Battambang province. North West Cambodia. I am near the border of Thailand, in the commune of Samlot. The meeting just started. A young man who is 22 years old and three young women in their twenties joined the meeting. We are under a wodden house built on stilts. It hot. We are sitting on one of those large wodden beds that almost every Cambodia house has. Around us, bushes, no fields, the forest that is long gone and in the distance the mountains that separate Cambodia from Thailand. Just a border line and probably a twenty years development jump from here.
These young man and women are shy. They do not know what to aswer to our questions. They do not try. I try the few words of Khmer I know to reduce the barrier and it helps. We ask about their work as community representatives who go and meet their elected Commune councillors. They are shy and smile. I start to ask about the main problems of the village, even though I just need to look around me and I cans see many of them. I yoiung girl, maybe three yeasr old dressed with a very old cotton pijama joined the conversation and is looking at me without smiling. I think at the time when we were living in Kampong Thom and we had Olga who was one year old. She had a coupel of time high flue and we travelled to Phnom Penh to brign her to the private medical practice becasue in Kampong Thom there was no real doctor. What do parnets do here wehen they kids get hill? We are in the middle of nowhere. 3 hours on a jeep on a very bumpy road to Battambang and 5 more to Phnom Penh. How do they do when they children get sick? There are health centres but they not always open. And even when they are open there is almost no medicines. I want to stop to ask my questions since I feel I am stealing their time, while they should be heliping at home with work to support their families. We make the meeting short. Walk out in the heat of the late morning and get in the car. My day goes on. Their day as well.I just had a glimpse of it.
John Fowles – The Magus
‘Nella vita di ognuno giunge un momento che è come il fulcro. In quel momento bisogna accettare se stessi. Non è più quello che si diventerà. È quello che si è e sempre si sarà.’
‘There comes a time in each life like a point of fulcrum. At that time you must accept yourself. It is not anymore what you will become. It is what you are and always will be.’
Co Anh
Co Anh (teacher Anh) is my Vietnamese language teacher. She is a very patient lady. She usually comes to my office. Twice a week for an hour. I have made good progresses under her supervision, though I do not put enough time and effort in my homeworks. But, as I said, she is patient and every time we have a lesson she does not ask me whether I did my homeworks or not. As I said so far she has come to my office, but today I went to her house. And what a nice surprise it has been for me. She lives in an old 1900 villa, in Cao Ba Quat here in Ha Noi. It is small street, with trees with lots of small shops . The house villa is built in French style. Yellow color. A small metal gate to enter. Few steps up to the front door. The villa shoes its age, but has a strong carachter. It is like it tels about the events that have occurred in this country since it was built. I entered the house and took the wooden stairs tot he first floor. Co Anh, opened a door and I entered a large room. Before stepping in, I realised that the other two rooms of the floor are occupied by a beauty salon. Many doctor practice bed one next to the other, with beauty customer lying under wet towels and red heat lamps. Some having strange colored facial on their faces and closed relaxed eyes. At first I though it was medical practice.
I entered the large room where Co Anh gives lessons to her foreign students. Large bright windows, with traditional green painted wooden shutters. A dark wood dining table inth emiddle with six chairs around it. On top of it a small tea pot with six glasses. A high double bed touched on of the walls. A dark wood cupboard. A modern TV that seems at odds with the old furnitures. A small light green old fridge and, on top of it kettle to boil water for the tea. A whiteboard is behind the chair where Co Anh sits and has some Vietnamese words that I do not understand on it form an earlier lesson. The chair where Co Anh sits is art nouveau style with small wells under the four legs to allow her to stand up easily to write on the whiteboard.
The lesson starts. We revise last week words: my family, children, wife, husband, street. She repeat for the n-time the simple conversation we have had for several weeks. I talk. She corrects my tones and pronunciation: I repeat. She says,”now it is ok”. But my mind is not here. Now. On my Vietnamese lesson. It is traveling through memories of similar houses in Italy that I saw when I was a kid. My grandfather house had similar high ceiling rooms. Similar okra tiles and geometrical patterns on the floor. The same dark wood furnitures. The same black and white framed picture on top of the old cupboard. Even the table I am sitting is solid as the one he used to have in his house and which I always found too high to sit comfortable. I imagine the shutters half closed of an early sunny afternoon. I am lying in the too high bed and see the lines of the shadow from the shutters mirrored on half dark ceiling. I am supposed to have a nap but I cannot sleep. I smell the fresh linen, the cool air in the room, the silence in the house. Now and then a car passes in the street. But it is summer and streets are very empty at this time of the day. A sun ray enters all of sudden through a small whole in the shutter. It is over my bed and I can see floating dust particles. Silence. I close my eyes and images fade. The sun ray fades more slowly in the dark of the closed eyes. I sleep.
