One Fine Day

So much happens in my days, and April 5th was a particularly memorable day. Here’s the entry from my e-journal:

I couldn’t sleep very well last night. Two days ago, I got in a minor motorbike accident. It happened in a split second; a kid crashed into us from the side, and both bikes and drivers went down but I stayed standing. With the exception of a sore ankle, there was no damage. The “mother” of the guest house applied some traditional medicine to my ankle and that may be why I am walking almost normal today. The accident did give me some emotional baggage and the danger of the traffic here was in the forefront of my mind.

My day started out normal - breakfast with my Italian friend Michele (Michael). We laughed hard over the story of my dinner the night prior, where the Center director and assistant seemed so lost in a modern restaurant, and the assistant threw his pork rib bones on the floor. I still am laughing about that.

After breakfast I went to the Center and discussed different ideas on the construction of the latrines and kitchen. Some of the communication was understood and some wasn’t. Fortunately there is another American volunteer Nader, that I can talk to regularly to keep my sanity, discuss ideas, laugh about some of the characters we work with, etc. I sat down and some kids came were hanging on me when I saw a boy, T, had whose hair I have wanted to cut. I grabbed my new scissors out of my bag and starting cutting his bangs out of his eyes. It was harder than I thought it would be and I determined that wet hair is easier to cut, so I poured some water from my bottle over his head. The haircut came out pretty good and he seemed happy, then 3 other kids lined up for a Barber-Drew special, including a naked baby who wouldn’t stay still.

Quite pleased with the haircuts, I next got a moto (motorbike-taxi) ride back to my guesthouse. As we drove past the first building I looked to see why everyone was crowding around in the courtyard. There in the middle of a group of Khmer’s stood a white guy who was literally covered almost head to toe with blood; a motorbike accident I thought. I wanted to go on, let someone else help him, but after a half second of contemplation I jumped off and ran to see what I could do, and everyone pushed me up to take over the situation. “Do you speak English?” I asked. “Yes” he replied, in an American accent. His name was Brad, from Billings MT, and he said he didn’t know what had happened to him. He was extremely calm. I ran in my room and washed my hands, grabbed my first aid kit, and returned to wrap his cuts before we loaded him in a tuk tuk to go to SOS Clinic, a western run health center. I couldn’t get the small latex glove on so I just wrapped some gauze and tried to avoid contact. His fingers were cut deeply and it looked like a chicken gizzard was coming out of his finger. He also had other cuts on his body. The guest house staff went into his room and said his sink was broke and he must have cut himself on the porcelain. On the ride to the clinic, he asked me a few more times what had happened, and conversing with his blood-covered face was really weird.

I waited while they checked him out, and the doctor asked me if I could try to find out what had happened and call him back, since it seemed a bit suspicious. I went to the guesthouse, and followed a heavy trail of blood to his room where they had just begun to clean up. The sink was completely removed, and there was a trail of blood from the bathroom to his bed, then out the door, including blood footprints. I now realized that I was a crime scene detective, and tried to piece it together. He had walked out of the bathroom, sat on his bed and opened his first aid kit, strewn some things about, before walking out of the room. I looked for clues, and picked up a small bag with some hard drugs and a pipe. I thought heroine, but it could have been ice; a more potent form of crystal meth. I called the doctor and he said that was what he’d suspected, and that I should just leave the room and not say anything about it. No use in risking getting involved with the police here, and/or whoever else is involved.

So, I went to the restaurant and ordered food, then called Nader so I’d have someone to talk to. The ride in the tuk tuk with the blood-covered drug addict was like being in a science fiction movie, and I just wanted to tell my story to get it off my chest. Nader was in the middle of something when I called, but said he stop by in a few minutes. When he arrived, he was upset and began explaining he was at the Center when a young girl came in who had just been beat by her father with a bamboo stick, apparently quite badly. Key, a 10-year-old girl who had just started living at the Center within the last month, had visited her parents house which is in the next alley. Reportedly she had been unconscious afterward being beat, but after spending time with her later in the day it’s hard to imagine that was the case.
We called around to see what we should do, and Clara told us that in Cambodia it is a parent’s right to beat a kid, and that we should stay out of it for our safety. I went to the Center, and thought how social workers on TV react. I smiled at the girl, and gave her some toys from my nephew, a bag of cashews, a bracelet, and bracelets to her 2 sisters (“all stay together now girls”). She seemed happy with the presents, and a crowd of kids had gathered. I went into a room with her and her sister, and 2 adults, and asked her to show me her back. She had some long welts, but they looked OK. She said they hurt so I gave her an Advil. I took pictures, then looked at her and motioned to see if she wanted a hug. She hugged me and seemed like she didn’t want to let go. I picked her up and she was smiling and clinging to me. She is unbelievably gorgeous and could change the world with her smile and eye contact.

