Whoa. 
 
That’s the feeling we get every time we turn on the news or check social media these days, as things seem to keep getting worse.
 
It’s hard NOT to feel down, depressed, and despondent during these unprecedented times, with millions of people sick, thousands dying, and the whole economy shut down. 
 
There seems to be no quick solution or even solid answers, and it sure feels like the average person has been left to his or her own devices.
 
It’s all too much.
 
Then again, in those rare occasions that I'm able to throw the covers off and actually get out of bed, put down my third bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch (note: I highly recommend it), or stop walking in circles around the house like a zombie, I realize that maybe things aren’t completely hopeless.
 
In fact, the sun is shining. I’m blessed to still have a roof over my head and food on the table, and the ability to control my own destiny, no matter how difficult that task may seem.
 
As usual, things may not be quite as bad as they seem. 
 
I can hit you with rosy platitudes like “It’s always darkest before the dawn,” or even start singing “Don’t worry; be happy,” but I’m not going to minimize what we’re up against (and you don’t want to hear my singing!).
 
Furthermore, intangibles and Trumpian double-speak do us no good at this point. We need some real and substantial cornerstones that make us feel optimistic about coming days.
 
So, here are 10 things to feel ridiculously, gleefully, unabashedly hopeful about:

1.  Animal shelters are emptying That's great news if you're a pet lover, as people are adopting and rescuing dogs, cats, and other lovable critters at a record rate. In fact, some dog shelters have posted videos lately, showing that they're completely empty! It turns out, we all want a lovable four-legged friend at home to keep us company.

​(My dog, Pupperoni, is patiently waiting for me to return to the Philippines or I'd adopt five more here in Connecticut!)

2.  The words ‘neighbor’ and ‘community’ mean something again
During good times, we were all a little guilty of fortifying ourselves in our McMansions and going about our own business.

​But now, people are more interested in helping, supporting, and just getting to know those around them again. We're sitting on our front porches and saying hi, making meals for seniors, and giving away things we used to try to sell. Young people, especially, are stepping up and showing character.

Isn’t it ironic that we’re more isolated than ever but feel a new sense of communal and civic pride?

3.  Mom-n-Pop businesses are getting love
I don’t know about you, but I’m loving the rejuvenated relationship we have with local restaurants, Mom-n-Pop stores, and neighborhood businesses that are still operating. It seems like we appreciate them more than ever, and we’re actively supporting them with our dollars, (our stomachs), and by spreading the word. 
 
Think about when this is over; will you head to Chilis or Bed, Bath, and Beyond?! No! You’ll run to a local or Mom-n-Pop business to eat, drink, and shop to your heart’s content!

4.  In some ways, we're becoming more human
As we traverse this storm of suffering with no relief in sight, I've noticed that people are becoming more human again. I liken it to the days after 9/11, when everyone waved and said hello, held the door open for each other, and generally remembered that we share the planet with others.

In fact, charity donations and volunteerism have skyrocketed already during this crisis, a heartwarming trend I expect to continue. 

5.  We have time again​
Are we finally stopping to smell the roses? Looks like it, as we finally have a moment to pause, breathe, and not be rushed every minute of every day.

​Sure, we're bored, but our family dinners have become longer, we're talking to friends and family more than ever (even if it's virtually), and we're dusting off long-forgotten hobbies and passions. We're taking bike rides, doing yoga, learning (online) and reading, and taking walks with our kids every sunset. There may not be too many silver linings to these challenging times, but the fact that we can hit pause on the world for a moment is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.

6.  People are getting their priorities straight
​Although what’s to come will be extremely painful, we also are recalibrating our priorities, which will have a positive effect for the rest of our lives. All of a sudden, we are filled with appreciation just to have a hot meal, the chance to talk to an old friend, or when we get to hug our family safely every night. And just being healthy for another day feels like an enormous blessing.
 
Maybe we needed a little wake-up call? 

Well, this is it, and many of us are already listening, focusing on simplifying our lives and living with newfound gratitude.

7.    Nature is our saving grace!
​My anxiety (ok, abject panic!) often rises to a boiling point when I stay inside to work, watch the news, or scroll through social media. Then, I step outside, and everything feels better. 

Even a few minutes out in my backyard or at the local park reminds me that some of the best things in life are the fresh air (allergy season notwithstanding), blue skies, blooming flowers, and wild animals. 
 
Many of us are lucky enough to experience nature in one way or another, and the planet even seems to be healing itself a little with less pollution and more space for wildlife to roam again.

A lot of people around the world (more US people will start doing this if they're smart) are even starting to plant home gardens and grow their own food. Clean energy may even become more sustainable through all this. Hell, maybe there is just a spark of hope for the planet? 

8.  We have a new appreciation for the little people (who, it turns out, were never little at all!)
We'll look back at these dark days and remember the heroes, new leaders, and regular people who exhibited remarkable courage and sacrifice. We all have a new appreciation for teachers, police officers, first responders, doctors and nurses, bus drivers, grocery store workers, social workers, and all sorts of other extraordinary humans that sometimes go unappreciated. 
 
