As I join the mob of 8 APCA kids pedaling to Batdang School at 6:58 am on Wednesday, I realize I am more nervous, excited, and curious than I have been so far in my Cambodia adventures. Pheany warns me, “Police! Motos wear helmet!” There are two policemen standing in the middle of the road next to two small metal road blockades that warn of their presence in Khmer. The 9 of us cruise on by, but the small non-APCA boy who is tagging alongside our throng staring at the two strange white girls fails to see this fast approaching barricade. As his head it turned to the left toward us, he crashes into the barricade and falls to the ground. The policeman standing ten feet behind this scene doesn’t budge a muscle. Instead, he stares at me and as I meet his gaze it’s like he is saying, “How dare you! Look what you did!” As the smiling but embarrassed boy returns to his bike and continues to ride along our side, the 9 of us laugh hysterically. “The policeman thinks it’s my fault?” I ask, feeling apologetic. “Yes, maybe!” the children reply between giggles.

We get to school late. Which means it’s 7:02 and we’ve missed the flag raising. We park our bikes amid the hundreds of others and Jessica and I follow Chav to his 8^th grade English class. We’ve been warned about the teacher by the other APCA kids; his voice is so low that sometimes you can’t understand what he’s trying to say. We’ve also been warned that the teachers are normally 15-30 minutes late for class, since they all eat rice together at school before starting off their day. So, the three of us wait outside the classroom and try to act like this is a totally natural thing. Except it isn’t. Jessica and I are the first native English speakers to visit Batdang School, and we definitely stand out in our non-uniform clothing. Literally hundreds of students just stand and stare at us. I try to distract myself from their gazes by asking Chav about the school grounds, his class schedule, and favorite subjects.

At 7:12 the doors to the classroom open and about thirty of us enter. Jessica and I take a seat in the wooden desk behind Chav right next to a window. The room has four large glass-less windows, a broken ceiling fan, a white board, and multiple homemade English grammar posters. We sit and chat until 7:24, when the teacher enters. Just as the APCA kids greet me every day in class, we stand up and chant, “Good morning, teacher! How are you today?” The teacher responds in his uniquely low voice and asks the students to sit. Jessica and I walk to the front of the class to introduce ourselves, and he welcomes us with a handshake.  We are unsure if he knows that we are here just to observe and see what the classroom setting is like – NOT to help teach or critique his teaching. He seems content so we sit back down.

The next hour and a half is the most chaotic, confusing, and frustrating class period I have ever experienced – and I wasn’t even a student! It turns out that one of the ‘sexy girls’ is in this class, so the boys who aren’t in class during that time (or who are still waiting for their teachers to arrive) just visit right at the window. It probably doesn’t help that Jessica and I are sitting directly in their sight, but batches of noisy students slowly walk by, pause, and then stand there observing the class. Some APCA kids come by and want to chat with me through the window as the teacher is explaining what an electrician is. “Maliss, teacher good?” and “You like teacher?” the APCA kids ask me. I just nod as I fight the urge to stand up and yell, “Everybody! Quiet!”

 Besides the outside noise, the actual classroom noise is overwhelming itself. As the kids are individually pointed to by the abnormally tall teacher, they stand and recite one of the seven vocabulary words (electrician, politician, difficult, famous, next, foreign, and become) to practice their pronunciation. This is great – except for the fact that while that one student is talking, the other 39 are chatting just as loudly amongst themselves. The teacher never asks them to be quiet or addresses this noise issue. It quickly gets on my nerves.

As if the noise isn’t enough, there are the late students. This is understandable…they know their teacher will be late every day, so why shouldn’t they? Two or three groups of girls come in 30, 40, even 47 minutes after the hour. The teacher rhetorically asks, “Why are you late?” and the girls just head to their seats.

My body is on fire, sweat is rapidly dripping from every pore, and there is still an hour left. The students are reading from a Khmer-English workbook (which has its fair share of grammatical errors) but neither Jessica nor I was given one, so we just sit quietly and exchange quick glances as small mistakes are made on the board.

