the learning curve

A soft breeze lazily wandered into our dusty classroom, providing only minimal relief from the thick, warm air weighing down on us. Outfitted with 3 wooden desks, a creaky whiteboard on wheels, and six tired but eager trainees, the room quivered with the promise of linguistic enlightenment.

“So,” our language teacher began, breaking the sleepy silence with her heavily accented English, “give me one word to describe your first night with your host family”.

My thoughts wandered back to the previous day, in which, after 40 hours of travel and two days cramming as much language and cultural learning as possible, we were finally introduced to our Khmer host families at the local Buddhist temple. That night, with my host dad (the only one in the family that speaks English) gone to work the night shift at the local health center, I was left to navigate my new home with only my ability to speak all of three incomplete sentences in Khmer. At dinner, my host mother would innocently ask me a question in her breakneck speed Khmer, and I, not understanding, would cock my head and give her a quizzical look (for reference, I did not even know how to tell her ‘I don’t understand’). And repeat, all night long - with my host grandmother, younger sister and brother, all of their friends and their extended family that came over to catch a glimpse of the new barang (foreigner, aka white person). So, as much as I wanted to escape to my room to unpack/hide and emerge only when I could speak better Khmer, I instead milled about the house and tried to ‘establish my presence’, as Peace Corps staff suggested to do in order to begin integrating into my new home. Feeling extremely self-conscious and not knowing what to do with myself, I plopped down beside my host grandmother, who was engaged in her nightly ritual of watching Korean soap operas dubbed in bad Khmer.

So, as I wiped the sweat off my upper lip in the muggy classroom, I quickly replied with a single word - “awkward”.

welcome ceremony at the local pagoda, in the pouring rain

Fast forward a week. 25+ hours of language training, 25 hours of technical health education training, two practicums, and countless uncomfortable situations later, I can finally say that I my Khmer is improving measurably - I have had “conversations” with both my host mother and grandmother (a “conversation” meaning that I understood some of their Khmer, they understood some of my Khmenglish, and we exchanged sentences with meaning that we both understood for at least five minutes). I’ve asked the staff at a health center questions in Khmer, and understood some of the answers. I helped lead a community-analyzing activity with a group of high school students in Khmer.

leading a community mapping activity with high schoolers, in Khmer!

As proud I am of this linguistic progress, I still feel somewhat ‘awkward’ as I try to find my place at home and in this community. I have finally pinpointed the source of this encompassing feeling as a loss of sense of self. Throughout all of these scheduled classes, studying, and pressure to please my host family and not quite knowing how to act in front of them, I feel like my identity has been repressed. Two weeks into training, I still do not quite know how to act like myself, especially around my family (where the language barrier is most prominent).

After I recognized that missing puzzle piece this week, I have started to seek ways in which parts of my personality can emerge in a constructive and healthy way. I am slowly finding that there are other ways of being ‘myself’ without being able to speak fluently – teaching my younger sister and neighbor how to pirouette and do handstands with me, joking around in my broken Khmer with my mom, and taking the time in the morning to exercise and practice meditating, I have found a place in the backyard garden for my hammock, which I sometimes share with my siblings. I have got into the habit of listening to my music out loud while I study, which not only is comforting but also allows me to share some of my culture with my family. And, even something as simple as wearing my favorite jewelry to class allows me to feel more connected to the complete person that existed in America and gives me hope that it can re-emerge in this new and foreign context.

One of the local temples on my bike ride to class.

As I transition towards becoming more comfortable in my new environment, I am finding a routine and a welcoming home here in Cambodia. It reveals itself to me slowly, in bits and pieces. For example - My host sister and our neighbor wait for me to finish class at lunchtime so we can bike home together. I’ve found my favorite snack to buy for 12.5 cents during language class break – sliced mango with chili salt. My beautiful early morning bike rides take me to explore new areas of the district each time. I’m discovering my favorite places to go for one dollar breakfast in the morning. And, as I bike to the school where we have technical training, I can always count on little kids to jump out of their parents’ arms to wave eagerly and shout “hello!!” to me from their homes as I pass by.

The first two weeks as a Peace Corps Trainee in Cambodia has been quite an adventure in every sense of the word – from re-learning life skills (like how to use the bathroom without toilet paper and how to do laundry by hand) to avoiding suspicious meat-like substances but trying all of the new and often surprising fruits and various snack items, and trying everyday to speak Khmer but always messing up. It’s definitely awkward and uncomfortable sometimes. But, above all, it’s stimulating, always unexpected, and a lot of fun.

Here’s to celebrating the small victories.

-Michele (or, as they call me here – Mi-sel)

P.S. Sorry for the low quality images - I haven't yet taken out my camera (wow, shocking, I know) and these are only phone photos. Better photos soon to come, hopefully!)