the gathering

Right now I am working on purchasing medical supplies to bring to Ann. We need simple things like betadine, gauze, antibiotic ointment, and medical tape.

I will collect some nursing textbooks to bring with me as well. Ann thinks the girls she teaches would love to have them. Some of my nursing buddies have generously given me their books.

We are going to pick up our grant money today which is exciting.

Here is a cool email I received recently from Caleb:

"Walking the paths through the marshes that edge the Mekong is an exercise for the senses. Every few steps you hit warm, then cooler, then warmer spots (a little bit like swimming in a Kentucky lake) depending how close the water is and on which side, and on what kind of plants you're passing through. Kingfishers rise and rise and rise, then fall into the water with such ease, a sliver of shining flesh wriggling in the clutch of their beaks every time. On Wednesday I watched one just hover in the air over a bog, somersaulting in the current of wind off the river with no intention that I could find except the sheer delight of weightless tumbling. The river is so low now, hardly flowing, its surface absorbing the sky until it's the color of slate. Sandy islands emerge from the water like the backs of giant grainy whales. Hundreds of yards of what was riverbed is exposed as well, which is where we walk, on pedestals of earth cracked into a puzzle miniature tectonic plates. We're here to harvest the morning glory, the trakuen, as feed for our goats. The vines of this plant spread everywhere, covering the land and water alike in a dense carpet of glistening green. When the vines are cut away the segments of dirt exposed are dusted with a thin layer of dark loam, almost like peat moss. If you let a finger explore through the surface you'll find creamy clay the color and consistency of Nutella. It molds and twists in my palm like no silly putty I've ever felt. When I return to dust I only hope I can be so moist and pliable, so willing to become something new and different.

Just upriver the low growl of engines wreck the dream, and thick smoke coughs into the air. Bright orange dump trucks and a yellow backhoe are at work eating away the riverbed. For a fee, and a hefty one at that, the poor owners of land along the river are selling away the layers of clay. One man I spoke to agreed to have his plot removed to the tune of $10,000. In a country where many people make less that $200 a year, you can imagine how far that will go, and what a temptation parting with land has become. In fact, real estate is even more of an issue in Cambodia than it is in America these days, and I'll tell you why. After years of embezzlement of foreign aid, there is an elite ruling class that is wealthy beyond reason. They're the ones I pass on the road sometimes in Porsche SUV's and Dodge Vipers. Some governing bodies have, finally, been formed to keep track of such blatant thievery and punish those involved. Most of the guilty are depositing their stash into the never-never land of Swiss bank accounts, but those that aren't are investing right back into Cambodia, usually in the form of land purchase. No one, well almost no one, can afford to buy even the smallest plots anywhere near Phnom Penh now. The prices are simply too high. And where there isn't land they're dredging from the river and making it, filling in the floodplain one truck load at a time. New houses are going up everywhere. What's even more incredible is that according to a recent report by the United Nations Development Program (or Programme for you Brits out there) Cambodia has the second fastest growing economy in the world, second only to China. All that with only one export: clothing. It's frustrating to me sometimes. The children still run naked down my street. I see them snotty nosed and malnourished everyday, almost everywhere I look. But the luxury cars continue to crowd the already crowded streets of Phnom Penh. What will we do with our greed? The "economic growth" the UNDP reports about is only a representation of how much padding the pockets of the already exorbitantly wealthy are receiving, not any real improvement in the lives of people in the countryside. Oil is in the Bay of Thailand, in Cambodian waters, and everyone wants first dibs. It is also probably a result of the fact that Cambodia currently has more non-governmental organization per capita than any other country in the world and the exploding industry of tourism.

When will Cambodia, when will this world, stop being a place of such disparity? Maybe never. I fear sometimes that if we do destroy ourselves, and not a trace remains, they will not find the word "CROATOAN" chiseled into rock as they did in Jamestown, but instead "GREED." I'm that much more thankful for the things in life that cannot be priced, like tenderness, and the sound of the palms rustling in the moonlight, and the dazzling kingfisher's flight. I'm thankful also for the girl who wakes me each morning with the gentle sound of her scrubbing clothes between her hands, and the smell of soap that wanders through the screen. The plunder of the rich, as cruel as it is, cannot quench the joy the mouth feels dripping with fruit just picked from the tree. (Did I mention that it was mango season? I've been eating about four a day.) Our paths are hidden from us, but not the way in which to walk. May this find you walking well."