Monday, June 6, 2011

“Traffic that flows like water”

My initial reaction to hearing this assessment of the Phnom Penh traffic was to laugh and add “and goes ‘bump’ very hard”. But over time I must say “flowing like water” is the reality of how it works. The key is learning to merge, give way to the bigger vehicle, and follow the ‘actual’ road rules not the theoretical ones.


The best preparation for taking the plunge into the traffic here was the time I spent on the boys gaming console playing the game “Need for Speed: Most Wanted”. Little did I know that learning to drive on the wrong side of the road facing oncoming traffic would be a useful skill here in Phnom Penh. Dodging other traffic is one of the major skills needed to navigate the roadways.


The “flows like water” bit happens when, for example, turning left to join the traffic (which mostly uses the right side) one never stops, but rather kind of merges and mingles against the oncoming traffic until the “waters part” and a way opens up to make it across the traffic and then requires a similar merge into the stream of traffic heading left.


Confused? Perhaps this will help. There are officially two lanes of traffic with all vehicles driving on the right-hand side as in North America and Europe. So as you are driving looking forward there is the oncoming traffic on your left. Got it so far? Ok, this is where it gets tricky, there is another lane of oncoming traffic further to your right which represents the vehicles, mostly motorbikes but actually all vehicles smaller than trucks, that are trying to merge through your line of traffic to join the traffic to your left. Still with me? It is this right hand lane that does the “need for speed” thing and kind of cuts through your lane to merge with the other stream.


This is the basic ‘level 1’ context of the game and has ‘regular’ traffic – cars (some), motor scooters (lots), trucks and bicycles (lots too).


But lets play level two – this adds tuk-tuks (motor scooters pulling a carriage that comfortably seats 4 and often seats 8-10), tri-shaws (peddle powered single seated three wheeled vehicles), rubbish collectors pushing hand propelled carts around, and bicycles or scooters converted into hot food stalls fueled by hot coals.


Level three adds scooters converted to carry 44-gallon drums of flammable liquid, sheets of glass, pieces of angle iron 4-5 metres long, cupboards, double bed mattresses, and then inserts old people from the country side that are visiting the city for the first time and who randomly cross the road along the way.


Level four is the highest level and is the last test. It adds in teenagers who speed, weave in and out of the traffic, and generally create havoc by riding 3 or 4 abreast while chatting to each other. And then the last challenge - the people with mobile phones held to their ears or texting as they go along at half speed.


So watch out for the game “Need for Speed: Flows like water” at a retail store near you – $69.99. Or go down to the local market and get a pirated version for $2!






Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Inadequacy


When I think about our years of living in Thailand and now Cambodia, trying to learn language and engage in the lives of the people we are living amongst the word that would most often describe my feelings is ‘inadequacy’.

There is nothing like trying to learn a new language to make you feel small and childlike. Combine that with a totally unfamiliar culture, vastly different worldviews, less than ideal circumstances and a lack of resources and it’s not surprising that there are days we are left wondering about our effectiveness.

In the Mercy Medical Clinic, where I have been doing some physiotherapy, the people that I meet are often in situations that are way beyond my ability to address in any meaningful way.

This week I saw two stroke patients who were both left so disabled and so dependent that I couldn’t imagine how the families where going to cope with their care. The clinic is not a hospital for long term stays and these families couldn’t afford any other form of inpatient treatment. So they go back to their village homes to lie on the floor, being bathed and looked after as best they can by overwrought family members who will now have to give up paid work to become full time carers.

One of the patients could no longer speak and was having great difficulty with swallowing. Apart from rehydrating her in the clinic with a drip, little could be done as there was no tube feeding available. She would just have to be fed at home, very carefully by spoon, at great risk of getting the water or food into her lungs and developing pneumonia. Her devoted son said to me that he didn’t mind if she couldn’t move around or sit up. He would take care of her but he just wanted her to be able to eat and drink as he was afraid she might die. ‘Yes, exactly!’ I thought. It would have been difficult to think of something helpful to say even if I did feel more confident with my language skills..

It’s times like this that I find it hard just to be there witnessing people’s suffering. It’s even harder when I know that in another place, like Australia, there could be so much more done to help the whole family. My expertise and professional opinion don’t seem to be much help at the point where circumstances stack up against people and what is needed is comprehensive change to inadequate and unjust systems.

Although the temptation is to walk away or close my eyes to hard things, I do believe there is real value in simply being present with people in their pain even when we can’t take it away. I still, however, feel very uncomfortable with it. It regularly challenges my sense of professional efficacy, my sense of worth and identity and raises uncomfortable questions about what on earth I’m doing here.

Maybe if I did feel adequate I’d be in even more danger of imposing my insensitive responses and inappropriate ‘solutions’. Inadequacy is often an accurate appraisal of ourselves but it carries the danger of despondency and paralysis. Taken in a spirit of humility, however, the response is a greater dependence on the One who is able to do more than all we can ask or imagine.

Despite my wobbles, these weekly encounters with heartbreaking situations are spurring me on to deeper reflection on the meaning of solidarity, the ministry of presence, and above all else, a profound appreciation of Emmanuel, God with us, especially in our suffering and weakness.