Bands to Bandages

Matt and I were walking downtown the other night when we came across a band playing on the sidewalk in front of the Banana Leaf Pub. This was not unusual as it happens every Friday night. What made it memorable was that as we walked by they were playing reggae music which, if you don't know, is my favorite to hear especially live. There were also about two hundred people gathered in the street dancing and enjoying the band. Many of them were apparently on some substance or another. There were Asians and Europeans and possibly Americans getting sweaty to the groove that was substantially groovy. I, of course pushed up into the middle of the crowd and began to get my skank on. For those that don't know, skank is a term referring to the beat that is characteristic of a reggae tune. I had my camera and was taking many pictures and videos of the band and the people dancing. As usual, I was entertained by the exploits of various inebriated people surrounding me. You could tell that some of them were traveling to get away from who they are at home. The tell- tale sign is that they were trying to act as completely weird as they could. There were guys in nothing but shorts and a Vietnamese triangle hat and a Raccoon tail on their butts. This is not the action of a person who is acting himself, especially if he is alone. Anyway, Matt told me he was going home, and since I was having a good time dancing and enjoying the band and the show around me, I said I would stay. It was shaping up to be a pretty great night.


Fairly soon I realized that I had left my keys at home which meant that I should have gone home when Matt went because I would not be able to get into the coffee shop below my apartment. After this realization, I was not able to enjoy the band as much because I was trying to figure out how I would get it with no key or phone so I started walking home at a brisk clip. I was about a quarter of a mile down the road when I heard my name all of a sudden...

"Stephen, Wait up!" I turned to see Matt on his motorbike unwrapping a box of bandages.

"Matt, what in the world? You left ten minutes ago. I didn't bring my keys, I thought I was going to have to sleep outside tonight." I said laughing.

"Hey could you help me? This guy's head has a huge gash in it and I am trying to bandage it."

"Wha.." I looked over and I saw a bald Cambodian man with his left arm cut off as a nub just above the elbow and, sure enough, his wig was split wide open over his left eye and he had an equally gaping canoe dug through the back of his head. His whole face and head was covered in blood and he kept trying to shake Matt's and my hand with his bloody paw. His voice sounded like a more scratchy version of the manager in "Major League" and he was babbling on in virtually unintelligible and heavily accented English. It was easy to see that this man was tweaking on some substance or other and would not be very easy to communicate with.

"Yea I was on the way home and I saw this guy literally laying on his back in the middle of the street yelling his brains out. Apparently someone had bashed his head in."

Apparently. Apparent also was that this was not the first time this had happened to this man whose name turned out to be Tim Ho. There was a hospital literally one hundred feet from where we were field dressing this guy's noggin. A nurse from the hospital was standing on the curb near us and knew Tim Ho because he had been there several times with similar injuries and similar trips and they had not been able to help him. I asked the nurse to go get some rubber gloves and begged Matt not to touch this man until the gloves came. I had to run away several times when Tim Ho would come near and try to put his hands on me or shake my hand. I told him I didn't want to touch yet because of all of his blood and he said ok. I remember thinking that his quick and logical compliance with this request was odd. Finally, gloves came and we donned them.

"Stephen, could you keep him still somehow while I try to wrap his head up."

"Yea I'll try. I don't foresee this being very successful though." Despite my pessimism I asked Tim Ho to grab my hand and to sit down on the pavement. He would at times squeeze my hand and grimmace and then next moment he would stand up and start beating his chest and yelling how he is Tim Ho and these good white Mother F'ers are patching him up. I would yell at him and order him to sit down and he would immediately comply for a time before repeating the process. Sure enough, as soon as Matt finished the wrap, Tim Ho took it off immediately and started on another unintelligible rant. When he calmed back down, Matt said we would try again. So I took my station as Tim HO control while Matt started running the bandage around Tim Ho's melon.

"You speak English very well Tim Ho," I stated truthfully, "where did you learn?"

"I live in America for thirty years, in Columbus, Ohio." As I asked more questions he began to speak more clearly and reveal small tidbits to me such as he was married and has four children. This fact coupled with the drug use and the fact that he is not in America anymore allowed me to see a pretty sad story as I'm sure you can as well.

"Tim Ho, how did this happen to you?"

"I screwed up."

"What do you mean, How do you mean that Tim Ho?" I was wondering literally how he had got his dome smashed.

"I screwed up," He then laid back on the sidewalk which retarded Matt's efforts for a time.

"Tim Ho get up. We can't do anything if you are laying down."

"You have to pick me up man, I am very drunk." I sat him back up and Matt resumed his bandage laps. I tried to hold his hand again.

"You already helped me up, I don't want you Mother F'ing hand." I took my hand back quick to restore "calm."

"What were you saying Tim Ho? What did you mean you screwed up." I really wanted to know how he got hit.

