Sunday, February 28, 2010

Being Honored by the CACO

Saturday Dale and I headed down to Portland where we were reunited with my MTI team. I was so excited to see everyone. All week at work I am sure my coworkers got sick of me saying "I get to see my team on Saturday!" and "Did I tell you I get to see my team on Saturday?" and "I can't wait to see my team on Saturday!" Also, I wanted Dale to meet the people whom I shared such an amazing experience with and who mean so much to me and who turned me into an alcoholic (just temporarily).

The occasion that brought our team all together was a party put on by the CACO (Cambodian-American Community of Oregon) to say thank you for helping their people. See, to me it felt strange to be honored in this way. It's like, go on a fabulous vacation with all these fun people, go on lots of exciting little adventures, get lots of warm and fuzzy feelings from helping those in need, have your life changed in so many positive ways, eat lots of good food, gain tons of life experience, and drink lots of beer, then have people throw a big fancy party to officially thank you for it. It seemed silly, considering I am the one who is thankful.

It was wonderful to see everyone again. Unfortunately, Dave and Pat are in California and were unable to make it, but the rest of the team was there and we had a great time. Here are a few pictures. They are a little bit small. I "borrowed" these, because I was enjoying myself a little too much and realized I hardly took any pictures.

Ok, I didn't steal this one. I think this picture captures my relationship with Darold quite well.




It was fun to see everyone in their dress up clothes. I was so used to scrubs and MTI shirts! There's Mike, Mary Kay, and Franklin.


This is Ravy, Franklin's wife. The baby belonged to someone at the party...and I have never seen so much hair on a baby!!


The party was held at the BEAUTIFUL home of one of the CACO members. And there was so...much...food. Oh, I was in heaven! It was so good. Of course we had lots of good Cambodian food when we were actually in Cambodia, but we ate a lot of the same thing, and it was nothing like this. Here are all the lovely ladies who made all the fabulous food.


Darold's mom came as his guest.


The group during the speeches.


Mary Kay brought her photo album of our mission. I loved seeing it! I love seeing how different people photograph the same things, but in different ways. I was like "I want a copy of this picture!" and "I want a copy of that picture!"

Handwashing, Cambodian Third World Orphanage Style

I wasn't planning to blog about this story originally, because I didn't have a picture to share, but I discovered Franklin's daughter Brittany had one, so here we are.

The first two days we worked in the orphanage we had no way to wash our hands. Since there was no running water, we could only use hand sanitizer. This was sort of ok to me at first, but I quickly realized how much I took washing my hands for granted. By the end of the second day it was driving me nuts. Now, I am not OCD about hand washing, but simply put, I like having clean hands. I remember that evening, as we were winding down in the clinic, I asked Mike, "Don't you miss washing your hands?" And that opened up a conversation comparable to two starving men talking about a cheeseburger. We were all, "...and it smells good...and it feels good..."

Taking into consideration the volume of patients we were seeing each day and that they were (bless their hearts) the dirtiest little mouths I'd ever seen, that night I decided that not being able to wash my hands was something I was no longer going to compromise on.

On the drive back to the hotel, I went over it in my mind.

I discovered it really wasn't rocket science, this hand washing business. How hard could it be? When you think about it, all you need is soap and water, right? So back at the hotel, I wandered around until I found the maids' stash of towels and toiletries, where I stole a big towel and several small bars of soap. Yes, I know, thou shalt not steal, but I hoped in this case God would give me a freebie.

At the orphanage the next morning, hotel loot in hand, I found what could be used for a basin, then found some empty water bottles. I took the bottles and poked several holes in the top (think garden watering can). Then I hung the towel through the bars on the window and voila! A hand washing station.

Nobody likes a bragger, I know, but what can I say? Everyone loved it.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Tomorrow...

I have been a little behind on my blog lately, but I do have a lot to talk about, so I'll play catch up soon.

I get to see my team tomorrow night. We are having a little reunion and I am
BE-YOND excited to see everyone. They are seriously some of my favorite people ever.

So stay tuned...more to come.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Conversations With Ratha Part II

When I flew to Cambodia, I sat next to an American guy on the plane who was living in Siem Reap. He was working for Engineers Without Borders doing temple restoration (is that not the coolest job ever??) Anyway, just as we are about to land, he let's me in on a little secret: Traffic in Cambodia is CRAZY! His advice to me was "Maybe...when you're riding in a car...um...don't look out the window. Just don't pay attention to what's going on." I was like, whaaaatt????

