Treading Water in an Ocean of Poverty
By: Gabrielle Yetter
Her smile still haunts me. Two teeth in a wrinkled, brown face in a body bent double from years of working in the rice fields. Leaning on a wooden stick, her hands outstretched, begging for anything we could give. She was soaked to the skin after standing in a pouring rainstorm for two hours on the dirt road leading up to the Phnom Tamao wildlife refuge, 18 miles southeast of Phnom Penh.
She was one of dozens of people – an old woman amongst mostly children, most of whom were handicapped and struggling. They were lining the road to the animal park where, we’d been told, they came in the hope of gathering a few riel from visitors who took pity on their plight.
And take pity we did. Here we were, four westerners who came from a world of plenty, spending $30 on a day’s tuktuk ride to the park. How could we close our eyes and hearts to people who had broken arms, crippled backs and unseeing eyes and whose sole hope lay in the kindness of strangers?
What started as an outing to the zoo turned into something so much more.
The wild tigers, eagles, bears and elephants were magnificent but paled in significance to the visual desperation of humans in their midst.
Every time we handed over a small offering to a person on the road, the same thing happened: they smiled. Wrinkled faces softened, tiny brown eyes sparkled and old men bowed their heads in gratitude.
We drove past, humbled by the sight, asking ourselves “What do they have to smile about?” But every time, they did.
Many stared vacantly at cars and motos who bypassed their outstretched hands. And, when someone was presented with a donation, their eyes shone brightly with good fortune. Those same eyes remained fixed on us as we continued down the road and along the seemingly endless row of humanity’s most unfortunate.
There were too many to give to all, no matter how small the gift. So we chose those who appeared to be in most need; humbled by their grateful acknowledgement of a gift from a stranger.
Tackling Cambodian’s poverty, even the tiny slice that lined the road before us, felt like trying to drain an ocean with a straw. Our meager efforts left us empty, dissatisfied and depressed. It also left us guilty for living lives filled with plenty and still, like Oliver Twist, asking for more.
On our way back to Phnom Penn, our tuktuk driver, SomOn, made an unscheduled stop. He wanted us to see his home.
It came as no big surprise since we’d befriended him and his family shortly after arriving in Cambodia and, several weeks later, treated them to a feast of curry, rice, shrimp and local dishes. This was his turn to reciprocate.
We pulled into a driveway and followed him on foot through an alleyway in a city suburb. His eight-year-old son stood naked, pouring poured buckets of water over his body and giggling when we said hello. SomOn led us through a doorway where his pretty wife welcomed us to their home – a dark room half the size of our bedroom, one tiny window with bars and a thin linoleum floor.
They beckoned us to sit on the straw floor mat, brought us bottles of cold water and plugged in two floor fans to cool us. SomOn apologized they had nothing to give and said he lived here with his wife, two children and younger brother while he was saving to build a house on a plot of land he’d bought five years earlier. It was his dream and he was hoping to save the $4,000 he needed within the next year. Maybe two.
After a few minutes awkwardly socializing with his family who speak no English, we left with SomOn to see his land. He veered onto a garbage-strewn dirt road and pulled up in front of a tiny sandy heap – a space smaller than the driveway where I used to park my car back home. This was his land; the place where he hoped to create a home for his family.
Our hearts ached for him and for the people we’d seen on the road to the animal refuge. Gentle, kind souls who reached out to us and lived lives so far removed from our own existence. A silence descended upon us as we drove the rest of the way home, trying to digest and find some semblance of reason in the experiences of the day.
As for SomOn – He smiled.
Gabrielle Yetter is a writer who loves to travel…and a traveller who loves to write. She has lived in India, Bahrain, South Africa, England, USA and Mexico. She was a journalist in South Africa, owned a dining guide in San Diego, wrote a book about traditional Cambodian desserts and freelanced for publications and online sites in the U.S., The Netherlands, South Africa and Southeast Asia. In 2010, she and her husband, Skip, sold their home, quit their jobs, gave away most of their stuff and bought a one-way ticket to Cambodia. For the next three years, she volunteered with an NGO, wrote two books (The Definitive Guide to Moving to Southeast Asia: Cambodia and The Sweet Tastes of Cambodia) and, in June 2015, co-authored Just Go! Leave the Treadmill for a World of Adventure with Skip. She and Skip are now house sitting around the world, taking care of homes and pets from Italy to Greece to Nicaragua. Visit her website at www.GabrielleYetter.com and follow the couple’s adventures on their Facebook page (The Meanderthals) or their blog at www.TheMeanderthals.com