a prospective photographer

Since I last wrote about the kids at Stung Meanchey dump, I’ve been out to see them several more times.  Each time, Eric and I discover new kids who have great interest in photography and who we consider to be excellent candidates for our photo project.  We always love to see the photos that they’ve come up with.  

Some of the children are regularly there to get food when we come, while other children that we’ve seen and photographed before have never reappeared since.  With each visit, we not only get to know the personalities of some of the “regulars,” but meet new children that we hadn’t previously encountered.  

My name, Beverly, is universally difficult for Asians (and many other nationalities) to say so I’ve often taken on different nick-names in each country I’ve visited.  In Cambodia, I’ve become Lee which seems to be the only syllable in my name that is easily pronounceable to non-English speakers. I was so attached to my Balinese name, Putu, I wish I had thought to give that name a test run before opting for Lee; but Lee it is now. 

The kids that are regulars at the dump and with whom I’ve interacted before start shouting “Lee! Lee!” when they see me.  There are so many of them and their names are as foreign to me as “Beverly” is to them that I’m only able to retain a few new names with each visit.  I find it strange to have formed such strong attachments to these kids, to feel so connected to them and have feelings of love for them, but not to have a name that I associate with each one of these special people.  Eventually, I hope I’ll be able to know and remember all of their names, but in the meantime, I just keep adding a few to my memory bank with each visit.

the chaotic clothes distribution process

The last time we went to the dump, the group that organizes feeding runs for the kids also brought second hand clothes in addition to food that we passed out to the children and some of the adults.  I was fascinated to observe that many of our cultural associations with color and clothing style don’t carry over here.  For example, boys had no problem snatching up pink clothes.  One was even happy to grab a skirt.  I honestly don’t know if this is due to cultural differences (Perhaps Cambodians don’t associate pink with girls and blue with boys the way Americans do. For that matter, I’m not sure if that association is purely American or if all Westerners recognize those particular color affiliations) or if it has more to do with the severity of the kids’ poverty. 

Eric's new brother

The clothing distribution process was a bit chaotic and some kids managed to end up with several articles of clothing while others got none.  After all the clothes had been distributed, one of the unlucky boys who got nothing approached me to plead his case. I had nothing more to give him, but spotted a boy of similar size who had three items of clothing.  The luckier boy spoke a little English and readily agreed to give a pair of jeans, in my opinion his best article, to the first boy.  “We must share,” he said, struggling to find the exact words in English.  

That afternoon, one little boy took quite a shine to Eric and followed him around for the duration of our visit while the one who got the jeans stuck closely to my side.  “Eric’s boy” told Eric that he wanted to be his brother and Eric agreed.  He didn’t let go of Eric’s hand for the rest of the afternoon.  “My boy” whose name I never did master started calling me mother in the last ten minutes before we left.  So many Cambodians, young and old, have proposed to Eric and I that we be their brother or sister that, were we to document them, our family tree would likely resemble those lovely African trees with branches spreading out in extreme horizontal patterns.  As a result, we also have numerous Khmer nieces and nephews, but this was the first time that my family tree roots started stretching in a vertical direction.  I apparently have a son now … and don’t even know his name.  

my "son"

After our second to last visit, we took two of the girls, Sopey and Sophy, to go get shoes.  According to one of the organizers, Sopey had a foot infection and the knee-high rubber boots which were her only footwear didn’t allow the infection to breathe and heal. Sophy initially went along for the ride and to help translate, but also got into the shopping spirit and requested new shoes as well.  At $6 a pair, we were happy to brighten both girls’ day.  They were ecstatic about their new shoes and, at first, did not want to wear them immediately. They preferred to save them for a special occasion because they didn’t want to get them dirty.  Unfortunately, part of life at the dump is that everything gets dirty so we encouraged them to go ahead and wear them now.  Saving them for a special occasion would likely mean they never got worn (and would likely be sold) which would defeat the purpose of buying them. 

