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Published: March 22nd 2015
Wednesday March 4, 2015 The Phnom Penh Post
National Rights Not Protected The government has failed to meet its obligations in upholding civil and political rights, human rights groups have alleged...
...The Report highlights the killings of at least 10 people by security forces since April 2013 to demonstrate what it calls a “pattern of excessive force” that is “typically followed by a failure to properly investigate and punish those responsible.”
******
“Did you know that Cambodia is one of the only places in the world where you pay to become a police officer?” We are at an early breakfast and have struck up a conversation with a foreign teacher from France. Tristan is his name.
“Really? How much?”
Tristan laughs before ripping a piece off a large crusty baguette. “I think it is about two thousand USD.”
Quietly, he puts the piece into his mouth and chews slowly, thoughtfully. “It is a great investment. Guaranteed income. As a police officer, not only are you guaranteed a stable job, but you get to ride around the neighbourhood and ask for bribes.”
“Bribes for what?”
“Oh you know...” It’s only 7 am
and I can see the sheen of sweat on Tristan’s brow. It’s already so hot that we are all sweating just sitting there. “...the usual...bribes to not be thrown in jail for no reason, bribes to keep your family safe from harm, bribes for just being a good Cambodian, I suppose...”
“And they pay it?”
“What choice do they have?” Tristan lips curve into a tight smile.
******
The little restaurant is called Mama’s and it’s down a dirty back alley littered with a rainbow of plastics. The only way to get there is through the moving maze of free-roaming chickens and a moving river of scooters.
The restaurant is run by one of the foremost international experts on Cambodian archaeology and history, Dr. THUY Chanthourn. He waves at us as we walk up and we smile as he comes to take our order.
“I had to open this restaurant because they pay university professors so little,” Thuy tells us squeezing his fingers together to accentuate his point. “I am only paid two hundred USD a month.” He snorts in disgust and his dark eyebrows wrinkle together as he continues, “now if I worked
in the government...”
*****************
“I come here every year, you know, to help the Cambodian people.” A heavy European accent lends its own flavor to every world. They belong to an elderly gentleman with a full head of wavy grey hair and a smile that never stops. Every word, every breath, is punctuated with a genuine smile. “You know, I love being here. I go back to my country for six months every year, collect money...what do you call it in English?”
“Fundraise?” I suggest.
“Yes, I fundraise at home and then come here for six months.” He waves his right arm at the building across the street. “Right now, we bring clean water to a small area of the city of Battambang.” He smiles, settles back a little more comfortably into his seat and looks at us, “you been to Battambang?”
“No, we just got here.”
“Ah, well,” he laughs, “welcome...Cambodia is one of those places. It is heaven and hell. You have heaven at Siem Reap and Angkor Wat and hell here in Phnom Penh. Have you been to the killing fields? The S-21 prison?”
****** “Lady, would you like to buy a coca cola?”
My first reaction is to tell him all the health reasons why I do not and why he should definitely not drink Coca Cola, but something in the look he gives me—a perfect mixture of hope and desperation—gives me pause. Children shouldn't be able to give looks like that.
It’s hard to tell from the other side of the fence, but he is maybe only 6 or 7 years old at the most. Instead of sitting at a desk in school, he waves his legs off the side of a red cooler, probably loaded to the brim with sweet and sugary drinks to sell to tourists as we wander through the killing fields.
“I don’t really want a Coca Cola,” I say as I walk to the fence and push through a crumpled, sweaty bill. “But you can have this.”
“Thanks!” He smiles and walks over to a nearby tree where he has conveniently hung up his toy monkey. Pulling it off the branch, he drapes it over his shoulders and gives me a big wave as I walk away.
********
“I've never
understood why the people who do these things go to so much trouble to register and photograph the people that they are just going to turn around and kill ,” Sean comments to me as we look at the thousands of pictures—nameless faces—who were killed here, at the S-21 torture camp. “Don’t they realize that they are just leaving behind a trail of evidence that will be used to incriminate them later?”
“Maybe they—like Hitler—felt as though they were doing the right thing.” I offer up feebly, not sure if there is any other logical explanation for any of this...or if there is was ever any explanation at all.
