The Principle of the Matter: 37 cents

This afternoon I stopped by a petro station to fill-up my moto. The Cambodian currency is called Riel, but the US Dollar is still preferred. So, when you go to the petro station (where attendants always pump the petro - no self service pumps here) the attendants prefer that you tell them how much you want in USD. But today, I asked for 10,000 Riel (Dop Palm) - the equivalent of $2.50 USD. The attendant looked confused and although he took the Riel he only set the pump for $2.13. After he finished pumping I said I wanted $2.50 and that began about 60 seconds of a very unusual conversation where we both agreed that 4,000 Riel was $1 USD, but he seemed clueless as to why I should get more petro and then when I pointed to the pump showing $2.13 he pressed a button that erased the entry. I continued to stand there and then he entered in .37 cents onto the pump and asked if that was what I wanted. (He obviously was much better at math than he was letting on.) As I left I thought that it would have been much easier to have just left and not draw attention to what we both knew was an intentional action on his part. But then I thought that this is the kind of thing that cannot be tolerated whether it is 37 cents or thousands of dollars. Corruption is corruption whether it is a pump attendant for 37 cents, a factory owner not paying workers their due overtime, or a government skimming money from businesses.

And yes, $2.50 really does fill up a moto tank.

The Power of Words

Cambodian National Rescue Party President, Sam Rainsy, recently submitted an editorial to The Cambodia Daily newspaper. It was a very thought-provoking article. Rainsy recounted the mob violence that followed a traffic accident in Phnom Penh on February 17 and which resulted in the death by beating of a Yuon man (Vietnamese man) who was involved in the accident. (The victim was a 28 year old Vietnamese National who rear-ended a car. The car driver continued driving and the victim lay injured in the road. The mob gathered as commuters became angry that the road was being blocked by the victim lying in the street and someone yelled, “Yuon fight with Khmer!” and then the beating ensued.) Mr. Rainsy wrote that perhaps there can be “killing words” and in this case the word that seems to have been inflammatory is the word “yuon”, which refers to a person of Vietnamese descent; and may also apply to things originating from Vietnam. Certainly there are some deeply acrimonious chapters in the history between Cambodia and Vietnam. But the term “Yuon”, as Mr. Rainsy points out, was never considered to be an inflammatory or derogatory term in the Khmer lexicon. Mr. Rainsy argues that if this word is now it is considered to be inflammatory or derogatory it is not because of Khmer culture and use, but rather because of misinterpretation and misuse by foreigners who proclaim to be experts on Cambodia. Some of these “experts” have criticized the use of this term as being contemptible, derogatory and of savage connotation. But the Khmer have been using this term in a non-derogatory way for thousands of years, stated Mr. Rainsy, and the term “Vietnamese” was only introduced 50 years ago.

I didn’t know that this was such a controversial term, but in doing just a small amount of research have found a surprisingly high level of varied opinions about the use of this word. The word can be found in the recorded history of Kampuchea at least back to the early 1600’s. The Khmer Rouge referred to Vietnamese people as Yuon, but they meant it in a derogatory way – to mean barbarian. Many Khmer do not want to use the term Vietnamese because “viet” sounds very close to the word describing a legendary giant cannibal who destroyed Cambodian lands eating human flesh and animals.  

Words are really powerless without meaning and the meaning of a word can be derived through misunderstanding, cultural influences, historical influences, and be significantly influenced in interpretation by the relationship that exists between the communicants. In Cambodia it is very common that people will ask how old you are, if you are married, how much did you pay for that, how much money do you make, and if you have eaten yet. They will tell someone that they are fat. (These conversations commonly take place between people who may even have just met for the first time.) I believe that in almost every instance these statements or inquiries are not intended with any malice and there is no offense taken at being asked these questions or at being told that you are fat, but that is in this culture. Coming from American culture some of these questions may seem too personal and it would likely be offensive to be called fat. Whereas, here in Cambodia one of my Khmer language instructors asked me to call him by the name “Amup” (meaning fat boy). I told him I was hesitant to do so as I didn’t want to insult him and he said that he didn’t mind; that he liked it. So, where does the power of words come from? I think that the most important factor to the power and meaning of words comes from relationship.   

