Norm Writes
  • Home
  • Who in the World
  • Blog
  • Postcards
  • Why I write

The difficult and dangerous journey of school children around the world. 

7/24/2016

3725 Comments

 
​An easy ride to school every morning for our kids is something that we often take for granted, but many children in poor nations around the world don't have the same luxury. In fact, there are about 60 million kids around the globe that don't get to attend school at all every year, and many more drop out after only a few years.

The challenges are often economic, as families need their children working to feed everyone or can't afford books, tuition, and school clothes, etc., but sometimes, geography gets in the way, too. According to UNESCO, children living in a rural environment are twice as likely to be out of school than urban children, and when you add in jagged mountains, isolated valleys, raging rivers, and flooding in the monsoon season, it can be almost impossible for some kids to get to school.

ALMOST impossible. As they 25 examples in photos will demonstrate, some kids will do just about anything to get to school, risking their very lives just to get an education because they know it's their only chance at a better life.

We can all draw inspiration from their sacrifice and dedication, and the next time your kids complain about getting on the school bus, just show them this blog!

With love,
Norm  :-)

PS Contact me if you're interested in helping kids like these and others around the world get an education. 
Picture
​These kids have a perilous journey to the remote school in the world in Gulu, China, following a 1-foot wide path for five hours through the mountains just for the opportunity to learn.
Picture
Picture
​When the Ulnas River in Western India floods every monsoon season, some school kids need to walk a tightrope to get to the other bank of the river and on  to school while other ingenious scholars get creative with their transportation!
Picture
Picture
​There are no school buses in this rural province in Myanmar, so this resourceful girl hitches a ride on a bull to get to her classroom every morning!
Picture
​In Nepal, the mountainous landscape makes travel difficult, or sometimes impossible. But undeterred, these school kids ride a sitting zip line over a river to school every day.
Picture
This Palestinian girl lives in a refugee camp in Shuafat, near Jerusalem, and when Israeli forces clash with Palestinians in the streets, she has to walk right through them to get to school.
Picture
In Lebak, Indonesia, school children can either walk four hours out of their way or take their chances crossing the river on an old suspension bridge that’s literally falling apart.
Picture
Picture
A chance to go to school is worth a wild ride outside Bogota, Columbia, as these youngsters have to cross the raging Rio Negro River on a half-mile steel cable high above the waters. Attached by a pulley, she travels at up to 50 mph for a minute and can only slow down using this tree branch as a brake! Even crazier, she’s actually carrying her younger brother in the sack!
Picture
In the rainy season in Rizal Province, Philippines, youngsters in search of knowledge take a ride across the river on inflated inner tubes every day. 
Picture
These kids have to traverse these treacherous mountains for 125 miles to get to their boarding school Pili, China every term. With the help of the headmaster, the journey takes two days and includes wading through four freezing rivers, crossing a 650 ft chain bridge and four single-plank bridges. 
Picture
It takes a lot of focus to keep their bicycle from falling off this foot-wide plank bridge in Java, Indonesia, but it’s a shortcut that saves at least 4 miles on the way to school every day.
Picture
Picture
With the help of their teacher, these schoolgirls get across the wall of the 16th century Galle Fort in Sri Lanka on a flimsy wooden plank.
Picture
To get from their remote island to the nearest school on the mainland in Pangururan, Indonesia, these children pile onto the roof of this boat every morning and afternoon.
Picture
Likewise, these kids in beautiful and lush Kerala, India ride to school in a wooden boat every day.
Picture
When the bridge over the Ciherang River in Indonesia went out during flooding a few years ago, the village children had no way to get across and attend school…until they started floating to the other shore daily on makeshift bamboo rafts. 
Picture
But these elementary school students in Vietnam don’t even have a raft to cross the river to their schoolroom, so twice a day they take off their school clothes, putting them in a bag to try and keep them dry, and swim across the deep rapids.
Picture
The region around the village of Mawsynram in India is one of the wettest places on earth, with an average of 467 inches of rain each year. Due to the high precipitation and humidity, wood bridges will rot quickly, but the locals have trained the roots of these rubber trees to join and grow over the river, forming a natural and safe living bridge for the kids to cross to school every day. 
Picture
These pupils have a beautiful but difficult canoe ride every morning through the mangrove swamps o to their school in Riau, Indonesia. 
Picture
It takes the 20 intrepid pupils of Batu Busuk Village in Sumatra, Indonesia hours hours to walk the seven mile route to school, culminating with a dodgy tightrope traverse 30 feet over the river.
Picture
These kids from Zhang Jiawan Village in Southern China have to climb hundreds of feet up a sheer cliff on these dangerous unsecured ladders to get to their classroom.
Picture
Picture
Crossing this dilapidated and icy bridge in Dujiangyan, Sichuan Province, China, this mother and daughter risk their lives for her education.
Picture
A ride to school is a precious thing since it helps avoid a long, hot walk, so these well-dressed scholars pack onto a horse cart in Delhi, India. 
Picture
During the monsoon season in many Southeast Asian countries like Cambodia, the rains flood the countryside and city alike, often cancelling classes if kids can’t find a way to wade, swim, float, or boat to their school.
Picture
Picture
Floods won’t even stop the children from bicycling to school, though it’s dangerous because they have no idea where the road is beneath the waters.
Picture
Picture
At that point, getting the young ones safely to school could be a whole family affair. They'll do anything to give their children a better life!
Picture
3725 Comments

15 Things you didn't know about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and MLK Day

1/14/2016

5 Comments

 
Picture
​1.         We know the iconic man as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., but that was not his given birth name. In fact, MLK Jr. was Michael on his birth certificate, named after his father (hence the Jr.). But after a trip to Germany in 1931, Michael Sr. decided to change his name to Martin Luther to pay reverence to the historic German theologian of the same name. His son, Michael Jr., was only two years old at the time, so the elder King decided to change his son’s name, too. Thus, Michael King Jr. became Martin Luther King Jr., as we know him.
 
2.         It was a tragic day for America and the human race when Dr. King Jr. was assassinated on April 4, 1968, but he wasn’t the only one who died at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis that day. In fact, Lorraine Bailey, a hotel worker and wife of the owner, passed away from a heart attack after hearing of King’s shooting. Lorraine was working the hotel phone switchboard at the time and suffered an incapacitating heart attack after seeing King shot, later dying from the coronary. Since there was no one else working the switchboard, that caused a long delay in calling an ambulance and getting King medical treatment, though it’s unclear if that would have helped him survive the shooting.
 
3.         The fateful day in 1968 wasn’t King’s only brush with an assassination. A decade earlier on September 20, 1958, MLK was signing copies of his new book, Stride Toward Freedom, at a department store in Harlem when a female patron named Izola Ware Curr approached him and asked if he was indeed Martin Luther King Jr. King answered yes, at which she replied, “I’ve been looking for you for five years.”  She then took out a seven-inch letter opener blade and plunged it into his chest. MLK was rushed to the hospital but the doctors couldn’t operate for three hours, as the tip of the blade was pressed against his aortic valve. When the blade was finally removed safely, the doctor told King that if he had even sneezed during those three hours, he could have ruptured the aorta and died instantly.
 
While recovering in the hospital, King reaffirmed his philosophies of non-violence and stated that he bore no ill will or anger towards the mentally ill Curr.
 
4.         A young King was not only a born leader, but prolifically intelligent. In fact, King bypassed the 9th and 11th grades altogether, entering Moorehouse College at the tender age of 15 in 1944. He graduated with distinction by 19 with a degree in sociology, the first of many degrees and accomplishments in higher learning.
 
King attended graduate school at Boston University and earned his Ph.D. in systematic theology. He also attended divinity school and got a doctorate from Pennsylvania’s Crozer Theological Seminary at the age of 25.
 
5.         Over his lifetime, Dr. King Jr. was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal and a Medal of Freedom. But few know that he also won a Grammy Award in 1971 – out of context for a civil rights activist – for Best Spoken Word Album for “Why I Oppose the War in Vietnam”.
 
6.         King won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964 at the age of 35, the youngest person to ever win the prominent award at the time. When the brave and inspirational Malala Yousafzai won the Peace Prize in 2014 at the age of 17, she became the youngest ever, a torch MLK would have been honored to pass down to her.
 
Winning the Nobel Peace Prize came with a sizable $54,123 payout (about $400,000 today). But instead of pocketing the money, King donated every penny to the Civil Rights Movement. During his acceptance speech, King During his acceptance speech, said, “I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant.”
 
7.         Martin Luther King Jr. Day is now a national holiday observed on the third Monday in January. This year, it will fall on Monday, January 18, though his actual birthday was January 15, 1929.
 
8.         Only two other people in American history have a national holiday commemorating their birthday, George Washington and Christopher Columbus. Therefore, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. the only native born American to have a national holiday honoring his birthday.
 
