Responding to Poverty

Last month, in the middle of the hot season, we travelled to a rural province to visit one of our IS colleagues (B) who is working as an agricultural advisor in a Christian development organisation. We rode motor scooters out to remote villages on rugged dirt tracks between bone dry paddy fields filled with cracked earth, the parched remains of old rice stalks and littered with modernity’s curse - plastics bags. In the villages life is hot and hard. There is no electricity or running water and children play in the dust. Currently the farmers in this region can harvest only one crop of rice a year due to lack of water in the dry months. Our friend and her Cambodian team mates are working together with the villagers to get a canal dug so that river water may be accessible to their fields enabling them to plant a second rice crop. This will make a huge difference to their lives and the wellbeing of their families but it is a slow, complicated process.

We were told that in this area they have an interesting way of defining relative wealth and poverty. Wealthy people always have plenty of rice to eat. The middle class only go hungry 2-3 months of the year. Poor people are hungry 6 months of the year and the destitute poor never have enough to eat.

When I think about it, and to be honest I usually try not to, I feel pretty uncomfortable about living so well and eating more food than is good for me while people nearby go hungry. There is an overwhelming impulse to dive in and ‘fix’ things. At least doing something would make me feel better. Couldn’t I simply hand out rice to those who are hungry? That’s got to be better than nothing, right?

I’ve studied community development theory, heard the stories and seen enough for myself to know that responding to poverty is not so straight forward. There are times when direct handouts are warranted and necessary but it won’t improve people’s ability to provide for their families in the long term. It only creates dependence.

Striving for transformation, building up capacity and infrastructure and facilitating community cooperation is very demanding and frustrating work, especially when there are opposing interest groups involved and corruption is an accepted part of life. Respectful discussion, listening to all the stake holders, giving everyone a say, making plans together, agreeing on each parties responsibilities and commitments all takes time, energy, patience and excellent communication and relationship skills. Doing that across culture and language differences is exceptionally challenging.

B’s dedication, love for the people and excellent language ability has inspired me to keep persevering with Khmer study. Her work and community life in rural Cambodia demonstrates that one of the more significant ways to serve the poor in this country is by learning their language.

The struggle for peace continues

The previous piece, 'War and Peace', was written some time ago about my relationship with ants during our years living in Thailand. Returning to live in Asia has reawakened old emotions and caused me to reflect on re-emerging struggles. I thought that I had grown through my experiences, come to a place of mature acceptance and worked through my issues with ants but since the hot season has started I’m finding my tolerance waning and the old anger and irritation resurfacing.

I have been scratching an ant bite on my arm for the last week. The swelling and redness is now larger than a fifty cent coin. I’ve seen signs of ant colonies out the front of our house and have started fearing that we may yet again be living on a major ant civilzation. They have been in our towels and in our food despite our little water dishes around the cupboard legs. Can Cambodian ants swim? Last night there were several tiny ants in my bed. I wanted to cry because they are so devious and will use any opportunity to deliberately aggravate and tease me.

It’s possible my emotional response has at times been out of proportion to the actual threat. There is a history, of course, and perhaps even unconscious fears about lack of control lying hidden deep in my psyche.

It seems to me that our growth is often cyclical. We are faced with a problem, uncover the underlying issues, see the larger picture, work through our pain, let go of things and find a level of peace. But inevitably this harmony is challenged. Something will trigger the old disturbing emotions. So how do we find lasting resolution?

This is an area I’ve been doing some reading on. It is suggested that the path to genuine freedom and maturity is found in the transforming work of Christ through the renewal of our minds and the experience of His love right at the source of our pain. Maybe my prayer, then, should not be ‘Lord, take away these ants (i.e. my discomfort and my problems) but rather ‘Come Lord Jesus, meet me here and reveal yourself to me’.

The struggle for serenity continues but not alone and not without hope. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Elliot has just informed me we have cockroaches breeding in the kitchen !!!!

War and Peace

Once, I declared war. Full of rage and righteousness. There would be no mercy.

