and they do not view death as the end of one's life but rather as the end of a life cycle. It is a passage from one stage of the cycle to the next. In Buddhism, there is belief that all life evolves in a successive cycle of birth, sickness, old age, death and reincarnation.
Every so often, there would be no funerals or weddings permeating (or polluting) the ether for a few days and one would sort of wonder “what’s missing” - oh yes, it’s almost silent. Well, discounting the roosters and dogs! Only every now-and-then, in the wee small hours, the dogs would set off a howling episode, like a pack of wolves. Then there is one particular dog who must be psychologically disturbed because, in the wee small hours, it starts loudly yapping; pretty much continuously for ages (just taking short breaths), this pooch is so demented, no other dogs even join in - I can just picture them lying around, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders.. Sometimes when it WAS quiet in the wee small hours, one could hear a funeral dirge commence faintly in the distance.
I was wandering through rough bush on dusty tracks with two local staff as we were locating isolated farmers to interview them about their crops, marketing, finances and associated problems. As an aside, the guys told me about venomous snakes in Cambodia (I later did some research: they have a bunch including viper and cobra) - very comforting; particularly enhanced by the possibility of accidentally standing on and triggering unexploded ordinance!
We came across a ‘pond’ of muddy water we could not go around; with a ‘bridge’ that consisted of a series of rickety planks including one about two-inches wide, on a 45° angle, one end on a rock and the other on another plank that tended to ‘see-saw’. I don’t know how, but I navigated safely across, with only one foot (with shoe and sock) landing in the water.
But - OK: just every so often, there is no option but to accept the reality that I’m 72 years old with the lasting effects of a stroke, so my ‘balance’ ain’t what it used to be. So: on the return, one needed to navigate the moving planks and go UP the steep board and I just knew that I’d finish up off the side and fully emerged in muddy water. I told the guys my problem and with one in front (holding my fully-functioning right hand) and one behind, we had a successful crossing!
An interesting phenomenon occurs when you hire a ‘taxi’ (well, a private car actually) to go, say, the 120km from where we were in Anlong Veng to Siem Reap and you agree a price for the trip. More often that not when the driver arrives he will already have another person (or more) in the vehicle and it is just accepted that he/they gets a ride (sometimes only part of the trip). Several times, I was asked if I wanted to go with some staff to Siem Reap and I’d usually decline (even though offered free accommodation with the local agency manager). Then a small sedan would arrive and, with some difficulty, four guys would shoehorn themselves into the back seat with another in the passenger seat and his girlfriend on his lap. WHERE was I supposed to be - in the trunk?
Sometimes, I work with people whose names are comparatively common, but then, they are those of a completely different ilk - this one was in the latter category. Names such as: Oudong, Techkung, Tonglee and Sothera….
I may have mentioned this before…? The currency situation in Cambodia is accepted as a mixture of local notes (Riel) and U.S. dollars; you can tender payment anywhere in either currency, or a mixture of both. The exchange rate probably goes up and down but everyone just accepts that the rate is set at: R4,000 = US$1.
I'm rather hopeless at learning new languages (apart from words like: ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’) and I wander around too many different countries and cultures to learn them all. Counting in Khmer (Cambodian language) in rather different; for instance: 1 is ‘moy’ and 5 is ‘pram’ / so 6 is ‘pram moy’ (5 + 1).
As I was cooking my own meals, a venture into the salubrious environs of the local market was required (where one would rarely find a seller who spoke any English whatsoever). I purchased: eight potatoes, three carrots, a bunch of long beans, a pineapple and a whole fish for a grand total of $3.75!! I was dubious about buying meat in the market - 30°C+, no refrigeration, meat lying all over the place, bare hands handling it, and money. When some staff went to Siem Reap, I’d give an order for chicken breast and pork from a supermarket - I swear that the beef was manufactured by Pirelli or Goodyear. After two months, I knew exactly what I was going to cook for my dinner when I got home to Oz: a nice, thick Aussie Scotch fillet steak - medium rare with mashed potato (with chives) and a range of vegetables.
At various stages, I was working with two French guys (plus one had his French girlfriend for a while) - all three of them were smokers…in the office, in the car, at restaurants….
The vehicular extrapolations are interesting - you see kids who look no more than ten years old scooting along on motorcycles; or guiding one of those long-armed tractors (with a loaded trailer) along the main roads. I often saw two adults on a little motorcycle loaded with two, three, even four kids: the parents with helmets, but not the children! Decrepit trucks without a cab or a bonnet (often even no dashboard) trundle loudly (no muffler) along the roads - usually, and incongruously, with the driver wearing a motorcycle helmet.
Toward the end of January, a new staff member commenced work (the only female apart from the cleaner) and there was a visit by a French contingent of the client from Laos and Paris (you may note that I -again- adroitly did not mention my client’s name!). There were two days of meetings and presentations (including one by me on my project), plus site visits to projects in other villages. On the second day - they all departed, plus the hydrologist and his girlfriend left to work in Laos and the manager went to Phnom Penh for ten days….leaving just me and the locals again!!
We had another ‘party’ to farewell the visitors and staff who were leaving. The modus operandi is that we each contribute $5 for some food and the obligatory beer. Then copious amounts of beer are consumed and, as always, it is essential to keep touching everyone else’s can (in the ‘cheers’ fashion) constantly, all night!