"I mean I'm nothing. I'm a drunk, I take drugs, I am nobody." He was crying at this point.

At this point I did not know what to say. I didn't know how to share Jesus with a man who can't even understand the concept of staying still to be patched up. Matt was close to finishing the bandage a second time when Tim Ho began getting beligerant again. We both backed off to let him rage. He ran up and slapped Matt in the side of the head apparently demonstrating what happened to him. He went on for a few more seconds and then collapsed on his back on the side of the street again, breathing very heavily.

"Tim Ho you were in the States long enough to hear about Jesus," said Matt as he had his hand on Tim Ho's chest, "you need to know that he is the only one who can help you. You need to say out loud 'Jesus help me.'"

Tim Ho said it twice and then we got out of there because he got up again and we did not want to be in his path.

I have thought a lot about how I feel about that night. I have also known it would make it on here but I was not sure on what capacity. I am not sure now. It certainly is not the recounting of an adventure. It is not also a reassuring memory. The thing I ruminate on second most is the image of walking down the road of pleasure. I was laughing at many people earlier that night at this show who very well could be on the road to Tim Ho's mile marker. How sneaky sensuality is. I ponder most, however, on what was the right thing to do with and for Tim Ho. I would certainly walked right on past if Matt had not been there and asked for my help. I'm glad he did because it made me remember how many folks I walked past in the same state in Downtown Nashville. Go, homeless injured man. I wish you well. Keep warm and well fed.

Is that was we said to Tim Ho or did we attempt to dress his wound as much as we had the ability to help him? I am not sure. I don't think that our efforts were for nothing but I can't be sure. What did we really do? I have often wondered if we should have taken him to he hospital and paid for his stitches. The nurse said they have tried to help him several times to no avail though, so I don't think that would have been useful. If that were the case though, would that have been the sum of helping? I don't know, but I do believe that what could have been done at that moment was done for him, yet neither of us were left with any kind of warm fuzzy from helping someone. I, personally, was left feeling somewhat hollow. I guess it's not supposed to be about feeling good though. I have heard a lot that helping feels good... maybe that isn't always true though. I wonder if doing good is really hitting the right targets if it always feels good. More importantly, I think more and more since that night that feeling good is not the point. It seems like we are supposed to minister because, first, it is commanded us, and two, people need ministry. Yes it can minister to us as well, but if you are ministering where it is needed or chasing the right younglife kid then I think we will not always be left feeling so great. This is okay though because maybe that is part of sharing in the sufferings of Jesus. Losing our identity and our comfort so that others can gain a modicum of their own. We must also remember how much we ourselves reject help. I am also comforted in the thought that "some will sow and others will reap." We may not ever see the fruits of our labor in the lord, but that can't hinder our mission.

"Hey Stephen, do you mind if we say a little prayer for Tim Ho?"

"Oh yea, I did not even think of that." Matt went on to pray for protection and life for Tim Ho and then we went to bed wondering what he would do.

Throw Another Stone on the Scale

I knew coming over to Cambodia that all countries have issues with body image and also that each culture has a different image that they raise up as ideal. In a month and a half here in the country the only thing I have really deciphered is that they prefer to have light colored skin. They prefer it and not in the way that we prefer dark skin where it is a joke that we don't really care about. I have met a couple of women whose bride price (money paid to the family for betrothal) was exorbitant and I seriously would not have given these women a second look. But they have pale skin and this makes them valuable and beautiful. Dark skin can really make a person unattractive to a Cambodian, whereas western men and women can still be desirable with very light skin. Other than that I cannot point to any clear marks of what beauty is in this culture.

Despite this mystery I have discovered that there is one trait that they focus on and that is weight. The reason that I am confused though is that I cannot clearly tell how they feel about it. In any case, I will give this advice to any person coming to this country and possibly elsewhere in Southeast Asia. If you have issues with your weight and body image, this is not the place to be. We westerners here laugh about it because of their skewed view of size. Some of the people I know that they call fat are not even close to thick in western culture. It really is funny because I can never tell what exactly they are implying when they say the word fat. I don't think they mean it in the way that people in America mean it as a gross or taboo word, but I still can't completely shake the feeling that it is not a desirable trait for them and therefore not exactly a complement when stated about someone else.

There are a few mitigating factors which contribute to my quandary. Article number one is the flippancy and freedom with which they comment on weight here. Nothing said that freely can be thought of as insulting. It just wouldn't make sense to be that freely insulting right? I have been told a couple of times that I was fat and there was no hint of smile, joke, or derisiveness in the face of the speaker. It seemed to simply be a quantitative observation with no thought, positive or negative, to quality. I mean Ezra and his wife call me "Mr. Hippo" and ask me when my baby is due for goodness sake. Article number two, however, leads me in another direction. I have only seen one or two or three Khmer people in this whole city that are not completely thin. I mean really thin. I mean less than one hundred for the women probably and less than 130 for the men. I mean the biggest guy at the children's home is literally less than half my size. What's more is that I have overheard a couple of conversations where a Khmer girl has commented on her weight like she was self conscious. Her friends told her that her face was getting big. I can't be completely sure if she was bothered by this. I certainly don't think she was in a western sense, but I still could not escape the thought that it seemed to be something that she wasn't pleased with.

