I don't know how to begin this one: what happened yesterday was nothing short of amazing. Around one o'clock in the afternoon, I climbed into a four-wheel drive vehicle with a male nurse named Sophearin. Off we went down Route 6, the road that eventually leads to Phnom Penh (Cambodia's capitol city). After riding along for about a half an hour, we turned left onto a red dirt road, which inevitably reminded me of two things: (1) backwoods, Southern Georgia, and (2) the bus ride into Ecuador's Amazonian town of Mesahualli. In fact, the countryside of Cambodia resembles the Amazon quite a bit. It's very lush. A green jungle spotted with the smiling faces of children and curious expressions from the older locals as they look in at the white girl, or "barang" (as the Khmer people say).
I asked the nurse a few questions about the countryside and the people living in it as we bounced along the road wet with last night's rain, but mostly, I just stared out the window. I was intrigued, enthralled, excited about where we were headed and how I had no idea about what that place would look or feel like until I arrived there. Suddenly, as I was looking out, daydreaming and wondering about life in a hut made of sticks and palms, the Jeep stopped. Nurse Sophearin opened his door and got out. I took a deep breath, opened my door and put my foot in a mound of red mud. It felt good. I smiled.
Grabbing my pack full of art supplies and my camera, I walked down the small path from the roaside to the large hut on stilts. First, I noticed the stairway up to the main entrance of the hut. Someone had carved out tiny little blue fish that lined the railing. I thought, "ah, artists". This was going to be good.
I approached a woman, and soon, I noticed three small children all standing together. They looked afraid (most kids from the country have never or very rarely seen a "barang," so their apprehensions are comprehensible). I said "hello"" and "sua s'dey". The kids like it when you say "hello" because they learn that early on in school - how to say "hello" in English, and so they love to practice it. And then, smiles. I sat down and put my pack on the ground. I pulled out some paper and crayons and began to make flowers and faces for them to color. They had never seen crayons before. I had to show them how to color. The nurse was extremely helpful in translating for the both of us. Soon, they were coloring. I gave them spinning tops that held their attention for the rest of the check-up. One young boy there was "immune compromised" (had aids), and his mother had died from the disease a few years back. He lives, now, with his grandmother, aunt, and cousins.
As the nurse took notes and gave out medications, I sat with the other children as they colored. I pulled out my camera and took a photograph. I always point it towards me first, because, normally, it really scares the children until they see the image on the LED screen. They smiled. I photographed the ones who wanted to be photographed. I showed them their pictures. I wondered how long it had been since they saw their own face. I wondered if they had mirrors up in that hut, as mirrors are a hot commodity here in Siem Reap. I left my crayons and paper with them. They seemed pleased. Waved goodbye.
We left, the nurse and I, both smiling, and on to the next house. Another large family just up the road. Another child with AIDS, the mother had it as well, but luckily, was still alive to be with her son. The grandmother had the most amazing face I have ever seen. She just stared at me smiling, for minutes. Then, they all began talking and looking at me. I thought, "oh no, they don't like "barang'." I looked to Sophearin and he smiled and told me that they were trying to figure out if my hair was naturally blond or if it came out of a bottle. They had never seen a blond before. I laughed and told them that it was my hair from birth. The same process from the house before ensued. I colored and gave toys to the children while the doctor checked the young man. The whole famile gathered around to learn about the doses for the medication. The grandmother kept looking to me and talking. When she realized that I couldn't understand her, she would mimic things out, and I would know what she was trying to tell me. I spoke to her with the small vocabulary of Khmer that I know, and she was more than pleased at my efforts. I gave the crayons and paper to the children at this house as well. Just before leaving, the grandmother put her hand on my knee, looked me right in the eyes, and said, "Akun," which is Khmer for, "Thank you." I grabbed her hand with mine and smiled. We waved goodbye again and headed onto the last dwelling.
The last house was the smalllest hut of all and also contained the smallest number of family members. I learned that the mother had no job and no land, so our hospital actually employed her in the Outreach Program. Her small hut was given to her by another non-profit organization in Cambodia. Her son was the third child we saw that day who was afflicted with AIDS. But he was also the child we saw that had retained a good amount of weight - I would even go so far as to say he was "chubby". It was good to see. And he spent most of the time laughing. He knew about his medications - when to take what, even what they were called. And he was only four years old. Pretty amazing when you think of the fact that they take four different medications daily. We stayed at this dwelling only for a few moments.
As we pulled away, I looked up at the sky. It was the first time it hadn't rained during the day. There was a cool breeze introducing the evening (and suggesting late rain). But the sky was quiet in that moment. The sun was setting and there were only the muffled sounds of the city just passed the rice fields. I closed my eyes, and we headed back to the hospital.
