Ready to return

The last few days I decided to get motivated and organised for the trip back to Cambodia. I've ordered a few cerebral palsy therapy books on Amazon, contacted companies to get angled spoons, emailed a ball shop for donations and inquired into ways to get equipment back to Cambodia without ridiculous excess baggage fees. Today I stumbled across this site http://www.global-help.org/ which has a free downloadable PDF book on cerebral palsy for parents and care givers written in Khmer! I was very excited to find it. I've also looked at the Toys and Me website in Phnom Penh and realised much of what the children need in terms of fine motor and manipulation toys can be purchased there when I get back. I have also contacted Wheelchairs for Kids after a tip off from Michelle at work, which led me to come across the organisation Focus Cambodia which may have some answers on shipping over equipment. Ideally I'd love to find someone who is making therapy equipment locally in Cambodia. 

Check this out.

Please check out this blog of my friend Hayley who is volunteering in Phnom Penh with AFESIP Cambodia, an NGO that works with women and girls who have been trafficked for sexual exploitation. 


http://ellesenva.wordpress.com/

Be with life. Just the way it is and just the way it isn't.

Today  is my 30th birthday and I'm awake early while the house sleeps. I thought it may be a fitting time to reflect upon the musings I have had whilst being back in Adelaide the last week and a bit. It's strange how you can live in the same city all your life and not actually really see it. I have lived near Burnside Village for 9 years, yet never really was attuned to what people told me they saw...the gold shoes, the bouffant hair, the makeup cladding, the yummy mummies with catalogue kids in tow. They are currently doing a ONE HUNDRED MILLION redevelopment of Burnside village and it turns my stomach. 


All around me, I see image more clearly than ever before. I see human beings who project a certain visual or attitudinal persona, yet in doing so become so unapproachable. I see the way in which our highly affluent society uses wealth and influence to enshroud ourselves in cloaks for our insecurities. We hide and protect and become more isolated in our fear of what other people may dare think of us. It speaks to me so poignantly because I know I am a victim of our culture no less than anyone else and for the first time I feel convicted by my foolishness. 


I think of Cambodia. I think of the Khmer people. I think of how they wear cartoon character pyjamas as everyday wear. I think of their openness. I think of the kids on the side of the road when I ride my bike past to work, yelling out "hello, hello, hello" because they want to connect with an allusive westerner. I think of the people who walk their cows home up our road at 4pm, how connected they are with their animal and their surroundings. I think of the integration of life and death. One merely a continuation of the other. I recall the intermingling of cow poo, moto fumes, fish sauce, burning fires and frangipanis. I see dynamism, I see techniolour, I see the intensity of human existence. I see perseverance, I see strength, I see courage. 


Oh how comfortable are our lives here. How we complain. How we complain. How we self indulge in our boredom. I am ashamed. Ashamed of how I have neglected to listen to the heartbeat of humanity.  We think we are so needy. All we need is a reality check. 


Oh and remember about Burnside village refurb costing 100 mil? Australian development aid for Cambodia 2010/2011 is....................$64 million

Update on the girls.

Well the night in hospital did not afford much sleep. Chantee kept saying something and pointing to the floor until 2am, when I called the nurse to translate. Apparently she had seen a friend fall out of bed and since then always slept on the floor. So we moved her and the mattress down. Finally I thought it was sleep time. Chantee woke me up at 4:30, 6:30, 7:30 and 8:30 for more 'Junome' incidents. 


Later that day I found out that Chantee has typhoid and stomach amoebas as well as the throat infection and oral thrush and malnourishment. Sophanna has an infection under her skin and Guardia as well as the malnourishment. We are still waiting on the TB tests. 

Woman vs. Poverty (Saturday Night)

Right now I am sitting in a Cambodian hospital bed to look after Jente/Chantee (sp?) overnight. It’s stinking hot, there is sweat dripping down my face, there are a bazillion little freaky flies everywhere and I feel as though it’s only me and her in this ghostly building. I’m waiting for the night nurse to turn on her second drip at 11pm. In Cambodia they will not let patients stay overnight in a hospital unless a caregiver stays as well, as they only check on the patients once at night. Chantee is a 20 year old girl who has been at the therapy centre for 4 weeks. She was brought in severely malnourished and thin as her mother had given up on caring for her severe physical disabilities and just wanted to get on with her funeral. Chantee has upper and lower limb spasticity, cannot speak clearly, her eyes don’t focus, has feet that curl up and therefore cannot walk or do anything independently except slowly scratch her head.

