Dreams and Reflections

            When I was a kid, I used to have this recurring dream where I was all alone in the middle of a vast field with tall grass that nearly came up to my shoulders. It was never lonely though. On the contrary, it was freeing and peaceful. In the dream, I would run through the field with my arms stretched out like an airplane. The bottoms of my arms and my hands would graze the soft tips of the golden grass. Then I would lay down in the tall grass with my hands behind my head, where no one could see me, even if there was someone in the field with me. Sometimes there was a tree that I would be under, but usually not. Just me and the breeze and the tall sweet smelling grass.

            I used to love having this dream, partially because it was so peaceful, and partially because I was so curious about the idea that I could have the same dream more than once. I had it many, many times, rarely ever changing. Only once was there ever anybody who came with me in the dream: a boyfriend from the time. It was my secret place and it was mine alone. As I got older, I had the dream less and less often, and now, I admit, it has been a few years since I’ve had the dream. However, I have always been on the lookout for real places that look like my dream. Any time I saw a wheat field or corn field in America, I would be reminded of my secret dream place.

            Maybe you can tell where I’m going with this.

            Rice fields.

            I can’t help but notice a correlation between my dream and where I am now, in more ways than just the obvious appearances. The rice fields, right before harvest time, are that perfect color of green and gold (GO POST hahaha) The stalks stretch to just the perfect height. And in certain special places, that is all you can see for miles. Even the tree thing holds true. Despite my province’s name literally meaning “forest,” there are very few trees around. So sometimes you’ll see a tree. Usually not.

            The rice fields have also become a place of solace and comfort for me. When I need a break and I need some fresh air, that’s where I go. When I first got to site, I used to go there every day. Now I go a lot less often. Unfortunately this is mostly because the fields have been harvested already, and there are more mud squares than rice fields now. But come rainy season, I know I’ll be back quite a lot.

            There is a road that stretches through the middle of the field. It’s a big dirt road, and does get some traffic, but not nearly enough to make you feel congested like in the rest of town. Different from my dream, I do not actually run through the grass, because that would be a very muddy experience and I would probably come away with leeches. But still, the similarities are more than the differences.

            While on that road, I would say that 90% of the time, I am completely alone, and I can’t see another soul in site. And once again, I am reminded of the difference between being alone and being lonely. Loneliness is not what happens when I’m out there breathing it all in and reflecting. Loneliness is what happens when loved ones stop reaching out to you. Or when I try to reach out and no one receives it. Loneliness is waiting for others to be lonely enough to remember you. That happens while staring at a blank computer screen, a still cell phone, and an inactive facebook page, never out in the rice fields.

            Loneliness aside, Peace Corps is a very “alone” experience. It is also obviously a community experience. But at some point during it all, you’re going to have the time and the space to unload everything that you are, and reload it back, accepting what you’ve discovered. At least, hopefully you’ll be strong enough to accept it. Me? I unload it in the rice fields. And as I reload it, I like to think a bit of the tranquility of the surroundings rubs off on me, and I’m a better person for it.

                        I realize that my “secret” place isn’t so secret. Motos and bicycles go by, Heck, farmers work in these fields sometimes. But if we’re being symbolic here, and if the rice fields represent my experience, then that is indeed, my secret place and it is mine alone. Because I know, no matter how much I clue in my family, friends, and even other Peace Corps Volunteers, no one REALLY knows what it’s like to be here.

            I don’t think I’m the kind of person who believes in dreams predicting my future. Sure it happened in biblical times, but I hardly think my tall grass dream was a premonition of my Peace Corps experience. Rather, it’s more like a fact taped to my brain encouraging me to appreciate beauty, serenity, and solitude- now, and for the rest of my life.

These are some pictures from a Bon i went to a few months ago.

A Bon is a Buddhist Festival.

This particular Bon was for giving the monks new robes.

My two sisters and I walked in the procession together, carrying incense.

