Chapter 18

I CANDO II in Cambodia

 

 

April heat in Cambodia’s capital of Phnom Penh can be miserable and could drive a person to insanity.  Hot air rising forcing a fuzzy and distorted air current to go skyward, creating a mirage effect.  Heat trapped by the concrete building during the day only fueled additional radiation release during the night.  Life could not be any more miserable in this baked landscape of a crowded capital city.  People and animal cope, as they have always been, as best as they possibly could with out going insane.

 

It has been a long time since I am used to this sort of constant hot climate.  The acclimation process was always miserable for my body, which used to the cold of Oregon winter.  I continued to sweat on a daily basis that required two, sometime three, cold shower per day.  Water consumption became a daily regiment with buckets--not gallons at a time.  The threat of a dehydration and subsequent heat stroke was a constant concern in the first few weeks upon entering the oven of Phnom Penh.  Air conditioning helped immensely during the night when electricity was available and powerful enough to drive the Chinese-made cooling machine.  Often time, the fan was all the degraded electric power could propel. 

 

My first two weeks as a CANDO volunteer was spent at meetings and orientation to Cambodia.  We toured a variety of schools, clinics, and the orphanage.  We met with students, teachers, directors, staff, and the many orphans.  We also met with others from local and international NGOs (Non-governmental Organizations), many of the 300 being operated in Cambodia.  The NGOs were the fuel that ran side-by-side with UNTAC (United Nation Transitional Authority of Cambodia) in Cambodia. The general election, being sponsored by UNTAC, was a month away and everyone was more than a bit jittery of the first election in almost three decades.

 

A group of well-wisher UNTAC representatives arrived for a visit with us volunteers to urge us on in our objectives in the rebuilding of Cambodia.  It became a major issue and started a heated debate among the volunteers.  The mostly Caucasian reps were seeing and talking to mostly our fellow Caucasian volunteers, Thom, Stefan, Wayno, and Palu.  At least they appeared to be more receptive with our fellow White colleagues than the Khmer-American volunteers.  Call it as snobbery, jealousy, or what ever, but this did not set well with some of us who felt that a “naturalized” citizen, as all of us Khmer were, is not equal to our fellow White citizen volunteers.  Some of us were feeling so strongly that if something happens, as in 1975; we would be treated as “second-class-citizens.”  We would be the lasts to be on board the evacuating plane--IF plenty of seats were available.  The “first-class” would definitely go first.  The debate raged on and on without an agreement.  I could only wish and hope that we won’t have the opportunity to test this “first or second class” theory.

 

Security concern was a topic openly discussed among all volunteers from all three groups.  A proposal, more like a signed petition, was made to deliver to Thida Khus, the CANDO director.  In it, the volunteers were to be sent to Bangkok a week before the election and only to return a week after.  Two weeks of paid vacation to Thailand, supposedly at the courtesy of CANDO.  I signed the petition, under a strong protest, after a lengthy debate.  I did not plan to take off to anywhere at anytime; I made it clear in the petition.  The four Caucasian volunteers sided with me.  I gave a short speech to all about the primary reason why CANDO volunteers were in Cambodia in the first place. 

 

            “ May I remind all of you that we are here to help Cambodia?  That is the main reason why we are here in the first place.  Some risk taking is part of the job you have got to understand.  We should not put our tail and took off for Bangkok--leaving our local staff behind.  What would they think of us?  Taking off will not instill confidant in the people we are trying to help.  In fact, we could start a panic by leaving Cambodia.  I will not stop any of you from going, but I personally will not be joining you in leaving Cambodia.  I support your concerns with reservation.”  I said something like that to the nervous volunteers.

 

This short speech was considered as an insult by one of the group leaders and my most vocal critic.  Fraid who has been calling others and myself, “paranoia” about safety and security issues was suddenly insisted that all of us sign the petition.  He became a vocal advocate of the “safety evacuation” to the safety of Bangkok.  His position now was a complete reversal from his original one.  He was no longer the gutsy man who often bragged of “not fearing of anything” anymore.  I was not surprised.  “Those who laugh last, laugh the most,” as they say.  I was not laughing at Fraid.  I was feeling a bit sorry for him.  He has never ceased to amaze me during the one-year time I met the man as a fellow volunteer.  I only hope that he wised up and wished him all the best as he was the one man that kept me sharp and focus with his many challenges.

 

People concern about security issue was valid.  Some of them still vividly remembered the chaotic situation in 1975.  They just could not take such a risk again, ever.  It was just too traumatic for some of us.  Many in the group meeting, which I personally feel like a plot--a coup d’etat against CANDO and the Director, were genuinely concerned and fearful for their personal safety.  I could not blame them for trying to flee for safety reason.  Yet, it was more than that.  All of us could have gone to Bangkok on our own, if we want to, but no one want to spend out of pocket for a two weeks vacation in Bangkok.  This point is what troubled me most. Everyone wanted a free trip, courtesy of CANDO.  They forgot that CANDO is a volunteer organization with limited budget and the security issue might have been over sold.

 

The petition was turned into Thida Khus, the Director, and it was considered but politely rejected.  I could not have been more pleased with the Director’s decision.  Those who were deeply involved in the plot were greatly disappointed and were looking for a scapegoat to take the blame.  Quite a few core people shunned me for a while because of my disagreement with the petition.  They said that I was “against the majority will.”  I disagreed wholeheartedly.

 

A week before the election, we were all invited to a party at PACT headquarter, the agency that direct CANDO program in Cambodia.  The then U.S. Ambassador to Cambodia, Charles Twinning, was a guest speaker.  After the pleasant BBQ dinner, the security and the “second class citizen” issues came up.  The Ambassador reintegrated his security concerns and assured us Khmer-American, whom he heard as being called  “second class citizens” was as far away from the truth.  He assured us that we, as American of Khmer descends, have and will get equal treatment as any U.S. citizen out there.  I have my doubt, but his assurance made me feel a little better, regardless. 

 

I decided earlier, with the help of my assistant and co-conspirator, Sulal, that I would lead the group in singing the song, “We are the world.”  I wanted to send a clear message to a few whom wished to escape to Bangkok before the election for their security fear.   Sulal and I started to hand a copy of the song’s lyric to everyone presented.  A few that wanted to go to Bangkok, those who suddenly realizing the consequence of the song’s meaning were reluctant to join along in the singing.  So the first time we sang was somewhat very rough.  I momentarily lost hope, especially when my backup, Sulal, decided that she has had enough embarrassment for one evening decided to just fade away. 

 

With persistent urging from Ambassador Charles Twinning, PACT Director, Sarah Newhall, and CANDO Director, Thida Khus, we sang the song a second time.

 

            “There comes a time.... When we heed a certain call... when the world must come together one...” I led the group again with the first few lyrics and using my hands, as the conductor normally does it, to urge people on. 

