OPERATIONAL DISTRICT: KAMPONG TRACH, CHHOUK
HEALTH CENTERS: ANGROMEAS, PHNOM LNGIENG
I slept the whole way from takeoff to landing, because I was coming from Bali the night before. I exited the airport upon returning from Bali, then immediately re-entered, ready for the next journey. As a result, I was too tired and just knocked out. To my left a Singaporean man wearing all Dolce with an air of snootiness, to my right, a Japanese man. I did not get to see the 'landing view'.
After picking up the SIM card I looked around for the taxi to take me out to the field. The sign said "Met Jason Denchn Yin," which I assumed was me, and so went with him to his car. He smiled at me. A short, stocky guy, with a sparse beard and a friendly smile. He almost looked what I imagine a Mongolian would look like. He only spoke a few words of English, and so most of the conversations lasted no more than 30 seconds. I told him I was from Taiwan (Oh! Taipei!!) and then commented on the various schoolchildren (Yes, many children!). Consequently, most of my time was spent looking out the window.
After exiting the airport, the row of buildings to the right were all in three languages: Khmer (the local Cambodian language), Simplified Mandarin Chinese, and English. There wasn't too much development, and most of the buildings had a tattered Southeast Asian look. Getting further out from the city, the landscape flattens. There is wide, expansive dry land that stretches for acres, only interrupted by the sparse palm trees off in the horizon. The buildings and infrastructure I notice outside the airport slowly turn to small rise single story stalls with fruit sellers and various other vendors. My eyes close slowly, trying to catch up on the paucity of sleep in the past few days. Everytime I awake, the same scene: low rise buildings and vendors. Many times my driver zooms past cars on the road, passing by children on bicycles commuting to (or from) schools, as well as people on motorbikes carrying various things. I close my eyes. When I open them, the same thing.
Transport culture is special. There can be anywhere from one to five+ people stacked onto a scooter, and there are infinite possibilities as to the objects transported with them. The same with bicycles, mostly used by schoolchildren and kids. As young as three, they pedal through the piercing Cambodian sun to get to school in their white top, blue bottom uniform. Sometimes, the older sibling carries his/her younger one on the back. Occasionally, three people stack onto a bicycle as well, and they carry many things. These are the main modes of transportation, as is common in Southeast Asia. Other forms of transport are tractors, donkey, and cow. Since distance between places is a spread out, you don't see many people walking. I started photographing -- from the car -- "transport culture" which is just a series of common people traveling through Cambodia. I'll share my favorites througout the posts.
I arrive in the province of Kampong Trach to meet D, T, and W. It was an eagerly awaited moment, as I've corresponded with them on email quite a bit. Instantly they shake my hand, and greet me with smiles. W uses his left hand to support his right elbow as he extends his right hand to shake mine. The two-hand handshake, a sign of respect. They ask me what I want for lunch, and I say local. Whatever they were having, I was going to eat alongside them. Out in the field, I shouldn't have any special treatment. So they picked a small restaurant with tables carved out from a local tree variety, and we shared our first meal together. The three chat endlessly in Khmer and show true camaraderie, only occasionally switch to English to include me.
D is dependable and calm. He is considerate and passionate about his work as much as his country. Yes, always his country. He never references Cambodia in the third person but holds his people and his country's name close to his heart, speaking only of it in possessive terms. Although well thought-out when he speaks, he never hesitates to share about tidbits in Cambodian culture, and most of what I have learned about this country is through him. But, he doesn't do it with pride, but with belief and hope for what his country can become. "In my country, this is what we believe. In my country, this is how we do it." He then proceeds with a welcoming statement, "Welcome to my country, Jason." I trust that he is not only capable to do his job but he is dedicated to the work, as I would elucidate from various other interactions. And, when a friend welcomes you to somewhere they own (in a figurative sense), it is the greatest honor.
W is quiet, and his command of English is very weak, but he has a warm quality to him, always smiling. In his interactions with both D and T, I can tell that they get along very well and that he is very friendly, and a bit of a jokester. I just do not get to experience that since I'm not speaking in Khmer. This highlights to me the importance of language in terms of accessing culture, and being a part of the team. Regardless, he is accommodating to me. When I enter the car, he opens the door and allows me to enter first. He always gives me a bottle of water. He shows his generosity through his actions, stretching beyond the language barrier.
