First translation-let the learning curve begin

Oh my… First day working with a translator and I fear this is going to be much more difficult than I expected. In fact I admit I’m a bit afraid. It’s about translation and expression, perhaps language itself and the way people have access to it. I have to remind myself that the people who were educated in Cambodia were killed under the Khmer Rouge regime. Those who survived the regime were often the farmers or otherwise manual laborers. The people I encounter who speak French and English well most often weren’t here during that time. They managed to escape or were away when the evacuations began. And while the regime was overthrown more than thirty years ago, there were lingering effects. I read of parents not wanting to send their children to school because they saw what happened to educated people, and how could they be sure it wouldn’t happen again? This differs so profoundly from Iraq where almost everyone I met was educated to some degree, with most city-dwellers I met holding at least a bachelor’s degree, if not a Masters and more. Many spoke English or at least understood some of it. The translators we worked with were educated at least in part in England and France. So even though Arab culture and people were so different from what I knew, I didn’t feel as far away from them. That’s not the case here. At least for now. It doesn’t mean this divide can’t be overcome; it just means that each interview will take more time, better translation, more patience, more relationship building and understanding. I’ll have to continue my search for a translator with whom I can work for the whole project because this relationship is crucial. Understanding one’s perception of a question – by defining justice, I am not (only) asking how many years leaders should spend in prison, for example – as well as pronunciation particularities can make or break an interview.

Take one of today’s more comical exchanges, which unfortunately revolved around someone’s terribly traumatic moment: I was asking a woman to describe an important memory, good or bad.

“She was carrying the ground”, the translator tells me. “It was so hard for her.”

“The ground?”

“Yes, to a field.”

“Carrying the ground to a field…” I repeat in the hope that by hearing his own words he might also recognize the not exactly clear nature of what he is saying. No dice. I have to guess. What could she carry to a field, I wonder. “Maybe dirt? Was she carrying dirt?” I ask. Translator nods excitedly. “Yes, then she had to carry a “seed” with her hands.”

“Seed to plant? In the ground with the dirt?”

“No SEED”

“A seat? Like a chair? Maybe for the soldiers?”

“No! SEED SEED SEED. From the button. You understand?!”

No I didn’t understand and despite my best efforts not to, had to chuckle at his exasperated look. A room full of old Cambodian women watched my face. Then it hit me “oh, SHIT! Did she have to carry Shit??”

“Yes!!”

“Then she was climbing on top a tunnel she fell and soldier blame her. She thought she going die but then carry seed.

“Carry seed again?” I ask.

“No this happen before”

“… oh.”

Ok, so with a bit more time I will catch context/timing much more quickly, but at the outset I don’t want to assume that a KR soldier made this woman carry shit back and forth to a field because she accidentally fell down. Of course he would. He did that and more. I just need the language to understand it. And I need more. Not just the events but feelings, which are so rare here. Even the word “emotion” is different. In a TPO meeting the other day the lead psychologist was discussing people’s emotional response and spoke at length in Khmer but interjected the English word “emotion” throughout. I still have to ask about this discrepancy, and also remember that raw emotion is still not a cultural trait here. Indeed, who would want to feel after what they’ve gone through?

Cambodia pics from Aiden's POV

me and mom at Doctor Fish. Can't say much for the rest of Cambodian medical establishment (already one near concussion and then I almost bit my tongue off) so hopefully the only other medical attention we'll need is from these fishees! May it always be so...

When we went to the zoo on a school trip there were crazy aggressive monkeys. They were so fearless, we couldn't have our picnic lunch, and had to hire escorts for protection as we wandered through the grounds!!! I thought it was pretty funny but mom was exhausted at the end of the day, glad to get back on the bus and head home!

rooftop garden fun. There's also a fish pond up here but mom never lets me catch the fish with this watering can, no matter how many times I try. party pooper.

Loving the tuk tuks

Am I safer now, mom?

I am practicing my best look for French school!

The Cambodians love kids and I can't seem to go anywhere without one of them touching me, squeezing me, trying to pick me up, tussle my hair or otherwise try to get me into some photo with their small children. Ah, to be a rock star. It's hard work, but somebody's gotta do it.