I hear Co Anh voice. She calls me back. I do not pay enough attention and mixed ‘young daughter’ for ‘old daughter’.
I am happy I came here today for my lesson. I will come back again next week.
Ciao Maruba, auguri da Hoi An (Viet Nam)
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-tOIopf158]
Werde projects in Cambodia 2007 – Green Garden project
Werde ry is working together with the local NGO Mlup Baitong since 2003. The Green Garden project is implemented in the province of Kampong Thom to improve the livelihood and living environments through home gardening activities.
The project reaches 2073 people in 19 villages. Experienced key farmers trained by a previous project by Werde, are now teaching other farmers about home gardening techniques. After two years of the project implementation many farmers have increased the income from the sale in local markets of fruits and vegetables
cultivated in their own gardens.
The project will continue until the end of 2008 and we already planning a further extension for three more years given the positive results reached so far. You can download the information leaflet by clicking HERE
CONTINUE SUPPORTING WERDE BY DONATING NOW!
Werde projects in Cambodia 2007 – Civil Society and Local Governance
Dear all, we are close to the end of the year and the fourth year of work for Werde ry in the province of Kampong Thom (Cambodia). In these years we have been implementing two projects in cooperation with Cambodian NGOs. The Civil Society and Local Governance project is implemented with four NGOs partners and has developed a model to organise the participation of citizens with Commune Councils. This is the final year of the projects and have reached 96 villages and 480 representatives of village groups such as: self-help association, cash association, rice association, etc. These representative have been linked through what we have called Village Networks and have received trainings on the role and functions of Commune Councils, the importance of support provided by civil society and citizen for the work of the Communes, and the involvement in local development planning with the Commune. The overall aim is to strengthen participation and therefor increase Communes (who are elected bodies) accountability and transparency towards their constituency.
We have produced an information leaflet for 2007 that you can download by clicking HERE
YOU CAN HELP US BY DONATING NOW
Sixth Sense
Karissimi,
Ipotesi: dicono che il sesto senso un ce l’ha oppure non ce l’ha. Dato che non esiste una teoria scientifica che mi possa aiutare a provare l’ ipotesi di inizio frase. Questa sera alle ore 17:45 ora di Ha Noi ero nel mio ufficio a fare dello straordinario. Leggevo degli appunti che mi ero scritto per prepararmi ad un importante appuntamento telefonico per le ore 19:00 (ora locale), un colloquio di lavoro con Londra. Ero in fase di concentrazione, e scorrevo gli appunti scritti qualche giorno prima. Li scorreovo, ripassavo, mi preparavo alle domande che sarebbero venute di li a poco quando …. suona il telefono, un numero sul display che non riconosco, una voce lontana: “Skoppiato? Sei un Skoppiato! Ti skoppia la faccia! Sei in elicottero? Basmati, non ce la fai piu’!”… inutile dire chi era al telefono.
Per fortuna la comunicazione si e’ interrotta dopo un paio di minuti, nei quali non ho neppure tentato di intavolare una c onversazione dato che il fiume di parole dall’Italia me lo impediva.
Sono allora tornato ai miei appunti, cercando di riprendere la concentrazione che cercavo qualche minuto prima … ma la mia mente era altrove. A quest’estate. Agosto. Piu’ precisamente il 10. Agosto. Ore 11:42 ora di Tampere (Finlandia), mi trovo in una piccola aula dell’ Universita’, con me il supervisor della mia tesi di dottorato Prof. Tuomas Takala e il mio opponent Prof. Holger Daun. Siamo a 12 minuti dall’ inizio della difesa di dottorato. Nell’aula c’e’ silenzio. Poche parole di circostanza. La tensione sale. Il Prof. Daun ripensa alle domande e al suo discorso introduttivo. Il mio supervisor ripensa alla formula in latino di inizio. Io ripenso al mio discorso, alle domande che mi verranno fatte, al percorso per arrivare fino a qui. Il telefono e’ in tasca, funzione meeting. Lo prendo per spegnerlo, quando il display si illumina: ” nome xxx” calling! …. guardo il display la concentrazione se ne va. O meglio, sento senza rispondere una voce: “Skoppiato! Non ci stai piu’ dentro! Non ce la fai! Adesso che sei in Finlandia mangi renna o continui con il basmati!.