I carried her while I talked to the electrician (through my interpreter), stressing that all the electric he did and re-did needed to be kid-proof. The assistant at the Center was planning to wire the lights for the latrines, which would have been a disaster like the rest of the electric there, so I decided to hire a professional. Earlier I had asked Mr. Kim, the guesthouse owner, if he knew an electrician. He made a call and arranged for the man to come to meet me in 1 hour.

While waiting for the electrician to arrive, I told Mr. Kim that I thought his 13 year old son was a genius, and would be famous someday. Senghong is fluent in Khmer, English and Chinese, and runs the computer lab here. He also sings karaoke and seems to have a palyful self-confidence. He usually sleeps in the computer, and I wondered why the kid wasn’t put to bed at a proper time and place? (I later learned that he doesn’t like sleeping in the same bed with his older half-sister). Mr. Kim told me how when he was Senghong’s age, he was in a work camp under the Khmer Rouge, and was moving 5 meters of dirt everyday. For 1 of his years in the work camp, they were running out of food and would only get a little rice 1 time per day. In his village, 35 of the 37 families were killed. He showed me a scar on his arm where they tortured him and cut him to the bone. He said the character in the movie the Killing Fields didn’t have it so bad, and he was serious. His tragic yet fascinating stories went on for a while, then I gave him some ideas on improving his restaurant menu. He had worked in a mental health facility before opening the Okay Guesthouse.

The electrician was 20 minutes late. He charges $10 per day, and we made plans for him to work for 4 days starting the next day to install lights in 10 bedrooms, as well as the latrines, public areas, re-do all the existing wiring (most of it hangs about 6 foot high and has exposed wires). Materials will be $200. They use 220V single-phase electric here, and being the retired electrical-safety-training-salesman that I am, I decided this should be a priority.

The orphanage director said he’d talk to Key’s father, and I asked if I could take her and her 2 sisters to dinner (I thought they were her friends and only realized weeks later that they are sisters). She was still clinging to me, and smiling. More kids invited themselves, and it ended up being the 2 sisters, a friend, and an older boy who speaks English. The 5 of us starting walking in the midst of the rush hour traffic, me carrying the 5 year old sister, and holding hands with Key. We stopped by the English school where our kids go, and I was the brief guest speaker for 3 classes, then we took a tuk tuk to a restaurant for pizza. Key seemed so happy all night. All of the kids seemed amazed to be in a restaurant and spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom looking in the mirror and washing up. During dinner the doctor called me to let me know Brad was released and was flying to Bangkok to get further treatment. He suspected someone else was in the room but I don’t think it was the case. I’ll never know.

After dinner I dropped everyone off at the Center and a large group of kids were playing drums and singing. The director said to me that it was a good idea to take the kids out for the night. It was a big day.

Part II – The next day - update on Key

OK, it is really too crazy and wonderful what happened the next day. There are a few players and timeframes jump around so I hope you can follow;

The Friday prior to my last story about Key, 2 people from a western run orphanage, CCF (Cambodian Children's Fund) came to visit us at the Center. The founder, Scott, an English/Australian, quit his job as an executive with Fox Films in Los Angeles to start an orphanage in Cambodia, and Allie, an American/recent college grad (who has been amazingly helpful) looked around for an hour, during which time a girl at the Center who I didn't recognize had caught Scott's attention and he asked her some questions, then she hung around for a while.

Nader had met Scott and Allie and intrigued them enough so they took the time to pay a visit and see how they could help. After their visit they provided us with several excellent contacts, mosquito nets, fortified noodle packets, and offered to let 2 girls come join their beauty school training program.

When Nader had seen Key after her father had beat her, he talked to Scott and Allie about it. Somehow, they just knew it was the girl Scott had met the week prior and decided they would get involved. This is one the most unexplainable things I have witnessed; neither Nader or I had remember her, and with so many kids always running around, how did they know that the girl who was beat was the 1 girl they had met?

