“Hi Mr. Pisey, thank you for your recommendation. Is the food at this place you suggest good?”
“Tourists say this place called ‘Atmosphere’ is good. But to be honest, I have not eaten there myself. It is too expensive for me.”
We are back from Cambodia.
Just minutes after touching down, in the middle of the dusty roads choked with traffic and smog, on a little tuk-tuk vehicle driving along the streets, I wondered for a brief moment why we were both back in Phnom Penh. Wasn’t this supposed to be our honeymoon? Blue skies and endless seas reaching out into serene horizons with melting colours of honey-glazed sunsets floated into mind and vanished, just as promptly. Whatever were we doing there again?
But we both decided to return, because of what we had seen and heard on a mission trip there together three months ago. And though no, there weren’t sunset cruises or touristy sights or indulgent spas, it was special nonetheless.
Most of our time, spent with missionaries working with abused and trafficked women and children, opened our eyes to a world beyond ourselves. Beyond the comforts of our home, was a world filled with atrocities. And while we knew that the honeymoon was precious, that it was a celebration of two lives becoming one, we also saw the reason for us coming together, for a dream that was bigger than ourselves.
Mr. Pisey was a lovely, small thin Cambodian man sitting at the front desk of the small villa we were staying at. One evening as Cliff and I looked forward to a nice meal after a day of travelling out in tuk-tuks on the dusty roads visiting a sewing factory employing women who used to be trapped in the trafficking industry, we asked him for a recommendation.
“This French restaurant called ‘Atmosphere’ is very good,” he said.
“I’ve never eaten at a French restaurant before. Do you like it?” I asked with a smile.
“I am sorry, I have not eaten there myself. It is too expensive for me, but tourists say it is good.” He bowed gently, almost reverently.
It was an awkward moment which passed quickly.
We went there for dinner. It was a simple place and most dishes were less than 10USD each.
Cambodians, like us too, work hard. And we saw, the stark irony of it all: the people whose jobs are to recommend good places to tourists may never have the chance to eat in them; the people who wait on us in restaurants may never have their own meals on time.
On our last day in Cambodia, Cliff and I took the tuk-tuk out again. We wanted to buy Mr. Pisey a meal from Atmosphere. Unfortunately, it wasn’t open.
“It’s not fair,” I said. “It just isn’t.”
And it brought to my mind memories of the time we were in the famous “Russian market” in Phnom Penh, where they say, if you don’t at least halve the price stall holders offer you, you’re being ripped off big-time.
We decided to make a consicous decision not to haggle. And yes, we ended up paying a great deal more on this trip than one might expect. But I wondered, if the same kind of compassion for those in greater need than us was consistently displayed in our lives, or if we derived some sort of perverse pleasure in altruistically giving money away in charity drives and then turning the other face to haggle, to slash, to negotiate prices when it came to the poor.
“See Cliff,” I said. “How come we don’t argue with people in the hotel when they charge us 4USD for just a plain bowl of fruits that costs so little, but we get upset and haggle with people at the market when they charge us 8USD for a good shirt we would easily pay twenty dollars for in a T-shirt chain in Singapore?”
Perhaps, just perhaps, some sort of subtle disparity and favoritism lay between the two, and we are, as much as we don’t wish to admit it, more inclined to be ripped off by a man in a jacket, than a man in dirty shorts or jeans at a roadside market. Yet, it is the latter who needs more of one’s compassion and less of one’s miserliness.
We talk about compassion and fundraising, loving and going the distance. But when reality hits, how do we behave and act?
“My brothers, show no partiality as you hold the faith in our God, the Lord of glory. For if a man wearing a gold ring and fine clothing comes into your assembly, and a poor man in shabby clothing also comes in, and if you pay attention to the one who wears the fine clothing and say, “You sit here in a good place,” while you say to the poor man, “You stand over there,” or, “Sit down at my feet,” have you not then made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom, which he has promised to those who love him?… But you have dishonored the poor man. Are not the rich the ones who oppress you, and the ones who drag you into court? Are they not the ones who blaspheme the honorable name by which you were called? …”
– James 2
So we came back from Cambodia, having spent perhaps not what we expected, but it was what we needed to. It was what was just. We talked together, prayed together, loved together. And while there was no fancy touristy fireworks or special programme, no glittering sunsets or breathtaking scenery, a stranger on the streets of Cambodia stopped us, apologized profusely for doing so before saying that she had seen our video on Facebook… and something in our hearts joined together for the same purpose we each had been called to, before we met each other. It was a special time, nonetheless, in and outside ‘Atmosphere’.