9.         Congressman John Conyers, a Democrat from Michigan, introduced legislation for a holiday commemorating the deceased Dr. King only four days after his assassination. But getting Dr. King’s birthday approved as a national holiday was not an easy road by any means. The bill was repeatedly stalled, and Coretta Scott King, Stevie Wonder, Rep. Shirley Chisholm  (D-NY), President Jimmy Carter and other prominent politicians and Americans had to fight for it over the years, finally presenting 6,000,000 signatures to congress in 1982.

10.       Finally, in 1983, Congress passed the bill and President Ronald Reagan officially signed legislation creating Martin Luther King, Jr. Day as a national holiday, despite opposition from Senators Jesse Helms (R-NC) and Gordon Humphrey (R-NH), who attempted to block it.
 
11.       But some states still resisted observing the holiday. As of January 16, 1989, only 44 states observed Dr. King’s birthday as a holiday. In 1992, Arizona finally approved the holiday only after a tourist boycott. In 1999, New Hampshire changed their Civil Rights Day to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and finally, Utah acquiesced in 2000, the last of all 50 states to observe.
 
12.       There are now more than 700 streets named after Martin Luther King Jr. all over the country, as well as plenty of schools, libraries, and other civic buildings.
 
13.       Over his career as a civil rights champion, Dr. King was arrested 29 times on record. He was often arrested and incarcerated on trumped up charges during his campaign of civil disobedience, a tactic used by local law enforcement and segregationists to try and scare Dr. King and dissuade the movement (it didn’t work.)
 
14.       Few people realize that on the fateful day Dr. King was shot on that motel balcony in Memphis, he was actually standing out there to smoke a cigarette. In fact, MLK was a regular smoker, though he always hid his habit and never appeared in a photo with a cigarette because he didn't want to set a bad example for his kids or to advocate or popularize smoking in any way. Before Dr. King was loaded into the ambulance after being shot that day, one his associates, Reverend Kyles, tossed away the fallen civil rights leader’s cigarette butts and removed the pack of smokes from his shirt pocket.
 
15.       King’s impact on the black community went far beyond the Civil Rights movement that caught the national attention. When Nichelle Nichols, a young black actress on a new sci-fi television program, wanted to quit after the first season amid harassment and threats, Dr. King, a fan of the show, encouraged and persuaded her to stick it out. She did, and became a pioneer in the industry, the first black television character portrayed as intelligent and capable, respected as an equal with her white actors and peers. (Up until then, black actors usually played maids, servants, or other diminished and stereotypical roles.)
 
The show went on to be a smash hit and Nichols’ character portrayal served as a positive role model for many black kids who went on to achieve great success, such as actress/comedian Whoopi Goldberg and astronaut Ronald McNair, the second black person in space. Nichols even had the first interracial kiss ever shown on national television in America.
 
By the way, her character was named “Uhura” and the show, Star Trek.

-Norm   :-)

***
5 Comments

Visiting an orphanage in the Philippines with a donation of toys, food, and school supplies in hand.

5/13/2015

4 Comments

 
Picture
I’m wrapping up my 6-month stay in southeast Asia in the Philippines, a familiar place with old friends since I’ve been coming here since 1999. With the help one of those local buddies, I set out to find an orphanage where I could be of assistance. Every country I visit, I try to do something to connect with the humble people in need, which is a great way to experience the real culture, say thank you for being my gracious host, and hopefully leave it a little better than I found it.

We found an orphanage in the Malabanias neighborhood, tucked in a local neighborhood in between colorful markets and surprisingly nice western apartments. Our trike drivers helped us carry the shopping bags and boxes into the orphanage.

They greeted us at the gate since they knew we were coming, having visited once before to scout it out and make sure they were a good and worthy organization. A couple of the older children led us back into the main courtyard, a roofed in open area with a basketball hoop and plastic tables where they ate meals, communed, and spent most of their time. On the way, I noticed that the floors were all wet, freshly scrubbed to honor our arrival.
Picture
Picture
The Duyan Ni Maria orphanage, or Children’s Home, is run by an order of nuns, the Sisters of Mary of the Eucharist. They take care of 49 children currently, all the way from a 2-year old baby to older kids of college age. They revealed that their focus is keeping these kids off the street and giving them access to a good education and job skills, as the only other alternatives waiting for them are homelessness, drugs, begging, prostitution, and too many unwanted teen pregnancies.
Picture
Picture
The children were busy playing at the small playground set up in the dirt, partially shaded from the brutal sun. I walked over and said hi to them, pushing them on the swing set and taking a few photos. A pair of twin girls with bowl haircuts posed for the camera, while another little girl tugged on my arm, showing me a photograph she carried of a little boy. Through a translator, because the kids spoke more Filipino than English, she explained that the boy in the photo was her little boyfriend, so she carried it everywhere. She wanted me to snap a picture of her holding the photograph of her boyfriend, which I gladly did while laughing. 
Picture
Picture
Together with the nice ladies who worked there and even the trike drivers, we unpacked all of our donations, including 60 hamburgers and soda from Jollibees, a popular fast food chain here. The children were called over for lunch and they each came up to me to say hello, first taking my hand and touching it to their foreheads in the traditional sign of respect for elders.
Picture
Picture
Picture
The children filled up the green picnic tables and then made a formation of plastic chairs, since there were only enough tables to fit about half of them at a time. I walked around with the box of burgers and served them, the teenage girls the hungriest, grabbing two burgers each. 
Picture
Picture
Everyone dug in and ate, even the elderly nun who kept thanking me, one of the kindest and most warm-hearted people I've ever met. During lunch I chased around a chicken that walked freely around the orphanage, though the children thought I was crazy for taking its photo.
Picture
After the children were done eating and scooping up seconds, we set out all of the donations on a couple tables in front of their chalkboard. We had notebooks, drawing paper, pens, crayons, and tons of different toys – rubber basketballs, dolls, toy stethoscope and doctors kits, jump ropes, bubble makers, airplanes and trucks, miniature billiards sets, plastic bowling pins and balls, painting kits, and miniature toy animals and dinosaurs – but no toy guns, at the orphanage’s request.

We took a couple of group photos with the kids in front of the donated items, and to my surprise, they sang a minute-long thank you song with warm smiles and angelic voices. After the song was over, they just stood there, unsure of what to do because they weren’t used to having material possessions yet alone getting gifts, and were all too respectful to touch things.

Picture
Picture
 But after I encouraged them to go ahead and dig into their new stuff, they grabbed toys in a flurry of activity, laughter, and a few tug of wars over their favorite toys – one of the most joyful sights I’ve ever witnessed.
Picture
It’s a constant struggle for this orphanage to stay open and provide for the kids, and hamburgers and a few toys do a lot more to make the giver feel good than it makes a real impact in their lives. But as they waved goodbye to us, yelling thank you with big smiles, at least they knew that someone cared.

Walking out to the trike, I stopped and snapped a photo of something that broke my heart. A big bookshelf in the hall served as the toy chest for the entire orphanage up to that point. It contained a dozen or so ratty and dirty stuffed animals, nothing else. If nothing else, at least those shelves will be full now!


- Norm   :-)

P.S. I don’t write these blogs to try and raise funds, because it’s up to you what you do with your money and how and when you give. More than anything, I just love sharing the experiences and the people that have enriched my life. But already a few friends –from both the United States and the Philippines – have made donations to the orphanage, which I really appreciate. But believe me, you don’t want me to sing you a thank you song – we’ll leave that to the kids!

If you’d like to help these kids, please contact them or send any donations to:
Duyan Ni Maria Children’s Home
Administered by Sisters of Mary of the Eucharist
359 Leticia St. Josefa Subdivision, BRGY, Malabanias,
Angeles City, The Philippines.

Or contact me if you’d like me to bring them something personally or help arrange the donation.

4 Comments

They get by with a little help from my friends.

3/28/2015

2 Comments

 
Picture
"Hi Norm. I saw your photos and read your blog about helping the children in Cambodia. I know we've never met, but I'd like to send you some money to give to them, too."

You'd be amazed how often I get Facebook messages or emails along those lines. Hell, I'm still amazed every time someone reaches out to me and wants to give. I mean, since my focus the last couple of years has been on trying to make this world just a tiny bit better through my writing, I've received so much support from my friends it's crazy.

I guess "crazy" is a good word for it, for what else could you call sending your hard-earned dollars all the way across the world to come to the aid of people you've never met in countries you'll never set foot in? And many of you have never even met me, the instigator of this whole experience. Sure, I've broken bread (and drank beer) with many of you, but some are friends of friends, have read my books or blogs, or we don't even remember how we first connected, but we've never had the pleasure to say hi face-to-face. For all you know, I could be squandering your money by dining on escargot with champagne every night, staying at resorts that have 1,000,000 thread-count sheets, and purchasing luxurious hair care products...ok, the hair care product part is off the table, but you know what I mean.