It was a rash and arrogant decision born of anger, intolerance and fear. But I imagine many wars before mine have had equally flawed beginnings.

They first appeared as a small contingent, single file above the sink. Black scouts sent to assess the threat. We were still unpacking boxes, setting up beds and mosquito nets, fully absorbed and confident. We were moving in, oblivious. They kept coming, marching with military precision. A crumb of food left for only a moment was surrounded and seized. The sack of rice on the floor was invaded by a battalion of thousands. They surrounded the kitchen.

Incensed I armed myself with chemical weapons and attacked, sweeping the lifeless bodies into the bin. A mass grave. We guarded our supplies with moats made from bowls of water in which the legs of the food pantry stand. We drew the battle lines in chalk available from the corner shop, a Chinese defence mechanism. It’s a barrier they dare not cross. I relaxed feeling triumphant.

But the war was far from over. They employed new tactics. An opened packet of cough lozenges became a Trojan horse. We naively placed it in the food cupboard but undercover of night our rivals broke out taking the entire pantry as their own. Tiny red soldiers infiltrated my bath towel, undetected, until I felt the sting of a hundred bites burning my back and legs. With tears of fury, I called for reinforcements. A man with a backpack of fumigation chemicals arrived, no protective clothing or mask, just a willing smile. He sprayed all around the outside and under the house. He cheerfully announced that we were living on the nests of several different types of ants, big and small, red, black and orange. He was reluctant to spray the large orange ants outside on the trees as they lay juicy eggs, a local delicacy. All seemed quiet. Were we finally victorious?

It was only a matter of days before the infantry, this time a brownish midsized regiment, marched with discipline and unwavering loyalty down from the window sill and around the skirting boards of the bedroom. I was worn down. There was no fight left in me.

Admitting defeat I started negotiating a peace settlement.

‘You may patrol the kitchen, but the pantry moats remain. The bathroom may be used for military exercises but no war games in my towel’. This was now safely hanging on a rack away from the wall.

I came to see that in fact it was we who were the invaders. We were in their territory, disrupting a complex civilization that had survived millions of years. My comfort, convenience and privilege were not the only considerations. A harmonious co-existence required compromise, respect and allowing the other to simply be.

The word of Life

Roon greeted us with her beaming smile and her infectious joy.

It is always wonderful when someone gives you the kind of smile that lets you know they are genuinely happy to see you. It’s such a great feeling to be welcome.

Roon lives in a poor urban community here in Phnom Penh. She sleeps upstairs in the home of a local woman, Huon, with whom we stayed each night last week, while our boys where away on a school camp. For us it was an opportunity to practice some of the language we have been studying and to develop deeper connections with Khmer people.

We were brought into the household, ate with them, played with the kids, were given the only bed and just experienced being there in the middle of community life. We often didn’t fully understand what was going on around us. We never did completely work out the various relationships and who actually belonged to the household because so many people of all ages constantly flowed in and out. This was obviously a place where people felt welcome.

What we did observe was that Huon is a remarkable woman. She experienced enormous hardship as a young person followed by many years of grinding poverty. But her story is repeated over and over again by all Khmers who lived through the Pol Pot years. She seems to have always been a carer. She walked the streets of Phnom Penh selling things to help her younger siblings have an education, forgoing her own. Now she volunteers for a HIV/AIDS family support programme and has several people living in her small home who seem to have no family connections. She opens her home for community meetings, health education, Bible studies and until recently a fledgling preschool which now has grown and meets in the nearby church. She supports herself and others by doing house work for foreigners during the day.

