To Catch a Thief

After living in a country for over a year, it's easy to get overly confident or what some people may call "Cocky." I would never accept such a vulgar descriptive word like "cocky" to define myself but some people may find it applicable. Regardless of what you want to call me - that's not the issue at hand - the issue at hand is safety and security in a third world country.

Peace Corps volunteers enjoy a good celebration every once in a while. The most recent celebration was to honor the newest editions to our Peace Corps Cambodia family, the K7s (AKA - the seventh group of PCVs to enter into service in Cambodia.) We had a very super professional Meet & Greet session at the office, broke up into provinces for dinner, and reconvened at our Country Director's house for hors d'oeuvres and fancy drink (i.e. > $3 wine; it was a big night.) For some of us PCVs our night shan't end simply. The night must also contain an introduction to our most frequented watering holes in the city of Phnom Penh.

A number of PCVs have entered the Mekong River Lounge in the past and cleaned the place of beer. Dancing is also a common happenstance. We often take control of the musical decisions and amaze the other perturbed guests with our quality of dance. We offer a great many forms of entertainment when there happens to be 50+ PCVs within the same establishment.

Some PCVs end their night at the Mekong and cheers to those smart individuals who believe in the power of sleep. Others find the dancing options of the Mekong limited and disappointing and therefore take their business to another area of town that offers dance varieties unknown and very foreign to the villages we spend most of our time in. This particular night, I was one such PCV. But I was thankfully not alone. At least 20 PCVs decided to learn about the dance club culture along with me. We also all refused the inconvenient form of transportation known as the tuk-tuk. Why? Because we're cheap; too cheap to spend 50¢ or perhaps 75¢ per person to get to a location in 5 - 10 minutes rather than 30 - 40 minutes by walking.

Not a tuk-tuk, Not even a Taxi.


So we began our trek - me in my $5 high heels - and within no more than 10 minutes of departing the Mekong, my night was flipped upside-down. When I walk around Phnom Penh, I tend to walk in the middle-ish of the street, often times because this is the only option. Sidewalks are for cars, ya dummies! And we own the streets, COME ON! (Here's where cockiness is an issue) And when it's near midnight, there are fewer cars and motos around so it just makes sense to walk in the street, right? Or not. I was walking and talking with some lovely K7 PCVs when suddenly a moto flew by the right side of my body and stunningly, took my purse along with it. SHOCK. I watched as two men on the moto zoomed away down the dark street, completely dumbstruck. "THEY JUST TOOK MY BAG!!" I finally managed to say to the others around me. It happened so quickly and smoothly that everyone was astounded. All I had left was the strap hanging around my neck. The thieves cut the straps and with something extremely sharp because the movement was seamless. There was no struggle, no tension. I'm incredibly lucky that I didn't get slashed in the process.

Never seen this movie before but I'm played by Grace Kelly, duh.


I am so grateful that I was surrounded by my friends, old and new, when this happened. Without them, I would have been completely helpless. Automatically, one PCV called up our Safety and Security officer - Reaksmey. This man is amazing and answers his phone even when it's nearly midnight. He cares a great deal about the volunteers and does his job better than anyone could. He calmed me down and asked me to come into the office the next day so we could write up a police report. I thanked him for talking to me at such a late hour and he told me it wasn't a problem. Seriously, he is the best of the best.

Oddly enough (or maybe I was just being normal), I continued my journey with my fellow PCVs and went dancing. My friend Mike gave me money which he really did not have to do. He just did it out of the goodness of his big ol' heart. Other PCVs joked that he would have baked me a cake right then and there if he had the ingredients (Mike is an exceptional baker.)

Katy Perry eating pizza, everyone!


After a solid couple of hours of dancing, we went to a new PCV favorite - Katy Perry Pizza. It's a pizza joint set up on the sidewalk - baking pizzas out of a large steel drum turned into an oven. Pretty solid marketing they've got going on. We consumed many a pizza and continued the socialization of the K7s. I unfortunately began recounting the items I lost when my purse was snatched. Wallet containing over $30, Cambodian bank card, American bank card, Minnesota ID, phone, small sketchbook, 2 pens, lipstick, and oh no, MY iPOD! This country does not want me to have an iPod. My good ol' classic iPod was buried here after 7 or so good years. My parents sent me a new iPod touch for my birthday last year and a month later it mysteriously disappeared. And now this one rode off on a moto.