Either way, you're trusting ME with your money because you care so much about perfect strangers in need. You have empathy for those you can't see or touch, and that's a rare and beautiful thing. Believe me, I treasure that trust and try to live up to it every day. 

Picture
Picture
Last week, I posted some photos of a poor hospital I visited here in Phnom Penh, the capital city of Cambodia, where I went with my friend-in-charity Cowboy Bart to help a young woman who was the victim of an acid attack, and others. Tragically, she passed away in the ICU the very next day, but the photos and blog stirred a handful of you to reach out and PayPal some donations over for me to distribute to others in need.

So back at it, Cowboy Bart and I rode a tuk tuk out to the Soviet Friendship Hospital in Phnom Penh on a scorching Friday afternoon. I was armed with a pocket full of $10 and $20 bills to give out to people I found in need, with the help of Siman - our Cambodian tuk tuk driver - acting as translator. 
Picture
In desperately poor Cambodia, there is no free healthcare or any sort of governmental social safety net. Hospitals are archaic, ridiculously understaffed, and they lack even many of the basic resources, medicines, and technology even the most humble hospitals in the United States enjoy. I'm sure you can guess who built the Soviet Friendship Hospital, a monstrous boxy compound with open-air buildings around an overgrown grassy area. When someone gets sick and needs to go to the hospital, usually on a very long journey from far-off provinces on the public bus, their family needs to bring them there. Of course they can't afford a hotel while they wait out the treatment of their loved one, so the whole family moves into the hospital with the patient. 

Some of them sleep right outdoors in the bush, hoping for the shade of a palm tree. They cook their food over wood fires and hang their laundry their to dry. Many others share the hospital bed with their loved one, sleep on the floor on bamboo matts or on the bare floor near them, or camp out in the hallways and stairwells, for days, weeks, or even months. If they're lucky, they'll have enough food, though most drink dirty water out of the hose bib and live off of rice and slices of mango. A big 30 lbs. bacg of rice, which costs about $20, can keep a couple people alive for a month if need be. 

Picture
Bart and Siman led us upstairs to the oncology ward first, to visit a child with a horrible tumor on his eye they were already helping. It was difficult for me to walk into the patient rooms - a jumble of hospital beds and bodies swirled in heat. Rooms that were designed for 2 beds had 7, and rooms meant for 4 beds had 10 or more. The beds were ripped and stained, sheetless unless the families brought their own. People slept in silence except for a few moans of pain and discomfort. There was no air conditioning so people tried not to move and hoped to catch the breeze of a fan.
Picture
Picture
But they lit up when we walked in, eyes peeled and big smiles for the unheard of occurrence of a Barang (foreigner) coming into the hospital unless they worked for a nonprofit or were part of a medical mission. Bart and Siman visited with the toddler with eye cancer and talked to his mother. Bart remarked that the boy looked much better and the tumor had shrunk significantly. They gave them some money to help pay for food and the treatments they couldn't afford at the hospital. 

While they chatted, I walked around the room, saying hello and visiting with the other sick children in the room. Of course I couldn't communicate with them other than bowing and saying "sus-day" - hello in the Khmer (Cambodian) language - or "sok-sa-bay" - wishing them good health. But it's amazing how much you can say just with your eyes and smile and a well-timed thumbs-up.
Picture
As I met the other patients and their families in the big white room, I called Siman over to translate at times. No one was alone - everyone had family with them. I noticed that they didn't see it as a burden to help their sick loved ones. A daughters massaged her grandmother's back to ease her pain. Mothers fanned the flies away from their sleeping children. An elderly Khmer woman, nearly skeletal in her only outfit of pajamas, mustered unimaginable strength to tend to her dying husband of all these years.

Their custom is to take a photo of someone handing them the gift, so they started to sit up their sick and sleeping loved ones. But I told them to just let them be - it wasn't necessary for me to be in the photos. Let the children and sick and elderly, who could barely open their eyes to see us, sleep in peace.

Picture
In the sick rooms, no one asked me for money, but most received a donation of $10 or $20 - an unexpected gift that would go a long way. I'd visited the money changer earlier to break my $100's from the ATM into smaller bills so it would be easier to give out. These were the donations from my friends - from you. 
Picture
Picture
We went room to room and toured the hospital. One doctor rushed by without questioning us, but other than that we rarely saw anyone who worked there. No one questioned us and we passed through without scrutiny. Khmer people are so proud and routinely endure hardships we can't even imagine, yet never complain. They know that is what there life will be and don't expect otherwise. But they are passionately dedicated to their loved ones and extended families. No one came out and asked for money, but a sick family member's caretaker would join their hands and give a slight bow in the sign of greeting or Buddhist prayer, inviting us to come over and visit. They introduced us to their ailing loved one. 
Picture

And they are appreciative. The looks of gratitude on their faces will be with me forever. It wasn't just the money, though I know that completely changed their outlook. But there was another commodity, just as important, that were were sharing that day: hope. They knew someone cared about them. Incredibly wealthy and privileged strangers from a far-off heavenly country took the time to come say hello and help them. I've learned that to acknowledge someone as a human being, with respect and equality in your heart, is the biggest gift you can give. 

Stomach problems, children with cancerous tumors, accident victims, and so many more that were key diagnosed, who waited patiently sleeping in the halls and floors of the hospital waiting for a glimmer of hope. Folding leather stretchers - discarded donations from war times, and tolling medical trays stood sentry among the silent people, a few syringes, vials, and empty pill boxes the scattered evidence that there was little that could be done. 

There were many families and sick people who couldn't get a bed, a room, or even inside the cool hallways of the hospital to stay. They camped outside on the patio, the fiery afternoon sun beating down on them. A ingenious teen girl with a bright smile hung a bedsheets from an IV stand to shield her sister, who had been in a bad motorcycle accident in the province, from the heat. 
Picture
Picture
On our way out, we wandered through many wards of the hospital: those dedicated to those suffering from malnutrition, diarrhea, the ICU, and finally, a pleasant surprise - the neonatal unit. It was shocking that we could just walk in and there were not even glass barriers or germ-free sanitized environments to protect the premature babies. But their mothers stood watch over them,  loving for their newborns with visions of angelic perfection that only mothers can see. Each mother called us over with a big smile so she could proudly show off her baby.
Picture
My pockets empty, we had made the rounds and it was time to go for the day. The hardest part was that I had money to some people but not to others. But if I had just started passing it out to everyone I encountered, the money wouldn't have last two hospital rooms. So I tried to focus on children and those who looked really hungry or sick in the poorest parts of the hospital. 

I was no doctor and I wasn't arrogant enough to think I knew them or their stories just by looking, so it made my heart ache to know that I would leave so many suffering. 

But I reminded myself that these people had problems before I arrived and would have problems long after I left. And there were billions more I never could reach, even if I worked tirelessly the rest of my life. But these people weren't thinking of it like that. They weren't expecting anyone to solve their problems. The money I had given them - your donations - had made a huge difference for them today. The hungry would eat. They could pay for medicine. A doctor's visit. A needed bus ticket. Get a bed instead of the floor. Or buy a small fan.
Picture
It wasn't fixed; it wasn't right; it still didn't make sense; but it was better. Better. That's a good way of thinking of it. You, my friends, had made things better for these people, and that's a hell of a good thing. And if they could speak to you they would say, "Thank you." And you'd feel it even more than you heard it. Trust me on that. 

- Norm   :-)

2 Comments

My reunion with Jenny, Jenna, and Cambodia's CIO orphanage after one year.

3/21/2015

9 Comments

 
I actually felt butterflies as my tuk tuk wound through the outskirts of Siem Reap, past local markets, dusty roads, and a wedding tent that took up the whole road and made us detour. It had been a year since I’d seen our beloved Jenny and Jenna and the rest of the children at the Children’s Improvement Organization here in Cambodia. When we pulled into their compound, I was greeted by dozens of little smiling faces and a big hug from Sitha, a wonderful, caring man who founded CIO along with his wife, who everyone calls “Mama.” 
Picture
Of course Jenny and Jenna were there to greet me with big smiles. Jenny, the younger sister, still had that wonderful smile on her face that lit up the world. And Jenna, more serious and stoic, was had grown a head taller and had turned into quite a strong soccer player. Sitha assured me that the girls had fit in and adjusted wonderfully in the year since they’d been placed in the orphanage and I last visited. They were catching up in school slowly but surely after never attending much before, and always were kind to the other children and extremely helpful. In the mornings, when it was a scramble to wake, feed, and ready 37 children for school, Sitha often didn’t have time to eat as well. But Jenna often came up to him with a plate of rice, reminding him to take care of himself and looking out for her new papa. Jenny and Jenna were still thrilled to see me and hugged me warmly but didn’t cling to my shirt, afraid and nervous to let go, like they did when we first brought them there. That was a great sign to see them so happy but also so strong, confident, and independent. 

