Steung Meanchey

february 10, 2009

It is 100-feet deep and spans an estimated 11-acres. It is an area so toxic when waste rots, methane is created and clouds of thick smoke fill the air. It is home to an estimated 600 families and 1,600 children - a place where the poorest of the poor forage through mounds of trash looking for recyclables that may earn them a bowl of rice if they are lucky. It is Steung Meanchey, Phnom Penh's municipal landfill, a "hell on Earth" and my first destination of the day.

After early morning yoga practice, seven of us piled into the back of a pick-up truck and headed to the CCF Community Center, located in the Steung Meanchey district of town. This center was built by the CCF to provide care for the younger children (ages 2 - 6) whose parents often work as garbage pickers in the dump. Due to the establishment of this center, these children are no longer left unattended to roam the dump, but rather spend their days learning and playing in a safe environment before returning home to their families in the evening.

When we arrived at the community center, we were split into two groups and those of us who were first to go into the dump were given oversized rubber boots that we would soon be thankful for. Shortly after the distribution of the boots, I found myself walking through a 'middle class' village, which was comprised of stilted, tarped-roof huts built around the edge of the landfill. We walked past naked children with enlarged bellies, parents who had taken to the bottle and emaciated animals that were grasping for life. There was a beautiful young woman that I will never forget. At first glance, she looked like she was five-months pregnant, but Scott was quick to tell us that she was actually suffering from Hepatitis B and had only weeks to live. She had no clue of her impending fate and no plan for the five children that she will soon be leaving behind. Her story, like many others, seemed to be of normal occurrence in and around the dump.

We continued walking through the village and ended up running into one of the women who spoke to our group about surviving the Khmer Rouge (a few days prior). Along with Scott, she and a couple of the children took our hands and led us to Steung Meanchey.

When we arrived at the dump, my five senses went into immediate overdrive. I was overwhelmed by the intense heat of the morning sun, the rancid smell of rotting waste and the toxic air that filled my lungs. It seemed like a game of follow the leader as we trudged behind the children who led us through the glass, metal, rotten food and chemical waste that made up the ground beneath our feet. As they steered us away from the sinkholes that were waiting to snatch the unexpected, I did my best to stay fully present as I saw shoeless children as young as five-years old picking through the trash and sorting through their pile of "gold." Their eyes seemed lifeless and their body language hopeless. For these children, it was about survival and how to make it through to the next day.

As we neared the end of our visit, we came across a makeshift home that sat atop the sinking trash. There were a couple of children occupying the home that Scott saw as potential candidates for placement into the CCF. By taking the time to converse and hear their stories, Scott was able to convince these children to come in for an evaluation in exchange for rice vouchers. To me, being in the presence of Scott and witnessing the effect of his actions as we traversed through the sludge of this sensory horror was a lesson of perserverence, compassion, commitment and uncoditional love.

The impact he has made and the lives that he has touched was apparent when the pick-up truck dropped us back off at the Community Center. All I had to do was peer into the packed room of peacefully sleeping children to witness the black to white transformation from the dump to the daycare.

Thank you to Scott, the dedicated staff and all those who have supported the vision and mission of the CCF. For more informaiton on the CCF, go to: http://www.cambodianchildrensfund.org

Walking Through the Fire

It has been a week since I stepped foot inside the barbed wires of Tuol Sleng Prison, a former high school turned interrogation center during the days of the Khmer Rouge regime. It was here that an estimated 17,000+ (the educated and their families) were repeatedly herded like cattle into the dark cells of the prison, shackled, interrogated and barbarically tortured until confession. There are seven known survivors. For Pol Pot and his regime, confession was justification to kill. And so he did… over 2 million perished between 1975-79, stripping a once vibrant Cambodia of its culture and people.

When we entered the grounds of S-21, our group of twenty-five was split into two. Each of the groups had an English speaking guide who gave a tour of the center and explained the history of what occurred. My group's first stop was an interrogation room – the windows were barred and a rusty bed frame with shackles, a small saucer and a torn pillow adorned the center of the room. A black and white picture of one of the victims being tortured hung on the wall for all to see. I noticed a tight feeling in my chest arise as we walked from room to room seeing more and more photographs of the torture that took place on the very ground that I was standing on. I took a couple of deep, audible breaths. The energy was heavy and the mood sullen.

As we were leaving Building A, we ran into an older man carrying a small notebook. His face was weathered and his energy compassionate. Through our translator, we learned that he was one of the few remaining survivors of S-21 and he was at the prison to share his story with those who were open to listening. We listened as he softly spoke of the heinous acts that he experienced and witnessed during his time at the prison. He showed us to his small cell and at one point actually sat down inside his cell and demonstrated how he was shackled to the ground for days on end. As I stood there listening to his words, I felt strong gratitude towards his vulnerability of exposing such a personal experience in hopes that we would go out and share his story with all those we know.

We continued on and soon came across the black and white headshots of those taken into custody. This was intense. The eyes of men, women, children and babies stared back at me like deer caught in headlights. The pictures were endless. I could feel their fear, helplessness and sadness and witnessed my heart getting heavy. I will never forget the face of the woman who held onto her baby as a tear drop rolled down her cheek, or the man who wore a beaming smile with no clue his life was about to be cut short. Deep breaths filled my lungs. Just when I thought the worst was over, I came across the next set of photographs, these depicted the victims being tortured and the aftermath of their experience. I stepped outside and took another long deep breath. Sadness filled my heart.

After our tour of S-21 was over, we boarded the bus and headed to the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek, a site where individuals were taken to be killed and then buried in mass graves. Before entering the site, I bought a piece of incense and a flower and prayed before a skull-filled stupa for the souls of those that were taken. Soon after, we were taken through a maze of mass graves where the bodies of the victims had once been carelessly tossed – literally walking on the bones of those that were murdered. We walked past trees where babies had been beaten and women raped. We stepped over shreds of clothes that had once covered the bodies of many, but were now coloring the dirt filled paths which we walked upon. I felt myself detaching from the experience. I tried taking deep breaths, but instead felt myself gasping for air. My chest got tight and a wave of nausea came over me. As the soft wind blew through my hair – my head felt detached from my body and my voice mute. I needed to get back onto the bus. I was having sensory overload and wanted so badly to get back into my body.

On the way home, I was flooded by a wave of sadness. I felt like I needed to purge the day, but I didn't want to runaway from the feelings that were looking me straight in the eyes – feelings I knew I was detaching from. It was then that I decided to step into my own shadow – step into the shit that was keeping me from feeling empowered and at my best. I felt raw vulnerability, scared, and emotionally and physically exhausted, but by allowing myself to surrender I felt deeper than I ever thought I could go, witnessed the depth of my own soul, the power of compassion, the strength of courage, and the ability of others to hold the space.

The next day, I woke up and felt a softness in my heart and calmness wash over my body. I prepared for the garbage dump, which would prove to be a whole other experience in itself.

I reflect back on the last seven days of my time spent in a nation that has suffered one of the most horrific genocides of our time -- one that is often overlooked, but will never be forgotten. I have been ripped open and fully exposed to the darkest shadows of humanity and have witnessed in full color the brightest light of joyful existence. I have fully arrived -- mind, body, spirit and soul and look forward to sharing my personal journey as it unfolds.

Much love,

Annalise