Losing an iPod is never an accepted incident. And it especially broke my heart because of my need for music while running and more so, my love affair with Instagram. My Olympus Pen E-PL1 is acting finicky lately so I don't take him out anymore. My iPod became the perfect tool for documenting the most interesting things I see in this country. The iPod camera wasn't the best quality but it was enough to capture the people, the oddities, and sceneries that really make Cambodia stand out. So unfortunately there may be a photo drought for a while.

this little lady regrets the loss of Lauraxamo's Instagram access


On the contrary, upon my realization that my iPod was gone, another volunteer - a new volunteer, named Devin casually offered to GIVE ME his iPod. He said he had two so I could take the extra, at least temporarily. How can someone be so nice? The kindness of volunteers, the network we have within our kooky family is incredible and is only growing stronger. I am forever indebted to Devin for his gift. And I practically just met the guy!

Bike journey Instagrammed



The night of dancing and debauchery ended quite late and once I returned to my room, I was alone to my thoughts and realized there was no way I could sleep. So I decided to Skype with my parents at 4AM. They thought it odd I be awake at such an hour and also thought my face looked particularly cried on. "I am crying" I responded and gave them the rundown of my night. Talking to them put me at ease. I have really awesome parents. I miss those guys like something crazy. And eventually I let them go and thought it was perhaps time to sleep. Sleeping was a disappointment and unsuccessful so I gave up and went for a run instead. I needed to blow off steam. And with the leftover money from Mike I bought myself cookies for an after-run snack. Feeling better already.

Following the run, I cleaned myself up and made my way to the Peace Corps office but stopped by a cage of puppies for sale and told everyone of them I was going to buy them. False promises. Coincidentally I ran into Mike after the puppy-stop and he gave me a brand new sketch book and nice drawing pencils! I am blown away by this guy. I'm gonna draw him up something real nice. At the office, Safety and Security officer, Reaksmey, and I recapped the theft so he could file a police report. My phone was replaced and the phone number is still the same which is super duper great. Reaksmey helped me deal with my Cambodian bank account and set almost everything right. I could not be happier with how this situation was handled. He deserves a raise!

The theft of my purse was not the first nor the last this weekend. I was one of 4 volunteers that were robbed within 3 days. As I left the office with two other volunteers, my friend Amanda's purse was also taken in the clear of day. It's possible that with increased tension surrounding the recent election is one reason for an increase in crime. This is also true during big Cambodian holidays like the Water Festival and Khmer New Year, when more people are traveling around. But one thing is for sure, these thieves are GOOD at what they do. They have it down to an art, a repulsive art form but practiced and perfected nonetheless.

These thieves do not represent the country Cambodia truly is. Khmer people are the most generous and welcoming people I've met so far and these thieves are a despicable people making a bad name of a remarkable place. Tourism is rapidly building up the economy and it would be a shame to see petty crime ruin the progress of a country that deserves so much love. I am very disappointed and borderline rage-full of the events that took place this week but I'm not letting this experience ruin Cambodia for me. It is by no means perfect here but it is something special and awe-inspiring. I'm taking this as a learning experience; to reduce my "cockiness" while in the city, be smarter about my belongings and myself. Overall, this experience makes me appreciate my life in the village where there is an established closeness and trust amongst everyone and that alone makes me feel more safe and secure. I may not have caught any thieves but I have been graced with the kindness and support of many outstanding volunteers and Peace Corps staff.

This yay is proof of Cambodia's greatness

Too Young

This morning I was running late (AKA - reading in bed and didn't want to stop and go out into the real world) and walked to my normal coffee place to get a bag of ice coffee. Literally, it's served in a plastic bag with a straw. Especially shameful of me since I'm giving a presentation on "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" for Team Takeo's Camp GLOW this weekend.

While making my way through motos and watermelons in the already scorching 8AM heat, one of my friends from the market stopped me and said that the little boy with the sores on his head died last night. Sadly, with her description, I knew exactly who she was talking about.

My immediate response was shock since just yesterday I witnessed him laughing and playing with his older sister at the market as they do everyday. I didn't believe it, as this is one of the first stages of loss and grief proposed by Elsabeth Kubler-Ross; DENIAL. At the market, waiting for my coffee, I looked at the empty stall where the little boy's grandparents are usually set up everyday. His grandpa repairs watches and glasses and has a steady flow of customers throughout the day. Seeing the empty stall made the denial fade into some inkling of belief but I asked my coffee lady in order to hear it from another source. It was true, she said.

The Grandpa at work


Moving on with my unusually busy day ahead of me, I walked to the health center with my coffee bag in hand and thoughts of the little boy's too short life. He was maybe three years old. My next thoughts went to his older sister who is one of my favorite little girls; we often sit together at the coffee spot and draw water creatures from the condensation of my coffee onto the table. Imagining that little girl enduring any kind of suffering or pain made my heart ache.