On the way to buy the shoes, Sopey, our “star photographer,” continued to photograph like a paparazzi from the tuk tuk as we drove.  She told us it was her third time to ever ride in a tuk tuk, yet she was far more fascinated with the camera in her hands.  The past few times we’ve gone to the dump to visit, Sopey has not been there.  We wonder what has happened to her and hope she’s okay.

a little girl and her mother emerging from a cloud of smoke from burning garbage

On another recent visit, I walked farther back into the dump with Josh Haner, a visiting reporter/photographer for the New York Times whom I met and befriended on a previous trip to the dump.  We trekked through the black smoke rising from the heaps of burning garbage back to the areas where the Stung Meanchey families live.  We came across a woman who was washing and drying hundreds of brightly colored plastic bags that she had salvaged from the refuse. En route to talk to and photograph this woman, I stepped on what looked like solid ground only to have my foot sink about 8 inches into some hot black liquid that was immediately absorbed by my sock and shoe as though they were a sponge. I’m not sure if it was my imagination or not, but I could have sworn acid was slowly eating at my foot until I got home and showered, vigorously scrubbing my foot about half a dozen times.  

Josh and I hiked up a mountain of refuse, carefully treading through an area Josh dubbed “the field of broken glass.”  We carried bags of apples with us to give to the kids; apples always seem to be their favorite.  In our excursion, we encountered more adults than children who were equally happy to receive an apple in the scorching heat.  We got back to the dump entrance just as a new garbage truck was dumping its contents.  The people, mostly adults but a few children as well, stood by waiting for the second the garbage had been dumped to start sifting to look for recyclables.  The area where the people were working and waiting was dangerous.  In addition to the big garbage trucks that pull in and out without much regard for who’s in the way, bulldozers work within feet of the garbage sifters, displacing and leveling the garbage.  I felt like I needed an extra pair of eyes in the back of my head just to keep from getting run over.  One woman saw my bag of apples and motioned a request I give her one as soon as she had finished searching the garbage.  The second I handed out one, I was surrounded by about twenty to thirty hands.  I jumped away as soon as I saw a break so that there would be some left for the children.  

"I have a cow." Something you're not likely to see taught at school in the US

After leaving the main work area, I headed up to the children’s school to see the conditions there.  Classes were not in session, yet about 7 kids hung out on the grounds.  They showed me the three classrooms which are open air.  Only a blackboard separates two classrooms which are both housed in the same building.  I imagine that being able to hear the other classes going on would be very distracting to the students.  The children eagerly demonstrated their English to me, showing me pictures of fruit and telling me the names in both Khmer and in English. 

During the time since we initially came up with the idea of putting cameras in the hands of the kids, Eric and I have been researching the situation at Stung Meanchey and have come to learn of other groups helping the families and children at the dump in a variety of ways.  We’ve set up a number of meetings to better educate ourselves about what’s currently being done and what is still needed in order to determine how best to effect our project and what to do with the funds raised from it.

In the course of one of these meetings, we learned that the land on which the dump is situated has become prime real estate and has been purchased by some Western developers.  Accordingly, the government has plans to relocate the dump.  The families living and working at the dump will be relocated too … but not to the new dump sight. They will be moved to an area called Udong where some will be provided houses via Habitat for Humanity.  The plan sounds great, but no one can answer how these families will earn their living.  

a trash sifter seeking shade and taking a break

With all of this going on in the background, Eric and I made the tough decision to temporarily continue with our travels in Vietnam for the next 5 weeks, using that time to brainstorm about the photo project.  We are tossing around many questions and ideas at the moment:  What’s the best way to involve the families and the school in the project? Over what time periods should the children keep the cameras? Should we provide the children with any photography instruction or just take a “natural is best/ see what happens” approach?  What are the best methods to minimize the risk of losing any cameras to theft or sale?  These are just the tip of the iceberg. Additionally, we figure that traveling now will provide time to sort out these and many other questions. 

In the meantime, the stories I’m writing in my blog are kind of “Cambodian flashbacks” so I can catch you up on the events that happened before Eric and I met the kids and experiences we’ve had since then.  As I write this story, we are on a bus on the way to Saigon (aka Ho Chi Minh City), Vietnam.  We plan to travel the length of Vietnam by motorbike for five weeks before returning to Cambodia.  Upon our return, we will dive into the project with the kids for a month … and then I’ll be heading back home to the States to work on exhibiting their work.

If you would like to see a video of the children in their school as well as the trash sifters at work, click here.

So that’s the update.  Now on with the stories …

To see more photos of the kids and their living conditions, click here.