Finally, the class is over. The teacher approaches us and asks us if we witnessed any errors. We assure him that he did great and that he is a very good English speaker. Jessica notes one little grammatical error left on the board and he thanks us. We discuss his teaching schedule and he asks us where we are from. He welcomes us back to class next week; we thank him and head out of the classroom into the mob of students who have crowded around the doorway. As I visit with some of the APCA kids who want to know what I thought of the class, I realize it’s literally getting hotter by the minute. I have my sweat lines to confirm this.

I pedal back to APCA with a thousand thoughts running through my head and my butt on fire from the black polyester seat. I am thankful for the breeze as it tosses my skirt in every direction, providing me with some relief from the hot, stagnant classroom air.   I smile at the policemen as I briskly cruise past their black and red barricades. This time, I do not cause any innocent children to crash into the barricades, and the policemen even acknowledge me with friendly glances.  

The next day, I am asked by another APCA student to accompany him to his 11^th grade English class.  I agree, and this time we wait 40 minutes before we enter the scorching classroom. Sopheap asks if it’s okay if we pass the time by pretending he is a guide (his career aspiration is to become a guide at Angkor Wat) so we wander between the buildings and are greet by tiny 1^st graders who make the APCA kids look chubby. 

We visit with the five monks who come to my big kid class at APCA. Away from their presence, I have gotten used to calling them ‘my monks’. They are fantastic, quiet students who fail to miss a day of class. They are open to me asking them monk questions and actually find it humorous. Now, every time I go to Phnom Penh and see any monks out collecting morning alms, I say to myself, “Hello students!”

Sopheap and I enter the classroom and sit in the front row. After five minutes (class was supposed to start at 1pm, and now it’s 1:50), somebody announces that the teacher won’t be coming today because, “he is too busy”. So, I am approached by two twenty-something male students who ask if I can answer some questions. As they pull English grammar books out of their bags one by one, it reminds me of Mary Poppins and her magic purse. The students want to know about past participles, irregular verbs, and infinitives. I find out from talking with them for the next hour (the rest of the class hangs around and listen to us, visits, and talks about me in Khmer) that they also attend the small international school near the market (tuition: $5 a month) and teach ABC’s to the small children at their villages. As we are finishing, one of the students enthusiastically says, “We request you to teach us!” so I invite them to my APCA class.

Sopheap and I exit the class after saying our goodbyes and one of my monks pops out from the neighboring classroom. “Teacha! Meet my teacha!” So I poke my head in and see the same teacher as yesterday. This time, he is teaching 9^th grade, and I don’t want to interrupt. He sees me as all the monks in the first two rows wave, so I briefly talk with him as the class looks on. He explains that maybe Sopheap’s teacher failed to show up because he was busy. He is just as friendly as the day before and extends the invitation to return to his class soon.

On the bike ride back to APCA, I ask Sopheap hundreds of questions. I learn that his teacher is absent about two days each week. Sometimes he is sick, sometimes he is busy.  It’s hard for me to hide my astonishment, but I try. I can’t express the frustration I would have if I was Sopheap, because to him it’s completely ordinary.  

“Maybe you come next week!” he suggests, doing his best to hide his disappointment as we park our bikes in the APCA driveway and head to the classroom just in time for the big kid class.  Sure, I tell him, we’ll give it another try.

On my next trip to PP I read an article in the Cambodian Daily about the teachers’ salary delay. Apparently, starting in January all teachers were to receive a $5 raise per month (which means they make anywhere from $45-$150 each month). However, the administration portion of this salary increase took longer than expected, so some teachers still haven’t received their January’s salary. This means they probably aren’t too pumped to continue teaching every day, which is why during the past few weeks it’s been common to have an APCA kid say, “No study today! No teacher!”

That’s when I say, “Maybe no Khmer study, but you will study with Molly!” Then they start giggling, jumping up and down, and chanting, “STUDY, STUDY, STUDY!” Really, I’m not making any of this up. 

The kids:

Currently, there are 64, so I can’t write about each one’s wonderfulness. Well, I guess I could, but tonight I will write about the ‘babies’. The youngest kid at APCA is five – although you’d look at her and probably guess three. I’ve discovered that almost everyone here has had to make an estimation of their age. To increase the uncertainty, many kids I have talked to explain that in Cambodia, when you are born, you are one year old. Needless to say, I really have no idea how old the youngest kids are – or any kids, for that matter. However, I am confident in the following:

Over one month!

