8.12.08
My teaching success was not a fluke, and I base that off of the fact that I had a lovely day of teaching today that was very fun and (mostly) informative, especially if you consider ‘waffles’ to be a vital English vocabulary word, which of course I do. But that isn’t what this blog is about, despite my desire to rave about all the foods that I miss and all the new foods that I can’t get enough of. I’ll show pictures, but I would rather enlighten a subject that can’t be captured in pictures.
I have discovered that this lovely little country of Kampuchea has its very own network of sounds that have become (mostly) as natural to me as a midnight train through my old town of Valley, Nebraska. I realize that only current and former Valley residents will understand that reference, but it can be applied to any small town with a highly trafficked train track, or any small, medium, or large town with some sound unique to its geographic area of the world.
There is rarely a moment of silence in this little village that I live in. Early in the morning, I get several wake-up calls from the roosters (one of which, I am convinced, sounds like a broken automated robot). I hear sporadic roosters throughout the day, actually, and I would say that they are celebrating the light, but they began shouting far before the sun rises. I also usually hear from the baby two rooms away. She has a piercing scream that rivals no American baby I…no…I take that back. She screams but rarely cries and is usually quiet. But every once in awhile, at just about 3 in the morning, her baby call floats over the practically paper walls that aren’t anywhere closed to being attached to the stretched cloth ceiling, and I am awake for a desperate few seconds before I fall back into slumber.
Also in the morning, around the six or seventh hour of the day, I hear some sort of Khmer music blaring from the speakers at one or two of my neighbor’s homes. And also from the renter downstairs, though I’ve come to realize that he in his…bacheloresque ways…doesn’t always make it home to sleep in his own bed every night. I’ve only actually met him once, so he is mysterious and I’m largely unconcerned with his presence.
The compound right next to ours has lots of kids, I think. I always here sounds of children playing and mothers not-so-gently scolding and fathers ordering. It’s a fairly constant stream whenever I am in my bedroom, lounging and reading and writing and folding.
I constantly hear the sounds of the young kids in the house. Pe-ah and Le-ah tease each other (and me) constantly in the way that only a few teenage girls can. I think that their new favorite thing is to poke me in the tummy and watch me react with loud and completely inaccurate recreations of kung fu in the backyard. And, for anyone that knows me…this is not much of a stretch. Plus the sounds of the younger two, of the bong nang’s kids. The older one sings songs and says things to me in Khmer that I can almost never decipher, and the younger one settles for vehemently shouting things to me in Khmer that I really never decipher. The last things that I recall her shouting is the word for ghost (which I can’t remember right now) because my hair was at peak fluff down from its braid and brushed out.
With all the animals in the compound, their sounds cannot be excluded. I hear our new baby ducks, and the older baby ducks, the young chickens and the old chickens. Never the cat (he’s a little sick I think…constant undernourishment will do that L). Always the dogs. They fight with
each other at least 5 times a day, and any time a stranger walks down the street back dark, its like all the dogs howl at the top of their lungs to compete on who can tell their owner the first. It’s amazing, really. Simply amazing.
When the rain comes it is a new set of sounds, and we have to fight to hear anything else. A hard rain pounding over tin with almost no insulation to mute the sound is not a good time to learn language (and yes, I have found that out the hard way). However, people will try to counteract any sound of rain with TV as loud as it can possibly go. TV in this case, includes one of the following:
a) music videos with lilting voices and similar themes as cheesy Country music (love) songs, and karaoke in Khmer script at the bottom. In case you are interested, the only holiday that I know of from America is Valentine’s Day…go figure.
b) poorly dubbed previously mentioned Chinese/Korean/Pilipino/Thai soap operas and American 80s movies that I have never seen/heard of/can tell you the title of, and
c) cirque du soleis Cambodia style with very poor sound quality.
The thing that we watch most (through lunch and dinner until sleep) is music videos, because it just so happens we have a karaoke machine, and soap operas, though I did see a poorly dubbed Japanese movie that had some of the filthiest language I have ever seen…because it was subtitled in English.
I think that my favorite and least favorite sound that I hear is on the go – a
nd it is the sound of all of the children in the neighborhood saying, “Hello! Sussadei! Goodbye! Hello! Hello! Hello!! Helllloooo!!!!!!!” It was very cute…but as I am here longer and I hear the same children saying the same thing, I can’t say it is the best part about riding around town. The same goes with teenagers and older guys who ask me, “Where I go.” I usually answer in Khmer, which always makes them smile (then again, what doesn’t?). There are also the older women who tell me how pretty I am…sa’at naa!
And the geckos in my house sound like little mice and make a clicking sound at random intervals throughout the day. Yes, geckos in my house. I’m friends with anything that decreases the bug population and is entertaining on the ceiling at the same time.
I almost forgot one. Lots of people have recordings of the chants of the monks, which reminds me of the first day in the village. The voices are very steady, and as one voice takes a break the others fall into the chant in his place. I hear this often, especially in light of the fact that there was a funeral today and it was playing all morning long.
