Lessons in Listening when I don't know the rules

I'm never sure of the right way to respond to beggars. Some people set rules for themselves: never give; always give. I have one rule- I don't give to children who are begging at night without an adult with them. Such kids are really vulnerable and I don't want to do anything that would encourage them to be on the streets alone after dark.

One night last week I stopped at a small shop on the way home at about 8pm. A girl of about 6 years cupped her hands in front of me, looked up and asked for money. I looked into her beautiful face, smiled and said, "Sorry, little one, I'm not giving."

I packed up my purchases and started my moto again to go home. A few metres away I drove past the girls' mum. She had the exact same facial features as her daughter. I got to the nearest cross-street and had to turn back. I'm not exactly sure why because I don't have a rule for children begging on a well-lit street at 8pm with their mother supervising from a few metres. I just knew that I had to give this woman something. So I did a u-turn and approached the young mother who was wearing a thin, worn blouse and a sarong with her hair neatly pulled back from her face.

She stood with her plastic begging bowl looking slightly unsure of what to do next. I took off my motorbike helmet and greeted her politely, "Big sister, that's your daughter isn't it?" The woman gave a slight nod of the head in agreement. I tried to explain- "Your daughter asked me for money before but I didn't want to give because I thought she was alone and it isn't safe for her to be on the street at night aby herself." I continued with my hurried speech, "So I didn't give to her. But I will give to you instead."

The woman took the money that I put in her bowl and tucked it in her skirt pocket while I left not knowing whether my words meant a thing to her (or whether it sounded like a strange explanation/ confession/ justification from a mad foreigner).

Maybe there are no rules. But I'm learning that there is the inner voice that sometimes compels me to act... and this is what I will try to pay attention to in the midst of the pleas.

Bus To Bangkok

Today I rode the bus from Phnom Penh to Bangkok. It costs a full day but saves US$50-100 compared with flying.

I've done the trip a couple of times and have noticed four distintive groups of people.

Firstly, there are the locals. There's the one, young, Khmer woman who is so impressed that I speak her language she becomes my new instant best friend and guide. Then there are the group of aunties. Some are wear pajamas, some wear floral sarongs and the rest wear dark trousers with long-sleeved, sparkly tops. They bargain hard at the snack stops on the Cambodian side and continue this habit on the Thai side too, using whichever poor bystanders dare translate for them. There are always a bunch of young guys going for work or at least the hope of work.

Secondly, there are the hard-core backpackers. These are the same people you see at 6am wrapped in sleeping bags on the beach and passed out on plastic chairs at airports where they wait 19.5 hours for their connecting flight. They won't spend $10 on a taxi but $100 for drinks is usually about right. My hard-core backpacker was a Korean uni student so he spent the first 6 hours sleeping and listening to his iPod. But after that we built some rapport and the second half of the trip was filled with amicable bursts of speech as well as silence.

The third group are the weirdos. I spoke to one guy who grew up in four Asian countries and speaks about five different languages- badly. He has a US passport but spends months wandering around Asia- restless. There was another strange guy sitting directly across the aisle. He was so loud, rude and inconsiderate that one of the women said behind his back, "He is drinking soda but he acts like he is drunk!" Profile: 69-year-old male using his European pension to support himself and his new Cambodian wife. (He kept calling her and shouting his abrupt greeting, "hello wife!") Anyway... Mr almost 70 was heading to Bangkok to try to save the infected big toe that the Khmer doctors insisted needed to be cut off. It was hard to be sympathetic- worst case, he's still got 9 right?

Finally, there are those who find cheap enjoyment in meeting and mixing with these strange tribes. It takes 13 hours on 2 sweaty buses but it is great!

Feast & Farewell

On Sunday night the students at the dorm gave me a farewell party. (I'm not leaving for another 2-3 weeks but I'm taking a short holiday in between.) So, Sunday night was the official goodbye.

We started with the formal program. This included singing, readings and people saying nice things about me : ) It was surprising to hear some of the ways in which sharing life with this group of young adults seems to have impacted them. I was encouraged and humbled.

After this, we shared a wonderful meal together. We played games and took photos. We got silly instead of getting sad as we pulled dumb pranks, joked and laughed until our bellies hurt.




A group of the girls spent most of the day preparing the feast for about 20 people. There is a stack of work that goes into preparing even a mid-sized party. All the food is bought fresh on the day. Meat, fish, vegetables and spices are carefully chosen at the market, prices haggled over and then the produce hauled home on the back of a motorbike. The cooking is all done from scratch. Fish are scaled and cleaned. Spices are crushed with a mortar & pestle. Garnishes are precisely cut. Shellfish are thoroughly washed, broken open by hand and tossed into a frying pan with hot sauce just before serving. Last minute trips to the market are made for soda, ice and cakes. The final result is always amazing (even if it seems that the meal is over far too quickly!)....

For the feast and the fun farewell, I am deeply thankful.

Two Tips

Last night I read a beautiful article by Denise Ackerman on prayer. The text was short and so lovely I had the feeling I was casually looting diamonds from an open field. After reading the article, I prayed.

Today I simply want to invite you to do the same. My words will be few and far from poetic. I'll just give two simple points of advice. I'm not trying to convert you, but if you do believe in God maybe you will risk the idea that this same God would love to spend a few minutes with you sometime today. Someone I've never met called Bernard Haring said, "Love desires to be loved." So God listens and God speaks. So God woos us without end. So God loves both our raw pleas and our silent companionship in prayer.

If you haven't prayed today (or in ages...) here are two tips:

1. Pray as you can, don't pray as you can't. Don't worry too much about what you think prayer is supposed to be. Pray and see what happens.

2. Words and words and words aren't so important. You don't have to use religious words. (God has even heard the "swear" ones before.) Prayers don't have to be spoken to be real. Pray silently if you want to.

That's all for today. The invitation is out- you are so welcome to pray.

The Hummer

The Hummer crawls to a stop in a Phnom Penh street. The uniformed driver hops from the vehicle and crosses the road to buy a plastic bottle of petrol.

Motodops point and laugh as the driver tops up the empty tank. Inside the SUV, teenaged girls squirm in embarrassment.

...It's sometimes easy to forget that 35 percent of the population live on less than $0.45 per day, mainly because 92 percent of the poor live in rural areas- along rugged, poorly maintained roads where Hummers rarely go.

The laughter as the monstrous SUV ran out of petrol was a rare moment of equality in a country increasingly marked by the opposite.

Phnom Penh Post
(Allister Hayman)

I Will Sing

When I was about 12 years old I had repeat nightmares of being forced to sing in front of large groups of people. It was terrifying. It wasn't just the possibility of hitting a wrong note or singing out of tune. It was being unprepared and knowing that I wouldn't be free to sing from my soul. More than this, it was the fear that the audience would respond with the worst insult of all- mass indifference.

I've outgrown these nightmares. (And it is good thing that I've never sung solo in front of a crowd.) But I love singing to myself. When I'm happy I'll hum while cooking dinner and sing aloud while riding my moto home at night.

From time to time I will write a song to remember a lesson, an event or a process. Later... when the power is cut off and I've got half an hour at lunchtime with nothing much to do, I will sit and strum and sing and recall these stories. If you ask now I will probably have the courage to sing you a song or two. I might still feel that raw sting of vulnerability, but if you have a guitar sitting around....I will sing.