Left to right: Sokhen, Sovanna, me.

monks.

A PCV's Worst Nightmare

            Well, maybe not their WORST nightmare, but it’s up there, because realistically many volunteers DO experience this at some time during their service. I’m talking about food poisoning, parasites, stomach bacteria, and any and all related topics. The kind where you actually debate just curling up on the ground in the bathroom facility, because you can barely muster up the energy to walk somewhere else, and also because it’s pointless- you’ll be back in 10 minutes for more action.

            Although the past few days were among the most miserable of my life, I came away from it completely astounded and humbled by the care that my host family gave me.

            Sunday night, I barely slept, because all of a sudden I got SO COLD (mind you it is the beginning of the hottest season in Cambodia). I tried to just curl up under my sheet with my stuffed Nemo. No good, I finally got up at around 3AM and put on over my pajamas some sweatpants, a t-shirt, and the heaviest sweatshirt I brought here. Then I snuggled up again, but still had no luck. I knew there was a fever involved.

            Monday morning I started feeling so nauseous, dizzy, and weak. I actually still got up and tried to go teach. I hadn’t seen my students in over a week because of testing and I had been so anxious to go back to teaching. On my way out my sister saw me and asked what was wrong. I told her I wasn’t feeling well. She told me not to go to school. I told her I really want to go, so if I can’t do it, I will come back early.

            I went to school and couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand for more than a minute at a time, and I was actually concerned I was gonna vomit or pass out in front of my students. I was back at home in less than 45 minutes, where I went straight upstairs, changed, got sick, and then went back to bed. Every muscle and bone in my body was aching. I called the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO), who of course was less than interested at first.

            I went downstairs around 11 with a packet of instant oatmeal, thinking that was a safe lunch. My sister sat me down and cooked it for me.

            After lunch is when it really started getting out of hand. I was in the bathroom at least twice every hour. The oatmeal came right back up. It completely drained me. I called my parents in America, 3 times, even though it was the middle of the night there. Finally they called me back and I cried to my mother. I couldn’t even drink water at this point, because I would just throw it right back up. After I let my mother go back to bed, I called the PCMO again to basically say.. no this is different. I’m REALLY sick. So she did take more notice, and then called me about every 2 hours after that to check in.

            Soon after that, my sister let herself into my room. She NEVER does that. She completely respects my privacy. But she was so worried. She found me draped over my chair looking god-awful. She ran through a list of everything she could possibly cook for me, because I had eaten nothing except the oatmeal, and obviously that wasn’t REALLY eaten. Finally I agreed to let her cook me ramen noodles. I took a few sips of the broth, and vomited again. I slept in a hammock for a while, getting up every 2 minutes to run to the bathroom. My adult students started showing up for their 6PM class. My sister told every one of them that I couldn’t teach because I was so sick with diarrhea. Thanks sister lol.

            Upstairs again in bed, I started watching a movie. The PCMO called again and told me to try drinking water again, this time with some rehydration salts. She was concerned that I hadn’t peed once all day. She would call back in an hour and a half. I drank about half a water bottle worth of that, and then, of course… had to run to the bathroom and it came right back up.

            My sister knocked on the door and said “Diana…. Are you vomiting?” haha I wanted to say “no, I’m baking a cake.. DUH I’m vomiting, what does it sound like?”
            When I finally emerged from the bathroom, my brother had set up a mattress for me in the living room, so I can sleep closer to the bathroom. All day, my brother and sister were offering to give me medicine, buy me medicine, take me to the hospital, anything! But I had to tell them no, Peace Corps must say it’s okay first. They were so angry with Peace Corps lol.

            I laid down on the mattress my brother set up and my sister laid next to me. She tried to set up a fan on me, but I told her I was cold. After remarking about how crazy that was, she moved the fan, got me a thick blanket, draped it over me, and tucked my nemo under my arm.