My teaching success was not a fluke, and I base that off of the fact that I had a lovely day of teaching today that was very fun and (mostly) informative, especially if you consider ‘waffles’ to be a vital English vocabulary word, which of course I do. But that isn’t what this blog is about, despite my desire to rave about all the foods that I miss and all the new foods that I can’t get enough of. I’ll show pictures, but I would rather enlighten a subject that can’t be captured in pictures.
I have discovered that this lovely little country of Kampuchea has its very own network of sounds that have become (mostly) as natural to me as a midnight train through my old town of Valley, Nebraska. I realize that only current and former Valley residents will understand that reference, but it can be applied to any small town with a highly trafficked train track, or any small, medium, or large town with some sound unique to its geographic area of the world.
There is rarely a moment of silence in this little village that I live in. Early in the morning, I get several wake-up calls from the roosters (one of which, I am convinced, sounds like a broken automated robot). I hear sporadic roosters throughout the day, actually, and I would say that they are celebrating the light, but they began shouting far before the sun rises. I also usually hear from the baby two rooms away. She has a piercing scream that rivals no American baby I…no…I take that back. She screams but rarely cries and is usually quiet. But every once in awhile, at just about 3 in the morning, her baby call floats over the practically paper walls that aren’t anywhere closed to being attached to the stretched cloth ceiling, and I am awake for a desperate few seconds before I fall back into slumber.
Also in the morning, around the six or seventh hour of the day, I hear some sort of Khmer music blaring from the speakers at one or two of my neighbor’s homes. And also from the renter downstairs, though I’ve come to realize that he in his…bacheloresque ways…doesn’t always make it home to sleep in his own bed every night. I’ve only actually met him once, so he is mysterious and I’m largely unconcerned with his presence.
The compound right next to ours has lots of kids, I think. I always here sounds of children playing and mothers not-so-gently scolding and fathers ordering. It’s a fairly constant stream whenever I am in my bedroom, lounging and reading and writing and folding.
I constantly hear the sounds of the young kids in the house. Pe-ah and Le-ah tease each other (and me) constantly in the way that only a few teenage girls can. I think that their new favorite thing is to poke me in the tummy and watch me react with loud and completely inaccurate recreations of kung fu in the backyard. And, for anyone that knows me…this is not much of a stretch. Plus the sounds of the younger two, of the bong nang’s kids. The older one sings songs and says things to me in Khmer that I can almost never decipher, and the younger one settles for vehemently shouting things to me in Khmer that I really never decipher. The last things that I recall her shouting is the word for ghost (which I can’t remember right now) because my hair was at peak fluff down from its braid and brushed out.
With all the animals in the compound, their sounds cannot be excluded. I hear our new baby ducks, and the older baby ducks, the young chickens and the old chickens. Never the cat (he’s a little sick I think…constant undernourishment will do that L). Always the dogs. They fight with
each other at least 5 times a day, and any time a stranger walks down the street back dark, its like all the dogs howl at the top of their lungs to compete on who can tell their owner the first. It’s amazing, really. Simply amazing.When the rain comes it is a new set of sounds, and we have to fight to hear anything else. A hard rain pounding over tin with almost no insulation to mute the sound is not a good time to learn language (and yes, I have found that out the hard way). However, people will try to counteract any sound of rain with TV as loud as it can possibly go. TV in this case, includes one of the following:
a) music videos with lilting voices and similar themes as cheesy Country music (love) songs, and karaoke in Khmer script at the bottom. In case you are interested, the only holiday that I know of from America is Valentine’s Day…go figure.
b) poorly dubbed previously mentioned Chinese/Korean/Pilipino/Thai soap operas and American 80s movies that I have never seen/heard of/can tell you the title of, and
c) cirque du soleis Cambodia style with very poor sound quality.
The thing that we watch most (through lunch and dinner until sleep) is music videos, because it just so happens we have a karaoke machine, and soap operas, though I did see a poorly dubbed Japanese movie that had some of the filthiest language I have ever seen…because it was subtitled in English.
I think that my favorite and least favorite sound that I hear is on the go – a
nd it is the sound of all of the children in the neighborhood saying, “Hello! Sussadei! Goodbye! Hello! Hello! Hello!! Helllloooo!!!!!!!” It was very cute…but as I am here longer and I hear the same children saying the same thing, I can’t say it is the best part about riding around town. The same goes with teenagers and older guys who ask me, “Where I go.” I usually answer in Khmer, which always makes them smile (then again, what doesn’t?). There are also the older women who tell me how pretty I am…sa’at naa!And the geckos in my house sound like little mice and make a clicking sound at random intervals throughout the day. Yes, geckos in my house. I’m friends with anything that decreases the bug population and is entertaining on the ceiling at the same time.
I almost forgot one. Lots of people have recordings of the chants of the monks, which reminds me of the first day in the village. The voices are very steady, and as one voice takes a break the others fall into the chant in his place. I hear this often, especially in light of the fact that there was a funeral today and it was playing all morning long.
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