The big sister


This reaction to death is something I've felt before. When my Grandpa Olson died, it took so long to sink in, and my tipping point was when I thought about how my brother would recover from the loss of our grandpa. My brother spent a great deal of time at my grandpa's house *cough* skipping class *cough* and I don't blame him. Our grandpa's house is full of fantastic blanket-fort-TGIF-McDonald's-eating-porch-memories. Thinking about how my brother would be affected by losing such an amazing person as Grandpa Walter Olson was scary to me. I wanted to make sure my brother would be okay. This kind of reaction makes sense to who I am, though. I would much rather everyone around me be happy first, and then maybe eventually I'd figure out what's going on with me. And really, it makes sense to focus on those closest to the recently deceased person. They are the ones that need the most support and love.

How I best remember Grandpa Olson - photo courtesy of Aunt Barb


Today, I bypassed the third stage of grieving, Anger, and jumped straight to Bargaining. As a Community Health Volunteer in my little community, it came as a stabbing blow to hear of this little boy's untimely death. In turn, I began to rattle up potential warning signs of his impending death that I overlooked. These warning signs were present but I was too distracted by my own selfish thoughts to recognize and bring attention to them. I won't go on to blame myself for what happened but I can't help to think that maybe if I had looked more closely, actually asserted myself, and told his family my worries, maybe things would have gone differently.

Yesterday, while dazing in and out of the scurrying market scene, I watched the little boy and his sister play together. Watching this brother and sister pair play together always brightened my days. The little boy was laying on the table top and his sister was wrapping him up in a Kromah (which is a traditional Khmer multi-purpose scarf.) My first thought went to "oh, he's a mummy" which wasn't such an unexpected comparison for me to make at the time since I had just finished the book "STIFF: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers" by Mary Roach. Now in hindsight, I feel uneasy that I made such a comparison.

brother and sister love


As the little boy and his sister played with the kromah on the tabletop, I watched the little boy's chest move up and down in what seemed to be weary breathing. But when I looked at his face, he was smiling and giggling at this sister, as per usual. Because he wasn't showing any immediate signs of distress, I didn't think about his heaving breath beyond that.

For at least a month leading to his death, the little boy had many infected sores covering his head. At one point, the sores were so bad that half of his face was completely swollen. The sores came and went. One day I asked the grandma if they went to the health center to get the sores checked out and she said they had medicine, a cream, that they used already. My friend at the market often scoffed at the little boy and his sister and said "aut ana-mai" or not clean, not sanitary. I sympathized with the little boy and his family because they were poor. Their mother recently took a job at a garment factory and was in another town to be closer to work. The grandma and grandpa were left to care for their grandchildren 24/7. I wanted them to put more attention on the little boy and his health but it wasn't my place to tell them what to do.

The little boy and his grandma


When the sores continued to show up on his face and head, I should have asked again about going to the health center, been persistent, but I didn't want to act like a know-it-all, or anything close to a doctor. I also didn't want to insult the family or overstep my boundaries, which is very possible being in the foreigner position that I am in.

Now I wish, with great regret, that I had overstepped my boundaries. I wish I hadn't doubted my instincts; he really was having trouble breathing and that was a definite danger sign that he was not well and needed immediate medical attention.

I ask myself "What can I do now?"

Recently, I've finally had the great opportunity to do village outreach with my health center; giving out Vitamin A vaccinations in more rural areas, and also with one of the village health volunteers to educate about family planning. While out in the villages, I saw so many children covered in dirt, with greasy hair, rotten teeth, and open sores on their legs. The children that looked the most malnourished were the ones most resistant to taking the Vitamin A vaccination which is a harmless, capsule of sweet liquid that we squeeze into children's mouths.

From what I've recently experienced and observed, my goal is to create educational materials that are simple and clear and focused directly on keeping children healthy. Preventative health education. Families that live in more rural areas, and are often farmers, have little time to give direct care to their children but I want to make this one of their priorities. I want to provide basic advice and steps that they can take that can save their children's lives. A lot of it may be common sense, no-brainers, but sometimes it needs to be said out loud by people in their villages that they trust and admire. I will provide the material but the village chiefs and village health volunteers will convey the messages. That is exactly what my job is here.

too beautiful not to share


At this point, I'm not completely sure what stage of the grieving process I am in because I'm grieving for more than just the little boy. I experience something so close to physical pain and certain remorse for children I see living and playing amid heaps of burning trash. Their faces reflect worry and their bodies are feeble and worn. Sometimes I think I'm too sensitive and empathetic to be in this position; that my emotions will cripple me from actually taking action. But then I think "THAT'S BULLSHIT!" I need to take my empathy and work with it because it's what got me here in the first place. I have to keep telling myself "Not all is lost, Laura." And I can't beat myself up for things that have already happened. I know I can't save them all, but I hope to at least plant the seed and bring more light and life to an arid landscape.

The Little boy


Much love,

Laurax