Kampot and Kep, Cambodia

Early on Friday morning I boarded one of the three buses chartered for 150 colleagues from the CIA FIRST school where I work part-time as a Communications Specialist. We headed to Kampot, Cambodia. I wish that I could tell you about the sights along the roads from Phnom Penh to Kampot, but I cannot because I slept nearly the entire way. I can tell you that I sat next to an amazing man named David Huang who is Chinese, but he has also lived in America, New Zealand, and Australia. He is an art teacher at CIA FIRST, but he is also a highly accomplished artist who has his works displayed all over the world. He is also an accomplished musician and avid gardener.

Once we arrived in Kampot we had 20 minutes to check into our hotel (most staff) or guest house (some staff, including myself) and get back to the buses to go to Kep. I was awake for this part of the bus ride and it was lovely. The lush, green mountains on one side and ocean on the other side made for incredible sights unlike any in Phnom Penh. When we shut down the buses in Kep we sat in a market like area on straw mats surrounded by hammocks. After lunch we walked across the street to the beach. I had been told that there was no real beach in Kep - only rocky areas leading down to the ocean, but when we walked across the street there was wonderful white sand from the street all the way down to the water's edge. Kep actually imported this sand! You could see a bulldozer on the beach spreading the sand to even it out. I dove in and had a fun swim and then got onto a large canoe-like boat and headed over to Rabbit Island.

Rabbit Island (Koh Tonsay) has a beautiful beach and grass huts right where the boats land. Directly behind them there are thick trees - making for a very tropical appearance. The group of about 40 of us who went to Rabbit Island enjoyed a couple of hours of swimming before we headed back to Kep. Unlike the chilly waters of the Pacific where I grew up, the waters here were so warm that I could spend literally hours in the water without having to get out. Once back in Kep we headed to a very special dinner on the beach front, with a pool behind us, and beautifully adorned chairs and tables. We had a wonderful dinner and then there was Karaoke and dancing.

On Saturday morning we got up early to board the buses for Bokor Mountain. It was a very windy trip up to the top of the mountain and once we arrived it was remarkable to see an old abandoned casino and church; remnants of pre-Khmer Rouge planning and prosperity, that now is being revitalized. There were thick wisps of fog running up along the side and over the top of the mountain; creating a stunning visual as well as a cooling experience on this hot day.

Go Seahawks!

As I watched the Seahawks game at a sports bar in Phnom Penh I felt as though I could have been any city in the United States other than those in Washington or Colorado. There were the bar stools, plastic covered couches, big screen TV's with sports (only Super Bowl today), pool tables, and bar food. There were, however, many oddities to being in this bar: it was 6:00 in the morning when I arrived and it was already packed, there was barely a brown face to be seen in the crowd (I have never been around so many expats in Phnom Penh), and all of the highly anticipated Super Bowl commercials were replaced by one commercial for an NGO that kept playing over and over again at every break. There was a balance of Seahawks and Broncos fans present, but half the crowd was silent or groaning for most of the game (easy to guess which half of the crowd that was).

It was without question a great feeling to see the Seahawks finally win the championship. I have been a Seahawks fan as far back as the Jim Zorn days. But for me there was a surprise blessing to this win; something that I didn’t anticipate would happen when I arrived for the game broadcast.

For many years, I would spend every Sunday with my mother. During football season it was a routine for us to watch the Seahawks games on television and I wished so badly that I could have watched the Seahawks win a championship with my mother. I know that she would have loved that and that her main reason for loving it would not be because the Seahawks held a championship, but because she got to witness it with her boys. Sadly, that event would never happen for her; she passed away in 1993. But today, I received a gift from this win that was both unexpected and great. Today I felt a renewed closeness to my mother that I have not felt in several years. In a bar full of mostly strangers , in a time zone 14 hours ahead of Seattle, in a country where few people even know what a football looks like I literally felt as though I was sitting with my mother back in her home in Bellevue, Washington watching the game and cheering the Seahawks to the championship that we have waited nearly four decades for.