   

 

 

 

this little boy was hiding in the dumpster to eat his food in privacy

Instead of celebrating Thanksgiving at home with my family as usual, I’ll be celebrating in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia this year.  (I’m a bit behind in my blog so in the next week, I’ll catch you up on how I came to be in Cambodia, but in the meantime, suffice it to say, I’m here). And this year I’m especially thankful. 

Stung Meanchey garbage dump is the only dump in Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capitol city.  In Cambodia, no distinction is made between toxic waste and regular refuse with regard to disposal so it all ends up at Stung Meanchey.  Living amid all the waste, toxic and otherwise, are over three hundred children and their families.  The children work alongside their parents sifting through the garbage in search of any sort of scrap metal or recyclable material that they can sell.  These families live on the bottom rung of Cambodia’s already rickety ladder.  They are Cambodia’s castaways, barely scraping by.  Most of these kids don’t have shoes.  They don’t have enough to eat. They live amid toxic fumes and spills through which they walk barefoot, frequently cutting their feet on shards of glass, rusty metal and used hypodermic needles. 

I learned about this situation from a flyer posted in my guesthouse that queried, “Want to help feed the kids at the city dump?”  My traveling partner, Eric Anderson, and I investigated a bit and found out that a group of British and Australian men went to the dump three to four times a week to take food to the kids and had been doing so for five years.  We met with the group leader, who established and runs a no-overhead non-profit organization which raises money to feed the kids and provide some basic first aid.  “I can feed three kids for $1,” he told us. “Whenever we have $100 saved up, we go.”  

the kids come running as word of the food truck's arrival spreads

Naturally, Eric and I signed up for the next trip two days later.  And it changed our lives.  We’ve now been to the dump three times and have put all of our other travel plans on hold in order to stay in Phnom  Penh and work with these kids.

The first day we went to the dump, we pulled up in a large box truck loaded with 70 kilos of apples, 100 kilos of oranges, 50 kilos of bananas and three hundred loaves of bread.  As the truck rumbled onto the dump site, kids came out of the proverbial woodwoork and screamed with delight at the sight of the truck.  “They’re here!  They’re here!” they shouted excitedly as they ran, arms waving, toward the truck’s usual parking spot.  Within sixty seconds, the area that was previously empty save for five kids milling around was filled with about seventy excited and hungry children with many more heading down the roads that lead farther into the dump.  That was the first of many times that day that I had to choke back my tears. 

This little toddler has no clothes. His mother covered his head with a towel just before I snapped this photo. He's carrying a hat in which to collect his food.

The standard meal provided by the volunteer group consists of a baguette of bread,  two oranges, two bananas and one apple.  The apples, oranges and bananas are all about half the size of those in the US.  Although meager, this quantity of food is difficult for my small hands to hold onto and many of the children struggle to carry it away as well.  Some of the children hold up their shirt tails making a field-expedient basket in which to put the food.  It’s not uncommon for the tiniest children that the shirt they pull up to hold the food is the only piece of clothing they’re wearing so that they walk away with a “shirt basket” of food in the front and an exposed bottom from behind.  A few toddlers who are completely naked present a hat in which to carry their food.  Inevitably, these children are barefoot.  

Some of the children have gotten wise and arrive with a plastic bag in which they can collect their food.  I suspect that most of the plastic bags that they bring to carry food have been scavenged from the dump.  On a few occasions, the child has failed to notice holes in the bottom of the bag and, when I failed to notice too, the food I put in the bag fell straight through to the ground.  I now regularly inspect for holes.

Maybe it’s because of the time of year, but each time I placed food into one of these bags, I had the odd expectation that the child would say “trick-or-treat” as they arrived at the front of the line to accept their food portion.  Instead, before taking the food offered to them, the majority press their hands together and raise them to their mouth in a wai (a sign of gratitude in Southeast Asia) and say an obviously heart-felt  “thank you.”  

this obviously malnourished little girl soberly contemplates an orange (photo by Eric Anderson)

The boys and girls each have separate food lines since, as I’m told, in Cambodia’s patriarchal society, girls aren’t regarded as equal and would otherwise not get any or equal portions of food.  At least six volunteers come along on each trip.  Two volunteers keep order in the lines preventing pushing, kids cutting in line and kids collecting their food and then getting back in line for more.  At least two volunteers assemble the meals inside the truck and hand them out to two more volunteers called “feeders” who give them to the kids.  The group leader has found that if they hand the meals out directly from the truck to the kids rather than going through a “feeder,” that all the kids will rush the truck, trampling the little ones in the process.  He now has it down to an efficient, smooth and safe process.  I was amazed at how much work was involved.