 

            “There are people dying... oh it’s time to lend a hand... to life.... The greatest gift of all....” Sulal pitched in her part on my signal.

 

            “We can go on.... Pretending day by day. That the world ...somewhere soon makes a change.”  I sang a bit louder now, steadily building up my confident.

 

            “We are a part of...God great big family...” Sulal started to chuckle embarrassingly.

 

            “And the truth...you know love is all we need...” I screamed, while laughing along with Sulal.

 

            “We are the world.  We are the children.  We are the one who can make a brighter day, so let start giving.  There are people dying.... Oh it’s time to lend a hand.... To life, the greatest gift of all...” All soon charmed in the chorus, to my pleasant surprise.

 

It was absolutely magical!  Hand on each other shoulder, even the Ambassador’s and his staff; people started to swing to the song.  To the left and then to the right in unison they swung their embraced and locked shoulders.  They all sang on top of their lungs.  I did nothing except kept on conducting and urging people on.  They all sang and sang--even after the music ended.  I rewind the tape and we were at it again and again with “We are the world” blaring out loud, as the neighbors tried their best to peek through the peephole in the enclosed fencing to see what was going on. 

 

            “These guys have had one to many cheap beers,” I said and smiled to myself whilst still urging people to sing even louder. 

 

The unison chorus sound made by the armature singers sounded absolutely wonderful!  I gave a wide grin and nodded at Fraid and others who earlier insisted on escaping to Bangkok.  I was hoping this showing of solidarity would prevail and that we all remained in Cambodia to do what we came here to do.  Regardless, Fraid and a few others decided to go to Bangkok on their own before, during, and after the general election.  They all, those few radical who decided to leave, were missing out on a great chapter of their Khmer history.  Many more of us were happy that we remained to witness history in the making in Cambodia, as it was unfolding before our eyes.  I was the happiest man in the group.

 

The general election day came on May 23 after a year long of tension and under constant threat of violence by the Khmer Rouge, which decided to boycott it in the last minute.  Two days earlier, I took part in a “Peace Walk” lead by Samdech Moha Ghosononda, the patriarch of Buddhist monk and three times Nobel Peace Prize nominee.  It was an exhausting and yet exciting days for all participants.  I was a part of history making process by taking part in this first and largest organized Peace Walk. 

 

The march originated in front of the Royal Palace and ended at a prayer circle at Wat Phnom, the historic center of the capital most holy ground.  The newly re-crowned King Norodom Sihanouk, Queen Monineath, the King’s son--Prince Norodom Ranariddh, Prime Minister Hun Sen, and other dignitaries were there to greet the marchers.  I was right in the front row when the King and queen walked by with their arms outstretch to touch everyone.  I managed to grab King Sihanouk by the both arms and held them, the second time in my life.  The last time was in 1968 during a visit to Siem Reap by President Charles De Gaul of France.  The King was doing the same thing, reaching out to his subjects, and so did I—reaching back to him.  This time, I can feel the old-age ravaged arms of the King with his sagging skin.  The King was already in his sunset years, his last foothold on this planet, after years in a roller coaster politic.  I bid my last farewell to man who had brought Cambodia to the brink of both good and bad times during his career as a King and as a politician.

 

I could not vote during the election because I was “no longer a Khmer with Khmer citizenship papers.”  Still, I participated during the campaign rallies and observed the election process, as a witness to a history in the making.  Election Day was rainy and cool, a precursor to the Monsoon season yet to come.  Even with the threat of rain and violence by the Khmer Rouge, the waiting lines were long and people arrived early.  They were eager to cast their first legal vote, under the watchful eyes of the UN and the International communities, in almost after 30 years of bitter conflicts.  In their brightest and best Sunday dresses and colorful umbrellas, they came by the hundreds and thousands to the poling stations manned by the UN volunteers and peacekeepers with guns and metal detectors.  In the end, over 94% of the registered voters showed up to cast their votes for a better Cambodia, one of the highest rate anywhere in the democratic world.

 

Standing there watching and observing people voting for their future, I could not help but feeling proud to be a Khmer.  No, I could not vote because of the luck of the draw, but I was so proud to have witness history first hand.  Soaking wet in the pouring rain I was emotionally charged.  My stream of tears mixed in with the first monsoon rain of the season in a solemn happiness and joy and hope.  I could not have asked for more or for a better timing.

 

A few days after the election, the United Nations pronounced FUNCINPEC Royalist Party of Prince Norodom Ranariddh, the winner.  The ruling party of Mr. Hun Sen, the Cambodian People Party (CPP), was disappointedly the loser after 18 years of ruling Cambodia under a strict regime.  This did not set well for the people who had predicted that they would win with a “landslide.”  The CPP lost with a “landslide” and immediately cried fouled—led by Mr. Hun Sen. Hun Sen and his CPP, who has full control of the arm forces and all the security apparatus, were more than ready to go back to warfare to remain in power.  They made it clear that violent will be used to regain power.  The constitutional monarch, King Sihanouk, decided to step in to avert a major conflict and a possible blood bath.  He pressured his son, Prince Ranariddh and the winner, to share power with the CPP on an equal basis.  Either sharing political power or face expulsion or even death by the CPP security forces, Prince Ranariddh reluctantly gave in to the heavy pressure. Thus Cambodia, in the history of the world, has two premiers to rule the country.  First Prime Minister Prince Ranariddh and Second Prime Minister Hun Sen were to rule Cambodia side-by-side. 

 

It was truly an uneasy marriage of convenient.  The yearlong effort by the UN, its $3 billions expenditures, and 25,000 strong peacekeepers and volunteers was just an exercise of waste.  Cambodia was back to the same old trick like nothing ever happen.  Cambodians, according to its leaders, were just simply practicing what they termed, “Asian democracy.”  Recognizing the shortfall in its effort, the UN proclaimed the election as “a success.”

 

Not long after the results were in, the newly elected parliamentary convened for the first time under the bright light of local and international media.  Security was as tight as a drum.  All the key political players were there, along with the usual pack of diplomatic corps, for the opening of the assembly.  Marchers, in the thousands with banners and placards in support of a peaceful Cambodia, cheerfully staged a demonstration in front of the parliament building.  As fate would have it, I managed to get myself pushed into the rear entry of the parliamentary building, amongst a group of Japanese newsmen.  This is Kingdom of Cambodia tightest and most secured real estate, but I passed through security with my backpack and Camera—absolutely unmolested.  If I was a terrorist, I could have taken out the entire Cambodian political leadership, including the King and Queen, without the slightest problem.  Dozen hand grenades could be easily concealed and hidden amongst my camera gears in the backpack.  I was not inspected or checked—so did the rest of the real newsmen.  Fortunately, I was not a terrorist but just a scared and innocent bystander who happened to get lucky.  I was in the front row, literally, to witness Khmer history once again.  I also realized that this was an opportunity of a lifetime!  I decided to make the most out of it and enjoy my new role as “Fake Journalist.”