I can’t believe it even though I knew it was going to happen like this. I’ve been teaching for over a month but it feels like two weeks. Here are a few things I’ve gotten pretty used to in my time at APCA:

-Getting asked ten times every day, “Mollyball, you eat rice?” The answer is always yes.

- Watching an elephant slowly saunter down the road as I am teaching about third person singular verbs. An hour later in another class, we see the elephant again, this time headed back in the opposite direction. I think to myself, “Where am I? What the heck am I doing?”

-Hearing the only Akon lyrics they (think they) know. The APCA/Cambodia version goes something like, “I wanna mango right now, now, now” instead of, “I wanna make up right now, now, now”.

-Getting asked, “Maliss, pee?” in the middle of class. So I say yes, and the boys stand up, walk three feet, and relieve themselves. Way easier than hall passes.

-Getting stared at in the market. I have yet to see another Westerner out here in the countryside (and not as many as I though in Phnom Penh, either).

-Playing ‘football’ with twenty boys in the cow poop covered pasture under the 85 degree sun. No shoes, no fouls, no field boundaries, no shoulder-exposure for Molly. That might be the only thing I’m not a fan of in Cambodia. I’ll be coming home with some pretty white thighs and shoulders!

-This one makes me sad: Being told, “I wish I have more money so I can have better grade in study.” I won’t go into the details, but some of the older kids’ teachers at Khmer school prefer to make the students pay for extra help. It’s really sad, since all of the kids here are dedicated and passionate about their schoolwork and getting good grades. I am so happy I can be here to help the kids (especially the older ones) with their English anytime they want – for free!

Holidays galore:

This weekend is “Chinese Happy New Year” AND Valentine’s Day! Jessica and I have been working our butts off cutting, coloring, and organizing valentines for everyone. The kids made them in class for their peers, so 143 were made all together! Was there confusion about the mixing of holidays? Probably, but who doesn’t want to burn some fake money, eat a fire-roasted pig, and receive a heart with candy and a pencil taped to it all in one weekend? The holidays ended with a good ole’ orphanage-wide lice cleansing session….I think I’ll go take a shower now.

“Being boring is a choice. Those mild salsas and pleated khakis don’t buy themselves. And so it is with happiness – a choice.”   -Eric Weiner, from “The Geography of Bliss” 

Sorry for this unorganized post. There have been lots of little exciting events that have taken place in the past few weeks, so I’m relying on my chicken-scratch notepad outline to help guide me in relaying them to you.

Basically, I love the APCA setting. It’s a 1.5 hour taxi ride to PP, where I can buy just about any necessity I need. Including chocolate and Pringles - more on that in just a second.

Last weekend I came to PP to pick up the new American volunteer! I’m so excited to have Jessica at APCA with me; it’s nice to have someone to bounce teaching ideas off of and help out with the teaching load. We were on the same Semester at Sea voyage! Once we get into our normal routine, we’ll each be teaching three classes. This means I’ll actually have time to plan more for my classes and get semi-organized! A very good thing.

The two of us came into PP again this week – it was time to renew our visas (I can’t believe I’ve been here a month already!) so we are taking the opportunity to stock up on school supplies and food. I also visited my favorite $7/hr masseuse Lhsya – she failed to disappoint again. This time, she didn’t play around with my funny bones. Instead, it was like she was taking the sharp curved part of a hammer and prying apart all the muscles that I used to have memorized which make up my hamstrings. Still, I love that lady and the pain she puts me through, so I’ll return.

Next topic: Food. I could go on for hours about all of the thousands of feelings I encountered when I stepped into a full-on American style grocery store at 8am on a Friday morning. I was the only customer, there was American music playing (Michael Buble, if I recall correctly), and it seemed that every aisle was staffed with a cute, friendly employee just waiting to help me.

After rice and fish for three meals a day for nearly a month, I kind of went crazy. The sugar content didn’t matter and the prices certainly didn’t matter. I just wanted to stock up on any sort of familiar food. Preferably the most chocolate-y kind of anything. I ended up making three grocery store trips to two different stores in the weekend. Peanut butter, REAL Pringles, Crystal Light, Cranberry Juice, Hershey’s syrup, 3 Musketeers! I won’t bore you with the details, but it was the only time so far where I thought to myself, “I wish I was traveling with someone!” I wanted to share this exciting, overwhelming, and satisfying experience with someone who knew just how much comfort and happiness a can of Pringles can bring (they had more than just Original, too! Pizza flavored, BBQ…I’ll stop my Pringles rant).

