Life on the Ship of Life

I really had missed the easy rhythms of life on the ship, the way the days in Cambodia both seem to stretch on endlessly and pass too quickly.

Knowing the poverty in Cambodia (and having learned much more about it last night from my friend Lieng, the night guard on the ship), it is an incredible privilege to be able to live on the ship, to have three meals a day (and the cook is vegetarian, so he always makes me vegetarian food! It's fantastic!), air conditioning, a bed (actually, I have two beds, but the upper bunk has become much like my apartment's kitchen table--covered in papers and things and completely unable to be used for it's intended purpose). It's a privilege to even be able to be here--both the patients who come on the ship and the crew who have already begun to feel again like brothers and uncles are beautiful beyond words. There is a simplicity among the people of Cambodia, their genuine smiles, the way a conversation or simply letting someone take my hand and marvel at my smooth, white skin can mean so much both to them and to me.

Days on the ship are much the same, and yet always different. We have breakfast at 7, and then by 7:30, many of the crew go out with the doctor to hand out numbers to the people who are lined up. Many come the night before, maybe at 3am, maybe at midnight even so they can be sure to get a number for the morning. Always, there are more people than there are numbers, though Dr. Tha, the full-time Khmer doctor on the ship, can see about 83 patients a day. Patients pass on and off the ship all day. Many seem to have nothing immediately wrong with them, but being able to see a physician for a chronic problem or simply to see a physician at all is a gift for them. One woman told me through Bunthoeun, the clinic assistant and often my informal translator, that she always wants to stay on the ship as long as possible. There is so much love on the ship. I watch it every day in the faces of the crew members and the way they interact with the patients. I love watching the ship's Captain or the pharmacist, Bun Roth, interact with the people. You can see the kindness in their eyes and their utter love for each person. All of the crew members are quick to pause a minute and joke with the patients. Even the cook, Sanh, who spends most of his time in the kitchen and rarely interacts with the patients, cares deeply for each of them. On Friday, we had a walk-in patient (who we rarely take, since Dr. Tha's days are always so full) who had liver cancer and in the absence of anyone who spoke proficient enough English to effectively translate for me, I asked Sanh to help. He ended up not needing to, but when he watched with concern and when he came back from the market, he asked after the patient. I think I may have said it last time I was here as well, but the Ship of Life crew are some of the best people I know--they have beautiful spirits, all of them.

My interactions outside of my interviews are relatively limited, given that though I am learning Khmer (I have an excellent teacher--I teach him English, he teaches me Khmer, and it works well for us both, and during the day, he will quiz me on the Khmer words and ask me the English ones), I still speak precious little and probably understand even less. Many patients tell me how beautiful my skin is, and Cambodia is the only place I have ever been where everyone tells me how beautiful my nose is--and often want to trade! (I am tempted to say yes....) They often ask me how old I am (among the only questions I understand in Khmer, and I can respond myself since I know the numbers in Khmer through 999), and inevitably will then ask me if I am married and ask why not? I am old for the villagers--many of them are married at 18 or younger and I am always a little astounded to hear from women in my interviews who are younger than me and have had three children, maybe a miscarriage. Between that and listening to Lieng last night, I know Cambodia is a completely different world than I am used to, but I do love it--the people here make the country a special, special place. Like with many of my patients last year in Trinidad, I wish everyone could see what I see when I look at Cambodia.

The last village we were in was filled with friendly children who loved my camera. My friend and translator for the week, Minea, and I, went out and played with them the last few mornings. Minea led the games and I joined the kids, with one little girl attached to each hand. Minea had taught them songs and we all sang "God is so Good" in English and Khmer--I cannot even begin to express how beautiful it was to witness that singing. I made friends with a 16-year-old who spoke decent English and spent half her time at the clinic with her blushing face hidden behind her clinic paper, giggling as she asked me questions and I responded. My favorite of the children was a little five-year-old with rotting front teeth and a daredevil streak (she climbed trees like a monkey), who sat on my lap while I interviewed her mother and always broke into a shy smile when she saw me. Minea had taught all the children my name, so yesterday as I moved about the ship, the children would all yell "Hello, Nicki!" (or some variation that sounded enough like Nicki)--from the riverbank, from trees, from the river near where the ferry docked. The village also had a lot of beautiful old women--the Khmer word for grandmother is vieille, or at least it sounds like that, which is the French word for old. I am delighted by them and they by me. I so love their smiles, always broad and bright, with one tooth, no teeth, blackened teeth, or full clear teeth. Some need help to move into the ship and up the stairs, while others move with an unexpected spryness for their age. Spunky, I will tell Bunthoeun as they come aboard.

Otherwise, the week was beautiful. It would storm every day sometime between 2 and 5 (though mercifully not yesterday as we moved the ship). The sky would darken, winds would come and cool the otherwise sticky air, and eventually, it would pour. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for a few hours. There was such energy in the air! We are now at a new village, taking a breath for the day before beginning another week of clinic. It's a beautiful spot across from a pagoda, with some large trees and lights across the river that make the water iridescent at night.

I hope you all are well and wish you blessings in the coming week!