Cold and Shivering in the Dark - but not Alone

This blog post has nothing to do with Cambodia. It is the story of a character-defining hike 35 years ago. Down the mountains of the High Uintahs. In the rain. At midnight.

Summer 1982 (or could be 1981 or 1983). I had been asked to be a church leader/guide for about 25 girls (ages 15 - 18) and their leaders on a hike to the Rasmussen Lakes in the High Uintah moutains of Eastern Utah. One week prior to that hike, my friend Gary Smith and I took a practice hike to the lakes to confirm the trails and learn the terrain. We noted the "blazes" on the trees as they marked a light trail through 4.5 miles of pine trees and granite rocks (a "blaze" is an intentional scar made by trail makers who hatchet off a 12 - 18 inch section of bark on a pine tree, about 10 feet above the ground. The "blaze" exposes the light-colored wood under the bark). The trip was  beautiful, fun and uneventful (although tip-toeing across the 5-log bridge over a thrashing creek 10 feet below at the beginning of the hike was a kinda nerve-wracking). I looked forward to the hike with the girls the following week.

On the day of the hike, I checked the packs of the girls to make sure they weren't taking a bunch of unnecessary stuff that would weigh them down as they hiked to an elevation of 10,000 feet. Unbelievable. I removed six-packs of soda, Costco-sized cans of pork and beans, and enough outfits to last a week (we were only going overnight). Confident that the packs were now manageable, we started up the trail. The walk across the log bridge was like a "rite of passage" which set a great tone for the trek.

The girls were fun all the way up to the lakes - laughing, singing and constant chatter. No health issues other than some mosquito bites and few small blisters. At the camp site by the lakes, I asked the leaders to tell the girls to get their tents set up, gather firewood, store the wood in a sheltered place (under a tree), and get things prepared for supper. Once that was done they could go play and have fun for an hour before dinner. Didn't work. Only a few put up tents and no one gathered firewood. I reminded the leaders that we were in the High Uintahs, and rain could come suddenly at any time. The girls should get their tents up. But their instructions fell on teen-aged ears (which means the sound never enters the head). It was play, play, play.

I finished my dinner of fresh lake trout and baked potatoes (tin foiled in the fire with Lawry's seasoning salt) around 7:30, when the first raindrops started to fall. I helped stash firewood and finish tent set up with those I could, but it was too late for some. They hunkered down in their tents - cold and hungry. I hunkered down in my little one-man springbar tent that can weather almost any storm. Inside the tent I have a 4 inch foam pad and a down sleeping bag. I'm toasty and dry. As the rain hammers down, I fall asleep.

At 10:30 p.m. there's a "knock"on my tent door. Sister Ferguson, the Young Women's President, asks if I think we should pack up and go home. She said the girls were wet, cold and hungry. I told her it was her call - and I would support whatever decision she and her counselors made. She left, but came back 10 minutes later and said that we should go.

We packed up the best we could, but several girls left their sleeping bags and other gear behind (the bags were too wet and heavy to haul down the mountain). We counted noses to make sure everyone was there and I gave instructions for everyone to stay in a line and keep track of who was ahead and behind them (because it was still raining  and we would be hiking down in total darkness). We said a prayer, asking God to help us get back safely, poncho'd up and started down the trail.

I quickly learned that the trail was much harder to find in the dark than it was in the light (thank goodness I installed fresh batteries in my small flashlight before we left). I stopped the group on multiple occasions when I felt we had wandered off the path. I had them wait while I searched the trees - looking for the blaze marks. Those were tense minutes for me. I felt the weight of 25 women and their families who expected me to get them home safe. I don't think the women were worried about my getting them lost - but I was.

At first, the girls were singing and laughing as we walked down in the rain. But after an hour of hiking in the dark, the singing stopped. Soon, it was silent except for the occasional sniffle of a cold and tired girl. About 2 a.m. I heard a growl and a bark. I stopped the group, then quietly moved closer to the sound as the dog continued to bark (it was a regular dog). Then a different sound came out of the darkness - a woman's voice. It said, "are you lost too?" I responded, "no," then she said, "we're lost."

