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fieldwork

The Stink of Durian for Newbies, and Adjusting to Cambodia

5 May 2005 by Nathalie Abejero Leave a Comment

A royal decree was issued in the night. Everyone in Cambodia who has shoes is to take them off, and they are to do it inside my room. Groan. Below my hotel window (wide open cuz the one AC unit in the entire town was not allocated to this hut) is a fruit stall enterprise specializing in durian, a treat to wake up to at 6am. It is that time of year when foreigners are subjected to Fear Factor challenges involving this foul mishap of creation. It is the season, they are everywhere, and the Khmers must share. There is particular affinity for this fruit, drawing national pride, cherished reverently, like there is a little god inside the paranormal-looking blob. When foreigners are offered a piece of it Khmer radars within a mile radius zero in and they all whip around to see what you will do. You ought not refuse– their expressions are benign enough, friendly in fact, but it gives eerie pause. If this were a scene in a horror flick or nightmare the wrong response will exact gruesome vengeance straight from the bowels of hell. Think twice, foreigner. Trips to market are now unhappy excursions. Since I have the big SUV my driver is put upon to haul the putrid cargo about, and of course the stench lingers. Usually I stay a few paces behind my translator at the market, who refuses to be seen with me because sellers tack on a “foreigner tax”. But when haggling for durian I don’t mind at all looking conspicuously foreign to jack up the price. Purchases came to a short-lived halt until she caught on.

Gastronomical conquests become a newcomer’s specialty. One of the more infamous aphrodisiacs hereabouts Asia is called balut in Tagalog. It is a fertilized duck egg, harvested just days before hatch date and boiled so that the fetus is fully formed and decadently crunchy. Bugs are also much prized fast food items– spiders, ants, crickets, really anything that moves, the more legs the better. To be fair, the cockroach that went into the fryer in Poipet was not the same creature spawned of urban squalor– they insist it’s a beetle, bred for its crispy, nutty texture, though that is hardly encouragement enough to pop one in my mouth. Everything gets fried, dyed, dried. Colors I normally associate with radioactive elements and glow-in-the-dark objects are particularly popular additives to milks, juices, and sweets. Meat jerkies are common too, and my neighbors occasionally lay things out to dessicate. The ones resembling small rodents sporting extra legs always throw me for a loop, but my inquiring mind is mum, quite content to leave ignorance intact. Flee! Flee!

These lead to sporadic obsessions I can’t shake– pasta, peanut butter, chocolate– {{When the dog bites When the bee stings When I’m feeeeeling saaaaad . . . }}}. I’m still nursing a chocolate craving that won’t go away, initially sadly coincident with the expat exodus from the Khmer New Year, which took with it all the baking talent of Phnom Penh (the French colonialists failed miserably in dessert indoctrination). That precipitated a baking fixation, a difficult endeavor in a country where appliances that generate additional heat are not popular, so you are put upon to make your own oven. Luckily my pal RS was not only able to prevent the forthcoming inferno– he offered use of his oven– his baking skills also far exceeds mine (not a stellar achievement, but desperate circumstances justify disproportionate merit). . . . . mmm, a little piece of heaven can reduce all else to insignificance.

Working off a chocolate binge is a problem. Only tourists wear shorts and/or a tank top in public, branding themselves such by doing so. Best times for activity to avoid that fresh-popped-in-the-oven feeling are either end of the midday heat– around 4am or 11pm. Volleyball courts aren’t optimal, unless diving into pavement is part of your routine. There are two gyms, and two tended tennis courts lacking weeds and cracks to assist the ball out of play. These conditions thwart an already dim resolve to work out. So one weekend I joined the Hash House Harriers, a running club that exists in most cities in response to the expat need for fraternity and drinki– err, recreation. (CW, this group must be in Maputo?). I hadn’t done anything remotely active in many months, but this truth is not impressive so I fibbed about my activity level when they asked what kind of running I do. Bad mistake, my second floor apartment suddenly presented a challenge to twitching legs for a full week.

Work is great. Fieldwork is interesting, especially when theory and practice find detours around each other. And who in public health doesn’t have a story about condom demonstrations. We set up temporary labs in the Provincial AIDS Offices, which conduct condom use programs. A woman came in one day while we were there, complaining of pregnancy. Their wooden penis went missing for a few days, so the peer educators substituted bananas. Apparently the message on where exactly to place the condom went awry, because all bananas in her house now get one. LOL. Not those bananas lady. And have you ever used a translator? I ask a question, it is translated, and immediately translator and subject are engrossed in animated dialogue. Twenty minutes later, pen and notebook in hand expecting some good material, my translator turns to me with: “He said yes.” . . . ?!. . . How long is the Khmer word for ‘yes’??

Being so often on the road reminds me how far off the comfort zone we are. I don’t usually prefer the backseat due to motion sickness, but given that everyone has the right of way here I opt for illness. It seems a widely held belief that increasing velocity will relieve other objects approaching the same intersection of mass, and I find myself in perpetual unease at having to one day demonstrate this theory wrong. There is a prompt– only the Khmers hear these voices– to shove pedal to the metal upon nearing the crossroads. At intersections across the country foreigners riding backseat in all manner of transport can be seen craning our necks in rising panic proportionate to speed, searching for the cause of this lunacy. What’s happening?! Sometimes eyes will meet and befuddlement is mirrored in a split instant– misery appreciates company. Then the imminent peril ends, contact is broken, the junction is past. {{breathe}} I’m alive!!! {{insert maniacal laugh}} Vehicles ought to be equipped with toys and other diversions, soft things preferably, for just such treacherous outings down the street.

