The rains here are torrential. We got our first real taste of it late yesterday afternoon while waiting for the doctor to arrive at CCF. It had rained before, but this afternoon – thunder roared, the sky opened up and in minutes the water had risen in the streets nearly a foot. Kids on their way back to CCF from public school sloshed their way across the street, soaked to the bone. By the time we finished the last interview and headed back to our hotel, traffic was hopelessly snarled and the water was up to the doors. I wondered where the street kids go to sleep during rainy season and thought about that newborn baby in that leaking tarp tent at the relocation center.
The next morning we arrived at CCF to pick up Leakhena for the long drive to Battambang to bring her back to the pagoda she lived at before coming to CCF. We also brought a little someone extra. Sray Kong is an adorable tiny 11 year old that also lived at a pagoda in Battambang. Scott had asked us to drop her off at her grandmother’s home there since we were headed that way. We all set off in fine spirits, stopping at the gas station to fill up. I spoiled the girls a bit with chips, soda and M&M’s for the road. As we left the city and the miles behind, the country began to stretch out before us in the gorgeous hues of green of the rice fields. Several hours into the drive, we pulled off at a river where a raggedly dressed clan was mining sand. Nin, the chaperone from CCF quietly explained that the family could make up to $15 a month if they sold enough sand culled from the river. We watched as an older man clad in a pair of shorts took a deep breath and sunk below the surface of the muddy water clutching a large scooped pan. After a few moments, he reappeared with the tray full of sand. He swam to the edge of the shore where his wife was shoveling the sand into large piles. A short distance away, a young man maneuvered their wooden boat along the water. We spent some time filming their activities before we thanked them with a gift of money and headed out. We didn’t get far. Nearby, three women were planting baby rice shoots in a watery field. There was another group a further distance away with a plow and water buffalo, but it required a trek down an unmarked path that neither Art nor myself was in any hurry to test out. While normally I like to travel off the beaten path in life, I prefer not to do it in a place I may blow myself up. We opt for the three women instead.
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While strolling through the market to buy Art some shoes, we came across a small fried food stand. My DP is almost always hungry and I glanced down to see what fare was being offered. There were four large tubs of deep fried larva, cockroaches, grasshoppers and beetles. Art decided he wasn’t that hungry but encouraged me to give it a shot. “I’ll give you five bucks,” he urged. Until he gets up to the $50,000 Fear Factor is offering, there’s not a chance. Besides, I had my fill of risk earlier. We loaded all the camera gear into the wicked tiny elevator. The button didn’t seem to be working so Art stepped off for a moment to check things out. Suddenly the doors closed, lurched up about a floor and then the elevator clanked to a stop and went completely dark. I was fairly certain this piece of crap elevator was going to plunge to the basement with me in it. Plus it was stifling hot there in the dark. Since I am writing this, obviously the power came back on and I got out, but it was a long few minutes in the dark contemplating what was going on.
After spending a few hours at CCF this morning interviewing Scott Neeson, the executive director, my crew, Scott, John, Brittany and Cynthia Daniel all piled into two trucks for the long ride to the relocation camp to visit the families there. These are all families that have been gathered up out of the slums by the government and driven far out of the city, where they are simply dropped off with no resources. The government has given their slum land to developers to build expensive condos for officials and other wealthy individuals. The unfortunate previous tenants are now gathered in a large refugee camp. They have nowhere else to go and no way work to provide for themselves. So they sit and wait there for the government to dole out little parcels of land on the empty plots that measure around 12×12. Just enough to build a shelter, but not enough to plant anything and make it sustainable, even if crops would grow in the wasteland they’ve been given.
