Oh. Darn.

Well, to make more poignant my sadness about the change from Malys to Maly, I learned today that the white Malys flower is jasmine, only the most beautiful and fragrant (and delicious in tea) flower in all the world. *sigh*

Another Must-Read

If you have not yet read George Orwell's Burmese Days, now is the time. It's a sad novel, to be sure, about the damage done to a culture and to many a human soul by colonialism. And a fellow Volunteer commented to me that Flory should be the vice-president of the Most Humiliated Protagonists Club.

But somehow, it's also a really enjoyable read. The best parts are the uniquely Southeast Asian details: the preciousness of ice during the hot season; the poor quality, physically and otherwise, of available books; the proudly kept long mole-hairs. Actually, maybe you should visit Cambodia before reading this book. I bet it makes the experience that much more vivid.

You Don't Have To Call Me Darlin'

In Cambodia, people don't usually address you by your first name: they use family or status terms. Older siblings are called Bong, but so are people of the same general age group as you are. Ohn seems to be used for younger people in general. Ming, Bhoo, and Om are titles used for aunts and uncles as well as people of your parents' general age group. Yeay and Ta are titles for grandparents and the greatly aged. Monks are called either Loak Ta, Loak Bong, or Loak Pa-ohn, depending on their age in relation to yours. Teachers are called Neak Kru (women) or Loak Kru (men). And important people like your boss, the village chief, the commune chief, other political personages, and the school director are usually called by their titles.

At home, I'm Bong Maly to all my younger siblings and Maly Ain (my Maly) to my mother. If I'm far away and someone is shouting, they call me Maly Uy (dear Maly). At school, I'm Teacher (not Neak Kru, strangely).

So with all this status-conscious naming, what do sweethearts call each other? Boys are called Bong and girls are called Ohn. Is this what husbands and wives call each other, I asked my family. Oh, no. Married couples have a special form of address. If their child is named Vanny, one calls out Ma Vanny (mother of Vanny) or Pa Vanny (father of Vanny) to locate the other. I asked my mother if couples use each other's first names: she said no.

Comfort Food

Vegetarian food has come to Battambang:



!

I could stop here but I feel compelled to gush. A fellow Volunteer who learned of this vegetarian restaurant in Battambang town (on the diagonal road between the bus station and Road 3) introduced me to the "mee ayu veng" (long life noodles) and I am hooked! Noodles, warm broth, mushrooms, veggies, and fake meat all delicately complement each other in one delicious bowl. It ain't no black-bean burger, and the menu isn't quite as extensive as that available at Sunflower, but this is the most delightful culinary discovery I've made in Cambodia since pumpkin stir-fry. One more visit and I think I will officially be a regular.

The restaurant-review deets: the clientele seems to be mostly Cambodian with the occasional Westerner, and a bowl of long-life noodles and a cup of iced coffee comes out to $1. Per Cambodian custom, they're open when they're open.

Confused in Cambodia

Over my 7 months of being a stranger in Cambodia, I've come to learn that introductions are just Not Done. The only reason I can think of that could explain this is that most people already know everybody else in their family, neighborhood, and workplace: if you live in the same village long enough, no one is a stranger. Kids grow up with neighbors and cousins, and have never not known their names and relationships. So when a complete stranger comes onto the scene, perhaps it doesn't occur to Cambodians to introduce her to the long-time inhabitants. I find myself struggling when a neighbor I've never seen before will emerge from our kitchen, knowing my name and asking how I am; I need to judge, based on gender and apparent age (note: ages are deceptive here), whether I should address them as "Uncle" or "Little Sister" or "Grandmother."