Sean shakes his head. “It’s crazy that this only happened, what, in the late 1970’s? 1979? And the rest of the world didn't know?”
I shake my head as I walk out of a room where people were chained to beds and tortured.
*********
“It is beautiful, no?” Our guide yells to us over the roar of the scooter engine as we take in our first glimpse of Angkor Wat through the dense tree line.
“It is absolutely breathtaking,” I yell back to
our guide, sweat dripping off my lips and into my mouth. Sean grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze before reaching over to kiss me.
“We are here.” I laugh. I have been telling Sean about Angkor Wat for years and can’t wait to explore it with him. “Let’s climb to the very top of that huge temple over there.”
“You’re on.” Even in plus forty, Sean is ready. The entire back of his shirt is drenched with sweat.
********
“I have something special planned.” Sean announces over dinner. I have decided to try a typical Khmer dish, called the Lok Lak. The dish had to have been designed by someone who was suffering from culinary ADD, as it is a perfect medley of foods that would normally never be seen together. A bunch of french fries, grilled chicken, salad, a plate of rice, fried egg and this wonderful lemon peppery sauce that goes on everything.
“Special?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “What’s the occasion?”
“It’s our anniversary,” Sean laughs and takes my hand.
“Oh yeah!” I laugh. “I can’t believe it’s already been a year.” I sit back.
“It’s weird...we have done so much, so it seems longer than a year, but I am enjoying our time together, so it doesn't seem like a year has passed...” I trail off, hoping that Sean catches the general meaning of my jimble jamble.
“Exactly!” Sean plays with my hand. “And to celebrate, I have planned something special.”
*****
"I can't believe the lights just went out in the middle of Siem Reap." Sean's head was nothing more than a shadow as it moves from side to side.
"They will come on pretty quick," I guess..."this is a tourist city and they can't afford to leave the lights off for long." No sooner had I turned my head then the lights came on." I laugh. "It's like magic!" I point across the shopping bazaar. "Guess who I found?"
"Who?" Sean scans the crowd.
"Isn't that your parents, mom and dad, right there?" I look closer. "For sure it is! What crazy luck finding them here in the midst of millions of people. " I let go of Sean's hand and run behind mom.
"Boo!" I lightly touch her shoulder.
"Oh wow!"
She smiles as she turns around. "It's crazy how the lights just went off like that! I am getting a banana milkshake. You want one?"
******
“This is amazing.” We walk across a tiny bridge that unfolds into an open air concept lobby. Sweating profusely, we collapse in the nearest chairs as a tiny Cambodian woman runs to get us each a glass of water. Looking across, the first thing I notice is the infinity pool. “Sean, you are the best... A pool!” Our hike here had brought us very far from city center. “How did you find this place?”
“Well, I didn’t want us to stay someplace touristy where there were a ton of crowds,” Sean wrinkles his nose, “we will have enough crowd in a couple of days, when are back in China.”
“This is true.”
“And this place is locally owned and operated. They put a lot of emphasis on ensuring their staff makes proper wages and, if they need to go to school, they give them time off.” Sean reaches over and pushes a lock of sweaty hair off my forehead. “It’s important to support this type of local movement. When locals beginning helping each other...well, that’s how a country rebuilds... no?”
“Yes.” I reach over and give him a kiss.
"Happy Anniversary, my monster, " Sean smiles. "Race you to the pool?"
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auntie bonnie
non-member comment
I love reading your blogs .
I do not type so writing to anyone is not what i do (it takes me forever ) but I wanted to tell you how much I enjoy your writings.So many fascinating observations and insights and wisdoms to share. I have not missed one blog and look foreword to each one. Many of the experiences you have remind me of our own original journeys when we were discovering how the world operates . Like the old Carpenter song says "sharing horizons that are new to us ,watching the signs along the way.Talking it over just the two of us ... ".Uncle Mel and I are so happy you are so adventurous and living a dream so few can realize . Happy Anniversary ! Take care and travel safely love Uncle Mel and Auntie Bonnie