Jennifer and I spent today going to several medical clinics to get both Chantee and Sophanna (the 4 year old the size of a baby) assessed. The first doctor was a thin older woman with long grey-blonde hair who was having a smoke outside when we neared the clinic with Chantee, a bundle of stiff limbs in our arms. She had worked for 30 years in Ethiopia with malnourished children and that is why we had hunted her down. She stared at the girls for ages, slightly shaking her head and in her thick accent said there was no hope for the brain damage, they will be like this forever and it was just a matter of ‘supportive therapy’, whatever that euphemism meant. She put both girls on antibiotics and vitamins, diagnosed Chantee with strep throat and agreed that the neurological damage was most likely caused by childhood vaccines as the girl’s mothers had both stated that they were typically developing before their vaccinations. She warned us not to talk about vaccines as cause of brain damage in the public sector unless we wanted to get persecuted and that the conversation must stay in the room. The government is that corrupt that large pharmaceutical corporations with the big bucks control public health (or ill-health) in an ironic twist of fate.

Holding Chantee up in the tuk tuk

Sixty-seven dollars later and big bag of medicine (zyrtec for a weeping scalp condition?) we lifted Chantee back into the tuk tuk (no mean feat) and drove to a another nearby clinic in the hope of getting an ultrasound on Chantee’s stomach as it has been rigid and extended for weeks and she had refused to eat at times. Once again we carried her into the clinic, plopped her down on a plastic chair and were told the doctor would not be able to see her for another hour and a half. So we went to lunch. Determined not to give up, Jennifer and I went to a third clinic after lunch to see a doctor recommended by a woman who finds families to adopt children from orphanages. This time as soon as we put Chantee down in a chair, a male nurse came immediately and scooped her up and took her upstairs to a consulting room. Finally someone was taking notice! Jennifer said late it was probably because she looked half dead and no Cambodian wants someone to die in their own home/building lest the spirit hangs around.

The doctor this time was really caring, actually interacting with Chantee and spoke at long lengths with Jennifer in Khmer about her history and recommended testing for hepatitis, malaria, AIDS, chromosomal abnormalities, dengue fever, typhoid, blood cell count, and the list went on. He claimed her throat infection was oral thrush, something we had suspected. As this doctor was so thorough and holistic, Jennifer left to get Sophanna from the guest house to be checked as well. Meanwhile I held Chantee’s hand as she got bloods taken and an IV drip inserted. The poor thing was terrified as she had no idea what it was and couldn’t even brush away the tears that streamed down her cheeks. I then spent the next 2 hours tickling her legs and arms to pass the time as we waited in the room on our own, trying to communicate with her weak body language. Finally in the evening she was brought up to her room and I left to go have some food and grab my stuff, leaving Jennifer in charge of the situation.

I grabbed some clothes, phone charger and laptop from the hotel, piled into the tuk tuk once again and sped through the balmy night streets. Stumbling out of the tuk tuk I dropped my tweezers and underwear on the road and tripped up the 3 flights of stairs to the room. After Jennifer left I was only armed with a ridiculously minimal collection of Khmer words, ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘thank you’ which I knew already, and the words for ‘toilet’ and ‘water’. I switched off the light and sure enough I hear some unintelligible rasps come from Chantee. I offered her water as she was looking in that vague direction. I switch off the light, and go to wash the one single T shirt I brought to Phnom Penh.

The dreaded bathroom

Soon after I hear a word that could be Junome, ‘toilet’. Hell, now what do I do? It’s hard enough carrying her on her own, let alone attached to a prehistoric IV stand, but foolishly I thought I would persevere. So I scooped her up under her head and legs like a baby, hooked my foot in the IV stand and dragged it across the floor in a staggered fashion, probably thumping her head against the IV pole with every movement. I got to the bathroom step and realised it was ridiculous. I could not in a million years lift the IV stand up a step with my foot whilst struggling with a heavy and awkward bundle of stiff flailing limbs and maintain enough slack in the line as to not rip the drip out of her arm altogether. I lay her on the floor and assessed the situation.  I had to get her back on the bed. I looked around the room. A plastic cup and a bunch of tissues. This was survival mode. Bear Gryllis eat your heart out. “Woman versus Poverty”, here I come. 

Chantee kept pointing to the floor until 2am when I called the nurse and he worked out that she was scared she was going to fall off the bed, so we put her mattress on the floor. 

I soon realised a plastic cup for a tiny reclined female was just plain wishful thinking and the thin 2 ply wouldn’t absorb more than a raindrop. Something has to be sacrificed. The only other absorbent item was my bed blanket which looked suspiciously like an oversized towel. It had to do. I folded it under Chantee, pointed to the towel and told her to ‘Junome’ right there. She cracked up laughing, and then looked shocked. I told her again. It took about 5 minutes holding her upright on this damn towel before she got up the courage to comply with this crazy white woman’s insistence to let loose the Niagara on the bed. Ok, so it didn’t absorb the whole stream, but it was better than nothing. I then folded up her bed blanket and placed it over the wet spots on her bed. Oh did we laugh after that! Some things language just transcends. Later when ‘Junome’ time arose again I had the stroke of genius of making the rubbish bin a makeshift commode. Worked brilliantly.

