p. diddy

Public Service Announcement:

I am a card carrying fan of the squattie pottie. Are you familiar with this primarily Eastern world essential piece of water closet equipment? I am pretty sure the last time we met, [put link to blog post here] I was discussing a problem of mine that I had in the bathroom so maybe I already explained the squattie pottie beyond the reaches of whatever you ever really needed to know?

I disagree. I don't think you know enough about the squattie pottie. Until you try the squattie pottie yourself and then install your own squattie pottie in your personal water closet in your American abode do you really know enough about the squattie pottie. Ya hear? And let me emphasize the importance of a butt sprayer. BUTT SPRAYER. You need it in your life. You will not realize how disgusting the idea of toilet paper, alone in sticky bathroom situations, truly is until you ditch the T.P. for 2 years and indulge in a handheld shower for your bunghole.

The butt sprayer is something that can be a tricky tool or perhaps, in some instances, a weapon to your very own derrière. You must test the intensity of a butt sprayer before you put it into action. If you don't test it out, you could end up giving yourself a personal enema and you don't want that, now do you?

But I'm not really here to warn you about these potential squattie pottie scenarios. I'm not really good at advice. I am good at making mistakes that I hope no one ever replicates in human history. And if history repeats itself, I have proof here on this blog that I did indeed warn the public, at least the "Laurax doodles in Khmer" blog reading public. Liability expunged?

Very much in the same way my previous blog post began, I was enjoying a few brewskis with my friends in the comfort of my home. (And now the people are wondering "Does Laura just drink beer in Cambodia?" It's debatable. But in my defense, this was the beginning of Khmer New Year which is an endless celebration for some.) I also had my good friend Stacy there as a wing woman/buffer/BAMF/etc. So we are being over fed an array of beer drinking foods, something Khmer people like to call "clime" (these are my best phonetics.) In America I think good "clime" would be potato chips, cheetos...uuhhhhh....pizza? It's been a while. What do Americans eat while drinking beer nowadays? I have no idea. "Clime" in Cambodia usually includes an array of meats and sauces to dip the meats in. And the ultimate Khmer snack: Pongtia Goan (some people think it should be spelled like this: pong tia koon ពងទាកូន <- Khmer all the way, baby.) You can click on that link to find the all knowing wikipedia page about it. I was turned on to pongtia goan, or partially developed duck embryo (uh, yeah I know...) somewhere around November 2013. I was a late bloomer but have not looked back since then. The main draw for me are the garnishes that accompany the egg - a chili garlic sauce, a pepper-salt-MSG-lime sauce, and little green leaves. "Eat, don't look" is my strategy. Also, "don't knock it till you try it."


Partially developed duck embryo. Try it, you'll like it!


And the night is full of cheers, laughter, and eating until it's time to break the seal. We reteach our friends what "break the seal" means and that that is what I am about to embark on. I walk around a couple of construction trucks to one of my family's 9 toilets. The squattie pottie awaits me, but has an unidentifiable object floating in it which I try to flush down with buckets of water. It doesn't go down so I decide to pee anyway. I complete my mission and try to flush the unidentifiable object down again. A couple of buckets poured down but the unidentifiable object is standing its ground. I stop and finally take a hard look at the unidentifiable object (did I mention it's dark in the stall? for some reason there's only a light outside of the toilet and not actually in the toilet.) The unidentifiable object is breathing? I get down and analyze the object and it is, indeed, a baby chick. A baby chicken is submerged in the squattie pottie toilet water. Gasping for air after I water boarded it a couple of times. OH. MY. GOD.

And what is the most logical thing to do? Reach into the squattie pottie water and scoop up the baby chick. I carry my now identifiable little winged friend and present him to my friends. In a somewhat squealing voice I say "Look at what I just peed on!" I think I said this in both English and attempted to explain what I did in Khmer. Once everyone completely understood the situation (in which I reacted to with great exaggerating hysterics) everyone laughed at me. My host mom told me to put the chick down and covered it with a food cover so the dogs wouldn't try to eat it after its already near death experience.

I went back to the water cisterns and quietly giggled to myself at the ridiculousness of what I just did. I felt like I had done something that changed my life for eternity. I could never turn back or fully recover from this incident. My life changed forever the moment I peed on a baby chick.

The excitement dulled down and we continued our small celebration. But my thoughts still strayed back to my baby chick. And that was when I decided to name it P. Diddy.

The lesson I learned in all of this was that squattie potties, as perfect as they are for doing your business, have dangers that are not always visible to the naked eye. And in conclusion, please PLEASE install a squattie pottie but please PLEASE, make sure you baby chick proof it immediately after installation.


Grown up P.Diddy.

Hello Contagion

The Culprits?



There is a short-lived feeling of celebrity that courses through the veins of many Peace Corps trainees the first time they hear the screaming “Hellos” of their adoring fans when they settle into their training villages. “They love us!” some may say as they rocket past a hoard of barefooted children running after the tuk-tuk full of “barangs.” (Barang being the generic term for foreigners here, literally meaning French in Khmer.)