Phnom Penh shots pt 1

We landed at a lovely hotel in Phnom Penh with a big swimming pool and floatie wings for kids. Aiden spent hours floating. Literally hours. It was at this pool we met our first friends, with whom he now attends school. Though Aiden started his socializing long before -- on the plane to SE Asia, explaining to me that he couldn't put on his seat belt for landing because he was "talking to all of his friends". He hasn't stopped since; my little ambassador makes friends everywhere. He quite likes Cambodia. He especially likes his new Go Cart. If he could sleep with it, he would. Bought a fancy little pink helmet to go with it (bottom). Sometimes he wears his helmet in the Tuk tuk. Sometimes he wears it on walks. Seems appropriate just about anywhere in PP. Often we just stay home and hang out on our deck. Fabulous place. lovely breeze. If we go out it has to be special, like to Dr. FISH to get a little fish massage. Big hit! or perhaps out to munch on some tarantula. Also a big hit. Wherever we go, spirit is high. A bit accident prone. After a near concussion he then slipped and almost bit half his tongue off! Would've snapped a shot but the blood was a bit much. Within days the tongue has almost healed itself. My new favorite body part.

Laying the groundwork

My colleague Alan Thornton arrives on July 2 to begin work with me in Cambodia, the second part of my journey towards documenting survivors of war. Alan, a talented photographer and great friend, agreed to jump on board after I sold him the idea generally over tea last Christmas in Santa Fe. As my summer plans began to take form – with such email exchanges titled “Hmm… Cambodia or Colombia? Burma is looking difficult. Nepal violence too fresh” – he stayed the course, and when I finally zeroed in on Cambodia and working with TPO and Khmer Rouge survivors, he signed on the dotted line and bought a ticket. Hats off to Alan for his leap of faith. The project couldn’t go forward without him. I still hope to cover all the above-mentioned countries (the decision was quite difficult given that my Rotary stipend will only finance one such summer internship!), but I can only do one at a time.

It was in discovering the important psychological work being done by TPO in Cambodia that my decision was made. Because while violence erupts every day, and sadly Kyrgyzstan is the newest wound to open, the long-term impact on survivors is rarely mentioned, and nor is the work being done to treat them. My dream of a large-scale photo documentary project on survivors of war fit perfectly with TPOs desire to have a similar public documentation for their work with victims of the Khmer Rouge. Many of those we will interview will be claimants in the country’s War Crimes Tribunal (here called the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia, or ECCC). Some of these claimants told me that their testimony to the courts was the first time they spoke of their experience under the Khmer Rouge, and that the presence and support of TPO was the only reason they had the strength to tell at all.

I have spent my first few weeks here first getting settled and then trying to lay the groundwork for the project, starting with creating collaborations with local organizations, some of whom are doing similar projects. We want our work here to benefit and promote the work being done, and not to repeat efforts if at all possible. Collaborations seem the best approach all around, and TPO has been a great entry into what’s happening here – and what could be done. It all depends on funding, and there is always a question of need chasing monies. Now we’re compiling a list based of possible subjects based on a number of criteria: people who are clients at TPO, people who have not had a chance to tell their tale before and would like to, people who are members of the local victims association and also who live near killing site in Cambodia that are not within the jurisdiction of court investigations (there are about 180 killing sites around the country; the Killing Fields is only one such place!!). Then it’s about finding good translation, transportation, and time. Everyone is focused on July 26 when the verdict for “Comrade Duch”, who ran the Tuol Sleng prison, will be handed down by the courts. It will be the first such verdict since the court began its proceedings in 2006, so is sure to be profound. I’m particularly interested in seeing people’s reaction and whether they feel there has been any “justice” given. My suspicion is that they will still feel lacking.

Meditations on Parenthood

Aiden and I have settled in nicely. Still no stomach bugs, though adjusting to the heat, humidity, and mosquitos seems an endless process. We have a beautiful top floor flat with a small pool down below and a Cambodian Montessori school attached. Our brief foray into the world of expat French school was quickly squelched as I saw too many depressed and aggressive children forced to sit still in circles and repeat information by rote. Now, I know it’s important to learn discipline, and to be able to sit still during a lesson. But first thing in the morning when a three year old has just caught a tiny frog in the nearby water basin, the last thing he wants to do is be forced to sit still in a room and repeat French numerals!

I spoke with a young French volunteer working in PP for the summer who explained to me that the French kindergarten system is the same everywhere, and that kids are rarely happy or have fun while “learning”. Now perhaps he was projecting his own experience, but it was enough food for thought that I’ve moved Aiden to the Cambodian Montessori where focus is on play. The children are more gentle and joyous, though clear English is rarely spoken, much less French! Still, I think I’ve made the right decision even though there is a part of me that wonders if I should be pushing kiddo to accept a more rigorous and structured system. I assume this will be and is an ongoing dilemma for parents who want the best for their children. On the one hand, I am fortunate that it is only me having to consider these things, without negotiation and possibly different views of a co-parent. On the other hand, it is only me having to consider these things, without the help and support of a co-parent. And so it is.