I'm sure you've seen the videos of New Yorkers applauding and cheering their local healthcare workers during the nightly 7 pm shift change. I propose that we keep that tradition alive after this is all over – and expand it to show love and respect for a whole lot more "little people" who are huge in our lives.

9.  Change is coming
Just a few weeks ago, the world we live in now would be inconceivable.

(Would you ever imagine that you're required to wear a mask when walking into a bank?!)

Absolutely everything has changed, and we're still trying to wrap our collective psyche around that. 

There will be pain and suffering to come; there's no avoiding it. But this grandest of transformations will also bring a chance to reinvent just about every aspect of our society - and even the human experience.  We are blessed and cursed with the responsibility of rebuilding our world, and no one knows exactly what that look like except that it will be new.

Change is inevitable as it is imminent. It's now the age of rebirth for activists, artists, healers, designers, dreamers, teachers, empaths, environmentalists, inventors, underdogs, outcasts,  leaders, and, especially the youth, as we've turned this world into a fuster cluck and it's time to let the next 

The meek may just inherit the earth, after all...and I'm hopeful that they'll take far better care of it than we ever did.

10.  People are ready to start living again 
Psychologists outline a process that we go through whenever we suffer a grave loss or tragedy, with stages from shock to denial, anger, bargaining, depression, reconciliation, and then, acceptance. 
 
I don't know about you, but I think they're missing a couple of stages like, "Wearing the same sweatpants for 72 hours" and "Drinking wine at 10 am while holding a full conversation with the mailbox."
 
But there will be an eighth stage at the end of all this: Ready.
 
People will be ready:
Ready to work.
Ready to rebuild.
Ready to experience.
Ready to learn.
Ready to heal.
Ready to give.
Ready to connect.
Ready to love without censor or fear.
 
Very soon, we’ll be ready to LIVE again!
 
That alone is something to feel incredibly hopeful about, and I think it’s coming sooner than we may realize.
 
Trust me when I tell you; You’ll want to be around for the dancing in the streets after these dark days are over!

-Norm  :-)

PS If you found this helpful or uplifting at all, can you please do me a favor and share it on social media? Thanks a billion!

Watch me eat these beetles, crickets, roaches, frogs, larvae, and a bunch of unidentifiable critters from a street stall in Phnom Penh, Cambodia - all for a good cause to raise money for several amazing charities! 

If you got a kick out of this video PLEASE consider donating $100, $25, or even $10 to the charities I introduce below, Connecting Hands, Willow Tree Roots, and the Children's Improvement Organization. These are all charities I personally help out and see first hand the work they do to better a lot of lives.

Thanks - and get ready to be grossed out!

-Norm  :-)

To donate, just click on the PayPal link below and tell me which charity you'd like to help.
​It's quick, easy, safe, and I'll make sure the money gets to the appropriate charity and you get a receipt.
​

​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   :-)

***

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. 

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.

"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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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   :-)

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

The last few days, more people have expressed concern over the decision to bring two aid workers who are inflicted with the Ebola virus back to the U.S. for treatment.  Around the water cooler, there are whispers about the virus spreading here on U.S. soil.  On Facebook, people offer their opinion that we shouldn’t bring the infected man and woman back into our borders for fear of an epidemic.  There are even people prophesizing that this is the beginning of the zombie apocalypse, channeling their fear into misguided humor. 

It is scary.  This outbreak is the worst in history, killing a reported 729 people and infecting a couple thousand at last count, with no sings of slowing down.  The outbreak has gotten so bad in West African countries like Sierra Leone that the government has quarantined affected communities, saying they’ll send the police or military to enforce the medical segregation if necessary.  But like any medical outbreak or disaster, rumors and half-truths only perpetuate our fear and sometimes make the situation worse.  

So for the sake of sharing accurate information and putting your mind at ease, here are the facts about the Ebola Virus:

About the Ebola Virus.
The Ebola virus disease (EVD) is a severe, often fatal illness in humans.  It used to be called Ebola haemorrhagic fever.

It was first discovered in 1976 when two outbreaks occurred at the same time in Sudan and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The village where the outbreak occurred in Congo was near the Ebola River, where the name for the disease comes from.

EVD outbreaks have a case fatality rate of up to 90%.

There are actually 5 strains of the Ebola virus.  The strain that’s causing the current outbreak is Zaire Ebolavirus, the deadliest one.  The Ebola virus doesn’t change significantly from year to year like other viruses.  That’s the case with certain flus and SARS, which make them so much harder to identify and treat – and easier to spread. 

How many people have been sick and how many have died?
Since it first showed up in 1976, there have been more than 3,270 reported cases and more than 2,000 deaths from Ebola, according to the World Health Organization.

In this current outbreak in Africa, roughly 2,000 people have been infected and about 729 died, though the numbers are climbing daily.

What’s the survival rate?
It’s important to note that although media reports the mortality rate from Ebola cases as “up to 90%” (or a 10% survival rate,) that does not characterize the actual death toll.  Since Ebola was discovered in 1976, there has been a survival rate of roughly 30%.  The current Ebola outbreak has had a survival rate of about 40 percent, per the latest numbers from the World Health Organization.