Each weekend, I really enjoy getting to know PP a little better. Even the tuk-tuk drivers outside the guesthouse I stayed at remembered my name and wanted to chat again. And by chat, I mean that we try to converse in Khmglish. Only knowing, “thank you”, “delicious”, 1-20, “a little”, “no problem”, and “I don’t know” makes it limiting. Everyday I’m working on it though, and the kids love correcting my pronunciation (which needs a lot of correcting).

Highlights from the past few weeks (so you have an idea about the posted pictures).

-A visit from a Korean acupuncturist. It was the weirdest thing. The Korean NGO that supports APCA occasionally has an acupuncturist visit. When I asked what the purpose of this visit was, I was told to prevent the kids from getting sick – that was all the explanation I received. Some kids were very excited and willing to get a needle twisted into their finger and another one (or two) in their feet. When I asked others if they wanted to do it they said, “No!” but then after we ate rice I came back inside and saw that all the kids were being prodded. Some were crying and others were trying not to. Even the two youngest kids just sat there quiet and patient as a rock (are rocks patient?). “Maliss, you want accupuncta?” I was asked. After I politely declined with the excuse that I didn’t feel sick at all, it was followed up by, “but don’t you want to be more beautiful?”

I should say that I don’t have anything against acupuncture. Mom used to get it done and benefitted from it; the only thing I didn’t like was the black licorice looking marbles that she brought home one day and I tried out - without knowing for certain what it was. And it certainly wasn’t black licorice, or anything resembling candy. Then she told me how expensive each of those black balls were. Sorry Mom!

I love shopping in hot, crowded markets with a twelve cent waffle in one hand and ice and Coke in a bag in the other. I realize this sounds pretty drug-related, but I assure you it’s not. Just a small plastic bag with crushed ice and a can of Coke poured into it with a straw sticking out. Pair that with five acres of fake North Face and Birkenstocks and Molly couldn’t be happier (except if you handed her some Pringles).

Week #2 of line dancing. More Akon music = more kids getting their groove on. It’s nice to give them a break from their daily Khmer dance lessons. It’s fun to hear ten year old Cambodian’s say, “Kick ball chain, Kick ball chain…” (you’d love it, Liz).

The past week I taught body parts to one of the classes, so this week Jessica and I taught them the Hokey Pokey. The monks that recently joined the previous classes asked to stay for the lesson, but once they heard Dora The Explorer’s Hokey Pokey song on the speakers, they slowly found their way back to the pagoda.

All of the boys play volleyball in any free moment they have. Last week, I decided to join some of them instead of playing football with the younger kids. One of the older boys became really excited when he realized my name rhymes with ‘volley’. So, I explained to them that in ninth grade, when I played volleyball for my first and final year, someone came and watched me play and saw how good I was, so they said, “No more ‘volleyball’ – we’ll call it ‘Mollyball”. So, now in America nobody calls it ‘volleyball’ anymore. Needless to say, instead of being referred to as, “Teecha” or “Maliss”, “Mollyball” is my new APCA name.

Fun fact: in Bhutan, they believe that every time you sneeze, that means someone is thinking of you. So, I’d like to thank everyone who has been keeping me in their thoughts. This PP air is so different than APCA’s country air. I think thirteen sneezes in one day is a lot for me. It’s also a little awkward when you’re lying face down with your skull being karate-chopped and you’re afraid of releasing the sneeze because it might scare poor Lhsya. Don’t worry. I was able to somehow manage.

New things I will blog about next: Valentine’s Day! Jessica and I are looking forward to making it the best day ever for us and the kids: candy, balloons, Valentines, and even the cute red heart envelopes that we made in second grade to hang on our desks. We’re pretty excited. I will also write about how amazingly independent and energetic the littlest kids are. I teach them every morning, and although it’s hard and frustrating at times, my frustration disappears later on in the day when they climb into my lap and want to cuddle.