To compensate for taking him out of French school, I’m trying to make a point of speaking more French generally and having brief vocabulary lessons every day. This morning we spent time together feeding the poissons (fish) and then counting birds (in French!) from our hammock on the porch. This is not our greatest struggle here in Cambodia, but it one among others.

A far greater dilemma is about safety and cultural expectations here. It’s quite difficult coming from a Western background where personal safety is utmost, and an entire industry has grown around creating the boundaries to keep our children safe. Here in Cambodia that is most certainly not the case. For example, the small pool downstairs has no fence whatsoever surrounding it, and there aren’t even little stairs to enter slowly if need be. I have already lost hours of sleep over this, as well as contemplating all the other various means and ways that Aiden could be hurt in this chaotic and often boundary-less city. My landlady, who also heads the Montessori school, says Western children aren’t very smart about some things, and need repeated surveillance to make sure they don’t wander into traffic, run on the slippery sides of pools (as Aiden did when he bonked his head), go near swimming pools, or otherwise do stupid things. I argued that the Cambodian children I’ve seen may be better behaved but not necessarily due their intelligence, moreso out of subservience and a lack of freedom to explore and be curious. On this we agreed. So there needs to be a middle ground, a gentle respect developed but also a long lead given for kids to explore, be curious, and also, yes, make mistakes. What a fine line this is because if anything ever happened – God Forbid –could you ever forgive yourself for being so permissive?

Flash back to Bradford, England, where a kind of paranoia is so pervasive, I’m not sure many children have a childhood at all. Cameras are poised everywhere and headlines scream of pedophilia cases at least every other day, to the point where parents tell their children to avoid everyone, and they do the same. Whereas in the US I could easily strike up a conversation with another mom in a park, and possibly have a play date set for the following week, in Bradford I’ve only set one playdate -- with a mom in one of my classes. Instead I’ve been told that I should “check a website” to see what might be available for kids in Bradford. Part of this is due the demographic there – Pakistanis (who make up the majority population) are quite insular – and part of it is a larger ethos of fear. One English couple held their child on a tight leash – inside a gated playground!! -- and didn’t let her interact with others, literally yanking her backwards if she began to engage. A case of child abuse as far as I’m concerned, but sadly common in Northern England. So no, I don’t believe in safety at any cost.

As I hung laundry on the roof this morning and tried to shake myself awake after a turbulent night spent churning these issues over in my mind, I wondered why I should be so fraught at all (ok, I have to admit, I also just finished reading Into the Wild, by Jon Krakauer about young Chris McCandless who wanted to spend the summer living off the land in the Alaskan wilderness and unfortunately never made it out. His quest for adventure was not unlike any young person’s need for a rite of passage, a means of proving oneself as we enter adulthood. He made some mistakes, as we all do; just that his proved to be fatal. Never the best for late night dreamlife.) I came back to the Middle Eastern saying, Inshallah: God Willing. In Iraq they use it after everything, whether it be the desire for a healthy life or the desire to meet you the next day for lunch. It will happen, God Willing. And so I thought about this in reference to my stay here, and to our life of adventure generally. That we will overcome all of our difficulties, Inshallah. We will stay safe in this sometimes dangerous and chaotic city, God Willing. I will do everything I can to make this a safe and enriching experience; I will take precautions every day like wear sunscreen and use bugspray; I will hold my son tightly in Tuk Tuks and try to travel when traffic is light. I will buy helmets and hold his hand tightly while crossing the street, I will monitor pools and food and drinking water, and use antibacterial wipes after every ride. I will try to make sure he drinks enough and sleeps enough and doesn’t walk near the hot mufflers of parked motos, or go near wandering dogs or creepy-looking people. I will read my son books and speak to him in French, try to find him vegetables he will eat, and not use the TV as a babysitter. I will listen to his concerns and snuggle whenever he needs it, and continue to give positive reinforcement for the wonderful things he does and says, for sharing and being kind and smart and polite. I will be patient and not yell, even if I’m tired or sad or sometimes scared. I will pray for protection and guidance and be thankful for everything we have – and we have so much. I will do all of this and more. And everything will be ok. God Willing.