We went to Cambodia with some money that friends had sent along for us to “tver bon”. Their goodwill carried no specific instructions, only that we should “do good.” We went through Phnom Penh, Siem Riep, Battambang and did the best we could.I took some of the money and walked up and down my village, giving here and there to the villagers, some of whom had known me from infancy. I told them, when they gave me thanks, to send the good tidings on towards my friend, and wish him well.
 In one of the village's huts, I met a little boy, not more than 7. He was sitting on the ground, skinning a small catch of frogs on a wooden board. My aunt told me their family was the worst off this year because the mother and father kept getting sick and was unable to farm their fields. I saw a rail thin woman, sitting on a wooden bed outside the hut. My aunt chatted with the mother and I watched the little boy preparing the family’s dinner. He had a sweet face, lively eyes that invited my audience. When we left, I handed him a small sum of money.
The little boy looked at me, and then looked at his mother. It was not until his mother nodded, that he accepted the money.
Of all the tales I carry from Cambodia, of mosquito bites and ice cold showers, of dusty roads and pock-marked streets, tales of near-death rides in crazy traffic with crazier drivers, of criminal government and dirty politics, of heartburn and upset stomachs, there is not much that hasn’t been enumerated times over by fellow travelers. Yet there is something about our land that compels you to speak. It is not a place you can dismiss, if only for the grace of a small child who, in the face of utter need, can still hesitate to accept your hand-out.
In this land of a millions tears, a million heartbreaks, there is a million forbearance, a million kindness, a million thanks and well wishes.
I've said before that Cambodia is to be experienced and not told. I still believe that holds. Yet here I am sitting at a keyboard, facing a blinking cursor...because I cannot help but want to tell, and of all the things I want to tell, there is only one thing, and it is the same. |