Picture
Picture
Sitha brought me into the shade and sat me down on a red plastic chair that one of the children pulled up and we caught up on the year. Things were going well and the children were doing fine, but of course there was nonstop financial pressure. CIO, though one of the best orphanages you’ll find anywhere in the world, isn’t linked to big corporate donors or rich patrons, so each month, they sacrifice and count every penny (or Cambodian Reil) in order to pay their rent and buy food for the children. When prodded, he explained that the lease on the land we stood on was set for renewal in April one month away, and that meant they had to come up with a whopping $1,200 – three months’ rent – all at once. It was hard enough just to pay the rent every month, but $1,200 was truly troubling.
Picture
But despite the odds that are stacked against CIO and the children, Sitha and Mama never give up and never exude anything but positivity. Of course they have 35 little reminders why it’s all worth it, from 3 to 19 years old, with them at all times. The afternoon was cooling so Sitha walked me around and gave me a tour of the compound, like I’d received the previous year. But there were definitely improvements; the school room looked great, the colorful library and study center, complete with a few donated computers, was new, and they even had a spirited Khmer (Cambodian) college student, an orphan herself, living with them and teaching the kids English every day as she continued her own studies. There was even a small 1980s television, but the always-thoughtful Sitha explained that the kids were only allowed one hour of television a week on Saturdays. The boys wanted to watch U.S. wrestling, of course, but the girls wanted cartoons, so cartoons it was.

Picture
Little girls helped Mama in the kitchen where she prepared about 100 meals a day outdoors on wood and charcoal fires, a task that got her up at 5:30am and off work well past dark.

The soccer field was in full operation, a new volleyball court marked off in the sand, and the separate building with bathrooms was high class for rural Cambodia. There was a whole room with bicycles so the middle and high schoolers could peddle to the school 10 kilometers away every day, as there was no bus. The elementary school kids had an easy 5-minute walk in their blue uniforms and white shirts. The school day was spilt into morning and afternoon sessions in Cambodia with children attending one or the other, so kids were spilling as Sitha and I talked. Each child as they came home walked up to us, bowed and put their hands to their foreheads as is the custom of respect, and said hello and reported they just returned from school in English. Respect, manners, and discipline are integral to the lessons Sitha teaches them, and English is also vital if they hope to get good jobs above manual labor, like working in a hotel or restaurant with tourists for $150 a month or so if they’re lucky. 

Picture
As Mama cooked and Sitha supervised the children coming home, I wandered over to the garden, a new addition in the year I’d been gone. As they were designing the flowerbeds, the children had a cool idea to build it in the shape of CIO – the orphanage’s initials. The water pump was also near the garden, an old-school red metal handle the children took turns working to get water to wash dishes, do laundry, and also bathe. I was saying hi to the kids there when I felt a biting pain in my foot. Then another one, and more on my other foot, ankles and legs. I looked down to see I was standing right in a nest of fire ants. Those little sons-of-ants (I gotta keep the language clean when writing a blog about kids!) hurt like wasp stings. I brushed and kicked and danced until they were off me, the children laughing with hilarity at my painful antics.

When dinner was ready, the children took out metal folding tables and plastic chairs and set them up on the concrete deck under the main pavilion. Some of them set the tables while others poured drinks into little plastic cups or took out metal cafeteria trays. Mama scooped the food onto each tray. There was white rice, green beans with chopped pork, and Lok Lak, a Khmer treat of beef in sauce, tomato and onion, and egg. I realized it was a feast to celebrate my visit; they couldn’t always eat that well, and many people here lack meat in their daily meals. 

Picture
Before we dug in, some children were assigned to wave the flies away from the tables. Unfortunately, the orphanage grounds sits near a chicken farm and a crocodile farm if I heard correctly, both attracting swarms of flies that migrate over to their dinner tables. The children sang an adorable song of gratitude and blessings before the meal, which I asked them to repeat so I could video it.

We ate among the sounds of children’s’ laughter, but at the adult table Sitha gave me a sketch on the history and culture of Cambodia. He explained that Siem Reap province, despite being the top tourist destination in the country, was the poorest province in Cambodia (which is saying a lot). In fact, the home to Angkor Watt – one of the wonders of the world and an UNESCO world heritage site – brought in a ton of revenue, but the regular people never saw a penny of it. All of the hotels, bars, and restaurants were owned by rich foreigners or a small number of elite Khmer families and the rights to profit from Angkor Watt had been sold to a Vietnamese tycoon in 2004, in one of the most glaring cases of political corruption for profit I can fathom.

Picture
I hugged him and mama, then shook their hands, and then hugged them again. There weren’t words to express enough gratitude for what they were doing for these children.

“You don’t say goodbye, only ‘see you later’” Sitha called out, reminding me of what I wrote about the orphanage in my blog a year earlier.

“Here you go Sitha, this will help,” I said, handing him a stack of crisp $100 bills, enough money to pay the upcoming 3-month lease that was hanging over them. I explained that I wasn’t the generous one; most of it came from donations from sweet, caring friends in the United States who had never even been to Cambodia or seen the kids.

As I left, the children lined up and waved, running behind the tuk tuk. I hoped to visit one more time before I left Cambodia, or maybe it would be another year before I got to see them all again, but I was heartened knowing they were all  safe and happy and in great hands. 

-Norm   :-)


P.S. Drop me an email if you'd like to help the children of C.I.O. 

9 Comments

Why do our children have to hide beneath their desks?

7/27/2014

2 Comments

 
Picture
I remember when I was a goofy little kid in elementary school we were instructed by our teachers to hide under our desks.  It was a drill of course, a response to the specter of nuclear war that hung over us during the Cold War.  We hid under those desks because of the Soviet menace, in a time when both countries' leaders had their pale, bony fingers on the button. 

My mom told me when she was a child, growing up in a village in the German countryside, she hid under her desk.  Her family lived in a cramped apartment over a bakery, where the smells of bread fresh out of the oven rose to their window every morning.  Her dad was the village postman; but elsewhere his countryman marched to war.  So the school kids hid under the desks, fearing Allied bombs that fell astray.  Indeed, the hotel down the street and the church were hit by bombs before it was over, reducing them to rubble. 

Picture
And on the other side of the channel, Germany’s bastards bombed the lanes and bridges of London every night, sending English children to their basements, trembling until it was quiet again.  And in Poland, the ovens smoked not of bread, a stain on humanity that will never wash off. 

We saw bodies rain from the sky on 9/11.  And after Newtown, we’re not even sure that hiding under desks really helps.  I sped down to that tranquil Connecticut hamlet that day because my sister lives there, with three kids in a different school.  They had to hide under their desks that day, too.  They’re all right, but everyone knew someone…

Picture
As we speak, Israeli and Palestinian children are hiding under their desks.  In shelters or tunnels, huddled in chaos as their world burns around them, unable to comprehend why someone would hate them so much.   

A lot of children around the world never even get the opportunity to hide under a desk, go to school, or even live indoors.  They drink from puddles.  They eat the trash.  Their youth is stolen by nightmares of barbed wire.  They dance and play in fields of landmines. 

In Nigeria, they stole our daughters and we do nothing but hold press conferences.  In India, grown men rape our little sisters, burn them and hang them from trees.  Syria.  Venezuela.  Egypt.  If you listen close enough, the crack of the whip against bent backs still echoes in the Americas. 

Picture
And when they run for their lives, barefoot and bloodied into the screaming night, who are we to turn them away from the borders?  They ask only for a sip of our water.

But instead, we torture their peace and call it politics.  And we curse our children by teaching them our own hatred.

Who are these cowards who do this to our children?  Grown men.  Always men, decomposing in the stench of their own power.  Soulless, lying to the mirror that they’re fighting for some noble cause.  That’s who places AK47’s in tiny hands and forces them to kill their own parents, who gives the order to truncheon unarmed protestors and bomb marathons.  They’re the ones who trade a million lives for a million dollars before breakfast, and never eat lightly. 

Picture
To them I say, come out from beneath your masks and mobs, you fucking cowards.  Stop hiding behind your fleshy ideology, your religion of cruelty.  Because of you, we’re fast becoming the monsters we so despise - and I’m afraid that very soon we won’t be able to tell the difference anymore. 

But you can’t hide from us forever.  There is too much truth, too much light, too much love.  We will win.  So come out from the shadows and stand before God for your judgment. And then maybe we’ll have a generation who knows only what it’s like to sit peacefully at their desks, not hide beneath them.  
-Norm 

 


2 Comments

A Cambodian curriculum vitae.

6/12/2014

0 Comments

 
This is what a resume looks like in Cambodia.  I was sitting at a bar, eating some grub on my last evening after a 4-month stay, and got to chatting with the bartender, a pleasant local woman.  She pulled out this resume and looked it over and showed it to me, since I was the only person in the bar. 

She remarked that the young man who submitted the resume must be from the province because he really has no work experience and not even a photo to submit.  There are really no jobs in the province, she explained – they’re all in the main cities and especially areas of tourism like Siem Reap and Angkor Wat (a world heritage site,) Phnom Penh, and the beach town of Sihanoukville.   So everyone comes to those “big city” or tourism areas to try and make a living. 