The first 10 seconds I rode in a car in Phnom Penh I think I screamed for my life. OK, I did scream for my life. Traffic there is like...how do I describe this? You know when you're a kid and you look really closely at an ant hill and you see millions of ants, all going different directions, all with different agendas? That is the best analogy I can come up with to describe the tangled, crazy mess of motorcycles (motos), bicycles, and cars that make up the roads in that country. I believe this is why rental cars there come with a driver. Because no foreigner would EVER attempt to negotiate those road rules, or, as it seemed, lack thereof. Once I asked our Cambodian teammates if they ever see motorcycle accidents. Without even pausing to think, almost in unison they said, "Oh yes. Everyday in Phnom Penh."

So anyway, remember my Cambodian dental student friend Ratha? One day he and I were working on a patient and I cannot remember what thoughts lead me to the question, but I asked, "Do you have a moto, Ratha?"

Ratha: "Yes, but I never ride it because I never have money to put gas in it."

Me: "So how do you get to school? Do you have a bicycle?"

R: "Yes", he pauses and looks up. "But I got hit by a car just before I came up here, so I don't know what I am going to do when I go back to Phnom Penh"

Me: "You got hit??"

R: "Yes"

Me: "By a car??!"

R: "Yes. The car hit me, I fall off my bike to the side. Then the car run over my bike and doesn't stop. Just keep going. And the police does not even care. They do nothing to help me. I cannot ride my bike anymore. It is all bent."

Now, because the world is a generous place, Ratha has a new bike.

I receive a message and a picture from him the other day. It said: Now you can see my a new nice bike, sister. God bless you.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Buddhist Monks

Cambodia is a mostly Buddhist country. Because of this, it was not at all uncommon to see monks wandering about.

I was completely fascinated by the monks. I was just as excited to see my first one as I was my last. I was intrigued by their orange robes, their shaved heads, their devotion to their faith, and the air of mystery that seemed to surround them. And some of them were so young. I wanted to know everything about them. Were they planning to be monks for life? Or serve for just a short stint (like the Mormons do?) Were they serving because they really wanted to, or doing it to please someone else? Didn't they ever want to see what their hair would look like a little longer than 1/8th of an inch? Or wear a pair of jeans? Or kiss a woman? Or more?

The following picture was taken one morning during our walk. Here we were, traipsing through the temple grounds at 6:30 in the morning, and we stopped and talk to these monks. They were friendly enough, but you know they were thinking, What the hell?

I didn't find out until way later that females aren't even supposed to look at monks, let alone talk to them or touch them. Look at me in this picture, doing all the wrong things. So I was an alcoholic, rule breaking, monk stalking missionary. The part that I find the funniest in this photo is the monk in the background, laughing. You know he is thinking ...Ooooohhhhh! You guys are in TROU-BLE! And it seems my eye-contact has already corrupted that monk on the right. Looks like he's flashing a gang sign.







I love this picture of this old monk.



I don't think this monk was planning to stab his monk brother. If I remember right, he had some fruit.





Do you suppose they wake up in the morning and think, which shade of orange shall I wear today? Saffron or pumpkin?



Usually, I'd just spy on monks from afar. I loved just observing their silent ways. It's like, they'd be lurking around in the shadows, and I'd be, well, lurking around in the shadows...taking their picture.











I'm closing this post with an excerpt from the book Committed. It is a new release that I just finished reading, written by my favorite author Elizabeth Gilbert. Gilbert is known for her phenomenal best selling memoir Eat Pray Love. In Committed, Elizabeth and her fiance Fillipe are living in exile in Laos, while waiting for permission to return to the United States to marry. While living in Laos, Liz, like me, is fascinated by all of the monks (I knew I liked her!) and commences to spying on them too. In this part of the story, she talks about how she often sees the monks in the internet cafe, and she can't help but sometimes peek at what they are looking at online. From Commited...

On this day, though, the young monk sat down right beside me. He was so close that I could see the faint hairs on his thin, pale-brown arms. Our workstations were so near to each other that I could also see his computer screen quite clearly. After a spell, I glanced over to get a sense of what he was working on, and realized that the boy was reading a love letter. Actually, he was reading a love e-mail, which I quickly gleaned was from somebody named Carla, who was clearly not Laotian and who wrote in comfortable, colloquial English. So Carla was American, then. Or maybe British. Or Australian. One sentence on the boy's computer screen popped out at me: "I still long for you as my lover."

Which snapped me from my reverie. Dear Lord, what was I doing reading somebody's private correspondence? And over his shoulder, no less? I pulled my eyes away, ashamed of myself. This was none of my business. I returned my attention to Delaware Valley real estate listings. Though naturally I found it a tad difficult to focus on my own tasks anymore, because, come on: Who the hell was Carla?