 

I was a mere 10 feet away, between King Sihanouk and the newly elected 126 Parliamentarians, busy exposing all of my precious two rolls of Kodak Etachrom slide film.  King Sihanouk was busy preaching to his political subjects about peace and development for Cambodia.  “Justice” for the Khmer people who survived the turmoil might have mentioned only once, I do not recall, in his thirty minutes speech.  The Co-Premiers, Prince Ranariddh and Hun Sen, sat in the front row amongst their top political leaders and their former rivals and bitter enemies.  They were all in one big house, right in front of me! 

 

Ironically, with the exception of the Khmer Rouge leadership, who was wise enough to remain in the jungle, this was almost like a family reunion.  This was a union of the people, both new and old, who were directly and/or indirectly responsible for the suffering of the Cambodian people in the past 30 years.  They were all here under the same roof, again talking about politic right before my innocent eyes and ears.  If the Khmer Rouge leadership was there as well (and IF I have a live-high explosive device) I might have decided to take the matter into my own hand and find justice for my murdered family.  I want justice—not revenge and I did not have a weapon at that moment.  Who knows what would or could happen if I have a weapon of “mass destruction” at that moment?  Fate can be mysterious and so cruel at the same time. 

 

I came out of the parliamentary building along with the rest still all hype up.  The crowd went wild with loud cheer, waving their placards and banners.  Amongst the crowd of demonstrating people was my boss, Thida Khus the director of CANDO, and Stefan Holistic my fellow volunteer.  They looked so surprised to see me walking out of the building amongst the politicians and reporters.

 

            “How did you get in there?  What are you doing in there?”  Thida asked with her round eyes and mouth wide open, still in a state of surprised.

 

            “I don’t know...fate perhaps?”  I smiled contentedly with my reply.

 

I will tell my grandchildren, or anyone who would listen, about this fateful day for sure.  I felt sorry for a few of my fellow CANDO volunteers who decided to run and hide in Bangkok.  They were missing a chapter of Cambodian history that they signed on to witness as a volunteer.  They did not know what they were missing.  They might have read all about it in the Bangkok Post instead of experience this first hand for themselves.  I thought it was a shame really.

 

The next day, while waiting for dinner to cook one evening, I decided to sweep the street clean and get rid of a huge pile of garbage just outside the fence.  I figured that I better start cleaning up Cambodia up sometime.  I could not have thought of any better place to start a clean up job than in the place I will be living in for the next 12 months.  I figured I would start with my front yard, the street, and the sidewalk.  The city and the entire country would be next, if I got through the first three places.  Who knows?  The power of “domino” effect could be very powerful.  People, including my fellow volunteers and next-door neighbors, were laughing at my attempt and my reason behind it.  

 

            “Hire someone to do it for you!”  One laughed.

 

            “You can afford it!”  Another charmed along.

 

            “I can use the exercise, won’t you join me?”  I politely engaged with the neighbors.

 

Not everyone came out to help me, but many of our local neighbors came out to watch me as though it was a great spectacle to enjoy.  A few children came out to help more of having fun than anything else.  Needless to say, I achieved part of my goal.  I got my new neighbors attention and they came out to watch, and perhaps they were even feeling a little guilty watching I worked so hard on the large rubbish pile.  Hopefully, they would join me later on and started to clean up their neighborhood and rid it of the rotten garbage that kept on piling.  They have to live here longer than I will, I reasoned.  They have to clean up their environment.  I led the way, in my own tiny ways, as an example—symbolically of course.  The big pile that blocked an entire dirt street was soon removed and I am proud to have played just a small, yet important, role in it.  The rest were picked up by the city dump truck, which went to the city dumpsite at Stung Meanchey--another place that also badly needed social engineering.

 

Nighttime can be bad, especially on a hot and windless night, and I often lay awake thinking about Thavy and little Samantha.  I already missed my wife and daughter at home and I only got about 330 days to go.  I did my best to keep myself busy on so many things so that I would not have time to miss them.  It worked for a little while.  It was a more difficult transition than I can imagine. 

 

A phone call home would cost $6 a minute and a call can last up to 10 minutes at best--that’s $60.  For a volunteer with $725 stipend, with half of it stayed home with Thavy and Samantha, a $60 phone call was impossible.  Fax was much cheaper and more economical.  One letter cost $6-12, depending how much time it takes to send the letter.  Even this option was expensive.  The last resort was a combination of all two options, with hand written letters sending via diplomatic or organizational pouch at the cost of 32 cents as the most widely use.  I wrote a letter once a week during the first three months, twice a month during the first six months, and finally once a month until Thavy and Samantha were able to join me in Phnom Penh for three months in September of 93.  We separated from each other for a total of more than six months.  It was agonizing for me personally.

 

The morning routine started with a light breakfast of either noodle soup and/or fresh fruit.  I usually got both.  A little papaya, a banana, baked sweet rice and roasted banana cake, and cold water got me off running until lunchtime.  I enjoyed the daily early morning walk through in the nearby Bung Kang Kong market to observe the always frenzy activities.  I thoroughly enjoyed the morning at the bustling market where I enjoyed watching people and fresh produce coming and going.  Who was watching who was a better question?  No one thought that I was a native Khmer.  They all tried their best with little English, Thai, and even Russian they know on me.  The look on the market people faces when I told them, in Khmer, that I was a Khmer can only be described as shocking.  They would not believe me, very few did.  They assumed that I was a foreigner who can speak Khmer, not a native Khmer.  It took few months to convince a few fruit merchants, those I got to know well, that I was really a native Khmer, a Khmer from Siem Reap. 

 

            “You don’t have Siem Reap accent, how come?”  One challenged.

 

            “What is Siem Reap accent?  Like this…?”  I did my best imitation of the famous Siem Reap accent and then returned to Phnom Penh one.

 

All laughed like mad after that.  It attracted more people to the commotion.  The story was pretty much the same all over the place I visited in Cambodia.  I felt insulted at first, especially when they speak behind my back without realizing that I can understand them, but then I learned to consider it as a “novelty” later on.  I like to surprise people with a Khmer punch line when they least expected, which draw a good-clean laughter from all.

 

One day, I went to a public meeting at the Cambodiana Hotel, one of those fancy five stars hotels that sat on the bank of the Tonle Sap River.  A law professor from San Francisco State and his team of experts were discussing about how Cambodia can start its own Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) and successfully run it.  I came up with a “punch line” question that seemed to set a three-hour long debate with no clear resolution.  Oops!  My curiosity and frankness once again open a can of worms. 