All that being said and including my run-in with Shining from a couple of posts ago, I am not sure what Khmer are intending when they use the word fat. Since I don't have very many issues with my body image, this candidness doesn't bother me as much as it confuses me. In any case, I gave you this abstract of the cultural study I have been conducting in order to introduce a short exchange that took place between Kagna and me after class one day a few weeks ago. She had only been in class for three days which made the conversation even better to me.

"Alright class you are dismissed and I will see you Monday. We will be discussing the past simple tense." The thing that I think is the most humorous about teaching Asians is you almost have to kick them out of your class. You cannot just say "that's it. See you Monday." They will wait quietly in their seats for some kind of sign that they may leave. I'm never really sure how explicit I have to be as I do not want to resort to just telling them to leave. It always makes for an awkward outro. Anyways, they finally started shuffling out and Kagna was the last to leave and she said something to me that I didn't catch.

"Do what, Kagna?"

"Teacha, you should do exercise." She was making a feminine bicep flexing motion as she said this which, along with her accented English, made me kind of smile to myself.

"Yea, exercise is good." (The only response I can ever think of.)

"Yes, you should do exercise because you so fot (fat)"

"Jeez. Yea maybe I will. Thank you for the suggestion."

Yes, You should. Take care you hot (heart)."

"I'll do that. Thanks for the advice Kagna. See ya Monday."

"Yes, you welcome. Bye Bye, Teacha"

You're welcome? I suppose I should be grateful.

Peanuts on the Pizza?

Yesterday I decided that instead of attending the coffee house Khmer church that meets in the Common Grounds below my room, I would go to the church that meets at the PCL Children's home. This church ministers to possibly one hundred children and adults in the surrounding village. I rode out to the church that morning with Matt (Papa, the guy who runs the children's home) and Jennifer who runs the books for PCL from America and is visiting. I see many of my Khmer friends when I get to the home and get to sit with a couple of employees from the coffee house. Matt was going to show everyone a video of some Miracles of Jesus so that they could learn more about how Jesus is God and not just a special man. The video was skipping and wouldn't play, and what I loved was that this did not phase Matt. I mean it phased him but he laughed it off. He knew that the main thing was that the people understood that Jesus had control over creation and was God. He then proceeded to call up four or five people to act out several infirmeries (blindness, deafness, lameness and the like). To play Jesus he called up Posset who proceeded to walk up and place his hands on the forehead of each person and raise his hands to signal his majesty and power. Everyone got a good laugh from that because it's easy to make them laugh and to laugh with them. Matt then directed the scenes from the video using his makeshift actors and a translator to explain what was happening. It was pretty funny and the congregation seemed to understand what they were meant to be taught.

After church they served lunch which I declined to eat because I don't trust my stomach with much of the food that is home cooked here yet. It will take time I think. There were many young kids from around the village who had obviously never seen a 240 pound man who has such a large beard. The first thing they did was gather around and play with my beard as I sat on the ground in their midst. This was funny because there were around eight or nine hands on my beard at one time and they would pull it periodically. Not the most comfortable situation but it was funny. After that they proceeded to pull on my hands and comment on how huge they were (I understood from context clues). Then they wanted to hang all over me. So I would hold out my arms and two or three of them would hang on them at one time (Pretty strong right?). Finally, this digressed into me getting down into a sumo squat and all of them climbing on me at once. I would then stand up and they would fall off and we would repeat the process. I was laughing pretty hard. We didn't talk because we didn't know each others' languages. That was obviously not a huge obstacle.

I then found out that the visiting YWAM team had planned on taking the children from the Orphanage to a pool for a swimming and pizza party. This was wonderful. They were a team of all girls and they have been tutoring and working at the orphanage for the last couple of months and they are about to leave. This group of girls has been great at building relationships and caring for the children and the pool party did not surprise me at all because these women are certainly oozing with generosity. I was invited and so I came. Just as I expected there was a lot of throwing people in the pool and wrestling and racing. Many of the kids did not know how to swim so I was able to teach my friend Ravuth (I call him the Smooth One because he just has this swagger that I don't even think he is aware of) and a couple of other kids the breast stroke. Ravuth is the one who has the serve that I can't return. The YWAM team had also ordered a ton of pizza. I tried this one piece and it had peanuts on it. Nasty. I took a lot of pictures this day and this will be my first blog with a significant amount of pictures. You can click on each picture to make it larger.