When I returned to the Center on April 6th, Scott, Allie, and their translator were at the Center and had some great plans for Key. They had spoke to the director at the Center and he had arranged for the father to come and complete paperwork to turn over complete care of Key to them. She will now go to live in a really nice building with 140 other kids like herself, and will have every need taken care of from clothing to excellent education to healthcare and nutrition. They have a computer lab, theatre and English classes, as well as job training for the teens. Most of the children at CCF come from the city dump, where they work picking garbage to sell to recyclers, and it apparently is the worst place in the world (I will visit soon). Apparently at times NGO’s essentially buy the children from their parents. Key's dad will receive $15 per month for a few months. Another organization I visited had just bought a young girl for $10.

I couldn't believe it was happening, and all so fast. My mind was racing on the ride to the airport to catch a flight to Malaysia.

Part III

Key has been interviewed and has stated that the abuse was limited to physical, and that her sisters were not abused. Three weeks later, CCF has taken in her 5 year old sister Syrerath, and they return to the slum to stay with their family some weekends. It ended up being me that drove Syrerath (I now have my own motorbike) to go live at CCF, and showing up to take a child from her mother was an emotional experience riddled with wonder. There was no touch. I kept waiting for her mother to give her a hug, to kiss her and tell her that she loved her so much that she would sacrifice the thing that mattered most to her sine it was in the child’s best interest. While I was puzzled about the missing interaction, I didn’t judge and deemed her mother to be quite a good mom, who seemed to be quite together. Their shack was certainly nicer than many in the neighborhood. The same girl who had been so eager to ride on my shoulders on the way to get pizza was now scared as she held onto my handlebars on the drive across town.

That night, the father came to the Center just before I arrived, and was upset and angry because his daughter had left with me and wasn’t returned. Apparently the communication has been dropped, and he thought she was just visiting for the day, and had expected her home by now. Nervously, my translator Chin and I walked down the maze of alleys to his house to apologize. My favorite boy T, a small 12 year old, seemed to know what was going on and stayed at my side to protect me.

Adults looked up from their card games (gambling) and kids gathered around. One girl was standing by me smiling and I realized she had web fingers and no toes. The father was tense, and after some discussion said he would to agree to let her stay if he could see the facility and visit at any time. After he and Chin talked, he came to understand that she was taken to the same facility where Key was and it was no problem. He smiled and I smiled back nervously, we shook hands then brought our hands together at our chest to show respect, then we left, an entourage of kids hanging on.
Brad is now staying at my guesthouse again, and I pretend not to recognize him.

Spending time in a Cambodian hospital...

A big life event for me was getting a 15 year old boy, We, in for surgery to remove a chronically infected tendon in his neck (or some obscure medical condition in his neck/throat). It was leaking fluid through the scar tissue it had created, and after I commented on it I became the point man to get it done. After consulting with an American surgeon and learning my way around the system, I got him in for a free surgery at a local NGO-hospital (Rose Medical Center, which is run by an American doctor).

“We” is a true orphan, his past I don’t know, and his future is bleak. When I asked his friend Makara (who speaks English) if he would like a magazine to read while he was in the hospital, he chuckled and said “no, We don’t read.”

I was anxious as we waited for his turn for surgery. It became late in the morning, and it was looking like he wouldn’t get his turn this day, but then they called him from the courtyard and onto he operating table he went. We could watch his surgery through the window, and when they were done someone carried him into the next room and put his unconscious body onto a bed, next to another unconscious boy who had just had eye surgery. Once the surgery was done, it was our job to take care of him, including restrain him when he moved about so he would pull out any of the tubes coming out of him. There were 3 post-surgery boys in this room, all unconscious and being taken care of by family, and someone’s monitor kept sounding off like an EKG when someone is flat-lining (at least on TV). I was a little frantic, and kept calling for the unmarried nurse to see if someone’s heart had stopped or what the machine was trying to tell us, but they assured me that the machine making noise was the other boy’s, and apparently everyone was OK. As crazy as the scene was, the really crazy part was all the other patients hanging around, particularly children.

There were cleft pallets, lots of eye problems, and various run-of-the-mill injuries like a knee swollen to the size of a watermelon, with everyone in one room. There was no AC, and it was hot. I kept thinking how hard it is to survive here, and what these poor people must be going through. It was a spiritual experience.

After watching him for a while Clara and Vivian came to take over, and I was ready to lay on my bed and watch my ceiling fan; a favorite activity when my senses are overloaded and I need to process all that has happened. I returned later that day, and each of the following 2 days, and had incredible experiences with We, his friends who stayed with him, and the children who were recovering from surgery. One tiny girl, maybe 2 or 3 years old, had just had surgery on her hand and was left with needles coming out of the ends of her fingers, and wine corks on the end of the needles (I have no idea why). She was in great pain, and her father just held her hour after hour while she cried. I tried to get her to stop crying but to no avail. The next day, I bought an animal balloon for her (which was tricky to carry on my motorbike). At first she was confused, then she was infatuated with the balloons and smiled. It made my week.