 

I was unexpectedly at the center of attention with my honest question about Peace, Reconciliation, and about self-sustained NGO in a “corrupt” environment like in Cambodia.  I wasn’t sure how many important ministers were there, but they became very, very defensive when the term “corruption” was brought out during the discussion about funding, money, and transparency issues.  Mr. Hun Sen, who was not yet made Co-Prime Minister, were supposed to be there but he was a no show. It was a good thing because I might have been “expelled” or “disappeared” if he were there.  I left the workshop a bit earlier than others did, knowing that my odd might be better after my controversial comments were made.  Loud mouth in Cambodia does not last very long, I subsequently learned.

 

One morning, I took my bike out to the New Market with Sulal Khau carried on the rack immediately behind me, and Petrona Chean was on a cyclo (tricycle rickshaw) followed close behind.  It was our first trip out to the market on our own.  Phnom Penh traffic during a rush hour can be horrendous.  It still scared me almost to death just thinking about it!  Biking too slow or too fast was no good in this completely chaotic traffic situation.  Yet, there appeared to be order in this chaotic scene.  People on foot have the lowest rank or lowest hierarchy.  The next level would be bicycle, cyclo, motorbike, car, and big truck being the top of the traffic “food chain.”  The big trucks just honk their way on the crowded road, while others (especially pedestrian) have to scramble to get out of the way or face the wrath from the master of the road.  It was like that of the bad traffic in “Mad Max” movies.  The bigger you are the more rights on the road you have.  I was scared of being on the road with my little bike and with Sulal constantly nagging behind me.  I could almost see the headlines in local and international newspapers, “Dead Volunteers’ Brains Splattered on Monivong Boulevard.”

 

That very same morning our fellow volunteer, Thom DePaul, was also at the market.  The first timer to Cambodia decided that he felt generous toward the many beggars in the crowded market.  Despite my warning about “not giving cash to beggars” and that “there are better ways to help the poor” earlier, Thom refused heed my advice.  He exchanged a $100 note, about one-half or a third of an average Cambodian’s annual salary, into the local currency and started to hand the cash away.  The market was in a near riot condition when “Generous” Thom was giving free cash, in 500 reils notes, away.   At 2,500 reils to a dollar then, the Khmer 500 reils notes were a mere twenty cents to Thom.  To some of the hard working and poor Khmer at the market, the twenty cents represent almost half-day in wage.  And who would not want free cash being dished out by this pale looking and generous man?  Needless to say, one can only imagine the pandemonium ensued.

 

Thom ended up tossing the entire bundle of 500 reils notes into the air to avoid being mobbed or trampled to death.  He escaped with his life and not a moment too soon.  Others began to follow Thom all the way to CANDO II, our home, where Thom also lived.  Thom ended up hiding inside the locked gate for almost two days like a scared rabbit.  The poor man, he was visibly terrified—so afraid of the outside world.  Authority was also reportedly looking for him—perhaps for “causing a riot and disturbing the peace.”  Needless to say, Thom was utterly and completely terrified.  He talked about going back home to Massachusetts because he was so “afraid and felt so stupid” about the ordeal.  It took some serious convincing from many in CANDO II to convince Thom to take it easy and relax a little.  Thom learned from his unfortunate lesson well.  He became a respected volunteer who ended up marrying to his “favorite hamburger girl” at a place where he regularly had a meal. 

 

Thom was also known as the “Farang who help saved a shanty town from a complete inferno” nearby CANDO II house.  He was seen on top of a burning straw hut one rainy evening pouring buckets of water to suppress the fire, while the local fire department staff looked on in disbelief.  The shanty village was saved by a subsequent down pour, but Thom made his strong effort felt in Cambodia and much more.  His fellow volunteers have noted Thom generous contribution in Cambodia with admiration, amazement, and laughter.  No one can ever forget Thom the generous and courageous fool.  He did his share in Cambodia that is for sure.  He went above and beyond the “call of duty.”

 

I took a share taxi ride with Stefan, Wayno, Petrona, and another Khmer volunteer named Ledake, on our way to visit Battambang town in Northwest Cambodia one sunny day.   The five of us volunteers and the driver piled into a small Toyota sedan designed for five small people.  The four hours trip was very rough and tumbles with countless potholes on this once beautiful and proud National Highway 4.  I counted a total of 23 legal and illegal army checkpoints on this 150 kilometers stretch.  The majority of the men in Royal Cambodian Government Arm Force uniforms, armed with AK-47’s and B-40 grenade launchers, were a bunch of drunkards.  Tires on other local taxis have been shot out because the drivers could not or refused to pay the toll fee. 

 

Ledake and I sat in the front passenger seat, a seat designed for one person, next to the Khmer taxi driver.  Wayno, Stefan, and Petrona share the three back seats.  The first few legal checkpoint, were not so bad.  The soldiers stopped our taxi for a moment and then wave us off after seeing two White men in the back seat. 

 

            “Let the UNTAC people go!”  One of the soldiers yelled to warn his colleagues ahead.

 

The soldiers knew that they could not afford to tangle with UNTAC, the govern body in Cambodia.  They called all White men, “UNTAC” the people deployed by the United Nations to help run Cambodia.  They allowed us go without a hitch, most of the times, after simply seeing “White faces” in the back seats. 

 

I got so tired of seeing AK-47s casually pointing in my direction and the cramp front seat with Ledake essentially sat on my lap.  So I decided that it would be best to have “White faces” in the front seat for a change.  Wayno and Stefan took turn sitting in the front bucket seat.  This instantly produced better result.  The taxi did not even have to stop when we arrive at a checkpoint.  Upon seeing UNTAC faces in the front seat, fake UNTAC or not didn’t really matter, the soldiers wave us right through! 

 

Stefan and Wayno started to really enjoy their newfound power as “UNTAC” after a tense moment in the beginning.  All things considered the rest of the way to Battambang and back was very pleasant.

 

Stefan Holistic was another “Farang” who went out way beyond the “call of duty” as a volunteer for CANDO.  He not only ended up marrying to a local CANDO staff, name Lip; he also became a foster father to one of the street children from Battambang.  When we were on a visiting trip to Battambang, Stefan found and brought home Neang Mao, a 12 years old street kid.  The skinny little girl was a beggar on the street of Battambang when she met Stefan.  She has parents and siblings in a distance province of Kompong Cham.  She was just a lost little girl in a strange place, living on the street alone. 

 

Stefan really cared for this little girl, as far as I knew.  She ended up spending a little more than three months in Stefan’s room at CANDO II.  Each morning Stefan would be seen washing or drying his mattress because the little girl was not yet “potty trained” at night as Stefan put it.  He would also complain about the responsibility as Neang Mao’s foster parent.  The little girl soon became a major issue for all in CANDO II.

 

With household rules to consider, CANDO II ended up gently pressured Stefan to do something about the girl’s future.  “Neang Mao is not a puppy,” as one put it.  We suggested to Stefan that he should either formally adopted her or sent her back home to her family in Kompong Cham.  Stefan’s indecision became a frustration for many that shared Stefan’s concern for the girl’s well being.  Reluctantly, Stefan decided to take the girl to her rightful family. 