“He did graduate high school,” she said,  “The most important thing on resume – any resume – is that he speak a little good English. So
Picture
maybe we give him chance.  Now rainy season so tourist slow down, but Siem Reap ok now.  All Korean and Chinese tourist come here instead of Thailand because they fighting.”

I asked her how much an entry-level job at the bar might pay.

“$60 or so,” she said.  

“A week?”  That seemed like a pretty good wage for Cambodia.

“A month.”

Imagine working 12 hours a day, 6 or 7 days a week for $60, or less than $2 a day?  Yet that’s what the vast majority of people in Cambodia earn every month – if they’re lucky.  That’s about the going rate, whether they are servers at restaurants, tuk tuk drivers, give massages, do construction or sew and work in a laundry.  The bartender told me that so many young people come to the city try and get these jobs.  They have no place to stay, no family or friends or even a dollar of savings to fall back on once they arrive, so they sleep 10 to a room in a shabby guesthouse, on the floor where they work, or even on the street on a hammock.  

They send as much money as they can manage back to their families in the province – the only system of social security for older people.  The financial pressure on these young people is enormous.  Sending $30 home can make the difference between their parents, grandparents, and whole extended families having enough to eat or receiving medical care or not.  Too often, they are forced into doing jobs their parents would be ashamed of, compelled to hide their vocation but still needing to send money back for them to survive.

They always start their tenure in the city and at a new job sending money back, but some are pulled into dark temptations – partying, buying nice clothes and phones, and always drinking.  Since any real money to be made is at a bar, club, or working to pacify the tourist’s desires, alcoholism is such an unquestioned fact of life that nearly everyone drinks all night, every night.  The depression of hopelessness is staved off by taking a shot and the energy of another night’s neon song.  The girls in bars, whether bartenders, hostesses, servers, or “bar girls,” make a significant portion of their income on tips or lady drinks.  If they can convince a foreigner to buy them a drink (at an inflated price,) they get paid handsomely, usually $1.50 or $2, or as much as they would otherwise earn all day.  

The girls mostly come to work as these bar girls, or that is where they always end up, where they can earn more and try to attract the favor of a foreigner for some nice meals, a vacation, a brand new phone.  Especially the phone - it seems like having a nice new Android or (gasp!) iPhone is a badge of wealth to these girls.  But it’s also a tool to allow them to attract and keep in touch with foreign boyfriends, even when they go back overseas.  Keeping that relationship alive can be lucrative – guys often send a hundred dollars a month or so back to their “girlfriends.”  Or, if things go really well, they may pay for them to take English classes or go to university.  If they’re really lucky, they’ll find the Holy Grail – a visa to another country.  The only detail is that they need to marry the guy, but that is a small inconvenience.  Sometimes, it takes a week for the marriage to manifest, sometimes, years.  It matters little if they know the guy well, are attracted to him, or even like him – the opportunity for economic security and the chance for a better future for them and their family is like a winning lottery ticket that just needs to be cashed on a daily basis. 

For many of them, the devil arrives in their lives and his name is Yaba.  That’s what they call the Southeast Asian version of methamphetamines, or ice - a terrible concoction of poisons that eats away at their brains when smoked – but let’s them float above their problems for a few precious hours.  Once they get hooked on Yaba there’s usually no going back, eventually becoming reckless with selling their bodies.  When that happens, all their money goes to their habit and less and less back to their families.  If they get pregnant they usually go back to the province to have the help of their mother until they deliver.  When they come back to the city to work, the baby usually stays with grandma.  

Even those working outside of the bar scene make a significant portion of their income on tips and kickbacks.  So if the tuk tuk driver suggests a hotel and delivers the tourist to the front door, they’re entitled to a tip from the hotel for bringing a booking.  Sometimes the drivers have a pretty good day, but too often they’re lucky to have one fare for a buck or two.  For that reason, they’ll assault your senses with offers to take you to every tourist attraction.  You usually have to say ‘No,” three or four times to every single street vendor or tuk tuk driver just to get them off your back.  It’s hard not to get annoyed at their aggressiveness but once you understand the economics of the their situation, you tend to soften your stance.  

And then, there are the hustlers; battalions of forgotten people working the streets, outside of any rules or structure of the tourism industry.  Adults – sometimes even their own parents - send children barefoot into the street to beg all day and all night, armed with sad eyes and wearing dirty rags, just enough English to tug on a sympathetic tourist’s heart strings.  Maybe they sell bracelets or knick-knacks, but they’re really just seeing how much they can squeeze out of each farang - foreigner.  

How can you blame them?  That watch you’re wearing costs more than they make in a year, what you spend on a Saturday night enough to feed their family for a month.  The only problem is that most of the money goes to the grown person around the corner who’s spending it on booze or cigarettes, and not much to the kids working in the razor sharp streets.  

Some bar girls – who are sick or too hooked on Yaba to work in bars – work as freelancers.  Of course there are pickpockets and those who set tourists up when their pants are down (literally) but the vast majority of all these people are good, honest, and hard working – even when faced with unfathomable poverty.  They set up a chair and give haircuts in the street, or drag along a cart of coconuts to sell, a machete and straws the tools of their trade.  Many just set up a blanket in the dirty street and sell icy fruit drinks, animal innards roasted over a coal fire, or dried fish.  It’s all they know, and without skills, education, or any resources, it takes all of their life’s energy just to live hand to mouth.  But they are honorable people - they’d split their last grain of rice with you if you were in need.       

“How long have you been working here?” I asked her as she took my plate away and put another ice cube in my beer.

“Three years now,” she said.  “Good job and nice owner that like me work.”

“And how much do you make per month?”

“$80,” she said.  And this was a decent Western bar in tourist areas that catered to foreigners and she spoke good English.  Imagine what the older lady in back made, homely and without strange words, so resigned to mopping up and cooking my meal?  

I wondered what would become of this kid who was applying for the job, even if he got it?  Faceless and with nothing to claim except a blank page, what was his fortune?  Or so many countless young, cheap laborers like him who came to the cities?  I guess we could just be thankful this new generation didn’t have to experience the horrors of war and genocide that their parents endured.  But as tourists keep pouring money into the country, I just wished that more of it actually landed with the real people living and dying in the streets, who really deserved it.  I guess I always hope that things get a little better.  

“Ketloy,” I said, asking for the bill in Khmer – the Cambodian language.  She smiled and brought me the bill.  I put down enough to cover the bill and a tip big enough for her to eat for a month and handed it back to her   She went to give me change, confused why I overpaid.

“Keep it,” I said.  “That’s a tip for you and spilt it with the lady over there with the mop.”  

“What?  Really?!  Oh thank you thank you!  Ohn Kuhn, bong!” she said to me, holding her hands to her forehead and bowing slightly to the sky, an offering to Buddha thanks for her good fortune. 

I smiled back – a real smile that I hope she remembered when times were bad.  I thanked her again and walked out onto the street.

“Tuk tuk?!  Tuk tuk!  Where you go?  Angkor Wat?” five taxi drivers barraged me at once.  I checked my watch – I had to head to go collect my bags at the hotel and get to the airport soon.

I guess that’s really what it comes down to – some of us are lucky enough to have places to go while the rest of us are always left hoping things get better, praying fortune arrives if they could just get through another day, around the corner or maybe in the kindness of a stranger.  Either way, none of it still makes any sense to me.  But that’s just how it is.  

-Norm    :-)
0 Comments

See you later - but never goodbye - to Cambodian orphans Jenny and Jenna.

6/9/2014

2 Comments

 
By now, many of you know the story of Jenny and Jenna, orphaned sisters here in Cambodia that grew up in desperately poor circumstances, separated from each other and with no food, money, or anyone to care for them.  Luckily, they were helped few years back by an American expat, Cowboy Bart, who managed to reunite the sisters and arrange for them to live with a family in a jungle province not far outside the main city.  Things were better but they still lived in humble circumstances, with barely enough food, attending school only sporadically, and having to sleep outdoors many nights.  

But things got much better for Jenny and Jenna recently.  Thanks to your generous donations, and the hard work of the true champions in their lives – two Cambodian medical students nicknamed Keep Calm and Keep Hope, along with Cowboy Bart, they were accepted into an orphanage in Siem Reap, a northern tourist town where Angkor Wat is located.  The orphanage, the Children’s Improvement Organization, was founded by a kind local man named Sitha Toeung.  The girls safely transitioned up there a couple weeks ago after a hot, bumpy bus ride with Keep Calm and Keep Hope.  But before they went we brought them into the big city of Phnom Penh for a going away celebration, a day of fun and firsts they’ll never forget! 
Picture
Today is my last day in Cambodia before I make my way back to the United States after a whole year in southeast Asia, 4 months of which was spent in this beloved country of Kampuchea, or Cambodia.  So I couldn’t think of a more fitting goodbye than to travel up to Siem Reap to visit Jenny and Jenna at the orphanage to say goodbye before departing on a plane tomorrow.  