We pull up to a sea of make shift tents stretching far back. We are besieged with people as soon as we disembark. They are desperate, sick and starving. There is no food or medical care. We meet a young woman who broke her wrist in a compound fracture. Left untreated it is now infected with gangrene and must be amputated. A desperate woman pulls on my sleeve. The rains came down heavy last night and flooded the camp. Something that has been happening regularly the last few weeks and the results are horrifying. Her feet are rotting on the bottom and side and infected. These people can’t get out of the water when in rains. The shelters have make shift tarps for roofs and sit right on the ground. Many have not eaten in days. There are hundreds of people crying, begging, pleading for some type of aid. Nearby in a tent is a young woman. During the rain last night, she gave birth to a son in this unsanitary haven. He sleeps on the ground wrapped in a shirt. We gather to look at this sleeping innocence. His mother is ill and most likely developing an infection. She wants us to take the baby with us. Rains are coming again and there is no protection for the baby. more…
I’ve been up since 5 am due to a combination of jet lag, a faulty air conditioner that shuts itself off every 2.5 hours, a mistaken call from the front desk informing me my Tuk Tuk had arrived and two drunk guys who mistook my room for theirs and fell against mine in an attempt to unlock it. Either that or Theresa’s bad habit of getting up at 5 a.m. has simply worn off on me. I wandered up and down the riverfront enjoying the early morning quiet beauty of the river. The weather was still cool and I watched the narrow, pointed wooden boats with their fisherman in broad rimmed hats push themselves along with long wooden poles. The children are still asleep in their usual spots – sprawled along the retaining wall in little bunches. Three wide awake and naked toddlers play a game of hide and seek around an overflowing trash barrel. I pause for a moment and look down into the face of a sleeping boy. His long lashes frame his dirty face. His little mouth is slightly open and he sleeps deeply, a picture of innocence. I realize how attached I have become to Cambodia and her people. How deeply woven my affections for her children have wound themselves into my being. It has gotten under my skin in a way I believe will never truly be shed.
Art comes ambling into the coffee shop where I am writing. “I knew I’d find you here” he says with a grin. Art’s easygoing nature and patience has been wonderful on this trip. I think I could have searched forever and not found a more perfect DP for the project. We have a little time to spare before our new soundman arrives. After a hectic day yesterday, we told Borom we needed to replace Mr. Lee. He worked very hard but it became apparent he did not have enough experience to overcome the fact he spoke no English at all and could not communicate questions or problems to us. Our new soundman is a personable Cambodian American, who speaks perfect English. He’s arriving early to work with the equipment before we head out to the dumps and relocation camps. Till then, we’ll sit here writing emails in the brightly lit coffee shop and try not to think about the dumps this afternoon.
At eleven forty five my friend, John Whaley arrives. I met John in Pasadena at our photography exhibit. John is an unsung hero. He facilitates getting wells dug and providing families with piglets in the Cambodian villages in his spare time and it turns out we are in Cambodia the same week. I invited him to CCF and the dumps with us while we were filming. We arrive at CCF and discover we have additional guests. Cynthia and Brittany Daniel, identical twin actors from the popular teen show Sweet Valley High have heard about the work CCF is doing and have come to Cambodia to learn more about the issues.
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Last night Art and I had dinner with a couple he knew through friends back home. Piseth, a native Cambodian and his wife Siobhan, from Australia, met while Piseth was a monk. Born in the rural countryside during the tail end of the fight with the Khmer Rouge, he became a monk at a young age to avoid being forced to become a soldier. Dinner was an interesting affair – they are on the verge of moving to Hong Kong. Siobhan has had enough of life in Cambodia for now. They spoke of the relocation camps, lack of health care and the fear among Cambodians to speak out against a government that cares very little of the poor. Journalists and filmmakers being arrested; shot at and bullied – it was a sobering topic. We’ve already been warned by Borom our film liaison to always have our permit on us and keep a 10% contingency handy for bribes. In fact, customs attempted to extort a small amount from Art when we arrived. According to Siobhan, the police are not fond of “do good” Americans. Art and I agree upon returning that neither of us is interested in getting arrested or shot, so we plan on treading very carefully – especially at the relocation camps the government has set up. We’re heading there tomorrow.
