SO, the volunteering stint is over. No longer am I perceived as virtuous by the naieve, or CV enhancing by the cynical. Needs must. So here I am, teaching English as a foreign language to knowledge starved, early-rising Cambodians, hungry for a legitimate escape route out of the cloud of poverty that threatens to engulf them. Their flightpath takes them via Education.
My old director once predicted that in a decade from now, the Khmer language won't exist. Instead there will be an English pidgin. I hope that my students will be there, fluent in an English gleaned from a mixture of enterprising ESL teachers who have graced ACE's doors and battling against their environment with communication skills as their weapon of choice, as opposed to acid attacks and drink fuelled violence.
ACE, The Australian Center for Education. I have been told that it used to be a nightclub. It is now possibly the principal English language school in Phnom Penh, offering structure, discipline, scholarship opportunities and hope to its students who are seeking to shun the current alternative money-making schemes available to them: karaoke bars, massage parlours, prostitution or marrying a barang.
So instead of posters banning hand grenades, knives and guns, there are simply penalties for non-attendance, or lack of work. The message is simple, you need to work hard to pass, and you will not pass if you do not make the effort. They are learning the English language but also the western work ethic, rightly or wrongly. ACE do not pay lipservice to the rules, they fail students, and regularly, if they are not cutting the proverbial mustard. This "cruel'' is really just kind, because ultimately the Cambodian students who persist are in search of the IELTS holy grail, which requires certain standards be met.
The environment at ACE is western, albeit half of the teaching staff are Cambodian. This eases the way for those Cambodians wanting to emigrate to Australia and New Zealand, giving them practice canvas on which to scribble. However, it's not all English, the "No spitting'' sign in the kitchen recognises one of the many Cambodian habits, which would not be welcomed in the Western working world.
Looking around Phnom Penh, there is evidence of the laid back lifestyle that both attracts yet simultaneously frustrates the multiple barangs living here. On the one hand, there is the ubiquitous hammock, constantly filled with a drowsy body, and the tuk-tuks, when not in use, serve as beds for their redundant drivers. Even the lunch hours (actually 2 hours) are that bit longer, always taken and never worked through. Then you hear that the drivers have commuted into the capital from Takeo Province, meaning a ridiculously early start, and the word lazy, which had been lingering on the tip of the tongue is quickly swallowed.
There are also the other early rises, before 5am is not unusual. Classes start at 6, and with people travelling in from the provinces to make efficient use of their time, (they go to work after class).
Smiles are customary, but heavy bags under the eyes also the norm. One of my colleagues offered food for thought: they are so tired so often due to the incessant noise pollution problem that infects Phnom Penh. It is a building site. Anything mechanical is not disposed of but worked on by noisy functional but outmoded tools at times when westerners folk are still asleep.
Even the dogs seem to bark louder than western dogs, competing for airspace with loud music streaming out of the many bars, motodops and screeching 4 by 4s. Earplugs are one of the most valuable investments you can make to stop yourself from getting used to the auditory chaos. Getting out of Phnom Penh at weekends is a must - escaping what can be a unique, fun, dynamic and exhilerating city, but also a claustrophobic, overly intense sensory experience: excess heat, excess dust , excess mosquitos, excess msg, and the overwhelming smells of river fish and noodle soup against a smelly backdrop of the open sewer.
Today was such an escape. Just the other side of the Mekong into Kandal province meant space. Space from the Ex-pat world, from the midday sun and from the familiar, Kandal offered an open and green setting where the only real sounds were our bicycle tyres rotating through soft sand and the greeting cries of "hello'' from local children.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050903&id=1532807033&l=994fe134b8
The thing is Cambodia, 8 months in is still an adventure. The not so good is a novel challenge. Part of me is still deluded that I am on an extended holiday, when in fact I actually live and work here. I don't have another job to go to, rich parents who will indulge my year out and then tell me to cut my hair and become an accountant. This is my reality yet it still feels a little surreal.
It will be interesting to see if my feelings change when the novelty wears off, perhaps when my friends move on, as expats typically do. Let's see.
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