            The PCMO finally was like.. okay you need treatment now. Not going to lie, I was re really worried about how I was going to make it through the night. I was so weak and uncomfortable. She told me she was going to have a Khmer Medical Officer call my host family, and ask that they try to find me a doctor to give me an IV and some medicine to ease my stomach. My sister watched me the whole time I was on the phone. She was watching so closely, she even spotted and picked a couple ants off my arm for me.

            By now it’s 9:30PM- past everyone’s bedtime. Luckily, my brother-in-law, who lives on our compound, but in a separate little building, works in the local health center. He started living here about 2 or 3 months ago during the week, and then going to Phnom Penh on weekends to see his wife and 2 kids. I really like him. He is one of the most genuine, stand-up Khmer guys I know. The two of us eat lunch together every day. Anyway, my brother told my brother-in-law that Peace Corps finally okayed some medicine, so he hopped in his car, and went to the Health Center to get some stuff.

            He came back, and asked me a few questions. He set me up with the IV like a pro. He then sat next to my bed for about a half hour, just watching over me and making sure it was working properly. He called Peace Corps, and I heard him talking about the other injection to settle my stomach. He decided not to give it to me because of the side effects. I trust him. He’s a really smart guy. I was too weak and delirious to argue anyway. Then he went back to his home.

            My sister and I fell asleep, but my brother stayed up til 12:30AM, time enough for him to change the IV fluid twice. Then he laid down next to his wife and went to sleep also. That’s when I realized that they really aren’t going to bed. Their full intention was to keep watch over me all night. I was amazed. They kept a light on so I could see my way to the bathroom, and so they could keep an eye on me. I don’t know what I did to deserve their care. I don’t know why they care so much. But I just realized how incredibly lucky I am to have these two sleepy people looking out for me here in Cambodia and I love them so much.

            In the night, at around 2:30 I got up to go be sick again, so I had to lug the IV into the bathroom with me. I guess my wrist was higher than the bottle for too long and my blood started going up the tube. I ended up clogging the tube with my blood. Woops. So my brother got up and tried to fix it, and when he couldn’t, he took it out for me.
            Every time I got up to use the bathroom, they would watch me leave, and watch me return, obviously trying to scan my face for any signs of imminent death.

            Finally, it was morning. The worst 24 hours ever was over. I was hydrated, and feeling slightly stronger. To make an already too long story shorter, I was indeed on the road to recovery. By Tuesday night, the PCMO finally told me I could start taking the antibiotics in our medical kit to help my weak body fight this. My sister helped like a pro with meals- starting me out with just a few spoonfuls of plain rice porridge, until I was back eating real food 2 days later.

            I am incredibly grateful for how my brother and sister and my brother-in-law really stepped in. We definitely had some real moments through it. They are really like family to me, and I to them.

            Oh I forgot one more thing. Tuesday, Valentines Day, my sister told me at the dinner table that they had plans to go to a restaurant the 3 of us for dinner (which is a really special thing). But they weren’t going because I was sick. I was like.. that’s ridiculous, GO it’s Valentines Day, a day for TWO people, not THREE. They said no, they weren’t going without me. Oh yeah haha, I forgot I was a part of the relationship. Weird lol. Hopefully now that I’m recovered I can bring up the possibility of a raincheck.

            I will wrap this up now.

            Don’t worry, I don’t have any pictures from me being sick.

            But I do have these:

One of the times I woke up to find a giant dying cockroach on my floor. Now I'm more used to it, but it took me a full 20 minutes to get up the courage to pick him up and throw him out to live out his last minutes elsewhere.

I was watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone on my computer lying in a hammock. My neighbor Mikey whatched about 45 minutes of it standing next to the hammock. He abruptly left, and then came back 5 minutes later riding a broomstick. <3

The most beautiful tissue holder I've ever seen. This is in the lobby of Navy guest house in Prey Veng.

PIG! at a wat in Prey Veng.

The sun setting over the lake. In Prey Veng.

Navy Guest House. In Prey Veng. 