But today was an uplifting day of filming at the CCF. Spending time with “our” four kids, catching them doing things they love: Saroeurn, who dreams of being a karate instructor kicks his way through his martial arts class. Layseng, who loves to sing, belts out her ABC’s and Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes in her English class. We also have frank interviews with Allie, who speaks of the rewards and difficulties of living and working in Cambodia and with their new pediatric nurse volunteer from Scotland, Fiona, who talks about some of the medical milestones and setbacks. Both issue a strong call to action to everyone: Get Out and Get Involved. It is something we plan to repeat often in this film. These kids’ lives are being changed by individuals who are making a difference. We all can enrich our lives by following their examples.
We break for lunch and Art and I head to a little deli I remember to grab a sandwich. I stroll across the chaotic intersection with cars, Tuk Tuks and motorbikes beeping and swerving around me. Art is still on the other side. He catches up with a grin. “I’m still getting used to this,” he says. Garbage lines the street and the ever-present smell of Phnom Penh lingers in my nose. Allie calls it a mix of heat, pee and people.
It’s five am and I’ve just spent a restful four hours in Taipei despite the fact I was sleeping in the hotel terry cloth robe. (Did I mention our luggage went direct to Cambodia?) As I sit here in this very nice hotel sipping some Earl Grey tea, I can’t help but think of how different things will be in a few hours. Taipei is a bustling metropolitan. Busy, well-kept freeways and overpasses, high rises and huge neon signs – we are in the New York of Taiwan. Less than two hours away by plane, we will soon be touching down in Phnom Penh, the capitol city of Cambodia. Economically depressed and dirty, it is a far cry from the view of my hotel room this early Monday. I watch from my window as a smartly dressed military squad steps in a morning cadence march. The hotel staff has gone out of their way to be accommodating after the mishap last night. Though it is early, they have set out coffee for Art and I at a table downstairs and given us the paper. Our white-gloved driver loads the bags. This morning we will be taking the hotel’s Mercedes to the airport. A little bit of luxury we were not expecting. This afternoon, we’ll travel to the CCF in a rickety cart hauled by a run down motorbike operated by a man who most likely sleeps in the cart at night. Guess it’s time to shed this robe and put on my emotional and mental armor. My wake up call just sounded….
The city is just as I remember. It doesn’t take long to adjust to being back. Familiar smells, sights and sounds overload my senses. I feel like I never left as I walk the short distance to the FCC to have a cold drink and a meeting with our Cambodian crew. Borom from Cardamom films has filled the role that once was Kulikar’s. He has brought us all together – a group of former strangers who will work side by side for the next couple of weeks trying to capture the stories of the children who live here. We have more in common than we think. Ny, our translator, went to high school in Sacramento. She wants to return to San Francisco to go back to college. Borom was raised in northern California, but chose to return to Cambodia to connect with his native country and people. Pou Mab, our driver and Pou Lee, our soundman are both native Cambodians who speak no English, but bring experience in filming in Cambodia to the table. We hash out last minute details to begin our shoot in the morning. As we get started, a familiar figure catches my eye. The barefoot and ragged young girl with the lethargic toddler slung to her hip wanders by. Theresa and I fed her almost every day in March till she disappeared. She is back walking her familiar beat, hands held out – pleading with passing people for money or food. I resolve to find out her story. She will be one of the first of the “Small Voices” we try to capture. I point her out to Ny and hope that I will see her again. I wonder if she will recognize me.
Someone recognizes me. Much to my relief and excitement, Vantha, my favorite Tuk Tuk driver who faithfully carted me around in March is in his familiar spot by the hotel. I make arraignments for him to bring Art and I to the CCF later and promise him more business in the coming weeks. I’m excited to get to the CCF and see the children.
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My siblings are dying for me to post this first part of the blog for today. Because they know once I do it will be open season on first class teasing and snarky messages they can leave on the message board. The trip has not exactly gotten off to the most auspicious start. Art and I managed to get to the airport with plenty of time to spare. However, we encountered some confusion when we tried to check in. “EVA airlines?” Various airport personal would say with a puzzled frown. They don’t open their counters till 2p.m.