Non ce l’ho fatta a rispondere in quel momento. Ho respinto la chiamata al mittente e ho spento il telefono. Un respiro e via verso l’ aula della difesa.
Questa sera mi sono chiesto come e’ possibile? Come e’ possibile che le uniche due chiamate da nome XXX negli ultimi 5 mesi siano pervenute a pochi minuti da momenti topici e chiave. Forse il sesto senso esiste davvero e non e’ una questione di coincidenze. Come dice chi e’ nella ricerca, piu’ coincidenze fanno una ipotesi, che poi puo’ divenire una teoria.
Resto quindi in attesa di altre chiamate inmomenti chiave e posso gia’ dire che cosa sentiro’: “Basmati? Come va li’ nel Vietnam? Da che Ambasciatore sei stasera? Sei nella jeep pagata dai contribuenti? Sei nel workshop?”…. forse il sesto senso e’ venuto anche a me. Voi che ne dite?
Un saluto e buone feste,
Pello
Antonio, Saluti Da Olga :-)
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8V81vNMwG4w&rel=1]
Mi Fido Di Te
I listen in my earphones this Italian song. Outside the windows the roofs of Hanoi. Ten of thousands of houses and homes with their daily lives, their happiness and their sadnesses. Lorenzo, in the meantime he is singing his ‘Mi fido di te’, and yet yesterday his life changed and is now missing, all of a sudden, such a big part of it. Yet his song tells a story of some years ago and I wonder what was in his mind and his life at that time when he sat down to write those words. When he was in the recording studio checking this songs, making changes, trying different melodies. That unexpected and unphantomable element of life called future was already there, though unknown to him. A point it time that you get slowly closer to. Like a station that is far and that will take time for the train to reach but that ultimately will not be missed. Lorenzo, thsi song is for you!
Letter From A Friend
When was last time I wrote a letter? A real letter. A letter written on a piece of white paper, with a pen or a pencil. Actually I do not remember. A friend write us here in Hanoi and we got the letter yesterday via Lausanne – Helsinki – Hong Kong – Hanoi. I am sure that emails do the same. Once the ‘send’ button is clicked they also travel around the world, passing through or over countries, continents, oceans at a speed that we can’t comprehend. However it is a journey that we cannot retrace as it goes through local, national, and international server providers and cables.
With a letter it is simpler. The one we got, went through 4 countries, most of the time by plane. For some short stages by van or truck.
Living in Hanoi it is very important for me to have email and especially Skype. I feel closer to relatives and friends back home they are just a ‘click’ away on the phone button and with a web cam we can actually see them rather then just hearing their voice. I could not imagine to be abroad for long time without having this tool to help to bridge the gap.
However, yesterday letter gave me a different feeling. The friend who wrote it took time for it. Sat at a table, the white paper in front of her, the pen in her hand. Her baby on the carpet on the floor playing and waiting for his mother to get back to him and entertain him.
The good thing with the letter is that it takes time to write, can be left for some days or weeks and re-started again at a different point in time. Letters are able to link time with a line that is not as immediate and based on ‘now’ as emails do, but is more as flow. You write letters having people in mind and figuring out what they are doing. You read them figuring the writer, the desk, the room. The mountain landscape out of the window where he or she is writing.
I would not like to go back to a time where letters and telephone were the only way to communicate. I need Skype and email. But I need also to remind myself about the different way you actually communicate with different means and what they are good for. Skype makes you see and talk abotu the latest. A little buit as going home the week end and telling what has happened in the work. Letters are personal and work that way: having specific people in mind. All the rest is useful but has also limitations. As in the case with this blog I will now send to the ‘blosgsphere’, a world made by unidentified readers who may or may not encounter this message surfing the internet.