In my most recent trip to the dump, I worked as a feeder, taking the assembled meal from a volunteer in the truck and handing it to the hungry children.  I worked the boys’ line and was amused as a few of the boys assembled near me as self-appointed policemen to make sure there were no repeaters in line.  A couple of the younger boys crouched beneath the back of the truck and started tugging on my jeans pleading “one more apple please.”  I had no extra apples to give them so I tickled their bellies instead. Although it made them laugh, the tickle didn’t come anywhere close to stopping the hunger pains I’m sure they must feel.  

we've run out of bread, but even the fruit is almost too much for his little hands to handle

Inevitably, we always run out of food before the lines are finished.  I’m hoping that this is because many children do still manage to repeat in line and get double their portion rather than the ugly alternative that some kids get no food at all.  The bread is always the first to run out.  When I worked as a feeder the other day, the first little boy who did not get bread combined humor and philosophy in his reaction when he feigned anger at first, raising his fist and shouting, “What?! No more bread?” followed with a resigned “I guess it’s just not my day to have bread.”  

It takes about an hour to distribute all the food. Afterwards, two of the regular volunteers who are trained in first aid inspect and treat the kids who have wounds.  In my three visits to the dump, I’ve seen them treat many cuts (mainly on feet), staph infections and head lice.  In addition to treatment, they also distribute rubber boots to the children with cut and infected feet as there’s no point treating the cut if the kids are then going to walk around in the waste.

On that first day, I served as a food organizer in the truck.  After the food was all distributed, I climbed down from the truck and walked over to the first aid area to watch the children being treated.  Within a couple of minutes I felt someone envelope me in a hug from behind.  I turned around to find a beautiful, thirteen year old girl who gave me a broad grin and said in a sweet, sing-songy voice, “What’s your name? My name is Sophy.”  From that minute on, Sophy did not stop holding onto me in some manner, either grasping my hand, wrapping her arm around my waste or just giving me full on hugs until I left the dump that day.  Another older girl, Sopey, was equally affectionate.  She also took great interest in my cameras, wanting to actually use the camera, not just have her photo taken.

new boots and a forced smile

I took a chance and turned over my Canon Powershot, the little point-and-shoot that I carry with me to make videos.  At first she stayed pretty near me and I kept an eye on her and my camera.  After a bit though, I got distracted with the other children, hugging them and fulfilling their never-ending requests for photographs.  I discovered that “two photo” means they want a portrait of two of them while “one photo” means “please leave everyone else out and only photograph me.”  It’s often difficult to take “one photo” or “two photo” as everyone wants their photographs taken and will jump in to be included in the action.  In all the chaos and confusion, I lost sight of Sopey who was nowhere to be seen with my camera.  I held my breath and hoped for the best.  

Sure enough, just before the truck left, I caught sight of her.  She had wandered away from the area immediately near the truck but was clearly in “serious photographer” mode, snapping numerous photos of the people and environment that were part of her life.  She came and found me and returned the camera, which naturally instilled me with much trust and confidence in her.  When I looked at her results on my computer later that night, I was astonished.  She was a natural with the camera, creating unique and excellent compositions.  A lightbulb went off in my head.

I love how seriously the little girl in the purple skirt is taking her portrait

“I want to get a camera for Sopey,” I told Eric.  We began to wonder out loud if perhaps some of the other children would take to using cameras as well.  What would happen if we put cameras in the hands of more of these kids?  

The next day, we bought a used Olympus point-and-shoot in Phnom Pehn’s central market for $45 and took it with us on our next trip to the dump the following day.  When we arrived, about twenty kids were playing in and with a small dumpster, using it as a teeter-totter.  