 The last time I wrote about the girls, and also the “Children of the Trash,” in Steung Meanchey, I was bombarded with donations and well-wishes from friends from all over the world.  I put that money to good use here in Siem Reap, hitting the local market today to buy all the things the orphanage needs: two huge 50kg bags of rice, 2 jugs of cooking oil, industrial-sized laundry detergent, boxes of snack food, 25 toothbrushes, toothpaste, plenty of bottles of shampoo and soap, combs and brushes, notebooks and pens for school, art supplies, and a full bedcover set for the girls.  

On this, my last evening in town and in Cambodia after 4 months here, I hired a taxi to drive me out to the orphanage to meet up with the girls.  Eager with anticipation all day, it was heartwarming to have the girls run up to me with big hugs when I arrived.  I was pleased to see that the orphanage was a much nicer set up than their last family in the province, with big thatched bungalows high up on stilts (to keep away from floods during the rainy season and any critters that might venture in,) a wide open courtyard, a locking gate and fence to keep the children safe, a big separate outhouse facility, and a serviceable outdoor kitchen under a tin roof.  It was spotlessly clean and all the kids appeared pleasant and cared for, if not a little shy at this foreigner's caravan arriving.
Picture
Jenny and Jenna looked happy and healthy, and Sitha confirmed that they were doing well – fitting it well with the other kids and making friends.  He did mention that they were lagging way behind the other kids their age in school, unable to read or write even their own Khmer language fluently because of sporadic attendance in the past.  But he assured me that they would catch up and learn well in time, and the orphanage even employed an English tutor on site to teach the kids in the afternoons, a huge advantage as most of the decent jobs require English in a country becoming increasingly dependent on tourism.  Sitha himself, he confessed, didn’t even start school until he was 20 years old, but he earned a college degree not long after.  

His story is an incredible one – as dark and at the same time as uplifting as the human spirit can endure, like so many Cambodians who lived through the Khmer Rouge years of genocide and mass starvation.  He was born in 1969, only 6-years old when Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge came to power and systematically mass murdered 1.5 million people – about 25% of the country’s population - within only 3 ½ years.  Sitha told me that as a boy in Phnom Penh he grew up near the high school – then converted into an infamous prison and torture chamber.  He used to climb a palm tree and look over the fence to see people being tortured on a daily basis.   (continued at right)

(continued)
Sitha survived the scarce years after the war living in a pagoda upon the mercy of monks, and soon turned his trauma to something better – founding the Children’s Improvement Organization, where he's dedicated his days helping impoverished and orphaned children.

We talked briefly about these things, almost in whispers, as Jenny and Jenna and the kids ran and played with far fewer cares in the world than he'd had.  How far the people have come and how much healing has taken place in only one generation, we agreed, something to hang our hopes on even if things were still very hard for people in Cambodia.

Soon, nothing but joy and laughter resumed, as my taxi driver helped me unload all the goodies I brought for them.  They stood in a big circle out under the sun and helped me take everything out of the bags, lay it out for display so they could pick it up and talk about it, and then put it all in the bags again.  Sitha gave me a quick tour and Jenny and Jenna showed me their bungalow, where they slept on the floor on bamboo mats along with 10 other girls.    

Sitha also introduced me to his lovely wife, a kind soul if there ever was one, and the four young Taiwanese volunteers who had been helping the orphanage for the last year.  In fact, most of the buildings had been donated by Taiwanese organizations and their biggest donor was a kind-hearted but common Australian woman.  It was always a concern where the next donation would come from, and already he was worried about securing a renewal on the orphanage’s lease once their current one was up in a year.  I’d felt good for bringing so many things, but seeing that it had to take care of 37 children, I wished I brought more.  The bags of rice, seemingly enormous when I purchased them in the market, were dragged away to the kitchen by two skinny, shirtless Cambodian kids who looked 5 years younger than 13 and 14, their real ages, because of malnourishment.  

“How long will one of those bags last, I asked Sitha.”

“2 ½ or 3 days if they’re lucky,” he said, “ We have 37 kids and they eat rice three meals a day, so it goes fast.”  I couldn’t help but think, what would happen when those bags ran low?  For a second, I glimpsed the panic that must engulf their every day, though it was such a familiar play thing it was now just called, “life.”
Picture
The wind picked up and dark clouds rolled in from the horizon, stirring palm trees and sending street dogs barking.  It was monsoon season and we had some dirt roads to traverse back to town, so it was with unspoken agreement that we moved toward the taxi and said our goodbyes before we got caught in a squall.

Saying goodbye to Jenny and Jenna was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.  They hugged me and we waved goodbye furiously, the only real method of communication because they didn’t speak English and I, very little Khmer.  With Sitha’s translation, I told them that I’d be back as soon as I could, maybe 6 months, and that I would stay in touch with him and make sure they had everything they needed.  They smiled and hugged me.  I made my way five steps toward the taxi, and they hugged me again.  We went on like this again and again, until I had tears in my eyes, hidden by my sunglasses so my concern wouldn’t diminish their smiles at all.  How could I just walk away?  Six months was a long time – if that would happen at all.  What if I couldn’t come back?  What if they didn’t have enough food, or the orphanage enough money to renew their lease?  What if some other malady fell upon them, like what happens with too many Cambodian children?  How could I possibly keep them safe?  And all of the other 37 children in the orphanage that were quickly wining my heart? 

This time, I turned and hugged them before climbing into the taxi.  I would find a way.  We drove off, all of us waving vigorously until the very last second, when we turned a corner and Jenny and Jenna were out of site, but with me more than ever.

-Norm   :-)


Email me if you'd like to help.
2 Comments

In defense of Somaly Mam.

6/1/2014

37 Comments

 
Picture
This week, startling allegations emerged that Cambodian anti-sex trafficking crusader Somaly Mam has been lying to us the whole time.  Her personal story – kidnapped as a ten-year old girl and sold into sexual slavery, forced to endure a decade of horrific abuse until she managed to escape – captured the hearts and attention of the international philanthropic community, funneling millions of dollars into Cambodia and her own Somaly Mam Foundation to help other victims.  She became the face of the anti-human trafficking cause, a media darling who appeared with Oprah, Anderson Cooper, on PBS, with NY Times columnist Nikolas Kristof of, Half the Sky fame, and rubbed shoulders with Hollywood celebs Susan Sarandon, Meg Ryan, Angelina Jolie, and many others as they toured Cambodian slums and brothels.  

The high-water mark of her accolades is well documented, but it all came crashing down so suddenly this week.  Allegations of falsehood in her narrative led her own foundation to hire an independent law firm to conduct an investigation.  The results weren’t pretty – an elephant so big it couldn’t be swept under the rug - including concrete evidence from multiple Khmer (Cambodian) sources that confirmed Somaly Mam has been flat-out lying to us the whole time.  She was not kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery at age 10, or at all, instead grew up as a normal village girl like so many others.  The tale of 10-years of rape, beatings and slavery she told us, which endeared us with their authenticity and brought a tear to more than one blue eye, didn’t happen at all.  Furthermore, Somaly lied about her own daughter being kidnapped by sex traffickers as retaliation for her work (she actually ran off with a boyfriend to escape the attention of her mother’s foundation,) and even worse, coached Cambodian girls into telling their own fabricated stories of sexual exploitation to elicit more donations. 

Basically, Somaly Mam told us the story we wanted to hear – no, that we needed to hear in order to justify writing big checks.  In response, her foundation announced her resignation and is hoping the media maelstrom blows over.  Somaly has remained mum on over these allegations but let’s be clear – she lied, and it is wrong.  But why?  And is there at least some shred of salvation we can locate in all this rubble, considering she’s spent most of her life doing more to combat sex trafficking than anyone on earth?  Does she warrant our forgiveness based on the purity of her actions, even if they were wrapped in a banana leaf of lies?  I think so, and I’ll tell you why.





First, a quick note about my perspective on this issue; I’ve lived in Southeast Asia over the last year and spent about 4 months of that time in Cambodia, an enchanting black rose of a country that I truly love.  I’ve traveled corner to corner, from Kampong Som to Siem Reap, befriending locals, immersing myself in the culture and writing about it.  I’ve volunteered at orphanages, visited the slums where people live in and on garbage, slept under the stars in the hot jungle provinces with no electricity, and even lived in a rat-infested abode next door to sisters who work in the sex industry, earning a living in Phnom Penh’s tourist bars.  I became like a big brother to them and also became friends with many others and heard their personal stories.  I have friends who run charitable foundations here, Khmer friends who work at the Phnom Penh Post, and sipped more than one beer with ex-CIA agents and former royal national guards who’d seen it all.  In the meantime, I also wrote a collaborative book, Cambodia’s School of Hope, to help educate and empower youth here.  None of that make me an expert on Cambodia but the reality is, I hear more about the true nature of these events on the streets every day than the international media has documented so far, combined.