T is fun. He's also a bit of a joker, always joking around but with a forthcoming sunny disposition. He always takes the time to make sure I'm included in the conversations and comfortable in the setting. His hospitality is his biggest trait, and he's overly generous with it. So, among these three together, the dynamics are good. The three get along amongst each other, and each of my interactions with them are unique and special. Most importantly, they're out doing the fieldwork to help the Cambodian people, and anyone who is willing to serve their country for a greater cause shows me that they are altruistic at heart.
We first drop off T and W at a local site to run a session. To get in, we turn down a dirt road and drive through the countryside. I cannot stress enough the beauty of this place. Far from the barren landscape earlier coming out of the city, the countryside is densely green for miles. Rice paddies are abundant as farmers plant in the plains and prepare for the harvest in the upcoming months. Still, the landscape is interrupted by palm trees that grow taller and higher than the flat land. Where there is no rice paddy, there are small bushes that grow and punctuate the land. And, the last structure that breaks the smoothness of the land is the cow. The white cow. Everywhere, you see these cows. Some roam the land freely, some are tied to the trees. Some park in the middle of the road and sleep, some walk around and eat. Happy Cambodian Cows, each doing something different. Each one almost with a different personality, as colorful as the Cambodian people themselves.
D was previously a phytochemist, who studied medicinal plants in Cambodian countryside, in the southern provinces. He completed his undergraduate in France and speaks French fluently, and also serves as a liaison between France and Cambodia for studying botany. He loves and appreciates nature to every degree, and is passionate about environmental issues. While traveling back from dropping off T and W, he tells me to look at the rock formation off in the distance, another stark contrast to the flatness. The rock rises sharply from the ground and steeply up, and is grey in color from the stone. On it, where able, plants cover the rocks. He tells me the formation is called a Karst Mountain, named Karst for the rock that forms the mountain. "In my country, many plants grow on that mountain that haven't been touched by humans."
Allow me to mention now, A, who is our driver. A barely speaks English, and is incredibly patient as he spends hours driving us around the Cambodian countryside. He chats very openly and elatedly with the three other guys, and smiles at me, the best form of communication. We do not exchange words, just facial exprssions. He is older, probably 50 or so, but his character reminds me of a young 20 year old. Still jolly, still having fun. And incredibly, incredibly patient. While D is telling me about all of his wonderful plant stories and the Karst mountains, he says that A, the driver, found one plant species that had yet to be classified while working with D in the field. To his honor, D named the plant species after A, christening his name into the Latin taxonomy index. He pulls up a Google page that references the taxonomy page of the new plant species. It links to the school that D went to, accompanied with a blurb saying the specimen is now preserved there. So, a driver in Cambodia has a plant named after him, and he's preserved in a French museum. A has been a dedicated worker to D, and they share a close friendship.
I travel with D to Kampot Operational District. He tells me that Kampot is known for many things: coconuts, durian, and pepper. True to his word, he tells me to look out the window as we drive into Kampot, and there it is, a large statue of a durian in the roundabout, a testament to the claim that their durian is top quality. We stop by the local ministry of health there and he teaches me to read Khmer script for the numbers 1-9. I think I can handle that much. After, we head out to the Angromeas health center and conduct the field study.
The health center has poor infrastructure. It's not the newest building, and the facilities are not state of the art. It's located within the confines of a village, and so has a dilapidated look. Despite this, it serves as the main primary care contact point for villagers. They screen for communicable diseases like TB, maternal health issues, HIV, and other things. And so, even though the outward appearance is not -- in the west -- what we would imagine as a healthcare facility, the things going on in this clinic are great and necessary. As stated on the intro page to this series, the village workers are all on volunteer basis, and so they do not get any compensation. Occasionally they will get a small per diem when they get trained. So, as I look at these workers I see them a group of humble servants, even if to themselves they would see it only as a small job. These people are dedicated to their local village, and the wellbeing of the village depends on them. The director of the health center mentions that there were 40 healthy births the month of November, with the 41st birth (and first birth for December) waiting just outside for delivery. The pregnant lady was chatting with a local friend, waiting for the contractions and the dilation to happen. And so, the health centers are happy places, too.
The village health workers (VHSGs) are congregated on the floor waiting for instruction for us to administer our questionnaire. The group is all male, and probably around 50 years or older. I watch D deliver the questionnaire with smoothness and confidence as he engages the local population. They ask questions. I'm moved by these men who have chosen to participate. I also notice the passion that D has for these VHSG workers, " my people" he calls them.