We handed the Olympus to Sopey, showed her how to operate it, and she took off again.  Some of the other kids saw her shooting with it and asked Eric and I if they could use our point-and-shoots.  “Why not?” we thought.  This would be a good test run for the project that was already percolating in our brains.  

this dumpster becomes a giant teeter-totter

I took photographs of the kids who seemed the most eager to be photographers so that I could remember who they were.  When I started to write down their names as well, an interesting thing happened.  Children and adults alike all wanted their names to be known.  They rushed over to me.  Someone started calling me “teacher” and it stuck.  Everywhere I turned, I heard “Teacher, my name is ________” and they would watch and wait as I wrote it in my notebook.  These people want a voice!  They want their names to be known.  I choked back my tears.

A number of things amaze me about these kids.  Despite their unimaginable living conditions, smiles abound; big smiles that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame.  One little girl approached me on the first day and, unprompted, began to sing a beautiful Khmer song. When I took out my video camera, she got a little shy, but in a few minutes, started singing “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands.”  She was shy, but sincere as she sang. That she chose that song to sing with garbage strewn about as her backdrop almost dropped me to my knees. 

"Good things come to those who wait" ... so hold on there little guy!

Despite everything, these kids still have pride.  They look me in the eye and ask me how I am, how many brothers and sisters I have, where I’m from and how old I am.  They are very polite, most of them offering the volunteers sincere thanks before accepting the first bit of food.  They are generous.  I’ve already been given a necklace, two bracelets, a flower and a drawing (of food!) from these kids who have nothing.  And they’re full of love.  At times, I’ve felt like I was wrapped in an octopus of little kid arms.  Their hugs and kisses are so excessive, it makes photographing difficult at times.  Tough life for me, huh?

But Eric and I both manage to love on them and photograph them.  Yesterday, I photographed a little boy whose front teeth are so rotten, they’re mere little nubs of black.  One of his eyes is crossed and won’t open completely.  His hair is a complete mess and his attempt to flash the ubiquitous “peace sign” that the kids love here was a bit muddled.  He managed two fingers on one hand but only got one finger up on the other hand.  Nonetheless, he flashed me a big, almost toothless grin.  When Eric and I reviewed our photos that night, he noticed a detail I had overlooked.  The little boy’s shirt said “Good things come to those who wait.”  We laughed hysterically at the paradoxes in the photograph, surprising ourselves at the manner in which we were dealing with the enormous range of emotions that we were feeling.  We weren’t so surprised when our hysterics turned to deep, racking sobs.  

the greatest paradox

Cambodia is full of paradoxes and the Stung Meanchey dump is no exception. I photographed two young boys with their arms around each other, posing for a portrait, as sweet as they could possibly be.  One of them was wearing a face mask.  We’ve noticed many people in Cambodia wearing face masks and have been told that some do it to prevent inhaling the dust that is so thick and prevalent here that it is almost constantly visible in the air.  We’re told that other people wear them because they have colds and don’t want to spread their germs.  That this little boy who lives in a toxic waste site is concerned about inhaling bad air or spreading cold germs is probably the greatest paradox of the many I’ve seen in my three weeks in this country that’s laid claim to my heart.  Although you can’t see the smile on his face, it shows in the eyes of the little mask-wearing boy.  The icing on the cake is the pretty purple flower that he’s holding.  I can’t imagine where he found it.  What, besides bacteria could possibly grow in that contaminated ground?  But he posed with it and then gave it to me.  

Eric and I both lost sight of all three cameras during our second visit.  Yet, just before the truck left, the kids reappeared with them and returned them to us.  On our third visit to the dump, we again had a 100% camera return rate.  

the food line (photo by Sopey)

At this point, we have a good idea which kids are our likely photographers and our plan is this:  with the involvement of the children’s families and the school (there’s a school on site at the dump), we will select ten to twenty children and distribute cameras to them to use for set periods of time, shorter at first and then longer as we establish our relationships.  When we return to the US, we will exhibit the images created by the children to raise awareness about their situation.  We will also offer the images for sale with all proceeds going toward feeding the families, but also providing longer term solutions for their plight.  

Sopey doesn't talk so we don't know where she took this photo of a man near the dump (photo by Sopey)

To date, I have made two videos of the kids at Stung Meanchey dump.  To see them, click here for Video 1 and herehere for Video 2.  

I have added two sets to my collection of photographs in the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.  Within that collection, you can now choose to see photos of my trip, photos of the kids and photos taken by the kids.