The woman, her three young children and a dog had started up the trail late in the day, and got caught in the rain (her husband had dropped them off and planned to be back two days later to pick them up). They had wandered off the trail and tried to set up their tent in a semi-clearing - hoping to ride out the storm until morning. They were huddled together - cold, hungry and frightened - under their makeshift tent. The dog was their only protection. They were in no condition to hike down the mountain with us, so we gave them what food we had and helped them set up their tent correctly so they could stay dry. They gave us a phone number for the husband and we said we would call him when we arrived back in town. We gave them directions back to the trail so they could walk down in the morning - and we left. I worried over them for hours until I finally got word that they were safely back home.

 As we continued our downward trek, the trail became much more defined. We no longer had to stop and look for blaze marks on the pine trees. Soon we reached the log bridge, which was the last obstacle to cross before getting to the cars. And it was the most terrifying.  The creek 10 feet under the bridge was churning even harder than before because of all the rain. It's dark and the logs are slippery. The bridge is only wide enough for one person, so the girls would have to walk across one-at-a-time. No siderails. It was only 20 feet from side-to-side, but every girl on that trip would tell you it was one of the most frightening things they had ever experienced. All flashlights focused on the bridge so the girls could see. I went first then stationed myself about 5 feet downstream just in case someone fell in. Fortunately all made it across. We got to our vehicles 20 minutes later, piled everyone in and  headed down.

With the adrenaline rush over, most of the girls fell asleep on they way home. Not me. I pondered the events surrounding the hike and marveled at the miracles we had experienced. 1. Decision to make a preparatory hike to learn the terrain. 2. Someone had "blazed" the trees to identify the trail. 3. Someone had taught me about trail blazes (and I listened). 4. I had impressions of when we were off the trail. 5. In total darkness we found the trail - every time. 6. We came across a family that was lost and were able to help them enough to keep them safe until morning. 7. All 25 of us made it across a wet log bridge without incident. 8. Most importantly, the women leaders were tuned in to the spirit enough to make an inspired decision.

Every person has defining moments in their lives - this was one of mine.

One year already. Wow! As I reflect back on our first year in Cambodia, there are a few major themes that pop up –but I only have time for three right now.

Theme #1. Cambodians are happy. Cambodians are a happy, genuine people. I find this remarkable when considering the obstacles they face. Poverty is everywhere and luxuries are scarce to non-existent. Relatively few homes have flush toilets or indoor running water. It’s like scout camp 365 days/year. But smiles and laughter are plentiful. Moto drivers laugh after a near miss (isn’t a near miss technically a hit?). Children are delighted playing a game using an old flip flop they found in the street. Cambodians have figured out that money isn’t required for a full life. THAT is an attribute worth emulating.

Theme #2. Love for the people. At 8 a.m. Sunday morning I sit at the organ/keyboard in our chapel, look over the assembled congregation (about 30 to 40 members) and experience a rush of love that completely engulfs my body and soul. Where does that come from?? The correct answer, of course, is Jesus Christ. But how that works, how He is able to make that happen is a mystery (at least to me). We sing together, we pray together, we study together, we laugh together and occasionally we mourn together. A new wing has been opened in my heart and the Cambodians have a lifetime lease.

Theme #3: Driving. Driving in Cambodia is a slow-paced, white-knuckle experience. My biggest fear is that I will inadvertently hit a four-person scooter and hurt someone. I used to occasionally get drowsy driving in the US. Not here. I CONSTANTLY scan every part of the road and nearby bushes watching for darting motos and child bicyclists. I’ve learned to slowly enter the traffic corridors (lanes aren’t a thing just yet) – concerning myself only with the BIG trucks that could take you out (Moto drivers usually weave around you as long as you don’t make sudden moves). Night driving is the worst. We live in rural Cambodia – which means that headlights are optional. Once you leave the few lighted streets, everything goes black. No painted lines, no lights, no road shoulders. We came within 6 inches of sending a woman to the spirit world a few weeks ago when she suddenly appeared on a dark roadside. Terrifying. I will miss many things about Cambodia when we go home – but night driving is NOT one of them.