The night nurse has just arrived to change the drip, so I’m on my own. Just me and Chantee and the hand written phone number for ‘any problems’ scribbled above the light switch. It will be an interesting night. To be continued...

Therapy Time

I have now been here exactly one month and I am utterly brain fried. I've reached a point where my sensory system is threatening shutdown as I consider where I am and what I am doing. I feel like one of Dali's clocks, dripping toxic plastic, a neurological meltdown, neuro-plasticity literally. Right now I'm sitting in Bokor lodge cafe stuffing myself with some kettle chips I've found in a store, trying to come to grips with this whole situation. The therapy centre has been hard work. Firstly I am not a specialist in cerebral palsy and I'm on the net every night trying to learn really quickly. Secondly all the employed workers are cambodian and I can't speak Khmer. Thirdly I feel terribly disrespectful not being able to speak to the children, as their voice, their opinion, their rights are what little human dignity and choice they have left. Fourthly, the disabilities I am seeing are out of this world. 

Fine motor crafts after lunch. Note the pet monkey chilling in the background

The photo here is Sim. He is the cheekiest,  most joyous and kind spirited guy around. His resilience and determination amaze me. He is just starting to crawl with so much effort and yet to weight bear and walk. He knows quite a bit of English just from picking it up from people around him and he teaches me Cambodian when I can understand. We have a lot of fun together and I really love his cheeky beaming smile. 

This is Jeante (?sp). She has been starved by her mother who felt it would just be easier for everyone to organise her funeral and get it over and done with due to her severe physical disabilities.Jeante is beginning to eat more at the centre and we are trying to facilitate her with the will to live. 

The real shocker is this. A four year old girl came to us 2 days ago. Severely malnourished with upper and lower limb spasticity. FOUR YEARS OLD. This little darling is looked after by her grandmother who is very poor, She has a weeping fungal infection on her scalp and scabies scars over her tiny body. We are starting her on baby formula and vitamins and hope to pump her full of nourishment so she can catch up on some developmental milestones. She is such a little fighter with an iron will to survive. 

Colonial Cambodia

Ok, so I've been getting quite slack in the blog writing department, but I was just afraid that I would be condemned by Claire if I didn't write anything exceptionally interesting :)


So, to recap on the last 2 weeks...My aunt Sally came to visit from Hong Kong for a few days and we went on a day tour to Bokor Mountain. Usually this tour is a 2 1/2 hour hike and then a truck ride up the mountain, but thankfully it was Chinese New Year and there was transportation all the way! At the top of the mountain is a ruined 1900's French Colonial Settlement including houses, a hotel, a catholic church and a casino (all the essentials). The settlement was created for the wealthy French to escape the heat and indulge in a little luxury. 

The Palace (Hotel)

Catholic Church steps

Mist over the Pagoda on Bokor Mountain

It is interesting how dilapidated the buildings have become from the Khmer rouge hiding out in the church in 1970, (one of the last places to be relinquished) to bullet holes in the casino walls and now the workers who squat there create their own bit of history. The buildings eerily speak of a generation we do not know and stand tall, silent and all knowing. 

Back of The Palace

The day was ended with a sunset cruise on the Kampot River which gave me a much better geographical understanding of the town and the discovery of some very cool river side bungalows for future reference!

Cambodian Massage Magic

The Stab in the Dark Massage: 
Massage by blind Cambodian men. Be prepared to be insulted about your size, asked how many kilos you weigh and told you eat too much. 
The Bare Bottomed Basting Massage:
Massage by two Cambodian women, one perched over your bottom on the table, the other messing up your hair by digging her fingers into your scalp. Be prepared to have your clothes whipped off, your dignity diminished and your birthday suit smothered in oil. Thankfully you don't end up shoved in an oven with the roast potatoes. 
The Bone Cruncher Massage:
Hand massage by Cambodian woman or man. Be prepared for deep tissue agony all over your arms.Make sure you have arm rests to dig your nails into. Then your fingers will be pulled out one by one, until successfully cracked and flicked into oblivion. 

Moo-sings

So this morning I woke up, looked out my window and saw a cow wander into the yard. It provided a great source of entertainment for the little girls who took turns leading around to find the greenest pasture. 