There's a lot of waiting time in Cambodia. People seem to operate on a slower time, although somewhat on schedule (+/- 10 minutes). We wait for A (the driver) to pick us up after finishing the survey work in the health center, and D and I are stood at the gas station just outside of the village enclave. I look out into the countryside, more rice fields that span acres. "This time of the year is harvest season, and when the rains come then it drowns the rice and makes it difficult for them to harvest. The crops get destroyed easily" D says to me. He said the weather changes here have been more warmed lately. Usually the temperature in winter would be about 15 to 16, now it's been about 21. He says you notice the changes.
"I sometimes worry about my people, they are poor and don't have very much, especially out in the countryside." D explains to me the plight of the peasant, and how it's difficult to survive; how all they have are this year's crops. He says it's the corruption in government and the lack of economic growth in the area. When he says this he frowns slightly and can tell that he is also critical of his country at the appropriate times. As we chat, the sun begins to set over the rice fields, and you feel in that moment you are a part of the country. You merge with the earth, and there's silence in the distance. This silence is broken by the many students pour out of the village, finishing school for the day. Kids on bicycles, kids on motorcycles. Kids as young as 6 or 7 driving motorcycles, as old as 16 or 17 riding bicycles. School's finally out for them and they migrate in throngs back to their homes. I love watching kids go to school and leave school. Something about watching the next generation of them strive to become better people through education is inspiring. Especially in the developing context, to see kids get an education is even more inspiring. There's a universality of "going to school" that makes me believe that although we come from different places, there are stil things that we share, and in that sense it connects us. Although the infrastructure is not as developed compared to the west, schools still make-do with the resources they have, and the local teachers care enough to invest time to educate students. It's touching to see: the belief that your young population can achieve something great. And, from the student perspective, the belief that one day they'll contribute something meaningful to their community in whatever capacity.
"I am also sad for the students in my country sometimes," D says, "Many of them will finish high school, and because the cost of higher education is expensive, they will not go to college." He switches quickly from economic growth to educational growth, using the cost of education as a bridge. He mentions that many of these children will begin working after school and thus will not attempt further to educate themselves. "But, what do we do? The government does not have much money, and neither do these farmers." Another small frown and sign of concern. "But, there has been progress, especially in our history. My country has a rich culture, and rich history that has been destroyed through many years of civil war. For the past 30 years, we have done well though. There is progress. It's slow progress, but it's progress nonetheless. My people have spent a lot of time hurting each other in the past, but we have improved a lot. I hope that the country can show some economic growth soon." He talks about progress. Slow progress, but good progress. And he changes to the wonderful aspects of his country. His people.
D spent some time in France, and spends the rest of the time sharing about his wonderful time there. He also loves trying local food and wine, and talks in detail about how much he loved the cheese and wine there, and baked goods. He talks about how the "French know their food", but still distinguishes French culinary practice with Cambodian ones, and is proud of both countries' cuisines. I'm starting to think he also just loves to eat like me. A then arrives with T and W, after having missed them all day. W opens the door and greets me, and A greets with a smile too. The winter rains begin pouring again, and we're stuck looking for a place to eat near our guest house for the night. We eventually find a place that serves chicken porridge. The guys get beef fried rice and I try the local porridge. T tells me that out in the country, the chicken porridge is fresher since the chickens are naturally free-range. They probably keep them in the back. There are also small insects crawling in my porridge, probably also a sign that it was prepared very recently. "Very different than in Phnom Penh, the flavor is not as good in the city." After, we all share in eating the Cambodian version of balut, which is an unhatched duck egg with duck fetus in it. They crack over the shell and mix in a bit of salt and lime, with special Kampot pepper. Everywhere we go, the guys engage with the local sellers. There is a sense of community among strangers here, among the countryfolk. They smile. They think I'm Khmer-speaking and look Cambodian. I'm sorry to disappoint them.
Chicken porridge for dinner.The rain hits the tarp roof and the the ground around us. We are tucked under a small cart-stall and we four guys are strung along in a row, facing the person making the food. A is standing around us, also in the umbrella'd area. The rain in the countryside seems heavier in the country. It's also more intimate. It forces us to dine together and partake in a meal together as it patters around us. It brings everyone together under the umbrella and we are forced to look at each other, to smile and exchange glances, to converse. Everyone is a friend in this moment. There is absolute darkness with exception to the stall, as not much electricity has made it out to the country, and electriciy is an expensive commodity. The owners tell us they keep the shop open all night to attract customers passing through, and in the day they rest. Money has to be made.
We get back to the guest house and I work more with the guys. I try to process my first day and there are just so many experiences. This is the field work life, where team meetings and data entry take up a lot of the evenings. We organize our stuff for the next day and head back to our rooms. My eyes close and I sleep immediately. It is 02:00 in the morning.