Cheater Cheater Prahok Eater

            In light of this week’s semester exams (the Khmer version of midterms) I’ll tell you a little bit about testing in Cambodia. Cheating is an inherent part of any student’s test taking. Cheating is not something that Cambodian teachers waste their times trying to control.

            Tests are not an individual quest as they are in America. At the very least, they are partner missions, if not more. A classroom taking a test is not silent. At any given moment, there will be one student whining to the teacher about how hard the test is, and at least 4 or 5 students flat out having a conversation about the questions and answers. Students in the upper grades sit at 2 person desks. So those students will be cuddled together, working on their tests together. (yes, I really mean CUDDLED together). Sometimes one student will write an answer, and just give their test paper to their friend to copy.  Other times, they will just discuss what they should put.

            The above description is actually a test taken in MY classroom. Meaning, I control the cheating a lot more than Khmer teachers. In their classes, it is even more allowed. Students in the back of the room will ask the smartest kid in the class “what’s the answer to number four” way from the back of the room. And that smart kid will shout the answer back, or even just pass around their paper to copy. Other students will just have their textbooks and notebooks open, trying to find the answers within. Some students will even just skip asking the students, and will ask the teacher for the answer, or at least a hint.

            When I am proctoring an exam, you will hear a constant stream of words like “don’t help, don’t cry, and don’t crow like a rooster” coming from my mouth. Mostly I use those because I always forget the Khmer word for ‘cheat.’

            My students now know that I will not allow them to cheat, so they are sort of learning to be sneakier about it (which before was not the case). Once I walked past a student who was copying answers from a sheet of paper. I assumed it was his notes from a previous lesson, so I gave him the stink eye and he sheepishly put it under his desk. I walked by him again a minute later when he wasn’t paying attention and it was out again. I took it, and realized that it was an answer sheet that a student in another one of my classes gave him. I was so shocked! And slightly impressed. He would have been in so much trouble if he was in America. But he’s not in America, and the only thing I can do is laugh it off.

            There are some volunteers who have successfully stamped out cheating from their classrooms. They have employed American techniques such as “for every time you are caught talking or cheating, that is one point off your grade.” I thought about doing that, but I decided against it. I feel it would be wasting my energy in that I would be the only teacher in the whole school enforcing a no cheating rule. That’s not going to accomplish anything except giving me a headache. So during testing, I control what I can, and I admit to letting some things slide.

            Midterms are taking place over the course of 3 days this week. Monday-Wednesday. Today is Wednesday. I am not involved in the midterms. All teachers are called to proctor the exams, but I have been excused of this responsibility. Cheating is going to be happening in these tests. Cheating even happens during national exams. Imagine students sharing answers out loud during an SAT in America. Well that’s what happens here. And in Cambodia, a student’s academic future relies ENTIRELY on the results of the national exam. A good grade will get the student a spot in a university, and possibly even a scholarship. But honestly if you think about it, if every single student in Cambodia is cheating, isn’t that less unfair than if only some are? My point is, if I were to get myself involved in big exams like these, I would want to control the cheating. However, that might be hurting my students’ chances in getting into university. So in conclusion, I have no problem proctoring the monthly exams that I make, but I think bigger tests are a part of Cambodian education I should steer clear from. At least for now.

            In other news, it’s been a rough couple of days, mixed in with moments of success and excitement. Things at site are mostly wonderful. Things are coming along nicely. The things that get me through day to day are the people here at site. My family. My sister. My brother. My students. Even my co-teachers. Among these people are my best friends. They don’t even know it, but they’ve been here for me in a time where I’ve lost a little bit of faith in friendship.

A gift from my older sister. Khmer people wear pajamas all the time. I'm all about that. But this particular pair... is not my favorite.

Water buffalo

and farmers kids

farmers house in the rice paddies. This is on my favorite road near my house that I used to run on.

rice as far as the eye can see

riding the buffalo back home

my special road.