I know it’s the beer ‘talking’ but they can get rather maudlin as the night wears on….the guy I mentioned previously who had met the infamous Pol Pot elevated me to ‘oum’ for ‘grandfather’; enhanced by protestations of undying gratitude and respect from him (he spoke no English but others translated) and the project manager…. It can border on embarrassing when men take your hand, bow forward and place the back of your hand on their forehead, or place their forehead on your chest for a few seconds, plus: even when touching cans (“cheers”) the top of their can is below the top of your can!
By the way - I kept thinking that meeting the guy who knew Pol Pot was like talking to someone who had met Adolph Hitler?
King ‘Father’ Norodom Sihanouk died on 15th October, 2012; he was the King of Cambodia from 1941 to 1955 and again from 1993 to 2004. He was the effective ruler of Cambodia from 1953 to 1970. After his second abdication in 2004, he was known as ‘The King-Father of Cambodia’ a position in which he retained many of his former responsibilities as constitutional monarch. Sihanouk held so many positions since 1941 that the Guinness Book of World Records identifies him as the politician who has served the greatest variety of political offices. On just a week’s notice - Friday, February 1st and Monday, February 4th were declared national holidays for an official mourning period. Advice was circulated from the Embassy that we should all be aware that most businesses will be closed; there will be crowds in cities and to be very careful of potential trouble and opportunistic stealing, etc….
My primary brief was to instigate market surveys to determine what was required to guide the small farmers to sell their crops and livestock. I did some comprehensive research and then worded the surveys and trained some local people to take the surveys (none of them admitted to knowing ANY English). The survey questionnaires were translated into Khmer, which made them completely incomprehensible to me. At least with most western European languages you can follow the general meaning, but not with what looks like bunch of squiggles, decorated with copious accents. Most Khmer words are written with no spaces, so there are long expressions that encompass several of what we would call ‘words’, so that there could be a string of 50 (or more) continuous letters so that, even in 12 point typeface, one ‘word’ could be a full line across an A4 page! The Khmer language has more letters in their alphabet than any other language in the world with 33 consonants, 23 vowels, and 12 independent vowels. There is a bunch of other variations, such as ‘main consonants’ having two sounds, but I will not confuse you any further……
I encouraged the trainees to ‘role play’ by one being the interviewer and another the interviewee, and I got the impression that even they had trouble reading their own language to ask the questions.
We were in the habit of driving to a local restaurant for lunch, (main course and a Coke for around $2.60) and the French hydrologist had just enough Khmer to assist with ordering as the staff had no English (the owner could communicate, but he was not always there). When the French guy left and all the expats were away, I’d walk to the restaurant (not permitted to drive the client’s vehicles) and endeavour to order a meal. Even when I thought I was ordering something correctly, the staff would look totally confused and start guessing - sometimes they’d get to the stage were they would repeat the dish requested and it sounded to me exactly the same as what I’d said - apparently just a different inflection and they had no clue. So: I typed up a list of the few meals I knew they served and, on a day when the owner was there, asked him to write the equivalent in Khmer squiggles …solved that problem.
The plumbing was vaguely interesting! The water source for the house was from a bore next door to the house next door. The tank would run out of water and we’d have to somehow communicate with sign language that there was no water and the security guys would activate some switches. Of course, that only worked when there was electricity - which was regularly off and on. As mentioned: toilet flushing was via a trough of water and a scoop; the drain for the kitchen sink went through the back wall and the water just ran onto the ground. I hoped that the toilets were actually connected to septic tanks - and that they were not located near the water supply!
Of course, there was no rubbish collection, so burning was regular and I hadn’t figured out what they did with the rest. You may be horrified … but: I purchased a whole fish at the market a few times, took it home, cut off the head and extracted the ‘guts’ … I did not want the odoriferous residue lurking for days in the rubbish bin under the sink, So, I threw it all into the backyard and it very soon totally disappeared (not sure how: poultry, dogs, rats….).
There was some concern from the French client about my consuming a fish purchased at the markets. However, I’d frozen it for a few days, then thawed it out and made sure it was thoroughly cooked right through. It was rather tasty and I was still alive the next day and had not spent the night “calling ‘Bill’ on the big white telephone” - in case you missed it: that’s euphuism for regurgitating your stomach contents into a toilet.
A French friend of the French client was visiting (interesting guy, he had been with the UN in Sri Lanka - one of the ‘blue helmet’ brigade). The three of us were sitting in the lounge area in the house having a few beers and swapping ‘war stories’ when the visitor sat up, pointed toward the kitchen and said dramatically: “I just saw a rat run across there” we did not even look and said “So……?”
I don’t tend to startle too easily these days, but: after a night of rustling sounds and squeaks under my built-in bed (which was probably nesting rats) …. I was standing in the shower at around 6am (and casually doing some laundry at the same time) when a rather large kamikaze frog descended (there is no ‘ceiling’) rapidly just past my shoulder and landed by my left foot among the soap suds, looking somewhat stunned- that was a WTF moment!
Next day the animal de jour in the shower was a black spider that would cover a saucer if it stretched its legs out; another morning there were three frogs - one thought it was hiding behind some shampoo, another was perched on the rim of a bucket and the other on a ledge in front of air air vent.