More later…

Trash Mountain

Trash Mountain. It’s a catchy name for a truly awful reality in Cambodia. Unlike most places in the US where municipalities dig massive landfill pits to hold their trash, the climate of Cambodia requires it to build landfill mountains instead. And unfortunately, there are no rules around what goes in the dump. Trash mountains are full of the typical household trash (similar to US landfills). But they also include unfiltered (and morbid) medical waste, chemical junk and other industrial garbage. They’re horrible. There are no formal recycling programs in Cambodia, so “pickers” (people who sort through the trash looking for saleable recyclable materials such as plastic bottles and metal cans) perform that function. Pickers and their families live all around trash mountains, and parents (and unfortunately many children) spend all day scouring through garbage. These families are among the poorest of the poor. Lack of sanitation, nutrition, education and resources have forced them into urban ghettos with virtually no hope for the future. In spite of all this, the people are happy. They smile, laugh and play together – seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.

The garbage dump in these pictures, Steung Menchey, was closed in 2009 (other landfills have opened). But the future for Steung Menchey was changed forever when Scott Neeson entered the picture in 2004. Scott was the former President of 20^th Century Fox International, and was the International marketing director for Sony Pictures when he took a sabbatical trip to Asia – which included Cambodia. After seeing the poverty in Steung Menchey, he made the decision to do something for the children. He left his ritzy Hollywood job, cashed out and moved to Phnom Penh. 13 years later his Cambodian Children’s Fund (https://www.cambodianchildrensfund.org/) has created futures for thousands of children and their families.

We visited Steung Menchey last week with the LDS Church humanitarian missionaries (Elder and Sister Thurston). LDSC has partnered with CCF on several projects because of Scott Neeson’s determination and his commitment to the children. While looking at this urban wasteland, it was hard for us to imagine that it had been worse at one time. But as we walked through, our CCF representative showed us new school rooms, after-school daycare centers, libraries and playgrounds – all designed to support strong families and communities. Velcro corporation built a brand-new high school – which was beautiful (the picture makes it look like a jail, but it’s NOT). The LDS church has three congregations within the area of Steung Menchey. As the members attend Sunday services each week, they come with clean clothes and happy faces – something almost unimaginable considering the circumstances. But yet it happens – week after week after week.

I do not know the impact our service will ultimately have on the people of this country – nor does it really matter. But Cambodia has changed us forever. For that we are profoundly grateful.

Funerals

We hear funerals on a regular basis (Buddhist monk chanting is amped up to about 150,000 decibels so people from surrounding countries can listen in), but hadn’t attended one until a few weeks ago.  Actually, we didn’t know we were attending a funeral until we got there. A church member’s father had passed away and we took some local leaders in our car to visit the family waaaaaay out in the boonies. When we got there (about 7 in the morning), the chanting was in process and about 100-200 people had gathered in the back jungle for a traditional breakfast called “buh bah.” It’s simple to make and ideal for a large crowd. Fill a BIG kettle with water. Add chicken powder, some pork or chicken, cooked rice, edible weeds, seasonings and boil until the meat is done. Garnish with chopped green onions and bean sprouts. Cheap and Delicious. The most expensive part was the foam bowls and plastic spoons.

The deceased is kept in an open casket (no embalming) just a few feet from the breakfast tables (the culture isn’t squimish about death). Once everyone is fed, the “pall bearers” put a lid on the casket and carry it to a waiting truck. No fancy gurneys like in US funerals. It’s lift and carry the entire way. At this funeral they had to machete out a path in order to get the casket to the road. Family members jump in the back of the truck with the casket, and the convoy leaves for the local wat (temple). Cremation is the standard in Cambodia – but it’s different from cremation in the US. Cremations are often done in full view of the onlookers. The monks put the casket in the furnace, add the wood and light it up. The furnace door stays open until sufficient heat is generated. Then the monks close it. After that, everyone goes home. Sometimes ashes are collected and sometimes not.