Why is the death toll so high?
Mortality rates are so high largely because Ebola outbreaks occur in desperately poor countries and communities where there’s a lack of public health education, sanitation, and medical care.  The countries where this current outbreak took hold, Guinea, Liberia, and Sierra Leone, are among the poorest in the world, with GDP’s per capita less than Haiti.  There is almost no healthcare infrastructure for most of the people there.  Due to this, almost all the medical care for the outbreak has been provided by international Non Governmental Organizations like Doctors Without Borders, who are completely overwhelmed and lack the resources and manpower to address it.

A lack of literacy and education about disease control, cultural norms, and a mistrust of foreign aid workers have exacerbated the problem.

Where does Ebola originate?
Fruit bats of the Pteropodidae family are thought to be the natural host of the Ebola virus.  From there, it infects animals and eventually humans. Outbreaks most often start in remote West African villages near tropical rainforests.

It’s documented that humans have been infected by Ebola by handling of infected chimpanzees, gorillas, fruit bats, monkeys, and other animals found ill or dead or in the rainforest.

Where are Ebola outbreaks reported?
Since its inception in 1976, Ebola outbreaks have mostly occurred in poor Western African countries like Uganda, Gabon, the Democratic Republic of Congo (Zaire,) and Sudan.

It also has shown up in the Philippines and China though no deaths have been reported in those places.

How does it spread among humans?
Ebola spreads through human-to-human transmission by direct contact with bodily fluids.  Being exposed to blood, sweat, vomit, feces, semen, mucous, organs, or other bodily fluids can spread the infection.  Healthcare workers frequently have been infected because of their proximity to Ebola patients, especially in un-sterile field conditions in African villages without proper facilities or resources. 

The virus can be transmitted by even touching the bodily fluids of an Ebola patient. If an animal or patient dies, the virus stays alive on a surface for a few days, so even touching bedding, cleaning up waste, or eating infected food or drinking infected water is a danger.  In Africa, some cultures call for burial ceremonies in which mourners have direct contact with the body of the dead person, which also play a role in the transmission of Ebola.


How soon would they be sick and infectious?
Typically, symptoms appear 8-10 days after exposure to the virus, but the incubation period can span two to 21 days.  People usually aren’t infectious until the symptoms of their sickness emerge. 

What are the symptoms?
People usually start with a high fever, aches, acute weakness, headache, rashes, and sore throat.  It proceeds to vomiting, diarrhea, rash, impaired kidney and liver function, and in sometimes, both internal and external bleeding.

The problem with diagnosis is that the first symptoms also occur in ailments common to the region so before it can be confirmed as Ebola, malaria, typhoid fever, shigellosis, cholera, leptospirosis, plague, rickettsiosis, relapsing fever, meningitis, hepatitis and other viral haemorrhagic fevers have to be ruled out.

Can it be treated? 
There is no vaccine for the Ebola virus.  Several vaccines are in the testing phase but none are approved for clinical use. The only thing that can be done is to treat the symptoms Ebola causes, which include sever dehydration. 

What happened with this current Ebola outbreak?
The current deadly outbreak is in Sierra Leone, Guinea, and Liberia, the first time big Ebola cases have hit those areas.

The numbers are growing daily, but as of July 28, 2014:

In Guinea - 460 cases, 339 deaths
Liberia - 329, 156 deaths
Nigeria - one case, one death
Sierra Leone - 533 cases, 233 deaths
There has been an approximate 40% survival rate.

To respond to the medical crisis, aid workers from Doctors Without Borders, containing volunteers from all over the world, entered infected areas to treat victims and help contain the disease.

Earlier in July, Patrick Sawyer, a government official in the Liberian Ministry of Finance, died at a Nigerian hospital. He was the first American to die in what health officials refer to as “the deadliest Ebola outbreak in history."

Shortly after, Nancy Writebol, an American aid worker in Liberia, tested positive for Ebola she contracted while treating infected patients.

On July 26, Kent Brantly, medical director for Samaritan Purse's Ebola Consolidated Case Management Center in Liberia, was infected with the virus while treating patients.

On July 29, Dr. Sheik Humarr Kahn, in charge of Ebola treatment at Kenema Government Hospital in Sierra Leone, died from complications of the disease.  The next day, The Peace Corps announced their decision to remove all volunteers from Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Guinea. 

July 31, 2014 The Center for Disease Control went to Warning Level 3, advising all U.S. residents not to travel to Sierra Leone, Guinea, and Liberia unless absolutely necessary.

What are the chances of a serious Ebola outbreak in the United States?
That is almost certain not to happen. Awareness, medical treatment, and medical technology are so far ahead of conditions in African outbreak areas that any cases are sure to isolated and safely contained.  Epidemiologists would quickly track down people who exposed to the infection and make sure it can’t spread.

To cite an example, in May, the population of the Middle East was inflicted with hundreds of cases of the MERS virus.  Two infected people brought the virus to the United States but it never spread further.


Epidemiologist, doctors, and international medical professionals characterize the chance of even a small U.S. outbreak at “extremely unlikely.”

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. 

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…

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. 

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. 

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 

 

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    :-)