 

After a three days trip to Kompong Cham, Stefan located the girl’s family who was so grateful to have found the missing little girl again.  The family was very poor, but the parents were so very happy to have found her alive and well again.  It was a “happy reunion” according to Stefan who continued to monitor the girl’s welfare the next few months.  Neang Mao was just one of many who needed rescue and Stefan did what he could for at least one little lose girl in Cambodia’s chaotic society.

 

After being in Cambodia a little while, things began to settle down a great deal.  I got my sleep back and the sweating ease somewhat.  The diesel generator continued to rack my brain with its noise and problems.  I got used to Phnom Penh traffic and its so-called  “control chaos” pattern, a terminology invented by Steven Holistic my housemate.   I was able to go much faster on my bike, especially without Sulal nagging me from behind, than ever before.  I know neighbors in the block, except them Russian pilots who did not seem to be home very much.  They only came home, as it seemed, when they have a couple of girlfriends each hanging tight to them.  I did not want to disturb the pilots and their playmates and never got around to know them.  Could it possible that I got used to all of this?  Perhaps.

 

In the afternoon, after I was through with classes at the Ministry of Planning, I volunteered to teach at the Royal University of Fine Arts, Faculty of Architecture and Urban Planning.  This was completely on my own initiative after seeing the lack of instructor at this once proud place.  I taught design, planning, and drafting to second year architectural students.  A total of 109 students, more than 100% over flow, signed up for my instruction.  “Sir Professor Ronnie,” as I was commonly known in the school, was hard at work during the day and late into the evening.  I never miss a minute of class time and usually come to class early and go home late.  What drove me the most?  It was the hunger for learning by the 109 students who never have a steady or regular instruction since they entered the school.  I was passionate and committed to teach all of the students the just basic planning and design theory.

 

The four hours class was divided into three sections.  The instruction period for theory started at 1:00PM precisely and ended 2:00PM.  Two hours of studio time followed with my direct guidance.  The last hour of class was for critique, question and answer session, which usually ran into overtime period. 

 

The very first planning and design project, as I had learned in school, given to the class was a fun one.   The students were to plan, design, and finally construct what they have designed.  The materials given were a box of toot picks, a sheet of paper, a bottle of glue, and a regular size chicken egg.  The objective was to design, with drawings and text, a contraption that will protect the egg from being crushed when dropped from the height of thirty feet.  The students, a team of two, got two days to do the project--after the one-hour of specific instruction--before the final evaluation period. 

 

The blank look on the face of the confuse students was absolutely mesmerizing.  I will not forget it.  The class was as quiet as can be.  I was a bit nervous.  “What have I done?”  I wondered.

 

“Is this a joke, Sir Professor?”  One politely and respectfully asked.

 

            “Nop, it is for real and it should be fun!  Get to it!”  I urged.

 

The blank look soon turned to a polite smile and then an outburst of laughter.  They have not experienced such silly, simple, and yet fun project before.  They have not met a “Ronnie Yimsut” before either.  I intended to make higher learning more educational and at the same time more fun as well.

 

Two days later the more than fifty projects of various designs were laid all over the large studio for final review and critique.  From the most popular parachute design to Houdini’s death box they came.  Bets were made for who would get the highest grade after the test.  The late afternoon show was as loud and noisy as can be.  The constructed designs were dropped one at a time; each drop escorted by loud cheer as egg after egg flew off the window and landed hard on the ground below.  The noise and cheer was so loud that it actually disrupted other classes.  Angry at first, both students and teachers later came out by the herds to witness this most peculiar spectacle being unfolded before their eyes. 

 

Nervously, I look for way to escape and end the proceeding.  Unfortunately, it has a life of its own as other began to cheer even louder.  “A good thing that the dean was in Italy on official visit or I would have been…fired?  Can you fire a volunteer?”  I asked myself. 

 

Needless to say, HH Prince Norodom Ranariddh, who became the Co-Prime Minister of Cambodia soon after, heard about the “egg tossing from the window” episode.  He wanted to visit the school and meet the instructor “personally.”  The first time His Highness the prince PM visited my class in the morning, without an appointment I may add my classroom door was locked shut.  No one can locate the teacher or the key into the classroom to the deep embarrassment of the school staff.  I showed up as scheduled that same afternoon and was informed about the situation.

 

            “Samdech Neyuk Rothmentrey Tie Muy was here to see your class this morning, where were you?”  The Deputy Dean asked disappointedly.

 

            “Who?  What’s going on?”  I was confused.

 

            “Prince Ranariddh was here!  His Highness wanted to see you and your class,” he calmed down a little and tried to explain.

 

            “Well, he should have let us know or make an appointment or something.  I have other classes in the morning, you know that?”  I said sarcastically to the disappointed man.

 

            “Oh, His Highness will be back tomorrow.  You should be here and get all your students and class in order,” the Assistant Dean informed me.

 

The prince was a no show the next morning to our disappointment.  He had a “last minute urgent state affair to deal with,” according to his apologetic aid.  Suite me just fine, I didn’t really care much for royalty anyway.  No, I am not a republican by all means, but royalty to me is just a nice thing to have and nothing more.  Perhaps royalty was a good thing to have in Cambodia past, say during Angkor period, but not in modern day Cambodia when the system is way too expensive to maintain.  For what it worth, royalty was part of Cambodia and “when in Rome (or Cambodia) one must do as the Roman do.”

 

About four weeks later, the prince was back for an official visit for real.  He made an appointment; via his aid and the entire Royal School of Fine Arts welcome the prince and the princess appropriately.  Students, in their best Sunday dress stood firm in pair of male and female, lined the route the Prince and his entourage expected to travel on.  Almost all the male students have their favorite white shirt, khaki slack, and tie on, while the female students wore their best Khmer traditional silk dress in various colors.  It was almost like a Sunday parade for sure.  I was the only man with a Levi 501 Blue and a CANDO T-shirt on.  It was an intentional dress code for me, a form of protest for whatever reason in my own subconscious mind.

 

Two hours went by before the light and siren blared loudly signaling that the Prince Prime Minister was finally arrived.  He was...late as usual.  A light blue Mercedes Ben framed by four motorcycle police in spanking white uniform pulled into the schoolyard followed closely by a herd of fancy sedans.  Perfect, just perfect!  I was in my best T-shirt and blue Jean and was getting ready to receive the Prime Minister and his cabinet ministers.  Oh yeah, this is perfect.

 

All the chauffeurs, also in brand new uniform, opened the door almost in synch with the Prince’s door the first to be opened closely followed by the rest.  The Prince stepped out into the bright morning light wiped his forehead with a white handkerchief.  Princess Mary, who smiled broadly while stepped out of the limo, followed her husband closely.  The rest of the entourage them moved slowly behind in a long row.

