Small surprises in rural Cambodia Part 1
It takes a long time to travel to Preah Romkel. This Mekong village is just a few hundred metres from the border of Laos, but is almost a two-hour journey from Stung Treng, a Mekong town that itself is more than six hours from Phnom Penh. Preah Romkel is known as a place to spot the rare Irrawaddy dolphins, a species that is gravely endangered on the Mekong.
Preah Romkel, in the centre-left of this Google Maps image.
The village of a few hundred people relies on the Mekong for its water supply.
The people who live in Preah Romkel value the dolphins, who bring tourists to their community. "The dolphins are important for us," a restaurant owner tells me. "It's a virtuous cycle. The tourists bring money that benefits the village, and the villagers learn how to protect the dolphins and the river," he says. A few tourists come each day, stay in a homestay, eat in local restaurants, pay a nominal fee for a boat to see the dolphins, and ride upriver to see a beautiful local waterfall. Just this year, some of the money raised has helped to bring electricity to the village.
"There was no road here until three years ago," says Phiene, a woman who runs a small shop in the village. "We used to spend all day to travel down the river to the Stung Treng market," she says. And there are other improvements. There's a secondary school now in Stung Treng and a good health centre too. "Pregnant women can get care at the health centre, and have their babies more safely," says Phiene. "We can also get birth control. There are a lot fewer health problems for pregnant women now." She says there is also a lot less disease, like malaria.
Sitting at her shop, Phiene talks about how life has changed in Preah Romkel.
As we talk, a group of adolescent girls ride their bikes home from school. It's likely some of these girls will leave Preah Romkel - some will go to high school in Stung Treng - and then maybe to work in places like Phnom Penh's clothes factories, or as domestic workers in Malaysia. Those with the best education may go to South Korea. "They go, and make money, and send it home. It's good for the community," says Phiene. Though the girls may also miss some education if teachers don't stay in the community. It's common for teachers to come from the larger cities, stay for a few months, then find it's too hard to remain and teach in these small, remote villages. So they go home. The kids are left without a teacher.
Girls ride home from the secondary school in Preah Romkel.
Phiene (in grey) in front of her shop.
Phiene sits with a couple of friends from the neighbourhood. One, Ping, is 22 years old. "I couldn't go to school. I can't read or write," says Ping. "When I was young the school was three kilometres away - too far. My parents wanted me to stay home and help look after the family." Now Ping has two young girls and hopes they can go to high school, even to university. "I'm not sure," she says, "it will all depend on money."
Ping is 22. She wasn't able to go to school as her family wanted her to stay home.
Ping hopes her daughters can go to high school, or even university.
Phiene, who was quiet at first, talks more the longer we sit together. She is originally from Laos, just across the border, and has a grade 6 education. She and her husband are farmers, and as is the norm, they spend several months in their fields for the rice planting and cultivation season. She says she can't benefit directly from the tourism homestay programme in Preah Romkel as she doesn't really have a house for tourists to stay - she lives in her shop - and, "tourists aren't really interested in the things I sell."
Phiene grew up in a family of 10 children, but she herself decided to have just two. Her daughter is 10, and her son is six. "It's enough," she says. "I didn't want to have more children than I could support." Her kids are both in school, and she wants them to stay there as long as possible. "To make my own dreams come true, I need my children to go to university. I will support them to do that. I don't know how. But I will." Primary and secondary school are free - but high school is down the river in Stung Treng. Families need money so kids can travel to school, pay their board, buy uniforms. The man who owns the restaurant in the village said only about 20% of kids attend high school.
A Mekong fish found in a group of dead floating fish. It may have died from poison or explosives.
We talk about the Mekong. Phiene says the fish supplies have dwindled - that before, it was easy to catch 15-20 kilograms of fish a day. Today, she says, a fisherman is lucky to get 10. Overfishing has been a problem, including the use of chemicals or explosives to kill fish. She knows that the Mekong originates in the high mountains of China, on the Tibetan plateau. She knows there are dams upriver that are opened and closed, and that these have an impact on the environment. She's worried about the dam being built just upriver on the Laos side - maybe it will burst, or more fish will die.
In other words, Phiene knows and thinks a lot about the world outside her village. The more she talks, the more her confidence grows. Though she's shy about it, I can see she knows some English. Then I ask her how old she is. Here is the surprise. She kneels down on the ground, and begins to write in the dirt with a stick. It's a tidy math formula: 2016 - 1978. Phiene is 36 years old. She then spells out her name as well, in clear letters using the Roman alphabet. Remember, she's from rural Laos, living in a remote Cambodian village where most women have very little education. She was last in school more than 15 years ago.
When she's finished, she smiles. It's clear that if she'd had the chance, Phiene would have done well in school - maybe gone on to study a profession. She wants her children to have that chance. We can all hope she finds a way to make that happen. Like everyone, she deserves for her dreams to come true.
