Chapter 4: Daily Routine, Life at the Orphanage

We provided dental services for about 300 orphans in the Banteay Meanchey area where we had our makeshift dental office set up at Ou Ambel. We saw many different faces stream in and out of the clinic during the time we spent there, as truckloads of children were brought in each day. As for the roughly 30 kids that lived at Ou Ambel, though, theirs were the same faces that welcomed us every morning and waved goodbye to us each night.

We got to know these kids. It didn't matter that we didn't speak each others' languages. These kids were so sweet. They were so respectful and well behaved. They had nothing, yet they were happy.

As a mother, I struggled to fight sadness my first few days there. I'd be working away, doing just fine, then my mind would begin to wander about the kid before me. Where did they come from? What were the circumstances that made them orphans? Did their parents turn them over to the orphanage in hopes that it would provide them a better life? Was it just plain old poverty? Land mines? Had their parents died of AIDS? Motorcycle accident (#1 killer of Cambodians)? Did they know that they were loved? What did their futures hold? Would their parents come back to claim them, enticed by the profit of selling them into the sex slave trade? This does happen, unfortunately, especially to the prettier girls. I would brood over this, then I would get choked up while I was working. This was one of the hardest parts for me. Eventually I did learn how to separate my emotions from the situation and just not think about it, but it was really hard in the beginning.

Here are some of the children of Ou Ambel:



I found the little boy in orange especially cute. When I found out his name was Moses, I thought that just added to his cuteness.

His name is Ra Ven:

I remember the little girl on the left because she was afraid to get her teeth worked on, and she cried. This sticks out in my mind, because so few of them cried. I gave her a bracelet and carried her around for a while.

It didn't take me long to realize why several of the little girls there have closely-cropped haircuts.

I love this picture. The kids liked being photographed. I think they liked the attention. They especially liked seeing their image on the back of the camera.

This is unrelated, but I read that when they excavated the land to build the foundation for Ou Ambel a few years back, they unearthed two land mines. (The were safely disposed of.)

One day Jim and I snooped around upstairs. I think those are mosquito nets.

This little boy's name was Makara. He was one of the few that could speak a little English, which was limited to the following conversation:

Makara: Hi. What's your name?

Me: Jessie. What's your name?

Makara: My name Makara.

Me: Hi Makara. It's nice to meet you. How are you?

Makara: I'mfinesanks. (He meant to say I'm fine, thanks, but he'd say it as all one word, and the thanks came out as sanks.)

So every time Makara and I would see each other, which was several times a day, we'd repeat the conversation as though meeting for the first time. After a while, I became bored with this, so one day, I squatted down to eye level with him. "Makara", I said in a serious tone. "When I say 'How are you?' you say (my face lighting up) 'I'M AWESOME!!' Ok, let's try. Makara, how are you?"

"I'm AWESOME!"

"Good job!" Then this was our new greeting to each other, which we carried out, of course, several times a day.

These were some of the kids from another orphanage.

This baby never wore a diaper. I never did see how they take care of the obvious result of that. This little guy always had plenty of attention, though, as there was never a shortage of little girls willing to play mom.

This girl is doing the Asian Squat. You'd see this all the time. Even adults did it. I don't know how! I tried once, my knees aren't strong enough. Plus, it's hard to balance. But the Cambodians seemed to have mastered this position.

The evening that we left the orphanage was a moment in my life I will never forget. I remember that day in clinic being excited that it was our last day and finally all of our hard work was finished! No more backaches from sitting in those evil red chairs! Mission accomplished! I was excited to head to Siem Reap, where awaiting us was a hotel with a pool, time off from working, and fancy restaurants where I could enjoy three vodka tonics with dinner (oops, did I just share too much?) I had that last-day-of-school feeling of excitement.

We finished up with the patients, packed our stuff up, and closed up shop. Earlier that day our team had given money to the ladies that work at Ou Ambel so they could buy the ingredients to make the kids a grand feast for dinner that night. While we were packing up all the dental stuff, the children were eating in their outdoor seating area. I was the last one to make it outside and over to where the kids were to say goodbye. I'd had to wash my hands, and dilly-dally around per my usual fashion.

Let me back up a bit here and say that when I am really, really tired, I can get emotional fairly easily. I have talked about this here on my blog before. By the time we finished up the mission, I'd been running on 4-5 hrs of sleep per night, with days that were filled to the max with activity.

With that said, I wandered outside to where the rest of my team was gathered around the big table where the kids were eating. It was dark out, but the table was illuminated under one light bulb hanging from a wire. Those kids were eating like I have never seen kids eat before. They were smiling, and laughing, and shoveling food in their mouths strait from the serving bowls. They were so happy! They had curry! And juice! They were little piggies at the trough, practically climbing over one another to get the most food. I thought of my own kids back home, who never have to do without. Seeing this, I felt a wave of emotion overcome me. I went and leaned against a pole, sort of in the dark and sort of away from the others, and told myself just to hold it together. But I couldn't, of course. As I watched them, I realized I would never see these kids again. Even though I will return to Cambodia next January, it will be to another orphanage, in a different town.

I thought I was being discreet, my perch against the pole, but then I felt Mike put his arm around me, and squeeze me to his side, and when he said "I know, I am having a hard time, too," that's all it took. The floodgates opened and the tears spilled forth. I was embarrassed that I couldn't keep my composure. I couldn't even tell the kids goodbye. I wanted them to know that I loved them, and would miss them, and admired how brave they were, and how much they have touched my heart and changed my life and that I would never forget them. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't even say goodbye. All I could do is wave as we walked away and got into the truck.

I cried all the way back to the hotel.