Ah the things that guidebooks leave out. Systematic exploration of the emotional topography is Cambodia’s specialty. Theme parks bah!— close encounters with the next life are just a flight away. So come and visit!!! Beyond all this excitement, separation from Keith by the entirety of the planet’s molten magma is quite the trial, especially with the time differential. You veterans, particularly Melanie and Cherry (seems to be a Filipina-Am trend), have an indomitable will and I am inspired. And to fellow colleagues likewise traversing unknown territories by him/herself: the destination is never as exciting is it? Though emails from me are scarce I do read everything in my inbox and print the longer ones for inspiration through bleak spells of no AC, charbroiling temperature, and chocolate deprivation so keep ’em comin’!

Filed Under: Travels Tagged With: durian, fieldwork, Khmer, public health

About fieldwork: "and oh, the places you’ll go!"

10 April 2005 by Nathalie Abejero Leave a Comment

I’m more often than not in the provinces for one of my bigger projects, an STI (sexually transmitted infections) survey*. I am the only foreigner, and no one on my survey teams or the provincial offices that I interact with for days on end is competent enough in English that every utterance does not need to be repeated multiple times, loud and punctuated by wild gesturing. Even my translator needs much explaining. This can be draining…

Although communication difficulties are a given, that daily reserve of energy sometimes isn’t enough to stay afloat deep waters of frustration. Especially when you are hot, tired, dehydrated, waiting to finish the day’s work, and you catch one of your lab techs taking ice out of the cold chain for his drink. Or when you find your interviewer is brokering a deal with participants on the survey incentives so your data is totally rigged and useless. Or when one of your team physicians sells some survey supplies, and you must drive an hour for a mobile signal to ask your home office in Phnom Penh to send more. Shoot me now. I find that under such moments of duress my small brain is unable to multi-cope.

I beelined for the ice cream cart when I heard the familiar bells coming down the street, my better sense seriously impaired the longer the stint in the sticks. The ice cream man sat with me on the curb in the shade listening in amusement as I prattled away, clearly not bothering to make myself understood. Out of the periphery of annoyance two of my physicians struggled to tell me something, and they were pointing accusingly at my little stick of paradise. GO-AWAY.

“For— uh, falmad— uh, folma—,” massacred fragments of English parried back and forth until finally: “Formaldehyde!” one of them spits out with glee, and they broke into contemplative debate in Khmer. I tried to educe a connection between formaldehyde and ice cream in the meantime. But the Khmers must discuss everything. At length. A simple question like “Where is the bathroom?” will provoke a drawn-out discourse if there is more than one person within earshot of the inquiry, so you start drumming your fingers, irritatedly wondering what they can possibly be deliberating. Patience for Dummies. Many sands through the hourglass later I learned that I ingested enough formaldehyde over the past few days to preserve a cow. It is used in the street ice cream industry for its preservative qualities. Forced exhale and a glare at the sky. I tell you, sometimes I just dO NOT UNDERSTAND {{down caps down}}}.

Somehow, roughing it for a backpacking trip is vastly different than roughing it for good. But I think I’m getting used to the bucket shower and squat toilet accommodations. My biggest gripe is that the mosquito net never quite manages to keep out that one endlessly active ‘skeeter. It’s quite amazing I haven’t yet contracted dengue or malaria, given the numerous angry welts my legs and arms can boast. Knock on wood.

Some of the larger problems I encounter are not the technical kind. Such as toeing the line that return-Asian females are somehow faced with: Western aggressiveness versus conventional kowtow– finding your line and getting them to accept it. We’re dealt a harsher scrutiny than Caucasian foreigners get. Another is dressing appropriately for the boonies, where the scorching sun, ever-present clouds of dirt, and endless hours on your feet make it difficult to look presentable. Of course, the gals on my team never have a problem with it. Halfway through the day when I’ve dropped ten pounds in sweat and may as well hose down at a car wash they still look dainty and fresh and perfect. Ancient Khmer secret.

Cravings of late: Chocolate– the complete absence of that rich, calorific slice of decadence is taking its toll. One of the restaurants here had chocolate fudge cake but it tasted like something *I* would make. Needless to say, my hankering is not satisfied. Put cheesecake on that list. Yogurt, a quarter pounder with the trimmings, a slice of New York pizza, bagels. . . . {{daydreaming, drooling, drooling}}} I might have to make another “civilization” run. People here frequent Bangkok for just that– to “clean themselves” and get supplies. Sounds good right about now. . .

Edited to add, since I’ve gotten questions from some family on these. Wow, I am footnoting a blog.
* Surveys are a method of providing statistical data for programmatic objectives. In research it is conducted to develop, test, refine hypotheses. To understand conditions and demographic trends of a population, governments carry out surveys every few years. Market research, opinion polls, the census are surveys. In Cambodia because of war and conflict, survey efforts have been few, making it difficult to specifically target efforts in HIV/AIDS.

The NGO I’m working with is one of the more internationally recognized leaders in public health surveillance. With the highest HIV/AIDS rates in SE Asia, information on the population’s risk behaviors is necessary for program planning purposes. FHI has partnered with the US CDC (Center for Disease Control) and the Cambodian NCHADS (National Center for HIV/AIDS, Dermatology, and Surveillance) for a nationwide survey of STI prevalence in three high-risk populations: the homosexual community, direct female sex workers, and the police (documented to frequent brothels). A cross-sectional analysis of STI prevalence can provide a quick shot of the HIV epidemic, because STI infections are of shorter duration than HIV, and risk behaviors for STIs are similar to HIV.

Filed Under: Work Tagged With: FHI, fieldwork, HIV/AIDS, ice cream, NCHADS, survey

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Those little feet pitter-pattering about rule our lives lately. But on the occasional free moment I get to tap out scatterbrained bursts of consciousness about raising toddlers in Cambodia, traveling with them and working abroad. These posts are my personal updates to friends and family. But since you’re here, have a look around. Thanks for stopping by…

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