 

The Prince with his wide grin began to stir and touch the crowd—like his papa’s trademark.  All soon moved to a platform where chairs were laid to receive the special visitors.  No one dare sit down until the Prince took his seat first under the clicking shutter of the press corps cameras.  The Prince gave a lengthy speech about the important of education in the development of Cambodia and blah, blah, blah.  I had to smile sarcastically knowing that the Royal Government allocated budget for education was less than 11%, while the arm forces and other security forces got more than 54% of the total budget.  Ironic indeed, that’s a politician talking there.

 

The parade soon moved toward my classroom in the second floor, with me in the lead.  The Prince has not met me just yet.  Only his aid spoke briefly about what the Prince wanted to see in my classroom.  I opened the classroom double doors and the crowd poured in with the Prince’s aid led the way. 

 

            “Who is the instructor here?”  The Prince asked casually without looking up.

 

            “This is our instructor, Mr. Ronnie Yimsut, Your Highness.”  The student class president, Mean Ravuth, politely introduced me to the Prince.

 

            “Your Highness!”  I greeted by placing both my palms together in a Khmer sampass gesture and bowed my head so that I was a little lower than the Prince-Prime Minister who was about a foot shorter than I was.

 

All eyes were keenly focus on me and the room was as quiet as can be.  I was a bit unsettled by then.  I have no formal education about dealing with royalty or how to use the proper language, in Khmer, toward the Prince.  Earlier my cousin Ang Khen warned me that the Prince, as she met him several times as part of her VOA reporting, expected that all the people to use the Khmer royalty language when address him.  Those hours of spending time watching Chinese classical movies were not a waste after all.  Fortunately, I learned a lot of royalty language from those movies voiced over in Khmer. 

 

The Prince looked at me briefly and nodded his head in reply.  He moved on while looking the various displays of my students’ best work, including drawings being hung on the wall and scaled models lay neatly on the table.  The Princess smiled broadly and nodded her approval of what she saw.  I bent my head down slightly and then raised back up to acknowledged my appreciation.  The Prince came to a complete stop at one of the model of a bridge and its detailed construction drawings.  He studied it closely, looked at me and then spoke loudly.

 

            “This is marvelous, absolutely wonderful!  Don’t you all agree?”  He turned to his cabinet ministers, still smiling broadly.

 

All heads nodded in synch.  His Excellency Van Molyvann, the Under Secretary of State, grinned and tapped me on the shoulder.

 

            “Good work!  Good work!”  HE Van Molyvann proclaimed.

 

            “Oh, no, no!  These are all my students’ hard work.  They should be praised—not me.  I just guide them in the right direction, that’s all.”  I insisted cheerfully.

 

            “Where are you from?  Whom do you work for?”  The Prince asked, again without even bother to look at me.

 

            “I am from Oregon, USA.  I am working for CANDO as a volunteer here.”  I pointed proudly to the CANDO logo on my white T-shirt.

 

The Prince looked at the logo just briefly before turning his attention to another scaled model being displayed specifically for the Prince review. 

 

            “And how long you are going to be teaching here?”  The Prince continued the conversation.

 

            “I have about six more months of teaching time before I go back home, Your Highness.”  I simply said.

 

            “Your home is in Oregon, right?  What does it take for you to stay here and teach longer?  How much do they pay you?”  He asked rubbing his fingers in a “money” gesture, which drew another outburst of laughter.

 

            “Yes, in Oregon.  My contract will be finished early next year and I have to return to my family.”  I answered with a musing smile at his fingered gesture.

 

            “You are married?  Oh, that would make it difficult (to pay off) with our negotiation.”  He said jokingly that brought even louder outburst of laughter from people all around.

 

I was a little bit embarrassed by then, but was trying to hold my ground with a broad smile.  I could not believe that the Prince’s cabinet also doubled as His Highness “cheer leader” as well.  They laughed and cheered and applauded just about every time the Prince open his mouth.  This only encouraged the Prime Minister Prince even further with his comical ways.

 

The Prince, side-by-side and shoulder-to-shoulder with me now, continued with the walking tour.  He then came to a complete stop in front of a scaled model.  One of the wood bridge model structures caught His Highness’ eyes.  The Prince studied the model and the drawing for a long, long time before he spoke.

 

            “This is wonderful!  Who is Mean Ravuth?”  The Prince asked looking around the room for my student whose work was being scrutinized.

 

            “I am Mean Ravuth, Your Highness.”  Ravuth, who was also the Student Body President, came forward sheepishly and hesitantly with his hand in a sampass gesture and head bow very low.

 

            “Did you do all of these?”  The Prince asked with his right hand swept across the drawings and the study model, again without looking at Ravuth.

 

            “Yes, indeed Your Highness.”  Ravuth said proudly.

 

            “May I buy all of these drawings and the scaled model from you?  I want to build a few of this simple bridge design.  Cambodia needs this kind of bridge!”  The Prince made an emphasis with a laugh that was contagious.

 

            “Your Highness have to speak with my Professor about that.”  Ravuth turned the attention back to me, to my surprise.

 

All eyes were again focusing on me and the room was as quiet as can be—waiting for my answer.  I was a bit more confident by then and being a joker myself, I comically replied.

 

            “How much are you willing to pay for these, Your Highness?”  I asked jokingly in return to a burst of laughter from all people around.  The Prince laughed the hardest of all.

 

            “Seriously, I want these drawings and the model.”  The Prince calmed down after a little while.

 

            “Seriously Your Highness, you can not have them before I give Ravuth a review and a grade first.  Then we make deal.”  I seriously replied to more laughter.

 

            “Okay, Okay, what do you need around here?”  The Prince asked seriously.

 

            “Your Highness, this place is known as the “Royal University of Fine Arts,” do you think the condition of the school fits its Royal name?”  I got really serious.  “I have 109 students in a classroom designed for the most, 50 students.  The roof is leaking.  It is always too crowded.  There is not enough drafting table or chair to go around.  The light condition is bad because of the lack of electricity.  Need I go on, Your Highness?”  I asked poetically—borderline sarcasm.

 

The Prince just nodded his head acknowledging that he understood the problems.

 

            “Please, at least help us get the roof fixed and provide us with a decent generator so that we can do our work here better.  We can probably manage the rest.”  I pleaded frankly, realizing my best opportunity at that moment, to improve the school condition.

 

            “Three days ago I went to this village outside Phnom Penh.”  The Prince spoke.  “They told me that the road going to this village was terrible, but they fixed it when they heard that I was coming.  If I provide this school with a generator and fix the roof, other people will demand something from me too, when I visit them.  And the road to get there might be just as terrible simply because no one will fix it!”  The Prince replied to my request with a broad smile that cracked people up really good.

 

            “Let’s make a deal.”  The Prince continued calmly. “ I get the drawings and the model and also your class help me design the Royal River Front Park within the next 4 weeks…” a slight pause as though he was thinking hard, “I’ll fix the leaky roof and give a generator, a deal?”

