(Written April 15th 2012)
So I’ve been in Cambodia for only about 5 days now, and already I see the opportunities for change encroaching on my tourist-like adventure. You see we’re not yet at our ministry site, and it doesn’t start for another 4 hours; we’ve had this last week off. Due to Khmer New Years celebrations, our contact for the month was unable to meet with us this, and asked us to come on Sunday (instead of on Tuesday, when we landed in Cambodia). So it’s kinda like a mini holiday for our team.
(tuk tuk ride)
When you are on a mini holiday on the world race, that basically means eating at a restaurant that sells burgers and fries, instead of cow stomach, duck eggs or rice. It means splurging on rarely-found cheesecake instead of fresh fruit… you know, taste a bit of the luxuries of home. It’s especially nice when these so-called mini holidays find you in a capitol city… on a national holiday! We had a day in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia last week, and we had about 3 full days of adventuring here in Phnom Penh, Cambodia this week.
We toured a bit of Phnom Penh’s markets and restaurants and had a sweet time coming and going from different hostels meeting travelers from all over the place. There were fireworks, and incenses burning, banners and flags all over, all in celebration of the new year. We also had a chance to do some activities that would further our intellectual growth: we went to a museum devoted to the killing fields of the Khmer Rouge and a school that was turned into a torture/interrogation prison during the war.
(genocide museum)
So we made the trip up from Phnom Penh, (7 hours by bus) to Siem Reap last night in preparation to meet our contact here today, on Sunday. After settling into our hostel we caroused the streets in hopes of finding a neat place to get some grub.
As we walked through the touristy part of town where all the restaurants and pubs were I couldn’t help to feel like I was apart of some sort of movie. We wove in and out of back allies draped with Christmas lights, flowing tooling, and palm trees, while cobblestone walkways, many different types of music and “tonights featured drinks” sandwich-boards completed the atmosphere. It kinda seemed like something out of a tropical backyard BBQ, or a Caribbean themed special event. It went on and on and seemed to be so mystical, fun and intriguing. But it was authentic. It was real. It was rich, cultured Cambodia.
We ended up at a place that had a cheep menu and some good tunes. It really wasn’t special or anything, but the feel of it was welcoming, with large red-velvet cushions supported by oversized, outdoor whicker-furniture. We sat down and after a few moments we saw a young boy holding a garbage bag another child holding bracelets to sell, and yet another with post cards.
The kids would come up to tables and ask for a “dollar” and hold their hand out with a pouting face, and try to win your heart over. Kinda like that Sara Mcglaclan song during the SPCA commercial, at least that’s how the tourists saw these children!
I watched the kids make their rounds as more and more tables of tourists began to get uncomfortable, trying to avoid eye contact, pretend like they couldn’t understand or simply shoo the kids away… It was interesting to me to watch from an outsiders perspective how these boys were being treated. I felt convicted of all the times I’ve passed bye or even scoffed at homeless people and beggars; both on the race and at home.
From our table I could see a man in a dark, gloomy alley leaning on his moped. Steam was coming out of the restaurants kitchen exit, and branches swayed in the wind over head, (i found myself again asking ‘is this real?’). I don’t know what made my attention focus on him, but after a couple glances, I soon realized that he was talking to one of the servers from our restaurant. I saw that some of the beggar-kids would come up and he would say a few words to them and point them to another couple sitting inside the restaurant.
At first I thought he was just another Cambodian, picking up his daughter from work or something, simply not wanting to be bothered by the kids. But this wasn’t the case, this was their boss, their ring-leader, giving instructions. And it seemed that the restaurant workers were involved in the ploy to make an extra buck as well.
Around the world, often the homeless community is much more evolved than we Westerners think it is. Usually the youngest of kids will have a pimp or leader that they will report back to and it all leads back to a larger group. Hundreds, even thousands of people will be apart of these rings of pan-handling, begging, drug trafficking, money laundering, and all are just trying to make a dollar. We saw this all the time in India, and were encouraged not to give money to anyone.
Well the memories of India came flooding back, and I knew that maybe tonight, I could help bring a little bit of joy to these kids, and maybe a little conviction for the scooter dweller…
(*note: not actually the "scooter dealer")
As our table was approached by the young boy I started by saying “Happy New Year!”. I continued by asking him questions about how old he was, and what his name was. He spoke little English, but a smile came over his face as I joked around with him and attempted to speak the language back to him. I would grab his shoulder, and give him a side hug, as to treat him like a friend; he must have been all of 9 years old.
In that moment the atmosphere shifted; our table tried to put an effort into getting to know this little boy. I noticed that the boy would look back to the man on the moped in the dark alley, as if to ask for permission to stay. Well not wanting to cause a fuss, but simply love on this child, I walked over to a pile of plastic chairs, and brought one over to the table and faced it away form the man on the moped. The boy seemed to gleam as I invited him to sit down and continued in conversation.
(*note: these are not the boys of the bar; for their protection,
heir shots won't be put online.. as a side note,
these kids a pretty cute as they dance to "Pharaoh-Pharaoh")
He smelt of garbage, had dirt on his face, and claimed to be hungry. Now I’ve always been taught that money might not be the answer, you don’t necessarily know where it’s going, but food… well theres really only one place for it… your mouth. So I asked the server for some fried rice and a Pepsi.
I turned around and made prolonged eye contact with the “scooter dealer”. He seemed to be stuck, he didn’t want to blow his cover, so he threw his cigarette on the ground, stomped it out and quickly rode away. As soon as the man left, all the other kids came over to see what was going on… here was one of their friends being treated like a human! They would giggle and run away, but one boy stayed long enough for me to offer him a 7up and a chair.
Those 2 boys scarfed that food down so quick, and believe me, it was a lot of food.
As they ate, we started praying in our heads for these boys, for their pimp, for the restaurant, and for the patrons. This wasn’t a ploy to bring awkwardness, hardships, or guilt, but simply a night to bless and love these kids. After all, there could be implications if everyone decided to ‘play against the pimps’ of this world. But what if everyone could simply take a few moments and treat people like people. What if this was your brother, sister, child, or friend. What if they were hungry? Surely you’d be able to spare some time to order food for them! Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not all-for freeloaders, but kids… well theres not a whole lot that kids can do when their 9 years old, and if their hungry… well then I don’t think feeding them is out of the question.
(sunset in Cambodia)
This blog wasn’t to toot my own horn or showcase my team for loving effectively, but a simple reminder to those reading that you can make a difference, and a story about the joy of two little boys at a bar.
Thanks for reading.