Picture
I see things on a routine basis that would be hard to even wrap your mind around for folks in the Western world.  I know that because I wouldn’t have believed the magnitude and majesty of Cambodia’s oddity myself, only a year ago.  So let me tell you 10 reasons why I think Somaly Mam, despite her obvious wrongdoing, is still worth defending.

1.Context.
To start, it’s important to understand that you are looking at this situation through a western or United States paradigm.  Of course you are – that’s where you’re from and where you live, so how could you not?  It’s a world of black and white, right and wrong, and moral absolutes.  But please realize, other people live in a world without the luxury of that same paradigm.  I don’t expect you to grasp that right away, but try to keep an open mind as you read what follows. 

2. Poverty.
It’s hard for you to even understand the level of poverty in Cambodia.  I could throw out plenty of statistics, like the average person makes about $2 a day at a decent job, or there are 90% illiteracy rates in its expansive rural areas, or that it’s so poor, children are frequently sold off for $20 because there’s just not enough food to go around.  But all the stats and figures won’t prepare you for the siege of poverty that barrages you when you here.  After you see the thousandth barefoot child begging in the street, or whole families picking through the trash, dirtier than the garbage they’re shuffling through, or people with no legs dragging themselves through the streets by their hands, the only reflection they’ll ever see in the shined hubcaps of a politician’s Range Rover, words fall short. 

The best way I can describe Cambodia’s poverty is, fittingly, with a quote by Mahatma Gandhi, “There are people in the world so hungry, that God can not appear to them except in the form of bread.”

2. The modern history of Cambodia.
Somaly was reportedly born in 1970 or 1971, her formidable years as a child during the hell-on-earth era of Pol Pot’s regime in Cambodia between 1975-1979, when the Khmer Rouge systematically murdered, starved, or worked to death at least 25% of the population.  At least 1.5 million people died in this genocide of “purification,” sometimes for no greater offense than they wore eyeglasses or spoke a little French.  The horror was absolute – cruelty unsurpassed in human history.  Millions of people spoke only in whispers, made soup from grass and tree bark to survive, ate roaches, rats or earthworms as their only protein source.  Mothers watched their babies swung by their legs against trees because soldiers didn’t want to waste the bullet to kill them.  High schools and hospitals were turned into carnivals of torture.  Mothers, sisters, brothers, and children were raped, mutilated, and killed right in front of you and there was nothing you could say or do about it.  After years of that, you didn’t even have tears left to shed.  This is the reality Somaly grew up in, and the subsequent decades of hunger, shock, and hopelessness that blanketed the country.  

Now, tell me Somaly hasn’t suffered enough - at least to earn our attempt at understanding - without your voice wavering.      

3. People act in proportion to their desperation.
It’s important to clarify Somaly’s indiscretion if we are going to pass judgment.  Her organization wasn’t a sham, she didn’t cheat people, and funds were not misappropriated.  Instead, Somaly’s heinous crime was that she lied – seemingly manufacturing a backstory that was consistent with the victims she was trying to save - to garner funds to help innocent children from being kidnapped, raped, and sexually exploited. 

People act in proportion to their desperation, and faced with insurmountable suffering all around her - that the world had forgotten - perhaps she did what was necessary to help quiet the screams.  Sit with that for a moment. 

4. Culture.
There are acute cultural differences between the United States or the western world and Cambodia that muddy the clear waters of our condemnation.  For instance, in Cambodia it’s very rude to directly say, “no” to someone.  This often leads to hilarious encounters for the traveller or expatriate as we navigate hundreds of gently deflected mistruths in the name of politeness, like taking 3 left turns instead of a right.  I’m not saying that’s the case in Somaly’s situation but I do know there are a lot of cultural differences at play as we translate her narrative into our western consciousness. 

5. Corruption.
The mechanics of Cambodia are corrupt to their core – there’s no other way of saying it - as is the case in most poor developing countries.  In the modern history of Khmer society, the only absolute most people have known is the daily scramble for survival while a tiny circle of ultra-rich fatten themselves on the sacred cow of their birthright.  The deck is stacked and the commoner will always lose.  As far as these people know, that’s the way it always has been and how it will always be.  You want truth?  Power is the only truth in Cambodia, a belly full of rice, the only honesty.  No one bothered showing up to work at the Ministry of Justice today, and the Department of Corruption is the nicest building in town.  I’ve heard of a general’s wife accepting an award for humanitarian work from the foreign community in the past, while at the same time she was one of the biggest human sex traffickers in Cambodia.  Now that we’ve recalibrated the moral spectrum, where does Somaly’s well-intentioned lie rank?



Picture
6. Marketing is about telling stories.
A good story promotes your cause far better than all of the hard work and good intentions in the world.  As much as we despise this reality, we equally respond to it.  If Somaly were just another poor Cambodian woman crying for the world’s help, would we have listened?  Would the international community have picked her up and passed her to the front?  Probably not.  I know this because I meet people here in Cambodia all the time who do incredible, selfless work to help the disenfranchised but have to close their community centers and suspend operations because of a lack of international attention and funding.  A good story is the core, and then you circle your good deeds around that.

This situation reminds me intimately of Greg Mortensen’s dilemma last year, when he fell from grace amid allegations that he fabricated parts of his remarkable story.  Author of, Three Cups of Tea, about his near-death experiences in the mountains of Pakistan and Afghanistan that led him to build schools for poor and isolated kids there, he went from best-selling author, media darling, and humanitarian of the year to scorned pariah in the blink of an eye once 60 Minutes and others poked holes in his story. 

The world of spin and attention-grabbing headlines is not the same as the real world, yet we continue to canonize our heroes and drag our villains through the streets of public opinion, quickly forgetting why we loved them in the first place.  How quickly we abandon the pure causes they championed in order to join the rabid mob.

To put the ultra-competitive, cutthroat world of NGO’s (non-governmental organizations) in context, probably the biggest and most popular charitable org here is the Cambodian Children’s Fund, founded by Australian Hollywood movie mogul, Scott Neesun.  Here is his story: 

Scott was one of the most successful people Hollywood, President of 20th Century Fox International, and had the wealth and privilege to prove it.  But in 2003, on a trip to Cambodia, he came across the garbage dumps of Steung Meanchey.  There he witnessed a little 9-year old girl, barefoot and dressed in rags, picking through broken glass and syringes looking for food or something of value to sell.  Through an interpreter he found out that she lived there among the trash with her sister and mother, and that’s how they survived.

Despite all of Scott’s money and accomplishments, he just couldn’t turn his back on that little girl, and all the kids born into those same circumstances in Cambodia.  So he walked away from his star-lit Hollywood life and instead dedicated himself to helping those children.  Since 2004, Neeson's charity has helped house, educate and provide health care for more than 1,450 children in the country's most desperate slums.  

Great story, huh?  I’m sure Scott is a great man and does great work, but there’s no coincidence that his ultra-marketable riches-to-rags story helped propel his organization a lot faster than if he was just another caring tourist. 

There’s a corollary to this story that will conclude my point.  I do some charity work with a wonderful school here in Cambodia, the Spitler School in a poor village outside Siem Reap.  American businessman, Danny Spitler, and his wife founded it about 8 years ago after they visited Cambodia and had a similar epiphany as Scott Neeson.  They started funding a humble school in the village along with a caring local man, which has grown into two large school compounds that help educate and empower over 800 children a year, every year.  But Danny doesn’t have a slick PR campaign and a Rolodex filled with Hollywood insiders so the marketing has lagged behind the angel’s work they do.  We just released a collaborative book, Cambodia’s School of Hope, to remedy that problem, but you get my point – marketing is storytelling, and there’s no playing field where it’s more important than non-profits and fundraising.    

7. Great people have great flaws.
Some of the greatest people in history are megalomaniacs, passionate to a fault, hurtful to those around them, and have egos the size of beach balls.  Think of Steve Jobs, Pablo Picasso, and the archetype of just about any other eccentric genius throughout history.  The same personality traits that lead people to greatness manifest as great flaws.  I think it’s important to tolerate the flaws if we celebrate the greatness.  Perhaps, Somaly is one of those people.  

8. Who are we to criticize?
What have we done to help the little girls being raped and sold into sexual slavery in Cambodia, or anywhere?  What do we do for charity?  What have we sacrificed?  Are we quick to criticize but slow to act?  Let me put this as delicately as possible…if you’re licking your chops to criticize Somaly but not doing a whole lot to make this world a better place, then shut the hell up and go away.

