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Shannon Derrick

Mr. Neuburger

English Composition 101

02/09/2011

Narrative Essay

Are You Going To Cambodia?

“Hey Shannon, are you going to Cambodia?” This was the first thing Tony said

as I walked into the room. It was a typical Sunday; church in the morning, lunch with the whole

family, and then the hopes of an afternoon nap before Awana at 6:00pm. Awana (Approved

Workmen Are Not Ashamed) was a time of interaction with K-2nd grade kids spent playing

games, memorizing bible verses, eating snacks, and ending with story time. Like most men, I

looked forward to the game time and the snacks. The games were all played around a 30’

diameter circle that was marked with different colors of tape to designate each team. Tony and I

were the leaders of the green team. While promoting teamwork and having fun were the two

main objectives of game time, Tony and I had a hard time keeping our competitive spirit at bay.

The temptation of giving a kid a little extra push was almost more than I could stand. Looking

back, I’m glad that my wife Becky was also on the green team. She was the one that kept

everything in perspective which basically meant that it was her job to keep Tony and I in line. It

probably seemed to her that we were just two more kids to watch but I could tell that she loved it

just as much as we did.

“Hey Shannon, are you going to Cambodia?” It had only been an hour since

Tony asked me the last time but I still couldn’t bring myself to give him an answer. I knew that

a short term mission’s trip to Cambodia and Thailand was in the planning stages, but had not

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even considered the possibility of going. The kids have ball games, I have to work, there’s too

much to do around the house, how will Becky get everything done without me? These are the

typical things that go through most peoples’ minds when confronted with a decision that will

disrupt the daily routine of life. Although the thought of going was exciting, I didn’t see how I

could make it work. Becky could tell that I was perplexed about the decision. She could tell that

there was a part of me that wanted to go. “Why don’t you just go?” she asked. “It would be a

great experience for you. If God wants you to go, he’ll provide a way.” I didn’t know it at the

time, but that was one of the most thoughtful and loving things that she has ever said to me.

“Hey Shannon, are you going to Cambodia?” After the third time, I figured I owed

Tony an answer. As he stood there looking at me with eyebrows raised, shoulders shrugged, and

half effort smile, I just looked back and slowly nodded my head up and down and said “I think

so”. Tony gave a fist pump that would rival most major league umpires. “It’s going to change

your life,” he said. Although the reality of traveling to the other side of the world to help build a

school in a third world country hadn’t quite set in, there was that small voice in my head that

kept asking, “do you realize what you’ve just committed to?” The answer to that question was

certainly to be answered.

After a one hour flight to Chicago, a twenty four hour layover, a thirteen hour

flight to Tokyo, another layover, and a seven hour flight to Bangkok, we were finally there.

Although we were all exhausted from the trip, the thrill of finally getting to our destination was

enough to make us forget we hadn’t slept in almost thirty hours. The first day in Bangkok was

spent visiting the church that Jason Goh pastored. Jason was a native of the Philippines that

served as a missionary in Bangkok. Like most Asian men, he was considerably smaller than

every other guy in our group. What he lacked in stature, he made up for in enthusiasm and

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toughness. “I hear you guys are going to visit The Killing Fields,” he said. I had heard about

this place called The Killing Fields, but I didn’t know many details. It was another one of those

things I gave a half hearted attempt to study in high school. A typical book report meant reading

the cover, reading the titles of the chapters, and glancing through the book trying to pick up the

main points and a couple of character names. To say I was prepared for what was to come was

an extreme understatement.

After a one day visit in Bangkok, we were back on the plane and on our way to

Cambodia. Thai Air was the name of the airline. Although it was only a one hour flight, we

were served a hot meal just minutes after we took off. The meal was complimented with a full

set of real silverware to eat with, including a knife. Have these people not heard about what

happened on 9/11? Aren’t they afraid that someone might decide to hijack the plane with a fork

and spoon? These paranoid thoughts of destruction were not embedded in their memory. Their

sole purpose was to insure that we were comfortable, well fed, and relaxed during our short time

together.

“Welcome To Cambodia.” This was the first sign that we saw when we stepped

outside the airport. We were greeted by Jojo Miraflor and his wife Nana. Jojo and Nana are

missionaries that serve on the outskirts of Phnom Penh. The first half hour was spent

introducing ourselves to the few workers that were brought along to help haul the massive

amount of luggage from the airport to the hotel. As we loaded into the van and proceeded to pull

out onto the highway, we were passed by a man hauling about 20 chickens on a moped. The

chickens were all bound at the feet and draped over the back seat of the moped. Right behind the

chicken man was a family of four (father, mother, son and daughter), all riding on a moped.

