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183 18 My mornings started with a light breakfast, usually a bowl of steamy hot Phnom Penh noodle soup and fresh fruit. A slice of tree-ripened papaya, a banana, a steamed sweet rice cake, or a roasted banana cake with a glass of cold water held me together until lunchtime. I thoroughly enjoyed my early morning walk through the bustling Bung Kang Kong market, the constant frenzy of people and fresh produce coming and going. It was my favorite time of day and the best time to take photos, a hobby of mine. The market people were watching me, too. First, they tried their sparse English on me, then their broken Thai and even Russian. When I replied in Khmer, explaining that I was born in Siem Reap, the looks on their faces were precious. Most of them adamantly believed that I was a foreigner who learned to speak Khmer. Hearing that I was actually from Siem Reap was a bit of a stretch— in their minds. No one really believed me because of the way I looked and how I carried myself as an overseas Khmer, or what the locals termed a “Khmer Anickachun.” It took a few months to convince a few fruit merchants, those I got to know well, that I really was from Siem Reap. “You don’t have the Siem Reap accent,” one challenged me. I did my best imitation of the famous Siem Reap accent followed by the Phnom Penh one. Everyone cackled. A crowd formed. It was the same everywhere I went. At first I felt insulted, particularly when they said not very nice things behind my back, thinking I didn’t understand them. Later, I enjoyed surprising them with a punchline in Khmer, which usually drew a blast of good laughter from all. By midmorning, I was longing for the cold freshness of an Oregon winter. I had forgotten how the April heat bakes Phnom Penh so much that, in our first Turning Point Elections in Phnom Penh few weeks, we worried about dehydration and heat stroke. I showered at least twice a day, drank buckets of water, and sweated as much. The nights were agonizing. In the evenings, the heat that was trapped in the concrete buildings by day escaped to warm up the air. We slept well when electricity was sufficient to drive the Chinese-made air conditioners. More often, we had hardly enough power to turn the blades of the electric fans. Rolling blackouts were very common throughout Phnom Penh at all times of day and night, which made city life even more miserable. We learned to endure, as always. During the hot nights, I lay awake thinking of my wife, Thavy, and little Samantha. One night I thought to myself, I miss them so much and I have 330 days to go. This separation was more difficult than I thought it would be. A phone call home cost $6 a minute. A ten-minute call of $60 was impossible on my $725 stipend, half of which went to Thavy and Samantha. At $6 to $12 a letter, faxing was also pricey. The last resort was handwritten letters via diplomatic or organizational pouch for 32 cents. Although this option was the cheapest way, regular mail could take weeks or even months to get to America, much longer coming back to Cambodia. The e-mail revolution was still in its infancy and very few had access in Cambodia. I wrote once a week, religiously, in the first three months, twice a month in the next three months, and finally once a month until Thavy and Samantha could arrive in Cambodia for their first visit. For six months, I kept busy so I wouldn’t miss them too much. It worked for a while, but lonely nights persisted. I spent my first two weeks as a CANDO volunteer at meetings and orientations . We toured schools, clinics, and the orphanage. We met students, teachers , directors, staff, and orphans. We also met many of the hundreds of local and international NGOs that worked with UNTAC, the United Nations Transitional Authority of Cambodia, which was sponsoring the general elections to be held on May 23, 1993. Cambodia’s first election in three decades had everyone jittery, and it got to us, too. When a group of mostly Caucasian UNTAC well-wishers came to visit, they seemed to talk more with the white volunteers Tony, Steven, Wayne, and Paul, than with other Khmer American...

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