When we explained our flight was 1p.m., we were met with more blank stares. I began to have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and it wasn’t from the thought of the food on the plane. At last, a kindhearted security screener asked to see our itinerary. He looked at us with pity reserved for those that are not so bright. The flight was at 1 AM he informed me in no uncertain terms, not 1PM. Man, that little am or pm notation would have been handy on the printout. EVA rose to the occasion, however, working with us diligently to try to get us rescheduled. “Don’t feel bad,” the lady at the counter told me, “You’re the fourth people today to do the same thing on this flight.”
All that help didn’t solve a host of problems, however – such as getting a hold of our driver in Cambodia who was picking us up; getting a hold of our hotel to change our reservations; getting a hold of CCF to change our Monday meeting, etc, etc. Plus now we are spending the night in Taipei as we try to get a connecting flight to Cambodia – so we needed to find a hotel to stay in later. I discovered my anytime minutes DO NOT include international calling. My new Production Assistant, Brie, stepped up to the plate and contacted everyone. She’s just been promoted to Most Amazing Ever PA. And thank God for Wireless Internet – I tapped into in the lobby of the nearby Sheraton Hotel. I was able to book us a room in Taipei tonight. Art has been very cheerful. “I always wanted to see Taipei” he says as he drinks his lemonade. I was too busy sucking on the lemons myself….
So now we are stuck at the LAX international airport where we have already been for 5.5 hours waiting to get a flight out. And since I’ve already eaten the food I packed for the plane, I guess I am stuck with the airline food after all…
Less than twenty-four hours to go before the plane takes off and I’m having a hard time believing I’m actually ready. Having learned the hard way from the last trip, I’m prepared with food for the plane, chopsticks that will NEVER leave my sight, boots for the dump and enough dollar bills to cover various Tuk Tuk driver expenses.
As I review my schedule for next week, I can’t help but be slightly bemused at the strange juxtaposing of events. I’m going to be spending the first week working in the ravages of the dump and the riverside community. On the other hand, I also have dinner plans with a Cambodian couple my DP knows and dinner plans with a guy I met in Pasadena who is traveling to Cambodia next week to oversee his own non profit project of digging wells in villages. I also have a frequent customer coffee card to the café down the street from my hotel and a business card and email address for Theresa’s and my favorite Tuk Tuk driver so I can engage his services ahead of time. Mind you, the majority of the Tuk Tuk drivers are homeless and sleep in their carts, but still enterprising enough to be online. By day I’ll be once more immersed in the reality of the street kids life and at night, I have a social schedule busier than the one I have here in LA. Who knew I only had to travel halfway around the world to get a social life?
I’m sitting at my desk reviewing my lengthy sticky note of things I still need to get done before Saturday rolls around and I’m once more crammed into a decrepit wing seat on EVA airlines en route to Cambodia. My suitcase is actually already packed, but I am positive I am forgetting something….
Ah – that’s it. I’m forgetting to pack Theresa this trip. Much to my dismay, I must concede that my intrepid photographer actually has a life; family and her own non-profit to take care of and is unable to trek back to Cambodia for our July shoot. I feel apprehensive about this in many ways. The trip in March was an emotional roller coaster and I’m heading back into the heart of depression and destitution without the benefit of a good friend to rely on for support. This will be a tough shoot – not only with the return to the garbage dumps but the continued journey into the remote countryside where these children are being driven from in droves. It’s taken three months to clear my senses of the sights, sounds and smells of Stung Meanchy, but the images of the dump children never leave you completely. They are always lurking on the corners of your mind as you give thanks for your own children and the life of security and comfort we often take for granted.
Theresa just called: she’s bought me up a pillow for the plane. J Good thing…. I’m going to need a lot of rest to gear up for what lies ahead.