Behind them was a man hauling three huge bushels of vegetables on a moped. The baskets were

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so large, he could barely squeeze himself in between the handlebars to ride. As we all stared in

amazement at the acrobatic and creative ways that these people could commute their family and

belongings, I began to feel a little on the selfish side. I had recently traded in a four door car for

an SUV because I thought there wasn’t enough room to haul the kids and all of the sports

equipment back and forth to practices and games. Being crowded in our mind meant that two

people might actually have to be close enough that they were touching, or that someone might

have to inconvenience themselves and hold something until we reached our destination. Seeing

entire families wadded up like pretzels and holding on to each other for dear life just to get from

point A to point B without walking hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe I have been taking for

granted a lot of things that I should be thankful for.

Jojo and Nana run a small bible college and a feeding center for underprivileged

children. Pulling the vans in through the locked gates at the complex was a surprise. Why are

there locks on everything? Why are there dogs chained up and barking like they want to kill us?

Who are all of these kids jumping up and down and waving at us like we are some type of movie

star? We were all excited to finally get to the feeding center. The word underprivileged takes on

a whole new meaning when you see firsthand what it really means to go without. I would later

find out that these children not only go without food, they go without clean clothing, education,

parental instruction, and in most cases, genuine love from parents and other family members.

When greeted with a hug, the children would cling to us like baby monkeys. Once the rest of the

children got a glimpse of the affection being given, it turned to chaos. I spent the next hour

picking kids up and holding them over my head so their friends could see them higher than

anyone in the complex. Although this was incredibly exhausting, I couldn’t help but love the

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feeling of bringing a moment of joy to a child’s life that was so used to being starved for

attention.

The main purpose of our trip was to help build on a section of rooms to the tiny

school house known as Khmer Community Bible College. I did my best to focus on the task at

hand but couldn’t stop thinking about visiting this place called The Killing Fields. I don’t know

what made me want to visit a place that was once filled with so much pain and suffering. Maybe

it was just the rush of experiencing something that was so far from the norm in my everyday

business and ball game life. After several days of mixing concrete and digging holes with tools

that resembled something you would see in the movie Braveheart, we finished up our part of the

project and it was time to see the town. As we pulled out onto the skinny little trash covered dirt

road that took us away from the complex, I couldn’t help but feel excited and apprehensive at the

same time. What was this place going to be like? Phnom Pehn is a city of about ten million

people. Seven million of those people are unemployed and about one million of them have

AIDS. It was obvious the unemployment rate was incredibly high by the amount of people that

seemed to be doing absolutely nothing. There were people setting outside of every house, shack,

shanty, and business as far as you could see. Partly because some of them didn’t want anything

to do I thought. If they wanted to do something productive, why don’t they just start picking up

trash along the roads? You could stay busy for a lifetime just cleaning up if you wanted to. But

for obvious reasons, there’s not much money in picking up trash which explains why nobody

wants to do it. Jobs are also hard to come by because of the shear number of people. There were

about ten of us in the back of Jojo’s beat up truck. As we pulled out onto the only major

highway in the city, it was instant chaos. The mopeds outnumbered the cars and trucks about

fifty to one. It became very clear that the only rule of the road is the biggest vehicle has the right

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of way. As we all held on to each other praying that we wouldn’t get into a massive wreck and

end up in some run down hospital, Jojo slowly eased the truck straight into oncoming traffic.

Sure enough the traffic started to part like the Red Sea as we continued through the intersection.

Once safely on the other side, I didn’t know if I should give Jojo a high five for being such an

awesome driver, or slap him on the head for being so careless. I guess you just get used to that

type of environment because it didn’t seem like any big deal to him.

The first stop on the tour of The Killing Fields wasn’t a field at all. It was a place

known as the Tuol Sleng Museum of Genocide. Three buildings positioned in a U shape made

up the structure. Two short buildings on the sides and a long, three story building in the center.

A tall, poorly made barbed wire fence and a large metal gate made up the perimeter. Untrimmed

bushes, small patches of dying grass, and a few trees were scattered throughout the grounds.

