“Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed. “He has two fans again!”
Peering over the stairwell to the other side of the loft where the guys were sleeping, I pointed out the obvious: one of our teammates had commandeered a double portion of the most precious commodity we had in the sweltering Phnom Pehn heat. Propped up like a Cambodian king, he had one fan blasting his face and the other situated at his feet as he peacefully napped.
Meanwhile, back on the girl’s side, four of us laid in pools of our own sweat, waiting for the precious second when our shared one fan hit us for a brief moment.
An unprecedented heat wave had hit Cambodia in the weeks before we arrived in the spring of 2016, and it stuck. As we found out later, it was a record breaking month in SE Asia with temps reaching 113 degrees. A reported 150 people died.
Our living quarters were in the attic of a three story un-airconditioned seminary, right where the hot air settled and stayed, unmoving and unfazed. It was stifling. Suffocating. The hot air became somewhat of a silent eighth teammate, it’s presence as thick and tangible as a person in the room. Several months later and back at home, I would have flashbacks to this month while sitting in hot yoga. At the advice of locals, we bought coconuts at the local mall and drank them for the electrolytes. Anything to stay hydrated.
We would wake up at the break of dawn to the voice of our host. “Brit! Brit!” He’d exclaim to our team leader. “We need your fans!” The fans that provided us relief did double duty in the sanctuary, and we needed to bring them down every morning for church. During the day, we’d lay facedown on the (somewhat cool) tile – desperate for a temporary moment of relief. We wrestled with patience and gained resilience while chugging coconut water and reapplying deoderant.
But we had other problems more alarming than the heat.
One night around 3am, a loud clattering noise rang up the staircase from the floor below. “Kara! Did you hear that? Are you awake?!” My startled teammate Ryan’s voice coming from the other side of the loft was a relief – glad I wasn’t the only one awake and scared to death. I forced myself back to sleep, knowing there was no way I was walking down there to possibly come face to face with the noisy ghost. Plus, if the ghost decided to wander, most of my teammates were closer to the stairs and would meet it first. Ha ha!
The next morning, I taught a class on storytelling and writing. I asked a few people to share a story and immediately a hand shot up in the front row. “Last night we chased the ghost.” Holy. Guacamole. So we weren’t the only ones. She went on to tell me she heard a ghost in the bathroom and ran upstairs to sit in the sanctuary and pray. Apparently the ghost was a well known character at this school.
Later that night, my team set off like a group of Scooby Doo ghost hunters. Scared to death, we tiptoed down the hallway and opened every door to check for ghosts. While we didn’t find a shadowy figure, we did realize the downstairs door was being left open at night, possibly letting in a wild cat to clang around on the metal dishes.
Cambodia was filled with fun, laughter and learning in the seminary where we served as teachers. I’ll forever be grateful for the things I learned there, the kindness received from my friends at ITCS, the funny stories – and yes – even the heat. Sometimes it takes a little sweat to build character.
Teaching my amazing class in Cambodia
Trying to cool off in the Cambodian heat.
ITCS, the Christian Seminary where we worked in Cambodia. Many of the students who go to school here are the first Christians in their families.
Making some new friends on our first Cambodian adventure day.