On the second afternoon as we entered the small two room house we found Roon sitting on a wooden platform which was used as a table, sitting area, preparation space and bed. She was reading her Bible. Roon had a way of talking slowly and simply so we could follow a fair bit of what she said. ‘Thank you, Jesus’ was a phrase she repeated regularly. She talked of Jesus making her ‘sabaay jet’ meaning happy and well in her heart. This afternoon she was reading out loud with a finger moving slowly underneath the words. Every few words she would stop and spell out the letters and then try to sound out the word, sometimes calling out to someone younger in the house, ‘What does this spell?’ As she read and made sense of the words she would look up with eyes radiating sheer joy. She was drawing life and nourishment out of every phrase. She beckoned me over to share what she was reading. I was able to make out that it was Ephesians 1 so I got out my English Bible and read along with her. When she got to verse 19 about God’s incomparably great power for us who believe, a power which raised Christ from the dead and seated Him above all rule and authority, she flung out her arms and exclaimed, ‘Our God is so big’. I have never seen anyone find so much delight in reading scripture.

Later she led me up the stairs to the wooden room which she shares with two others. She showed me her sleeping space which consisted of a rolled up mat on the floor and an old mosquito net. That plus an old bicycle seems to be all she owns. She shared a little of how she never learnt to read as a child because she had virtually no schooling. Being 40, much of her childhood would have been consumed with the chaos of the genocide, civil war and the destruction of infrastructure which disrupted any semblance of normal community life for her entire country. What little schooling Roon did receive was largely a negative experience. She conveyed to me how the teacher would pinch and beat her for getting things wrong. I don’t know what happened to her family.

Roon says Jesus has opened her eyes and helped her learn to read the Bible and now this is what she loves to do. Her pastor has been helping her and setting her homework to read certain chapters every week.

Until recently she worked twelve hours a day in a garment factory and would always come home tired and not have time to go to the evening church prayer meetings. But now she has part-time work cleaning in the homes of three different expat Christian families doing less hours for better pay. ‘Thank you, Jesus,’ she said again. ‘Jesus helps me’, ‘I’m so glad to know people who love Jesus’.

There was something profoundly life-giving in Roon’s joy and gratitude. It was wonderful to be around. Roon came straight to mind when I later read, ‘I will create Jerusalem to be a delight and its people a joy. I will rejoice over Jerusalem and take delight in my people’. Isaiah 65:18b-19.

Joy, rest, hope, secure relationships and the removal of fear are all essential for a healthy, happy heart. They are elements of God’s recipe for restoration. These are also the very things that are missing in so many aspects of life in this country. Is it any wonder that mental illness is so widespread and a new generation is selfmedicating with anything they can find to dull the pain?

Roon is a reminder to me that even in the presence of the deepest wounds God’s word brings life, the Spirit brings freedom and love brings healing.

Humility

I had a rather humbling visit to the local market the other day.

Just that morning our Khmai lesson was on bargaining at the market. So full of confidence I set off on my ‘new to me’ bicycle to get a few things.

We were advised to always remain friendly and smile when bargaining. In my first encounter I fixed my face with the required silly grin and proceeded very enthusiastically to bargain the price up! The young sales girl, to her credit, could have simply agreed straight out and taken the extra money. She obviously felt embarrassed and sorry for me as I kept insisting on a higher price and eventually she said in English ‘just one and half dollar’. Momentarily confused I handed over the money and then realising how ridiculous I appeared, hurried off making a mental note never to shop at that stall again.

When I got to the vegetable stall the words I was confidently repeating in class totally escaped me and I found myself stammering and pointing, unable to name a single vegetable.

I must have appeared too eager to leave when retrieving my bike from the parking space and so the attendant, quite rudely I thought, tapped me on the shoulder and gruffly said ‘money’ in English. Stumbling with my load of vegetables I paid him the 300 riel (7.5 cents). Someone evidently saw my flustered state as I put my purse back into my bag and then into the basket of my bike. Less than a minute later as I was riding back home, I looked down to see that my bag was opened and the purse gone.

I had managed to make an idiot of myself at the market and then been the sucker who was an easy target for an observant pick pocket.

In this rather basic task of buying a few things at the market, I was anything but confident and in control. It was frustrating and embarrassing and made me feel like hiding at home.

When we are humbled some will take advantage of us and some will be kind or pity us. Neither is easy for our pride to take.

I came across this quote from Brother Lawrence.