How had a young Western woman and a teenage Laotian monk met in the first place? How old was she? And when she wrote, "I still long for you as my lover," had she meant, "I want you as my lover?"- or had this relationship been consummated, and she was now cherishing a memory of shared physical passion? If Carla and the monk had consummated their love affair- well, how? When? Perhaps Carla had been on vacation in Luang Prabang, and maybe she'd struck up a conversation somehow with this boy, despite the fact that females should not even gaze at the novices? Had he sung out "Hello Mrs. Lady!" to her, and maybe things had tumbled toward a sexual encounter from there? What would become of them now? Was this boy going to give up his vows and move to Australia now? (Or Britain, or Canada, or Memphis?) Would Carla relocate to Laos? Would they ever see each other again? Would he be defrocked if they were caught? (Do you even call it "defrocked" in Buddhism?) Was this love affair going to ruin his life? Or hers? Or both?

The boy stared at his computer in rapt silence, studying his love letter with such concentration that he had no awareness whatsoever of me sitting right there beside him, worrying silently about his future. And I was worried about him- worried that he was in way over his head here, and that this chain of action could only lead to heartache.

Then again, you cannot stop the flood of desire as it moves through the world, inappropriate though it may sometimes be. It is the prerogative of all humans to make ludicrous choices, to fall in love with the most unlikely of partners, and to set themselves up for the most predictable of calamities. So Carla had the hots for a teenage monk- what of it? How could I judge her for this? Over the course of my own life, hadn't I also fallen in love with many inappropriate men? And weren't the beautiful young "spiritual" ones the most alluring of all?

The monk did not type out a response to Carla- or at least not that afternoon. He read the letter a few more times, as carefully as though he were studying a religious text. Then he sat for a long while in silence, hands resting lightly in his lap, eyes closed as though in meditation. Finally the boy took action: He printed out the email. He read Carla's words once more, this time on paper. He folded the note with tenderness, as though he were folding an origami crane, and tucked it away somewhere inside his orange robes. Then this beautiful almost-child of a young man disconnected from the Internet and walked out of the cafe into the searing heat of the ancient river town.

I stood up after a moment and followed him outside, unnoticed. I watched as he walked up the street, moving slowly in the direction of the central temple on the hill, looking neither to the left nor the right. Soon enough a group of young monks came walking by, gradually overtaking him, and Carla's monk quietly joined their ranks, disappearing into the crowd of slim young novices like an orange fish vanishing into a school of its duplicate brothers. I immediately lost track of him there in this throng of boys who all looked exactly the same. But clearly these boys were not all exactly the same. Only one of these young Laotian monks, for instance, had a love letter from a woman named Carla folded and hidden somewhere within his robes. And as crazy as it seemed, and as dangerous a game as he was playing here, I could not help but feel a little excited for the kid.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Coconuts in the Clinic

One day, towards the end of the mission, we decided to make the day of the man selling coconuts from his bicycle so we pulled over on the way to the clinic and bought several of these delicious fruits.







After lunch we were trying to think of a way to gracefully drink the milk from the coconuts when someone came up with the genius idea to use -my dental people are going to love this one- surgical suction tips.








To prevent any mix ups, I put my initials on mine.



As everyone knows, coconuts are a multi-purpose fruit. Here is Mike teaching Bot how to place stitches.




Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Chapter 5: I Felt Like I Was in a Doublemint Commercial

When we first started working at the orphanage, I right away noticed the cutest little girl. I couldn't help but notice, because I always seemed to see her. She'd be smiling from far away, or peeking at us around the corner, or peering through the window watching us work. Although she did not speak any English, I got into the habit of talking to her anyway. To this girl I'd say "Hello my sweet pea" or things like "Wow, that is a pretty dress!"

Anyway.

This is my little cutie:


So one day, a few days into the mission, I saw my sweet girl, and I thought to myself, I could have sworn that she was wearing a black shirt earlier. Later that evening, as we finishing up the last of the patients for the day, there was a group of kids playing near the entrance to the clinic. I walked over to where they were, and saw my girl. Then I looked to the left...and saw her again. I looked at one, then the other, and back and forth, put my hands on my hips playing mad that I'd been duped, and even though I knew they wouldn't understand, said "Are you guys TWINS??!!" They both giggled and one of them held up two fingers and nodded her head yes. They did understand!

Their names are Chantha and Channa and I think they are about ten.


Here is Ratha and myself after cleaning Channa's teeth.

I had brought a huge bag of ribbons with me and tied one in the hair of each little girl that was my patient. I let Channa choose one and here I am playing hairdresser. I must say...the ribbons were a huge hit.


Me, Mary Kay, and the girls.

The last evening in the clinic, as I was finishing up, Channa passed me a note through the bars on the window. She must have had someone help her write it. It was covered in hearts, and read:

I love you and miss you forever

What is it like here?

Can I speak English a little

But I want to learn speaked English?


Monday, February 1, 2010

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.

About Me

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Age 32. Mom, wife, smart aleck.