The obsessive adoration from screaming children quickly dies down a week into training. Trainees begin to realize that screaming “Hello” to a barang is like a sixth sense for Khmer children. “Seriously, that kid was a full kilometer away from me and was already screaming “helloooooooooo!!!!” How do they do it?!” What is the goal of screaming “Hello” to the barangs? I can tell you right here – right now, it is not to get the expected response of “Hello” in return because they continue to scream “Hello” many times following the initial response.

Scheming...



Trainees become Volunteers and the word “Hello” becomes slightly...tainted. The first step out the door of your new home for the next 2 years is greeted with “HELLO BARANG!” And the fresh faced PCV thinks to himself “Oh....hi....? Do I know you?”
Walking to breakfast, all eyes are glued to your face. Politeness abides. Peace Corps Professional. You're new to the area, you want to make a good first impression. On your bike rides and morning runs through the village you wave and give an obligatory “hello” back to the screaming children.

Then you have a bad day; need to bike off some steam. You ignore a “hello” here and there. The “hello” is repeated. And repeated. And repeated. AND REPEATED!!! “Maybe the barang didn't hear me” thinks the screaming child. Scream it louder and longer, with more INTENSITY: “HHHHHEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” The child screams himself hoarse. A mystery “hello” coming from the woods. “What the heeelllll...? Where are you?” You think to yourself “If I can't see you, I can't, no, won't say 'hello' back.”

Four months in to your service, the word “Hello” is now a disgusting and offensive word.

Your first year of service comes and goes. That was not easy. But you made it. And you know what is still disgusting and offensive? The word “Hello.” How has this word not died down already? Why are they still screaming “HEEELLLLLLLOOOOOO!!!!”??? And it's not just in the village. It's on the way to your provincial town. It's in that alley in-between Sorya and P'saa Thmey in Phnom Penh. It's sitting next to you on the bus to Battambang.

The one on the right has the 6th sense



The “hello” contagion is set off by one child – the one with the keenest scent for barang – and so begins the domino effect of the melodically chimed, screeched, and blurted out “HELLOS!” It spreads so quickly, you can't pick it out with the naked eye. There's no way to avoid it. The “hello” contagion travels faster than any viral boob-slip-dick-pic-choreographed-wedding-procession-internet post you've ever seen.

Headphones during your run can't even eliminate the screams. The screaming “hellos” penetrate even the thickest of steel walls, the original Beats by Dre, and the most stubborn of Peace Corps Volunteers. Ignoring the “hellos” will makes it worse, much worse.

During your second year of service you begin to do freelance research and a full on investigation to find the origin behind the word “Hello” in the Kingdom of Wonder. You wonder “the chicken or the egg?.....these kids didn't teach themselves the word 'Hello.' Did they?”

AHA!

That yay at the health center forcibly took that newborns hand and made it wave “bye-bye” at you. “Why is that baby waving goodbye to me? He never even said...hello.” OP! There it is, as you exit the health center “Hello barang!” says the newborn swaddled in five towels and one floral polar-fleece blanket.

Hello. Is it me you're looking for?



This isn't as simple as you originally thought. It is not only the uncontrollable children screaming “Hello!” at you. It's the men drinking at the little shack on the corner “Hello!” It's the high-schoolers biking on their way to school “Hello!” It's the fruit ladies at the market “Hello!” It's sneaking up behind you on a moto “Hello!” There is no escaping the “Hello!” There is no stopping the “Hello!” The “Hello” owns you. You are “Hello's” bitch.

Your body now has a physical, involuntary response to the word “Hello.” Your limbs go numb from sitting too long, your eyes glaze over, dry mouth? Those crackers are making you thirsty. You suddenly get much better at surfing the internet. You can't seem to stop yourself from eating spoonfuls of peanut butter while sitting on your bedroom floor in your underwear. You sob uncontrollably when Aladdin finally frees Genie from the eternal shackles of a life of servitude in a bottle, baby.

With all the energy you can muster after your three-hour-post-lunch-nap, you walk to the market and attempt to educate the three year old standing 2 feet away from you, staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed as you get your nails painted. “Nyay 'Hello' m'dong kuut.” (“Say 'Hello' one time only.” You're sure the Khmer translation is not very clear but who cares?) Alas, you know your efforts are lost as the child walks away for a brief moment, returns with nom soam jeg in hand and screams “Hello barang!” with a mouthful of sticky rice. “Hello barang!” from around the shelf of beauty products. “Hello barang!” from behind the trash heap. “Hello barang!” from the fruit stand 100 meters away. Your thoughts jump to “This kid can teleport, I swear” as you trip your way out of the market. “Hello barang!” from the moto riding by with 3 adults and 3 babies “Hello barang!”

Hi.



I wish there was a way to somehow follow the “hello” contagion back to its conception and find that all signs point to Gwyneth Paltrow as the blame but real life ain't that easy, kid.

What I do know is that tucked tightly between each shrieked out “Hello” there is a quiet smile of a white-haired Ta riding by slowly on his bicycle. There's a shy little “Hi” of a young girl with a toothy grin watching you pass her by. Regardless of the “hello” contagion's degrading effect on the psyche of volunteers, there is a silver lining. Cambodian people love foreigners. It's an undeniable truth. If you want to travel to a beautiful country and feel welcomed by the locals, come to Cambodia.

Dog says "Hello" too.