The Double Palm Tree, July 2006
There is a double palm tree near the entrance to Homeland’s
neat and quiet compound. It’s at least fifty feet tall and
stands out of place in front of the center’s small cement
library. The compound is never really quiet, but it’s peaceful—the
voices of children screaming and laughing, Khmer music blaring from
the practice room, running footsteps crunching the gravel and sudden
outbursts of crying—the sounds just fade in and out of the
air and turn into a childish, happy hum. more >>
The New Cambodian Economy: Buying English,
Selling Souls, August 2006
English is something of a commodity in Cambodia. Understandably
so, as it translates directly into money in almost every part of
life in Cambodia. I’ve had a hard time finding a bath mat
in Battambang, but if you’re looking for an English education,
there is a specialized school on every street corner, advertised
in glossy red, white and blue. more >>
Forgetting, Flying Kites and Not Remembering,
September 2006
At a place like Homeland—a place where children rule—it’s
easy to forget that before the eternal summer camp of living here,
these children had a different life—a life of exploitation,
abuse and trauma. more >>
Dreadlocks and Crucifixes, October 2006
I dislike the arrogance of singular truths, singular identities,
and singular perspectives. Indeed, I reject the decision to simplify
a matter and then to have the nerve to declare the simplification’s
superiority. Granted, categorization and generalization have their
benefits and are often parts of an organic process. I recoil, however,
when simple distinctions harden, when people cling to their constructed
social personas and preserve them by preventing any kind of change,
vulnerability, or learning. more>>
Good Development, Bad Development, November
2006
Every time I approach the outskirts of Phnom Penh, I feel the bubbling
excitement of entering the big city—like I am the country
mouse peering wide-eyed from the bus window at the swells of traffic
rocking like waves through the city, stopping and starting with
actual traffic lights. There are infinite rows of shops and restaurants,
and my imagination wanders about the city, trying to decide where
to eat and what to buy. I dream of all the places and things that
we don’t have in Battambang. more>>
The Border, December 2006
Kamrieng is a small and dusty town on the Thai border, grim and simmering in the afternoon sun. Every year, Homeland hosts an anti-child trafficking day in Kamrieng, complete with speeches, performances, and games to teach children about trafficking and educate the community about the reality of its causes and consequences. The day culminates with a march through the dirt roads of the town. Five-hundred primary-school children wield banners and signs, chanting and laughing; some are just along for the ride, while others take the lead--puncturing the hazy air with fists and staccato chants--unleashing a roaring, tumbling echo. more >>
My Little Man, March 2007
Rith* started visiting Homeland's center the week I arrived in Battambang. We were both newcomers and became friends instantly. I wrote about him in my initial impressions piece (“huge brown eyes, the whites yellowed and sickly, and a childish smile of tiny spaced out teeth outlined in blackened plaque… the tiny boy with a cocky, light-footed strut, shoulders swinging back and forth and chest puffed out”). We found comfort in each other's friendship and became pillars for one another in the midst of our new surroundings. Eight months later, he has become so much more to me than a friend: He is a son, a brother, and a boy who represents to me all the children who survive with less than they deserve. He has reaffirmed my belief in the human capacity for survival and compassion. more >>
|