‘When our conversation, our very relationship with God, matures to this level of understanding, we will thank Him with full gratitude for everything He has ever done to humble us. We will welcome whatever God may do to help bring our hearts into conformity with His heart.’

It would seem that I have a lot more maturing to do. I’m finding many of my current humbling experiences quite difficult and am often feeling less than thankful for them.

I’m not sure if all these humbling cross-cultural experiences are ‘bringing my heart more in conformity to God’s heart’ but I guess I can choose how I respond. I can get more and more frustrated and angry as if the cause for my discomfort is all external, a problem with others or this culture. I can bunker down or venture only into situations where I feel comfortable and in control. By associating only with those with whom I can communicate confidently it ensures I retain my image of competence and significance. I can turn the tables by refusing to speak my few words of Khmai and forcing others to use my language. In this way I can exert my power as a white, English speaking guest and demand service on my terms.

Or maybe it’s okay to not feel in control, to receive what others can teach me, to be the learner who inevitably makes mistakes. Maybe finding myself dependent and childlike is exactly where God’s transforming work in my heart is most likely to occur.

Strangers and Aliens

Here in Cambodia this last month we have once again found ourselves in a 'strange' situation. We don't yet speak the language, don't know where things are or how things are done and can't communicate enough to ask.

We have been setting up house pretty much from scratch as we brought very little with us from Australia. Buying household items is not just a matter of going to the nearest Westfield shopping centre where everything can be found in one location. These things seem to be spread around various markets or specialty shops and can be quite hard to find. Despite the inherent power that comes with our financial resources, education, help from other members of our team here and the advantage of being native English speakers we have at times felt the frustration and powerlessness of being foreign.

Tasks that are simple in my home situation become significantly more difficult. I've wanted to send some post card for weeks but so far have been prevented by unexpected hurdles. The postal system is not like in Australia. My investigations have revealed that there are no newsagents selling stamps, no red post boxes, no mailmen on motor scooters, no letterboxes in front of people's homes and no guarantee that the mail will get to the intended receiver. Apparently buying stamps, posting the card and receiving your mail all has to be done at the one central post office. But where exactly is the post office? What is the word for post office and how would I make the motorbike taxi or tuk tuk driver understand where it is I want to go?

Praise the Lord for email.

With days full of language study, trying to buy essential items that I often don't know where to find, heat, the demands of cultural adjustment and moving a family to a totally new home and environment, the challenge of a trip across town to locate the post office has been something I haven't had energy for as yet.

The inability to achieve some 'simple things' can be quite disempowering. I have felt out of control and very dependent on others. It's like being a child again.

This small taste of the vulnerability of being a stranger has reminded me again of what first motivated us to get involved with supporting refugees who came to settle in Adelaide. Twenty years ago we had our first significant experience of being foreign. We spent a month in Thailand doing a student placement in a leprosy hospital. We couldn't speak the language, often didn't know what was going on around us and felt incompetent and out of our depth. We started reflecting on how much more traumatic it must be for people who have been through unspeakable horrors and had to flee their homeland to come to a strange country where they know no one, can't communicate and are not even sure they are welcome. They need a local friend who can be an entry point into the new country so they are no longer strangers.

The scriptures have a lot to say about strangers and aliens. 'Do not oppress an alien. You yourselves know how it feels to be aliens because you were aliens in Egypt' (Ex 23:9); '....the alien mist be treated as one of your native born, love his as yourself.....for you were aliens in Egypt' (Lev 19:33.34); ' Do not deprive the aliens or fatherless of justice' (Deut 24:17). The prophets pronounced judgement on those who oppressed the aliens. They were often placed in the same category as widows and orphans, indicating they were seen as vulnerable. The Israelites had already tasted the powerlessness of being foreigners and so compassion for strangers in their land was expected.

I think empowering the vulnerable, turning strangers into friends and offering transforming hospitality is very close to God's heart. Isn't that what He does with all of us? God holds out His hands to us and invites us into His community transforming us from uncertain and insecure strangers into family.

May this current discomfort of being a stranger reignite in us God's welcoming compassion to all find themselves far from home.