9. Are we innocent?
If we want to start stacking stones of right and wrong on the scales, let’s make sure they’re all up there.  The United States has done plenty of terrible things in this part of the world and hurt countless innocent people for the sake of money, power, or ideology, many of which I never realized until I came here and saw with my own eyes.  We’ve also done a lot of good things that genuinely help people.  But Asia is a maddeningly complex theater of the world where everyone is guilty during some act.  So before we point fingers at Somaly, one poor Cambodian woman who’s guilty of being overzealous to rally the world’s attention around the pure cause of defending children - let’s make sure our own hands aren’t dirty, too.  

10. Would you do the same?  
If you were faced with these same conditions and circumstances, and you honestly thought that to make a real difference in these girl’s lives you had to exaggerate a backstory, would you lie to help them?  Would you perpetrate a small wrong to achieve a whole lot of right?  Would you do the same as Somaly? 

Based on that paradox, would it have been unlawful for her not to lie, if it meant she wouldn’t be empowered to help all of those women and girls?    

I don’t know what the right answer is.  Or, I guess the whole point is that there's not one right answer, but I do know this; Somaly, in all of her flaws and faults, indiscretions and imperfections, has done more to spread light than most of us, myself included, will do in 100 lifetimes.  Yet, we find ourselves in this unfortunate place because she did violate our trust, and trust is perhaps the one thing worth more than money - something so precious and fragile, it’s rarely recoverable.  

But if you could look into the eyes of the Cambodian girls she’s rescued, hear there joyful voices say, “arkoun, ohn,"– “thank you, sister,” to Somaly, you’d realize it’s not the only thing. 

-Norm   :-)

37 Comments

Jenny and Jenna's Big Day Out!  

5/20/2014

215 Comments

 
Picture
A few weeks back, I was introduced to Jenny and Jenna, two Cambodian sisters.  Like a lot of people in Cambodia, they are very poor, but Jenny and Jenna are also orphans - they're dad died when they were young and their mother abandoned them.  They had to raise themselves and had no one to care for them and not enough food most days.  But thanks to a wonderful American gentleman named Cowboy Bart, who does a lot of good work in Cambodia through his organization, Kids at Risk Cambodia.org, they were put into better circumstances, under the guardianship of a family with enough to eat and even the chance to go to school some days.  Life was still hard and they were still dirt poor but they were together, and things were a little better.

I met Cowboy Bart by chance one day and was invited to go out into the rural province to visit Jenny and Jenna.  We went along with Keep Calm and Keep Hope, two Cambodian medical students who work tirelessly to help the girls and be their advocates.  The trip was incredible and I instantly wanted to help - you can read about it here.  

Now, Cowboy, Keep Calm, and Keep Hope have arranged for Jenny and Jenna to attend a good government school and live in a better situation up in Siem Reap, four hours north of their current province and the home to the wonder of world, Angkor Wat.  But before they transitioned into their new life, we wanted to give them one last ridiculously fun going away party.  Instead of throwing the party out in the jungle province where they live, we decided to bring them to the big capital city, Phnom Penh, to celebrate.  It's the first time they've ever been in the big city, and a lot of other firsts for them, in what became, "Jenny and Jenna's Big Day Out!"  Watch the video here:
We sent a tuk tuk to the province to pick them up, driven by my trusty local driver, nicknamed Rambo.  He brought them back, along with the grandmother that looks after them, to my favorite restaurant in the capital city of Phnom Penh, Larry's 110.  We met the girls with big hugs, balloons, and brand new backpacks, filled with pencils, pens, dry erase boards, pink notebooks, stickers, and cool sunglasses for their Big Day Out.  

From there, our caravan galavanted around the city for a full day of fun.  It was also a day of firsts for Jenny and Jenna - the first time they'd been in the capital, or any city, the first time they'd seen fancy cars, eaten in a regular restaurant, and had their own backpack.  It was also the first time they ever had pizza, first time on an escalator and elevator, and believe it or not, we found the one and only ice rink in Cambodia so the girls could go ice skating!  

It was probably the most joy and appreciation I've ever experienced from another human being, and I had a blast just watching the smiles on their faces.  It was interesting, too, at their reactions to everything so new.  For instance, they first took their flip flops off at the front door of the restaurant before walking in, like you'd do at any home in Asia, and they needed a little help with a knife and form, so used to eating with their hands.  I loved watching them try to figure out the menu, and they were full after one piece but were more concerned with trying to feed everyone else, a sign of thanks and appreciation in their culture.  They also didn't want to do the touristy things of visiting temples or sites like that - they wanted to see the big, bright, modern shopping mall and even a modern grocery store!  They'd never seen a store mannequin before and laughed so hard at that, were amazed by the big, crystal-clear televisions, and stopped to ogle every thing shiny.  But they never ever asked for one thing all day - not one single thing.  It was beyond their comprehension that poor orphans like them could even own something.  They had fun pushing their ice cream into my face and we all kept each other from falling on the ice skating rink.  They absolutely went bonkers chasing the pigeons in front of the royal palace.

But it wasn't all fun and games - we made sure to drive by the local university's medical school and take photos.  Part of the goal of this Big Day Out was to expand their world view - to expose them to the modern world and lift their ceiling to what's possible.  Keep Calm and Keep Hope are such amazing, generous, and wonderful mentors to these girls, and Jenny and Jenna say they want to follow in their footsteps studying medicine.  It would be a good start if they could even get into school consistently, but now, they can say they were at a university and maybe won't be as intimidated.

We all ended the day happy but exhausted, with a round of hamburgers and big hugs goodbye at Larry's before Rambo put the girls and the grandmother on the tuk tuk for the long ride back to their province.

Here's the deal - Jenny and Jenna should be able to go to a better school very soon in Siem Reap, with Cowboy Bart, Keep Calm, Keep Hope, and myself as their advocates.  We've even raised some funds thanks to your generous donations to help with their living expenses, clothing, food, and cost of education.  But they need more support in order to have a shot at a better life, not just pizza and fun videos one day and then we all forget about them.  And there are millions of kids in Cambodia, and probably a billion around the world, who are desperately poor and suffering, and just need a little help.  

So please  share this blog and video, tell others, and read some of my other blogs about poverty in Cambodia and the world, including your back yard.  If you'd like to help Jenny and Jenna or any of the other projects we have going on, please drop me an email.  

And THANK YOU for being a part of Jenny and Jenna's Big Day Out!!!!!

Norm  :-)

215 Comments
<<Previous

    RSS Feed


      Receive a digital postcard from Norm every month:

    Yes, I want a postcard!

    Don't miss Norm's new book,
    The Queens of Dragon Town!

    See More

    Norm Schriever

    Norm Schriever is a best-selling author, expat, cultural mad scientist, and enemy of the comfort zone. He travels the globe, telling the stories of the people he finds, and hopes to make the world a little bit better place with his words.   

    Norm is a professional blogger, digital marketer for smart brands around the world,  and writes for the Huffington Post, Hotels.com, and others.

    Check out South of Normal his Amazon.com best-selling book about life as an expat in Tamarindo, Costa Rica.

    Cambodia's School of Hope explores education and empowerment in impoverished Cambodia, with 100% of sales going to that school.

    The Book Marketing Bible provides 99 essential strategies for authors and marketers.

    Pushups in the Prayer Room, is a wild, irreverent memoir about a year backpacking around the world.  

    Follow Norm on Twitter @NormSchriever or email any time to say hi!

    Categories

    All
    Advice For Writers
    Amazon
    American Exceptionalism
    Anthropology
    Asia
    Backpack
    Basketball
    Best Seller Lists
    Blogging
    Book-marketing
    Book Review
    Book Reviews
    Cambodia
    Charity
    Child-poverty
    Cloud 9
    Communications
    Costa Rica
    Crazy-asia
    Culture
    Dumaguete
    Education
    Environment
    Ethics In Writing
    Expatriate
    Favorite Song
    Festivals
    Fraternity
    Funny
    Future
    Geography
    Give A Photo
    Giveaway
    Giving Back
    Health
    Heroes
    History
    Hugo Chavez
    Human Rights
    Humor
    India
    Islands
    Itunes
    Laugh
    Maps
    Marijuana
    Martial Arts
    Memoir
    Music
    Nature
    Nicaragua
    Non Violence
    Non-violence
    Ocean
    One Love
    One-love
    Our World
    Philanthropy
    Philippines
    Population
    Positive
    Positivity
    Postcard
    Poverty
    Pura Vida
    Pushups In The Prayer Room
    Race
    Reviews
    Safety
    San Juan Del Sur
    Science
    Screenplay
    Self Publish
    Siargao
    Social Media
    Southeast-asia
    South Of Normal
    Speech
    Sri Lanka
    Story
    Surf
    Surfing
    Tamarindo
    Thailand
    The Philippines
    The-queens-of-dragon-town
    Tourism
    Travel
    United Nations
    Venezuela
    Work From The Beach
    World Health
    Writers Forum
    Writing
    Writing Forum
    Writing Your First Book

    Archives

    October 2022
    September 2022
    August 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    April 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    November 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013

Norm Schriever

Email:     [email protected]