Sandal Suntans

On Friday we took a 3 hour trip in a taxi van from Phnom Penh to Kampot, arriving in the early the evening. I got straight into nesting mode and spent the next 4 hours setting up my bedroom. Veronica gave me some purple ball lights for my windows to set the theme. We lay low for a few days as we were all quite exhausted. 


On Monday we had a meeting for Time and Ocea’s preschool, Peppercorns and then went out to the seaside town of Kep to have a feast of pepper and tamarind crab and prawns and noodles. Admittedly it was delicious, despite my initial apprehension, as someone who isn’t a seasoned crab connoisseur. It took a while to come to terms with the constant sense of crab violation by corpse excavation, but by the end I had got the hang of snapping the tough barbed legs to suck out the meat without having to apologise to King Neptune.

Sensory Overload

I only left Adelaide on Monday, but it feels as though I've been in Cambodia forever. So much sensory stimulation gets packed into a day;it is certainly a contrast to the everyday monotony of the Adelaide 9-5. On Monday we flew Adelaide to Melbourne, staying overnight to get organised and ready for the big flight with 4 kids. On Tuesday we (Veronica and her children Time, Ocea, Levi and Neshica and I) had an 11:05am flight to Kuala Lumpur which took about 8 hours. We stayed overnight in KL and thankfully managed the 4:30am start on Wednesday to fly to Phnom Penh, although only just made it onto the plane before take off due to a confusing airport and incorrect boarding notification. We tumbled out of the plane and received an amazing greeting by the Him family (who run TTLC, the therapy centre I will be working with). They adorned me with an intricate sweet smelling flower neck garland and we were soon piled onto a tuk tuk and off to the hotel.

At this point I was in shock from what I saw around me as we zipped in between cars, motorbikes with people with babies in their arms and bicycles laden with goods. The smells assaulted me as we whizzed past; petrol fumes, rotten fish, sizzling chicken, automotive spray paint and the unidentifiable. The guest house 'Coffee Corner' had made up beds for us in a room with no bathroom up 3 flights of steep stairs! 

My first Khmer meal was rice noodle soup with bits of liver, pork, and 'meat ball fat' patties. Needless to say, I couldn't finish it. We then ventured to the Russian Markets, undercover stalls filled with brightly hued materials, scarves, clothing, beads, and silver goods, wooden statues and pirated DVDs. Upon returning to the guest house, Jennifer Him presented me with an amazing Cambodia survival kit, a bag filled with all the essentials; hand spray, mozzie repellent, tissues for toilets, a small purse containing an address book with all important contact numbers, a Cambodian-English dictionary, a map of Cambodia, a fan, scarf, laundry powder, head scarf (to protect against head lice at the therapy centre), thongs, a hair clip, antibiotics, hydration powder and menthol balm. She also had photocopied a whole folder of relevant information, including tourist booklets.I was humbled by her generosity and welcome. 


In the evening Veronica and I took a tuk tuk out to a place that washed our hair and gave us a pedicure. We then popped next door for foot, head and neck massages accompanied by ginger tea to soothe away the air travel blues. 


The best thing about Cambodia thus far are the beverages, smoothies in every fruit flavour imaginable (soursop, dragonfruit or durian anyone?). Icy sugar cane juice on the side of the street squeezed through rollers while you wait. Mango lassis...iced tea...bubble tea. 

Today I visited Tuol Seng, the 'Genocide Museum' which confronted my capacity to comprehend mass scale human tragedy. The place, a former school is open for visitors to walk through the cells that still house the original metal beds and torture instruments. Eerie, ghostly and poignantly powerful. I was inspired by an art exhibition on the third floor, portraying the photos of the captives on large canvases, spattered with coloured lines and squiggles emotively representing the mental angst and confusion that these people knew as their daily experience. I find it unfathomable that these crimes against humanity occurred in our very recent history and that our world allowed it all to happen. I find it highlights my ignorance about similar situations happening in the world right now that conveniently escape our media system that thrives on the superficial.


Phnom Penh is a place of stark contrasts. At first glance it seems so archaic, poorly developed, filthy, confronting, uncomfortable and difficult. But then you find in between street vendors, piles of rubbish, and babies playing on the street, high end boutique shops, air conditioned Western style cafes and beautifully decorated shops. It takes a bit of skill to find the hope amongst the mess, like 'Daughters', a beauty salon, cafe and shop run by girls rescued from sex trafficking who now have restored self esteem, and a will to live abundantly with restored integrity. The fair trade shop selling quality clothing, trinkets, jewellery recycled from brass bomb shells and wall hangings that provide income for people affected by land mines and polio. I am beginning to look through the obvious to see the possibility of a Cambodia that is complete how it is; messy, frenetic, dynamic, endlessly fascinating and surviving despite its exceptionally complicated past that infiltrates its culture today.