The one time I really had a chance to do a great job with an introduction was when I first met my Cambodian co-teacher while I was still in training. Back in my training village, when I noticed that Cambodians struggled to pronounce my name, I asked my training host family to give me a Khmer name. Since they called me "Lih" (the Z at the end being the sticking point), they gave me the Khmer name Malys (pronounced "ma-LIH"), which is also the name of a white flower. Unaware of the significance of the breathy H at the end, I introduced myself to my permanent-site co-teacher as Maly (pronounced "ma-LEE"), which has no special meaning but is a fairly common name (my co-teacher's wife is also named Maly). This version of my name is now set in stone in my permanent site. I don't know what lesson can be learned from this. Maybe I just need to accept that in Cambodia, it's more important that people call me "Big Sister" or "Teacher" than that they call me any particular name. And of course, if all else fails, they can just call me "Barang."

One Cool NGO

When Peace Corps arranged field trips to some of the NGOs around Phnom Penh as part of our training last week, I thought that we'd head to drab offices where the only thing we'd see in action would be a row of photocopiers. Yay for being wrong! My group headed to Pour un Sourire d'Enfant (PSE), which is French for "For the Smile of a Child" (or something). This NGO is basically awesome.



Here's the story: Phnom Penh has a dump. It's not like an American dump. Because Cambodia is a poor country, people already sort their trash and refrain from throwing away anything that could be of value. Anything recyclable (e.g., cardboard or plastics) has been sold to wholesale recyclables vendors (I'm not sure exactly how this works, but when the recyclables cart comes around my town with its squeaky horn, people rush out to buy or sell the scraps they have or need). A quick aside: most towns don't have any trash collection, so people who don't live in cities just burn their trash. At any rate, some families living near the Phnom Penh dump comb through the garbage to get at any neglected recyclables. The kids in these families don't usually get a chance to go to school, as they are helping their parents at the dump. PSE works with these families, giving younger children a meal every day.



This is the kitchen: below are the hand-washing stations.



Teenagers get an opportunity to go to school and get vocational training. The kids below are learning about hairstyling and makeup.



Where possible, the parents get involved as well: they are hired for jobs at the school, such as painting or making traditional crafts which are sold to support the organization. These activities give the parents a marketable skill that will hopefully allow them to provide for their families, which in theory means that the children should be able to go to a public school.

There are also a small functioning hotel and restaurant here for students to learn about working in the tourist industry. If you're ever in Phnom Penh and want to see an awesome NGO in action, consider staying for a night or two.

Sihanoukville = woot!

Hooray for vacation! I have finally managed to see something of Cambodia outside of my own town and Phnom Penh. And what a something it is!

Sihanoukville (Cambodians call it Kampong Saum) is a city in southern Cambodia known for its beautiful beaches. My concept of it came mostly from watching the weather report every night in my village with a pang of desire; the provinces show little variation in temperature from one another, with the notable exception of Sihanoukville, which is usually 3 to 10 degrees C cooler than everywhere else.



What can I say? What more do you need than white sand, green water, blue sky, and an ocean breeze? (Seriously, that last component is key.) A few companies operate snorkeling and beach-lying-around tours to small nearby islands out of those boats. There's no dock or pier, though, so you have to wade out to the boat, valuables on your head, and clamber aboard as the boat pitched in the waves. No ballerina, I nearly fell out of the boat immediately after making it up. I repeated the act 6 hours later while waiting for other people to disembark, so I basically felt awesome about myself. But it didn't matter! Because lying on the beach cures everything. The snorkeling itself was only OK, as the marine life wasn't particularly colorful. Also, the captain's warnings of cutting our feet on the coral that rose up near the surface of the water and the scary Darth Vader sound coming out of my breathing tube gave me some anxiety. The best part of the day was Koh Russei (pic below), a lightly populated island where we ate fresh seafood for lunch and played in the nearly deserted waves.



The other big highlight, for me at least, was the seemingly endless selection of Western food. Don't get me wrong, I love Khmer food. But being able to eat french fries on a deck chair on that beach....well, it took away all the stress of the summer: the stress of knowing that I didn't yet have any secondary projects in the works, the stress of traveling to Battambang and Phnom Penh for urgent errands.

Clearly, I left just in time. This place was obviously fixing to entrap me and keep me forever. I may succumb once my service is up. Anyone wanna join me...?