Thursday 39th?

Thursday 39th of March.... at least that is how the calendar on our wall shows it. I couldn't resist doing something to mark the day. Yesterday I found a few verses from Psalms 39 & 139 and wrote them on pieces of cardboard, decorated with some Hello Kitty stickers and stuck them on the bedroom doors of my roomates.

So, in honour of the 39th: "And so, Lord, where do I put my hope? My only hope is in you." (Psalm 39:7)

My kind of moto

This Week At Home

The thing I love about where I live is that I can take 10 steps from my bedroom door and have 10 conversations with 10 different people. I can sit at the front gate for 30 minutes and chat with half a dozen other friends and neighbours. Maybe it is because I’m too lazy to make an appointment and then go to visit someone. This way people just knock on my bedroom door, sit down on the mat, grab a couple of cushions and start talking. I love it. Here are a few highlights from this past week:

MONDAY- I cooked. This is the one night of the week we all eat together. This week’s menu was ginger pork; steamed green beans with a bacon and onion topping; wheat noodles with vegetables; steamed rice.
TUESDAY- It rained. This probably isn’t big news where you are but it is not supposed to rain in the middle of Cambodia’s hot, dry season. The temperature dropped to somewhere in the mid-20s and I got sick. I came home from my morning meeting wearing a hooded sweater and the first thing I did was put the kettle on. We had a visitor so I joined my room-mates in the lounge room. We chatted and joked for about 20 minutes while I sipped hot coffee and swallowed a couple of Panadols. The pills, the coffee and the laughter all worked. Then it was off to another appointment.
On Tuesday night the hairdresser came over. She did my hair and we talked about clothes, shoes, work and faith. She said she has believed in Jesus for 5 months now but Jesus hasn’t done anything for her. She still works 6-7 days a week in a factory, her baby daughter always seems to be sick and her husband still works night shifts. I didn’t know what to say but I told her my hair looked good, gave her a tip and a raincoat for the moto ride home.
WEDNESDAY: On Wednesday night I had a regular meeting with a young woman I am mentoring. It is always a highlight of my week.
THURSDAY: The second person I’m mentoring came over in her lunch-break. I cooked some more simple food and we ate, prayed and talked together.
There’s a concrete bathroom and a tap for doing laundry built on the balcony space adjacent to my window. On Thursday night another room-mate came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel with flip-flops on her feet, carrying her plastic basket of toiletries. Her hair was dripping wet. She saw me and smiled so I opened the window to say hello. She said that she’d had a bad day and asked if she could come in to talk. A few minutes later she was dressed in her pajamas, sitting on the mat with a cushion, talking about her day.
FRIDAY: What would Friday nights be like without a 9:30pm curfew? I’d just asked myself this question last night at about 9:40pm when anther room-mate knocked on my door and popped her head around the corner. From that moment, the curfew didn’t seem to be a restriction anymore. It became another opportunity to be present with a group of young Khmer women whose company is generous and enriching.

Road Works

There are piles of dirt, clusters of heavy machinery and groups of workers digging up the dirt road that leads to the BBSC office. I guess the final result will be a paved road. In the meantime I've decided to ride my bicycle rather than navigate this obstacle every time I want to go in or out of the driveway.

Orphanages in Cambodia

Last night I read an article in the current Phnom Penh Post about orphanages in Cambodia. It reported on:

• Tourists visiting orphanages without proper supervision, thus leaving children at risk of abuse.
• Children regularly missing school to perform for tourists.
• Children being forced to practice singing and dancing routines for 2 hours per day in order to be ready to perform for tourists.
• Lack of accountability (especially financial accountability) in orphanages.

The article quoted a 2005 UNESCO report which found that:

• Over half of children in orphanages in Cambodia have one living parent.
• 20% of children in orphanages have both a mother and father.

It reminded me again that community-based care is often a far more effective way of supporting children. At least it:

• Keeps kids who have parents with their families.
• Keeps children within their local communities.

Besides this, it may protect some children from the very institutions that claim to be helping them.

Shameless Plug

Big Brothers and Sisters of Cambodia has a blog! (See new link on the right of this page.)

I plan to post stories & photos 2-3 times per month to keep you in touch with what is going on with this exciting work. In the meantime it is smiles and waves from this group of Big Brothers and Sisters and Little Brothers and Sisters that met together last Thursday.

An Unwelcome Gift

The other day I was cruising down a city street in Phnom Penh when I was the recipient of an unwelcome gift. A guy riding in front of me decided he needed to blow his nose. His choice? The natural way. At 40km/h he turned his head over his right shoulder and blew. Although it seemed to happen in slow motion I was somehow paralysed to respond. I saw the brilliant spray backlit by the mid-morning sun. I felt the droplets splash over my cheek, nose and lips. I realised that a couple of globs of mucus had landed with the liquid spray. As I wiped my face on my sleeve I wanted to scream, “Ban the bushie’s blow!”

Day 7 Funeral

Yesterday I stopped in at a funeral on the way home from a work meeting. It was the first time I've participated in one in Cambodia. A young person I know recently lost her mother and although I was told about the initial three-day funeral, I didn't have time to attend. Instead I went to the day 7 funeral. (There will be another to mark 100 days and one more after 1 year.)

My friend and I came straight from work and didn't have the "right clothing" (white shirt and a long skirt). I didn't have the right amount of money and gave too much. I'm not sure that I showed the right kind of behaviour at every point either. Sitting at a table eating rice porridge and drinking soda, I was introduced to some more friends of the family. Over the noise of the funeral music, we somehow fell into easy conversation and I did wonder whether it would be seen as appropriate to be chatting and laughing at such an occasion.

Even though it was a slightly unusual stopping-point on my journey home, I'm glad I went. I think that gathering for three days and they at set periods of time up to a year is a healthy way for people to walk through the grief process with community support. It gives time and space to honour and remember the person who has passed away. But maybe we are too focused on work to incorporate such rituals in the West?