“Fried duck eggs smell just like chicken
eggs,” I thought in the shower, smelling my host mother’s cooking through the
gap left where the wall separating the kitchen and the bathroom didn’t need to
reach the roof. This was my first conscious uncanny experience where, for a brief
moment, I thought I was back in the United States, frying eggs some random
morning (read: afternoon). The smell was homely and relaxing, even while I stood
naked with cold water soothing, and simultaneously stinging, my sweaty skin and
with silent, malicious mosquitoes gunning for my bare skin (read: booty). I leave
the shower and casually a slip a “chñañ,” which means delicious in Khmer (read:
kuh-my), as I waft the smoky wisps of saturated fats towards my nose—always forgetting
the word for smell. She laughs at my pale half-naked body as I waddle to my
room, constantly afraid of slipping on their tiled floors. My room has three
windows and a door, all of which are never covered. The windows mostly always open
with decorative iron bars. The door is actually a pane of glass on top of
equally decorative iron bars. I live in a cage, and I don’t mind at all. My
host siblings take turns peaking in at me in the morning wondering why I’m not
doing something productive at 6 in the morning. But after four weeks, I think
they know enough of my personality to understand why I like to casually lay in
my bed till seven, using the 3G connection on my phone’s local SIM card—thinking
to myself that JFK is definitely rolling in his grave.
Monday through
Saturday generally follows the same 8am to 5:30pm schedule: class, lunch, more
class. Our classes consist mostly of studying Khmer and learning how to teach English
as a foreign language, betwixt classes about parasites, road safety, Cambodian Buddhism,
etc and etc. The classes and topics are relentless but every bit helps to
prepare for a 2-year service in a place with which most of the volunteers have
little to no experience. But these are just classrooms and we are just skimming
the top. Our personal vision of Cambodia will be shaped by our own interactions
and experiences, which for me have already been so diverse and beautiful I am
giddy and sometimes so despotic I lay in bed reeling.
The rice
here is as abundant as the people are friendly. That is a serious compliment. I
usually eat rice here three times a day, many times with second helpings. A common
greeting here is, “ñam bai haoi ri niuh?” which means “have you eaten rice yet?”
The conversation usually then goes, “Are you married yet?” and “How much do you
weigh?” It’s never malicious, but can be a little bit of poking fun. As much as
they laugh at my pronunciation, I make up for it by mocking their tone of voice
or just constantly calling everyone “ch’koo-uht” (crazy). Both usually elicit
great reactions…when I’m not being the only “ch’koo-uht.”
When I first
went “dauh leng”-ing (going for a walk), and even now, any strangers’ face goes
from this blatant stare of curiosity to the warmest smile as soon as I say “jumriepsuah”
(formal hello). Sometimes it becomes a social experiment: I sort of measure how
long the stare will last before I say hello and break the mutual stare of confusion
and awe. It’s weird, but it’s me.
After four weeks in-country and
after every last ounce of PBR has been squeezed from my pores into my sopping
undershirt, I am feeling good. It’s a vague term, I know, but it’s just a
general well-being that is almost inexplicable in its ambiguity which is sometimes
how every day and almost every hour can feel. The pressure of learning a
completely foreign language mixed with clashing personalities and residing in a
strange setting with strange people is objectively insane. Uprooting my life to
move across the world is a concept that is poorly understood here. “Why would
you want to leave your family?” “Why would you want to come here from AMERICA?”
I have yet to encounter these questions and I’m not sure of a good answer—if there
is one.
I am here
because I want to give some of the good I think that I have in me. I’m sure
this good can manifest in many different forms under many different
circumstances, but I’m still unsure of how and when and where. It’s strange to
think back to what I thought of the Peace Corps before joining and to what I
think now. I think after four weeks I’m not really qualified to have a strong
opinion, but as to what I am feeling now, it is acknowledging this is more than
just personal growth and development: it’s a commitment to something bigger.
Equally vague, the word ‘bigger’ encapsulates a vision--a sort of abstraction--to
which we all, I think, contribute in myriad weird ways.
Today we
are doing our first biggish community project. We listened to our community and
within the realms of our capability with limited time and resources, we pulled
together a few things to give back to the community that has given so much to
us as complete strangers. My group has decided to paint a banner! It will be an
outline of Angkor Wat compiled of many different hand prints. I’m excited to
see what happens, but, like most things go, it will definitely be a surprise.
Stay tuned and stay cool,
Bong John