Crematorium

But it doesn’t end there. Cambodia has a cool cultural tradition of having a party on the death anniversary date every year for four years. Monks do their chanting for a couple of hours, then dinner is served. We’ve been to two of these (we were invited to come AFTER the chanting had finished – but we could hear it from across town) so far, and they were fascinating. The first one was a fairly modest affair. But the second was lavish and HUGE! It was a circus tent 50 yards long by 10 yards wide – with guards checking invitations at the entry. Live band, clothed tables and chairs, catered dinner at each table, and an unlimited supply of canned soft drinks (the four missionaries that went with us were in heaven). Fanta grape, Fanta orange, Fanta blueberry, Fanta raspberry, Fanta green stuff (tastes kinda like cotton candy), sprite, coke (coke is everywhere – more common than water) and a Schweppes something – that tasted close to root beer (but not). However, the rusted lining of the event was the line-up of poor folks outside the tent – looking in through the plastic windows. It was the classic display of the “haves” and “have-nots.” Rich folks inside – at the king’s feast. Street kids outside, fighting over bread crusts. 

Someday this will change. Someday education will be available to all. Someday the decades-long socialist society and NGO mentality will end and people will empower themselves to become self-reliant. Someday. We often feel like the guy throwing starfish back into the ocean. We can’t make a difference for everyone, but we can for some.

Rubber Plantation 

Rubber Tree Forest

Rubber trees originated in Brazil, but today most of the production comes from Southern Asia - including Cambodia. The trees are planted in straight rows with precise spacing between each tree. Spiral cuts are made in the tree bark (it supposedly doesn't hurt the tree), then latex leaks out of the cuts and is collected in cereal bowl. Somebody periodically goes through the tree garden, dumps the latex into a plastic bag, then molds it into an ugly white lump. The lumps are sorted and graded by quality. The lowest grade is used for tires - which is VERY reassuring at 80 mph. Higher grades are used for whatever is more important than automobile safety. We poked at the lumps and they were squishy and rubbery - just what you'd expect.

The lumps are dumped into a huge swirly vat that looks (and smells) like a sewage treatment plant swirler (not sure that's a word, but it should be). The swirler breaks the lumps into smaller lumps then sends the white sludgey stuff down skinny swimming pool lanes (about 20 inches wide and 100 feet long) to a smasher. The smasher flattens and ribs the goo and sends it up a treadmill to multiple rinsers and yankers. The rinsers and yankers clean out impurities and "yank" the goo apart into smaller chunks (about the size of a big apple fritter, but the color and texture of cheese curd). The fritters drop into a conveyor belt, go through another rinser and steamer, then are manually "poured" into rectangular metal boxes (about 18 x 30 inches x 18 inches). The boxes queue up for a smoosher which heats and compresses the fritters into yellow rectangular bricks (the bricks are the same width and length as the boxes, but the thickness has been compressed from 18 inches to about 10). A picker, using leftover dental tools from the 1940's, "picks" at the bricks to remove black spots left by the smooshers. Workers then put the finished bricks into large plastic bread bags and throw them into a pile for shipping.










I marvelled at two things. One - we were allowed to tour EVERYTHING in the plantation without supervision (Our "escort" for the tour was a 25 year-old member of our church, who also works at the plantation). We poked and picked at the stuff multiple times, and explored the entire operation without a single person telling us to "LEAVE THAT ALONE!" Granted, this wasn't a "clean room" facility - it was a large barn with open sides. No fear of contamination. And there wasn't a "safety first" sign within miles (however, there was a "no smokin" sign outside the barn).  OSHA folks would have been apoplectic (although I'm not going to lie, I was a little concerned that some 18 year-old missionary would do something stupid like climb up the treadmill or try to bounce a rubber brick).

Two. The process, equipment and probably bathroom plumbing hasn't changed in about 50 years (or more). Labor is still cheap in Cambodia, so it's more cost effective to manualate rather than automate ("manualate" is in the same dictionary as swirler, yanker and smoosher). Quality control at a facility like this is a generation away (also comforting while driving 80 mph down the freeway).

We ended by visiting the plantation school. The plantation employs about 2,000 workers and has its own school for the children of employees. One of our church members teaches physics and math at the school, so we popped into his class (unannounced) and sang a couple of Christmas carols for his 17 year-old students. The kids loved it (the teacher was terrified).

