Well, I learned a tough lesson the other day, and it’s something that I won’t forget any time soon. Before I get into it, here’s a mini update on a few of the goings on here in Siem Reap.
I have yet to enjoy the takeout from the Italian restaurant that imports their ingredients from Italy in the humble Treehouse, and I probably won’t any time soon seeing that I moved out. The Treehouse, although very cute, was actually located about ten minutes by tuk tuk outside of the town’s main area, and across the Siem Reap River. Not only did the verdant tropical location look cute, but it welcomed mosquitoes to feast upon my legs. It also made getting into town somewhat of a challenge since at the time I had got only my two feet to get around a city full of crazy moto bike traffic. Turning my frown right side up, I’ll be residing downtown in the Villa Siem Reap for the rest of my time in Cambodia. Victory! What this means is that I can actually explore downtown on foot, or better yet via the pushbike that Savy and I purchased this morning. I think that I’m finally getting the courage to venture out of my “comfort zone.” Last Thursday I scuttled over to the supermarket, Angkor Market, where I bought Skippy to make PB and banana sandwiches for lunch. Maybe I will get even more adventurous and try dinner on the town or even a meditation class with me, myself, and I? We’ll just have to see. Well that’s about it for the update. I’ll write more about the weekend at a later date, but for now I’ll stick to the story I’ve wanted to tell since last Thursday.
I finally ventured out of my comfort zone, not only to the supermarket but also to a restaurant downtown for lunch. At the Khmer Kitchen I sat drinking my Coca Light and reading Daughter of the Killing Fields, perfectly content awaiting my chicken curry. As I sat at my table, situated at the front of the open restaurant, people started to approach me. First they would ask me where I was from, and after I responded “the US,” they would rattle off facts about the United States, everything from population to the fact that George Bush is our president who “no one likes.” I may have chuckled at that one. But getting back to the story, two little girls were selling packets of post cards and bracelets for $2 each; a teenage boy came by with several books about Pol Pot, the Khmer Rouge, the mines, and the killing fields. A man walked up to my table with a basket of similar books hanging around his neck; since he couldn’t speak much English he had posted a sign written in English on the front of his basket. The sign spoke for him; after loosing both of his hands from land mines we was hoping I would be kind enough to support him and his family for $8. Even though he was a proud man, his situation prevented him from finding work and he had no other means of income.
I feel so bad for having turned them all away. I know that they could all use the $2 or the $8, while I could afford to spare it. The $2 the girls were requesting would most likely equate to a substantial portion of their monthly school fee, charged to pay the teachers’ salaries. Me? I could probably find that much change lying around in parking lots in the States in the same amount of time that it took them to complete their sales pitch, sad as that is. Picturing the man affected by the land mines puts my stomach in a knot. I felt as though if I gave money to one, I’d have to give money to them all. I know that sounds, and is, absolutely horrible, especially considering how blessed or even spoiled I am; I lead such a privileged life. I have a loving family, amazing friends, I attend an amazing university, I have a beautiful house to live in, food on the table, and I’m free to pursue any dreams that I can imagine. I don’t think that’s anyone’s fault exactly, although it seems so wrong when people who’ve faired unfathomable atrocities like those committed under the Khmer Rouge approach me and I dismiss their pleas. Maybe it’s not so bad if you consider it like this: giving them money is a short-term solution. I’d be giving a handout, not a hand up; in the long term they may become more dependant instead of independent.
While I do believe it’s better to help through slow, gradual change, giving hands up like the long-term plans CFC has developed, the two little girls continue to give me a guilty conscious. I did not want to offend them or any of the others by saying flat-out “no thank you.” I now know that phrase is the best way to handle such a situation, but in order to be less harsh I said “maybe later” and went on with my reading. The little girls stuck around my table while I waited for my lunch, enjoyed it, and paid the bill, a process that took almost an hour. When I was getting into the van to go back to school, they approached me and asked me why I had I not purchased a set of bracelets and postcards? I replied that I had only said maybe and had to get back to school. I do not view “maybe” as a guarantee but a possibility of sorts. To these girls, maybe means something more. They have already overcome so much adversity in their young lives, “maybe” is a promise. For them had I broken a promise, and they did not hesitate to let me know. The girls stood at the doorway of the van as I climbed into the seat. One of them looked me straight in the eye and declared, “sorry won’t fix it.” Back at the Amelio school I tried to be excited about making a difference for the children sitting in from of me, learning important lessons about hygiene, but I couldn’t get the two girls out of my mind.
Sorry won’t fix it. The phrase echoed through my head. That little girl was completely right and possessed the wisdom that comes only through hardship. Considering the tragic past of Cambodia and the atrocities that occurred here, sorry won’t fix it. It hasn’t in the past, and it will not in the future. Nothing can ever fix the fact that the Khmer Rouge massacred the Cambodian people and their culture, particularly a phrase like “I’m sorry.” It almost sounds facetious. While I still have a guilty conscious about being so selfish, the little girls on the street taught me an invaluable lesson. If you don’t feel right about something or anticipate regretting it later, don’t rely on “I’m sorry” because often times sorry just won’t fix it.
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2 comments:
That's such a sad post. Don't worry Laura, I'm sure you'll help tons and tons of people while you're there whether it be through your job or just through interactions with people you meet on the street. Stay safe out there and take risks and go eat good authentic food! I miss you lots.
I agree, that is a sad post. I also think you make a really good point about the short term benefit the money provides and the eventual dependence.
Riding the metro almost daily when I was in Russia, I will never forget the soldiers I saw asking for money. These men had either served in Afghanistan or in the Chechnya region and the country doesn't take care of their disabled vets the same as the US. The men had a system they all worked. At each metro stop, they changed cars until they finished the line or cars. They would do this all day. At the same time, there were so many, how can one person just keep giving?
It really does pull at your heart strings when you see someone in such need. I'm sure you'll never forget those little girls and what they said to you. At the same time, that experience for you may likely help inspire a new program for long term assistance, etc.
Thanks for adding me to your blog list again. I highly enjoy your stories and they make me think about the big picture and forget about the little crap in life :)
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