What was once a school yard was now a museum of death. What was once a place where

children would gather to learn and play was now nothing more than a terrifying memory of a

time of torment and persecution. A memorial of a tyrant named Pol Pot who ruthlessly tortured

every educated, law abiding, successful person he could capture. As we entered through the

gate, we were greeted with a dose of the reality that once was. A sign stating the rules of the

complex stands tall for all to see. “You must immediately answer my questions without wasting

time to reflect”. “Don’t be a fool for you are a chap who dare to thwart the revolution”. “While

getting lashes or electrification, you must not cry at all”. Don’t cry while getting lashes with an

electric wire? How could someone think that was humanly possible? How could a parent tell a

child that they must not cry while they were being tortured? A thousand questions were going

through my mind as I tried to take in this place, but at the same time, I didn’t know what to say.

The tortures were conducted in the small buildings on the ends. The only furniture in the

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first room was a small metal framed bed with an old box spring on top. Underneath the bed was

a large red stain. It didn’t need explanation for we all knew it was the blood of innocent men,

women, and children. On the wall hung a series of rusty knives, pliers, and chains. As I stood

there still and silent, unable to speak, my mind was racing trying to visualize what had happened.

As we continued the tour of the first building, the theme continued. Old beds, blood stained

floors, and farming tools were are all that remain. I went from feeling incredibly curious, to

feeling incredibly sad. The center building was used as a housing complex for the prisoners.

Temporary walls were constructed and positioned so that each prisoner had a 3’ x 5’ space in

which to live. A chain and shackle were bolted to the floor which kept the captive from trying to

escape. Tightly woven barbed wire walls were put up over the second and third story balconies

to keep people from jumping to their death. A popular option that numerous people tried to carry

out just to put an end to their hopeless fate. A long glass frame held the pictures of hundreds of

prisoners that occupied the complex. These weren’t the typical school pictures that we were

used to seeing. These weren’t children dressed up in their new shirt, hair neatly combed, smiling

from ear to ear. These were children with incredible fear in their eyes. A fear that could only be

understood by those who lived the reality of such a nightmare. As we stood yet again, starring

and not saying a word, I began to hear people start to cry. Looking around, I could see that

several members of our group were being overwhelmed with the emotions of the day. An

afternoon filled with so much emotion eventually takes its toll on everyone.

As we unloaded from the vans, we were greeted by several children with

outstretched arms, reaching through a small barbed wire fence, repeating the same phrase over

and over. “Yum Yum, Yum Yum,” was the chant that echoed through my ears. This was the

way the children would ask for candy and other treats from tourists. As I handed the children a

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few pieces of candy and a dollar apiece, I was having a hard time feeling good about what I was

doing. The emotion of the day was about all I could handle but there was much more to come.

The Killing Field is just what it says it is, a field. Bones could be seen protruding from the

ground as we walked through the field. A few of the original signs were still standing that told

how the prisoners were separated and killed. Some spots contained all children, some contained

all people that were shot in the head, and some spots contained people that were all buried naked.

Why it was necessary to separate people into groups before they were killed could only be

known by someone driven by an evil that is hard to understand. Cases of skulls were on display,

some large, some small, some with holes in them. More signs displaying the inhumane rules of

Pol Pot’s reign. The feel of evil was all around. Each passing minute made me home more and

more. My highly predictable life I was so anxious to get away from was now becoming what I

wanted to return to.

When our plane landed back in Springfield, I was greeted with outstretched arms

by my wife and three children. As I held all of them tight, I could not hold back the emotion of

what I had experienced. Returning to the security of what I’ve always know was bitter sweet.

On one hand, I felt guilty for the simple life that I had. A good job, a loving wife, healthy kids, I

am incredibly blessed. On the other hand I was ready to get back to my predictable boring

routine. Sharing a bag of stale popcorn at a ballgame was more appealing than ever.

As we left the airport and headed for home, my oldest son asked if we could stop

and get something to eat. My daughter chimed in right on cue, “yeah, I’m starving.” As I

looked at each of them, I couldn’t help but think of the children I’d worked with at the feeding

center. I’d seen what a starving child looks like and mine certainly did not fit in that category.

We parked the car and walked in to the restaurant. I knew they wouldn’t understand if I

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explained everything I was feeling. I look forward to the day that they each have an opportunity

to visit another culture so they can truly appreciate the many blessings they’ve been given.

“Hey Shannon, are you going to Cambodia?” Looking back, that question was

one of the defining moments in my life in so many ways. I’m glad I said yes.