 

            “Deal!”  I simple said with a polite-wide grin.  Again, people were laughing at every sentence spoken.

 

The Prince and his entourage finished touring the classroom and soon departed.  He was scheduled to return again in four weeks to review the design of the Royal River Front Park as agreed.  Sensing the limited time, I set to work on the project with the students soon after.  We pushed hard, both day and night, for the entire four weeks to get the design work and model construction going.  Many of my more dedicated students spent their time working and sleeping in the studio day and night.  They only go out to grab a bite to eat or take a bath.  I spent as much time as possible guiding the 10 design teams through their design phase and scaled model construction.  I have never seen any more dedicated students in my entire life!  There was so much pride, dedication, commitment, and ownership in the students’ work.  They spent a lot of time and money, something they don’t have much to begin with, on the scaled models.  I was so proud to be a part of the process that I found myself hanging out late into the evening with my students for the entire four weeks time. 

 

There never seem to be enough time and I had to ask the students to stop working so that we can prepare for the review.  We made the deadline and await the Prince/Co-Prime Minister return at 10 O’clock in the morning of the fourth week.  The first to arrive was a large generator with all the trimmings.  Then the noisy convoy of expensive European sedans arrived soon after.  Once again, the Prince and his entourage reviewed the 10 designs and scaled models carefully, one at a time.  They select three of the best and take back with them.  The leaky roof was never fixed as agreed, but the generator worked just fine.  We still got a great deal, regardless of the unfulfilled commitment by the Prince.

 

It took the local contractor just two months to construct the Royal River Front Park at the great bargain price of only $45,000.  It cost a lot more for “clearing and scrubbing,” to obliterate the existing structures and hauling the loads of garbage to the dump, prior to the actual construction.  The three miles long open and green space along the waterfront turned out just fine and was a joy to all visitors.  It still stands even of today.  I am proud to have played a tiny role in its conception.

 

It was absolutely wonderful!  This is what I have been trained to do for six years and have worked professionally for four.  I did not at all want to go back to the English classes and other mediocre assignment at the Ministry of Planning.  Yet, I must because CANDO director said so.  I did the best I could there, without a doubt, mainly for the students who were hunger for knowledge.  It was they who drove me to remain at the ministry during my tour of duty.  I have no regret, regardless. 

 

While teaching a class at my design studio one day, John Sanday who was a project director for the World Monuments Fund in Siem Reap paid me a visit.  The British native and I have been in touch by letter and phone before my arrival in Cambodia.  He asked me to help him and his organization with conservation and presentation work at Angkor World Heritage Site in Siem Reap, my birthplace. 

 

I jumped at this one in a lifetime opportunity.  I immediately decided to volunteer my time as a symbolic gesture of “giving back” to my native village of Siem Reap, while my fellow expatriate consultants from around the world got good consultation fee.  I wanted to make a statement in my native country by not accepting the consultation fee.  I was happy enough to have received free food, lodging, and transportation expenses for the duration I worked for this international NGO, based in New York City. 

 

I became the World Monuments Fund “Environmental Consultant” with responsibility to write a Management Plan for the conservation of Cambodia most important monument.  I was also to help implement it during the field season.  While I was with CANDO in Cambodia, I managed to complete a management plan, which became a blueprint for site conservation and restoration.  Preah Khan temple, which was built by King Jayavarman VII in 1227 to honor his father, was the project site for WMF a 10-year conservation and presentation program.  Forest clearing work was already began by the time I started working with hundreds of locally hired laborers.  Access and travel management, interpretation and signage, trail clearing and construction, and a visitor center were designed and built. 

 

The eight expert consultants, including myself being the only native Khmer amongst the group, worked tirelessly to accomplish the mission.  We also help trained university students from Phnom Penh and local laborers in the hope that they will inherit the project after WMF has pulled out in 2001.  The hard working local laborers and student interns were the key in bringing heritage conservation back to Cambodia. 

 

The project soon became a showcase in heritage conservation for both the tourists and conservators alike.  This American NGO was a leader in this area that others soon followed.  The Indonesian, the Japanese, the German, the Hungarian, the French and other soon followed under the hospice of UNESCO, the head UN organization overseeing the World Heritage Site.   Professional cooperation was always there, but the competition amongst the international conservators was strong.  I worked with the best of them over the years, I proudly said, in healing my proud heritage.  

 

During one of the trip across the Tonle Sap River by boat, passing by the blown up Chroy Chongvar Bridge with CANDO, we visited the Kien Klaing Orphanage.  That visit brought back flood of memories of most bitter ones.  Seeing those desolate and shy orphans with their hopeless eyes make my eyes watery.  What I saw in those orphan faces was myself fifteen years earlier.  I was an orphan, a little older at fifteen years old, but I was just like these orphans.  Sad faces, alone, frightful, shy, and so on were all too familiar as I was just like these orphans now.  I could not help but feeling sympathetic and empathetic for these kids at the same time.  I have walked in these unfortunate children shoes!  I came back home that same evening and have a good cry alone after the few hours trip to the orphanage.  I knew I have to do all I could to help these orphans.  I have made it and now it was time for me to give back a little.

 

With Sulal Khau assistance, I found a sort of  “Big Brother, Big Sister” program, the first in the Kingdom of Cambodia.  Just about every weekend, with assistance of my students from the Ministry of Planning and Sulal’s, CANDO II villa became a safe and fun heaven for the orphans from Kien Klaing.  Because there were too many orphans, a total of 138 counts, Sulal and I can only manage small group of 20 or 30 at a time.  We would spent all day visiting various attractions in Phnom Penh, take a boat ride, hike along the edge of the river, and bused them to local tourist places.  Picture was taken, game was played, hot meal was served, and a nice bath was given at the end of the day before they head back to the orphanage in the evening as required.  One weekend at a time each of the small group of orphans became a kid again away from the high wall of their orphanage.  It was their first real taste of freedom in their young lives as Cambodian orphans.  Sulal and I did the best we could, within our limited resources, to make sure that all the orphans have a great experience away from their daily boring routine.

 

The program had its drawbacks.  The group rotation was too slow before the first group can get a chance again.  Funding and other resources were scarce.  Sulal and I were very much the key funders and coordinators for this program, with some assistance from the students from the Ministry of Planning.  We did what we could to make life a little more pleasant for the orphans. 

 

The Cambodian Orphanage Fund was created and established when my wife, Thavy, and daughter, Samantha, arrived in September 1993.  The fund still exists as of today and greatly benefited the orphans over the years with donation of mostly from my friends, relatives, and coworkers.  I would continue to visit the Kien Klaing Orphanage over the years every time I returned to Cambodia.  The older orphans still very much remember “Teacher Ronnie or Lourk Kru Ronnie” and have not stop talking about how I have positively influenced their lives.  All my effort was worth it.  I could only wish that I could do more for them.