This is Ezra and he is an expectant father. He is a year younger than me and he works as a sort of parent at the orphanage. He is probably my best Khmer friend. He is good at helping me learn how to witness to people who are raised in an eastern pantheistic culture. He asks all these questions that make me think about how to explain the gospel and even the existance of God while using non academic language. He and his wife call me Mr. Hippo and always ask me how my baby is and when it's due... While rubbing my stomach.


What did you do at the pool as a kid. We throw each other in. I don't care if you can swim or not. Ravuth is the one in the yellow shorts and sunglasses.


This is Rek Tek Sen. He is a meek and mild young man. He leads music for the youth group and works at the coffee house. He might be my favorite employee. He is just the meekest and most solid guy.


Posset. You already know him.


This kid's name is Baran which means "Foreigner." They call him this I think because he looks more Vietnamese than Cambodian. He is definitely the most mischievous kid at the home and he takes his tumbles and knocks with a laugh and comes back for more. He is truly afaid of nothing. He had no idea that anyone was watching him at the pool that day and he was doing flips in the water and coming up with his hands in the air like a gymnast. My friend and I watched him and laughed for about ten minutes. By the way, he is eight years old.


The girl on the right's name is Cheat Dan and she is the coolest. The other two girls names are Sara and Sena. Matt told me that he is always telling Sena and Sara that they are beautiful because they are self-conscious of how dark they are. It is the culture here that dark skin is repulsive. He says that people comment on their skin from time to time, especailly when they have Asian visitors to the orphanage. He says that they will tell other girls how pretty they are and then say "oh you are dark." It's sad I know that a girl who really is pretty will be thought ugly if she is dark enough. I realize, however, that we have many similar conventions in America. It just seems especially sad to me because your skin doesn't grow lighter even if you become more beautiful. Despite this the staff works really hard to make sure that every child, even Sena and Sara know that they are loved and cherished. I think they are succeeding because these two girls are not at all brooding or downcast. Instead I love to be around them. I played Sorry with them the other day and they made the game fun for me just because of how they loved to yell "Soorrryy!" every time they bumped someone and thought it was so funny.

I had a blast at the pool that day and I do not usually enjoy the pool that much. I'm more of a float around type of guy but today they made the pool an adventure because there were so many little nooks in which to deposit care for people and to see people being cared for.

Shining

A name on any other rose...

I was walking down the street in downtown Siem Reap yesterday when all of a sudden, I heard someone calling my name...

"Steve!... Steve!"

Those of you who know me know that it is not a normal day when I am called by Steve. People are usually joking when they call me that. I don't actually mind at all what people call me as long as I know it is me that the name refers to, but I have always thought that Steve is an odd sounding name. It reminds me of a fifty year old man with a mustache. I plan on being that man someday so I will probably end up being called Steve. Anyway what's in a name right? Except, there are only about forty people in Siem Reap with Khmer accents that know my name so it was surprising to hear downtown.

I look over and it's official... I do not know the guy who is calling out my name at all. I have never seen him in my life. He is a tuk tuk driver posted on the corner of an intersection looking for clients. I hold off judgment until I get closer but then it is certain that I do not remember this person.

"You are Steve right?"

"Uhh... Yea I'm Stephen"

"Yea, Steve. Maybe you don't remember me?"

"I don't think I do remember you man"

"Yea I drive you around three days and we went to temples"

"Man I have not gone to the temples yet"

Now it was this guy's turn to look confused. We both looked at each other for about five seconds.

"Yea... Steve, you help me make email so I can check email.

I don't take drugs so there is no way that I have blocked out three days of tuk tukking and helping a driver set up email.

"Steve you came here last year and I drove you and we went to temples. You are from England."

"Holy smokes... I see what's going on. This is the first time I have ever been in Siem Reap man. I think you met someone else last year with the same name as me. I am from America."

"Oh wow. You look just like him. You have same beard same face and he was also fat."

(Overlooking the fat comment)"Yea that is amazing that you met someone that looks like me and has the same name. Man I was really worried as to why you knew my name."

"Yea I drove him around and helped him find hotel. He wanted one with pool so he could swim because he so fat." Okay, I get it. Still I'm not yet sure if they are aware of the implication of that statement as I hear it all the time.

"Yea, exercise is good."

"Do you want to ride? I can take you to temple."

"Not today man. I'm just walkin about"

"Maybe tomorrow then, I'm here everyday and everyone knows me. Just ask for Shining, like the sun is shining."

"Will do, Shining. Hey can I get a picture?"


Sure enough, I saw him today and will probably see him more and more. We talked for about forty-five minutes today about various things and I like him. I don't want to ask how to spell his name because I like the thought that it is spelled Shining.