Along the banks of Tonle Sap (a lake) lies a fishing village. During dry season the houses stand high and dry on their spindly legs and dust billows from the road running down its center. But then during rainy season the lake rises until there is no longer a road and the houses stand with muddy water swirling about their knees.
Looking back, I find it hard to realize I knew nothing about this village and its people until March. In March the guys drilled a well for one of the few Christian families out there. The majority of the people would follow a strange Buddhist branch of teaching. Some Khmer acquaintances said we should just drill for the Christians, but Allen said, “We can’t do that. Christ would want us to drill for everyone.” And we have seen the village turn from almost hostile suspicion to welcoming warmth. The people, who watched us with dull, sullen stares, light up when they see Allen’s blue truck. “Papa, papa,” the children yell as they race after him. They surround him giving high fives or begging to be picked up and swung.
There are about three families from this village that we’d consider good friends. One week they began hinting. They’d seen Allen and the boys frequently, but they’d never seen Mama. “It’s time to go visit Mama,” they said. So, we took them up on their hint and invited them over for a Saturday. Three families from the village plus a few other friends came for fried fish and shrimp – supplied and cooked by them – and pizza (our contribution).
What a change from their small, spindly legged huts, to our grand concrete mansion. The children stood in frightened clumps until the new toys and balls enticed them out of their shyness. The men found bocce ball an amusing game. The women were busy in the kitchen, but even there everything was new: a shiny stove, a fridge, a freezer, and even a water cooler. It was a long day, but they left with a new appreciation for pizza and better friends than ever.
It wasn’t long until they began hinting again. This time they must bring all their children and their siblings. So we invited them for another Saturday of pizza and games. We had thought the house was full the other Saturday, but this time it was bursting. The children didn’t need any warming up. They bounded up the stairs looking for balls and dolls. The men played some volleyball. This time a few young girls came along. I stumbled around in my Khmer. They were shy, and I’m shy to speak Khmer, but I think we became friends.
I think those two Saturdays cemented some relationships. Since then, we’ve had a few of the families drop in for the night. Usually it’s rather last-minute notice, but we enjoy having them come. They love to tease and laugh with us.
Eating barong (foreign) food is a little frightening for them. Most of them take heapings of rice and timidly nibble at our grilled chicken or corn bread. There’s one though, who is anxious to try all our foods. He watches as we pour dressings on salad, sauces on chicken and syrup or honey on corn bread. Fascinated, he ends up mixing a concoction that I’d never eat, but he thinks it delicious. In his opinion, corn bread is only superseded by pizza.
I wish I could give you a glimpse of them. They love to tease. Just LOVE it! So the Khmer find Heather’s name very difficult to say. They renamed her Highlander, then Honda, and now it’s lan (Khmer for car). They’re always making jokes about “Car (Heather) is riding the boat,” or “Car is swimming now,” or “Car rides car,” and then they’ll laugh heartily. They like to call me Ju-dy. Jue in Khmer means sour, but I had a friend Judy come through so they just exaggeratedly pronounce my name JO-TY. Carissa is either Pizza or Camry, whichever they feel like using at the moment. Stephanie, my friend who visited, is known as Strawberry. I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture.
Although they’re fairly young Christians they’re dedicated. I love the story of how one became a Christian. His father was sick, and his uncle, who was a believer, told them that if they prayed to God he’d heal his father. This happened, but Goy still wasn’t convinced. One day he had a loan due and no money. That morning before he went fishing he prayed, “God if you’re real. Please help me.” That day he caught more fish, and more expensive ones than normal. He was able to sell the fish for the amount of money he needed to pay off the loan.
It’s not always easy being a Christian for them. During a Buddhist celebration some family came to visit one of our Christian friends. A brother of his and a neighbor were asking him why he didn’t worship Buddha anymore. He answered, “Because he’s not a real God.” Angry, the neighbor picked up a stout pole. Frightened the new Christian picked up a steel bar to defend himself, then remembering that Christian’s don’t fight he dropped it again. The neighbor also dropped his pole. The man turned to walk away, but the brother, still enraged, grabbed the neighbor’s pole and started to beat his little brother. He wasn’t permanently damaged, but he was laid up for a few days. The thing is, everyone has commented on this young man’s changed life. His Buddhist mother has even thanked Allen for how different her son’s life is.
I always enjoy a visit to or from these people. Their laughter and enjoyment in the little things is truly infectious. I often find that the people I come to help give me more than I give them.
followerofthestar 