 

After only a few weeks living in Phnom Penh, I grown attached to my neighbors and their eight kids right across the street.  The children, all boys ranging in age from 2 days old to fifteen years old, were as scrawny as they can be.  The younger ones were without clothing most of the time.  The older ones basically have rags on them.  Their meals were the most basic for city folks.  Their home, which took a portion of the street, was basically a wooden shack cover with plastic tarp and cardboard boxes. The father pushed the cyclo for a living, while the mother stay home caring for the eight young children.  During her spare time, she sold bottles of purified water and pieces of candy, which she proudly display each morning in from of her shack.  They represented the “urban poor” hidden among the wealthy expatriate community.

 

Needless to say, the family became my adopted family soon after.  I gave the mother the assorted vitamins and minerals that were supposed to be for my own use.  She needed them more than I did and so I gave all of what I had to her.  Each morning after a brisk walk in the small market nearby, I would return with an assortment of snacks for the children.  It soon became a daily routine, which I felt a bit good and awkward at the same time.  I did not at all want this family to be depended on me for their well being and so I decided to help them help themselves.

 

During my subsequent bike trip around the city shantytown, I met four other families with similar story to tell.  All of them struggled for their survival in the crowded urban city as best as they possibly could.  They all lived from day to day without really knowing where the next meal comes from.  One of the families, a single mother with four small children, really hit home for me.  The mother shared crop with a landlord by growing various vegetables, in a small plot of land across river from the Royal Palace, for the local market.  I went to other side of the river for a better view of the Royal Palace, but I ended up finding opportunity to make a different in people lives.

 

Som-Oeun’s home was truly a cardboard shack and all her children were suffering with high fever and red eyes.  I provided the family with medicine and some spending cash after seeing how hard she was working to feed her family out in the open field.  Her husband abandoned her and her small four children after he had left them for another woman.  This cruel husband and father, according to her neighbors, burned down the family home and processions because they refused to move out.  The family had absolutely nothing, except some handout from the neighbors who were dirt poor themselves.  Once again, I felt compelled to help her and family to help themselves.

 

I obtained a small grant from the Trickle Up Program based in New York for an experimental in urban micro-economic development.  Along with my own $500 cash contribution, I have a total of $1,000 operating budget, a good chuck of money in Cambodia’s standard.  Each of my five sponsored families got a $200 no interest loan for a period of one year.  They all came up with the plan of action to start their own business.  I helped guide or advise them on the basic and provide a lot of encouragement.  I also provided four families, who were interested, with 2 little piglets, at the cost $20 each along with money for the piglets food supplies.  I expected to get one fully-grown pig for every two raised to maturity, according to the contract.  Picture myself going after the piglets in the middle of the street in the neighborhood in Phnom Penh!  That is exactly what I had to go through to get the job done.  I went all out to complete a mission and I took no prisoner!

 

Sambaing, the man with eight kids, decided to take four little piglets all by himself, a very tall order.  He claimed to have some experience in pig rearing and felt that he could do it again.  He also decided to go back to his traditional Khmer artistic drawing and fine sculpture work, which he was a very talented man.  With another $100 loan from CANDO director, Thida Khus, the man was on his way to owning his own thriving and productive business for the first time.   Within less than a year, he was no longer pushing cyclo for a living.  He successfully paid back the $100 loan to CANDO director as promised, have a thriving small business--with the help of his older children.  His wife became a retailer in nearby market.  All the kids, except the younger ones, were all in school and their diet improved a great deal.  The second year, when I returned to check on the family, their home was almost completely remodeled with tin roof and hardwood planks for wall and floor.  They even purchased a used motorbike, after they trade in the old cyclo, quite an upgrade indeed.  They were not middle class people.  They are still poor, but they were on their way to be “self-sustained.” 

 

Som-Oeun, the woman with four little kids, turned out to be a better seamstress than a farmer.  The loan money help fueled both of her endeavors.  Later on, she rebuilt her home with real wood and all four of her kids attended local primary school.  They continue to thrive today.

 

The other three families were not as successful in their endeavors over the years, but they held their severe poverty in check.  Of course, I did not take the full-grown pigs as agreed.  It was not my intention from the beginning, but I have to tell them something.  Besides, what would I do with five-100 kilogram pigs?   Also I did not take the so-called “$200 with no interest loan” from the family as they had expected.  In return, I only asked that the five families help others less fortunate than them to achieve economic prosperity just like I have done for them. 

 

Time was always at a premium.  I was always short of time and money as my monthly budget was only $350.  I make the most of what money available to me.  I spent most of it on what I felt were worthy causes.  It was extremely difficult at first for a man who used to make and live off more than ten times as much.  Still, the local Khmer can live off just $30 per month, I hell sure was going to try to survive the “self imposed” $350 budget no matter what.  My other fellow CANDO volunteers did not fair as well either, despite the $720 monthly stipend they received.  So I did not feel too bad knowing that my spending discipline was in check-compare with others.

 

Six months into CANDO program, I was busy with my assigned work and small social projects than ever before.  My wife, Thavy, and daughter, Samantha, arrived in Cambodia to join me in Phnom Penh, apprehensively of course.  This was Thavy first time back in almost two decades.  For Samantha, this was her first time ever and she was only three years old and not quite “potty trained” yet.  Within two weeks of her arrival, Samantha was able to speak Khmer with an “American accent” to my utmost delight.  We always knew that Samantha could understand Khmer; we made sure of that.  We never thought that she could speak Khmer so beautifully in just a short time in Cambodia, a country she never knew before.  I was so proud of my daughter and will make sure she will always know and be utmost proud of her rich heritage.

 

If I have to look back to the my contribution in rebuilding Cambodia during my year as CANDO volunteer in 1993-94, I can proudly proclaim that I have made a different in the lives of at least the five families I sponsored and supported, a total of 30 people in all.  There may be as many as 500 people lives or more that I directly touched and made a bit of different.  Who knows?  There might be more lives out in Cambodia that I also indirectly influenced, hopefully for the better.  My time, energy, and money were well worth it to see that people were willing to help themselves—given the opportunity and a whole lot of encouragement.  I would do it all over again, if possible, without the slightest hesitation despite all the personal sacrifices.  Being with CANDO volunteer program for just 12 months in Cambodia, I have gained much more than I personally gave up! 

 

I went to Cambodia for the sake of my sanity, for healing, and also for reconciling with myself.  I found peace in helping those who were less fortunate than me.  Looking back now it seems so clear to me.  Cambodia was and will always be a part of me and I am part of Cambodia.  I found my identity again as a Khmer and as a survivor of one of this century worst crime against humanity.  I give back some and got much more than I bargain for, I am most certain.  Yes, I would do it all over again when and if that opportunity arrived once more.  I have gained so very much in just one year as a CANDO volunteer in the land of the Killing Fields on my Journey Into Light.

                                   

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