We haven't completely figured out the school hours yet. It seems like kids go about 7 a.m., come home at 11 for the obligatory 3 hour siesta, back to school at 2, then home again somewhere around 6 ish. What we HAVE figured out is that when kids leave the school - they torpedo out like bats launched from a cave. A zillion bluish-white shirted kids with black pants or skirts riding ancient bikes (sometimes 2-3 per bike) vomit onto the highways and scare the beejeebies out of drivers like me. No such thing as school zones (although there are cross walks which are ignored by pedestrians and drivers alike). It's human dodge ball at 40 miles/hour. The locals seemed to have figured it out though - I've never seen an auto-bike accident (credit the kids and NOT the drivers). Bikes are the lifeblood of school kids. Without them, ignorance and illiteracy become the inevitable future. In Cambodia, "no child left behind" is really about bikes.

The unfortunate truth, however, is that some families are too poor to afford even a crappy bike. And some of the poor families live so far out in the boonies, that it is impossible for kids to walk to school. They remain illiterate urchins working the family garden patch or begging in the streets.

Public education, which we take for granted and kids of ALL generations have whined about, is a luxury in Cambodia. The government provides half-day classes for grades 1-8. The other half the family must pay for. If they can't afford it, the kids don't go. And if kids can't pass an end-of-year test to get to the next grade, they must drop out. It's stealth wealth. It ensures that those with money will continue to be the ruling class. Some poorer kids overcome the odds and find a way to stay in school, but it isn't the norm.

 It's heartbreaking - which made a service project driven by the LDS Charities Foundation such a Godsend to a bunch of rural families. All 16 of the Sr. Missionaries (code word for "old") in Cambodia traveled with LDSC to deliver 500 bikes to back-country school children. We started with the older kids (they can pump their sibs on the back) and continued down the age line until all the bikes were gone. It was a cool experience.

For the three remaining viewers of our blog, I apologize for the one-month delay. We've been up to our necks preparing for the grand opening of our new church building in Kampong Cham, and just haven't had time to get one out. The grand opening (Open House) and dedication have now been completed (yay!!), but the path getting there was not paved with yellow bricks. Actually, it was a cultural minefield, in which we blew ourselves up several times.We learned that delivering invitations to dignitaries has very specific protocols. First, the invitation ink colors are significant. You can't use black on the main part of the invitation because it's associated with death. Pink is best (huh??). Our team thought that hand-writing the names on the invitations (think calligraphy) would be a nice touch. Well, it's NOT. Anything hand-written is low class. It needs to be a professionally printed wordstrip - glued to the envelope. Oops. Reset and redo. We finally got a professional culture expert to guide us on the rest of the stuff. If we would have done it our way, we'd probably be in jail about now. We were lucky though. We delivered nearly 50 VIP invitations, and 30 came. 

All things considered, it was a good turnout. We did a custom tour for our VIP guests, and they were suitably impressed with more than just our building. The LDS Church has been a major player with Cambodian Humanitarian needs. Water wells, wheel chairs, painting schools and providing clean latrines are just a few of the projects our dignitaries learned about as they toured the building.  The obligatory speeches from a few dignitaries were nice - except for one, which was really a "vote for my guy" campaign speech. It wouldn't have been too bad, but it went on and on and on for 59 minutes. But at least it wasn't Donald and Hillary (please, no one be offended, we're viewing from afar). 

The ribbon cutting had very strict protocols as well. Red carpet (had to be red). Ribbon holders decked out in fancy Cambodian dress. And scissors that looked like they came from WalMart. Classic. 

Because of the loooong speech, everyone was starving and headed straight for the food tents - which unfortunately had no food (the caterer was late). But when it came, it was like opening night at Hogwarts. 650 people inhaled a several hundred pounds of food in less than 30 minutes (Cambodians take their food VERY seriously). 

All in all, it was a great event. Larger than expected turnout (650 ish people - we used every chair and bench we had except for 10). ALL of us are excited to be out of our crummy rented buildings and into this new one. But taking care of this beautiful building is the next chapter. LDS church members around the globe do the basic cleaning and maintenance work on their meetinghouses. This will be a new experience for us in Kampong Cham. No one owns a vacuum cleaner - many have never seen one. And bathroom cleaning is as foreign to them as pink ink on invitations is to us. Most in our area have outhouses - some less than that. 20 years from now, these will be great stories the members will tell their children and grandchildren ("Grampa, tell us again about mops and brooms - we love fairy tales"). But our Cinderella story is just beginning.