One of the first things I noticed about Cambodia almost a year ago to date was the color of budding rice. The pale, bright green is startling and disarming. It’s one of those vivid hues that can only be found in nature and impossible to replicate with synthetic colors. As I rode the bus back to Pursat today, I stared out the window at that green. It feels like it was forever ago when I first saw that strange color, and yet in so many ways, I have come full circle.
When you’re sitting on a bus, staring out at Cambodia’s flat expanse behind the quiet safety of plate glass, the world seems peaceful and serene. But the minute you step off that bus, the bustling, noisy sights and smells of humanity are there waiting to jostle your senses. The throng of took-took and moto drivers crowd around you, grabbing your sleeves in aggressive attempts to get your attention. Barefoot children scramble over a low fence reeking with the sickly, sweet smell of piss to catch a glimpse of the foreigner, while wedding music competes with public service announcements blaring from a loudspeaker near by. At times, it can be overwhelming.
But today, when I stepped off that bus, I realized it was much easier to look beyond everything vying for my attention and seek out the one pair of fixed, familiar eyes waiting for me. I smiled as I found the took-took driver who knows where I live, loaded up my backpack and bags of goodies brought from Phnom Penh, and leaned back to enjoy the breezy ride to my host family’s house. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in the heavy air that’s a sure sign of rain, and realized I had finally found my place here.
I have integrated into the culture happily; finding joy in the exotic backdrop, vibrant family structure, and mysterious ancient history. It’s an adventure I needed to have, hardships I needed to face, and a leap I needed to take. My work is fulfilling. Summer has brought a wave of exciting projects from editing the TEFEL manual, to leading training sessions for the newest volunteers, and of course, my environmental awareness campaign and girls’ camp, that leave me feeling invigorated and productive. … Yet my work here also brings me face-to-face with those aspects of humanity that keep me from calling Cambodia my “home” the way I dubbed some of my favorite homes-away-from-home in the past. Although I long to pierce the darkness lingering in this country with my own blessings, I have a difficult time fixing my eyes too firmly on the darkest corners of humanity so flippantly accepted in this culture as a result of its troubled past.
While I was training the newest volunteers, I was amazed at how easily I could assure the girls they would learn to “let go” of being discriminated against because they are women, or explain to the boys that we all joke so casually about the heartbreaking reality of prostitution because, after a year, it’s the only thing you can do to keep from crying. I have made peace with the reality that I can not eradicate every injustice in this country – but that I can help my community take small steps towards finding their own way in the dark.
Yes, things have come full circle. I no longer feel like a trainee myself, tiptoeing around the culture in an effort to find an acceptable balance between my independent, bold identity as an American woman with my community’s expectations for me as a teacher and host-daughter. I can truly appreciate my host father’s sideways grin as we delight in finding a way to communicate through a mutt combination of English, French, and Khmer. And I can love Cambodia for all that it is, and all that it is not.
Like last year, that bright green will fade from my memory as the rice is harvested, just as this feeling of peaceful integration will be called into question as I face new challenges and navigate new cultural experiences in the upcoming year. But unlike last year, I know what to expect after the last of the monsoons have saturated the rice fields and the dry season washes the country with golden-orange dust.
Success!
12 years ago