May 10th - update from my world...

The bathroom is done, and the total cost was $750. While the slum will likely get moved, possibly next year, the good news is that the most expensive materials can be taken with them, so the only loss will be a few hundred dollars for the bricks, cement, and labor.

I hired an American-trained doctor to come and do hygiene training for the kids (the adults need it most, but the kids are more apt to listen). It was timed well since the new bathrooms have 2 sinks with running water, and sometimes there is soap on hand. The doctor did a lab on hand washing, teeth brushing and bottom-wiping for a standing room only audience of 110 kids from the Center and the community. The kids loved it, and hygiene should be on a higher level since washing hands and brushing teeth can now be done without the chore of pulling up a bucket of water from the depths of the well. We handed out toothbrushes, which turned into a treacherous mob scene and I was worried someone was going to get hurt in the frantic push to get one, like when the trucks arrive with food to the starving people in Africa. In my naivety, I bought assorted fruit for all the kids for after the training. I thought maybe they’d think fruit was lame since they’d want candy, but fruit (or anything edible) was a huge hit and rationing it evenly for such a mass became an impossible chore, but thankfully the Khmers were in charge of all that. Overall it went really well, and at the end of the night I gave a small, sad girl $.75 to replace her sandals that were stolen during the training (but she was still really sad).

I now have a great interpreter, Chin (like that area below your mouth, he points). He lives with the monks at a wat (Buddhist temple) where his grandfather is the head monk. He’s 23, and about to finish his associate’s degree in English literature. He made conversation with me at an outdoor market a few weeks ago, and I was impressed with how good his English was, as well as his overall disposition. He seems to have retired from working as a motorbike driver for now, and works for us as needed for $1 per hour. He has impressed us incredibly in his short time, and seems to be perfect for the job. Since there are no jobs here it isn’t surprising that he was available to start right away. Chin comes from a family of 10 kids, and 1 brother lives in Colorado somewhere.

I can not articulate so much of what I am experiencing here. One evening, we visited the city dump and witnessed the families who survive by picking through the garbage for recycling they can sell. Children make up a slim majority of the workforce here, and for this I can’t put to words what I saw, but have included a few pictures (see May 10th… post for login). My new friend Morsi, a photo journalist, has created an excellent short story about the dump including amazing pictures that you can view online (it’s the last story in the PDF document, “Seeing and Believing,” p.11);
http://www.mindzoom.dk/stories/DifferentReality.pdf
One kid casually showed me a recent wound on his toe, which not yet been cleaned. With a little charades, he told me that a rat chewed through his floor, and bit him on the toe!

I will prepare a “donor update” at some point, to fill everyone in on where the funds from your generosity are going. In addition to the bathrooms, there have been a lot of small expenditures for building improvements (new stairs, electric, plumbing..) medical and dental expenses (almost all the kids have seen the dentist now, most for the first time, and most had at least 1 tooth pulled), and I am cautiously evaluating the needs to see what will leave the greatest impact on this group for the remaining funds. I will be extending my stay here so I will continue to learn what is needed and how best to get it to the kids. I so much appreciate the outpouring of generosity from my friends. The fundraising so far has almost exactly met the initial goal.

It wasn’t entirely surprising, but the people in charge seem to have little accountability, credibility, and have over the years failed to carry through with attempts to improve the quality of life for the kids. This is the system I have to work within and around, and it is often heart breaking to see the affects of a broken system.

The project changes and adapts regularly. I am putting my efforts and the donations primarily towards education/training, hygiene-related infrastructure, and nutrition. I also started a free English school, which has been a huge success – more on that soon.

I have a few other stories that I will post soon. Check out my pictures;
1. Go to;http://www.snapfish.com/login/t_=0
2. Use my login drewmcdo@msn.com and password "drewmcdo" and select the Cambodia #2 album.

Picture notes;
Key and her sisters eating bananas after our pizza dinner.
Sobum scraped his face quite badly after falling on his bike. He was told by the orphanage medical person not to wash the wound because it would cause swelling (we eventually convinced him otherwise).
The Center’s cook got married, so they set up a tent in the street and had a big wedding.
I took side trip to Malaysia and visited the 2nd tallest building in the world, then did a trek in the jungle and slept in a cave.