Images of Cambodia

Beggars
I walk down a flight of steps, a man is seated his legs (if he has any) are hidden from view. He leans forward, geneflucting, cap in hand, begging for money. I pass him by. Later when he thinks that he is unobserved I see this man stand up, walk to a nearby shady spot and climb into a hammock.
A woman attaches herself to me at a Temple. She becomes my unofficial guide. During the course of the guiding, despite my protests, she constantly fans me to ward off mosquitos. She mentions the history of the Temple, but her spiel of then degenerates into a monologue of her dire financial situation, she lost most of her family during the Pol Pot era, and struggles to find money to school her children. She tells me that she is 37. Underneath the time worn exterior she is attractive and holds herself with grace and dignity. I could imagine this woman being a gracious hostess at a dinner party if fate had been less harsh. I give her some money for her guiding services, I wonder if I have given enough.
As we eat in restaurants children come by selling guide books and postcards. I do not buy from these children. I wonder how dire their needs are. The drink in front of me costs more than the book they are selling. Have I got this wrong? Should I forgo a drink and give them money?
A woman with a baby in her arms approaches asking for money to feed her child. One of our group suggests that she will not donate money, but will buy food for the child. The begger quickly leads her to a nearby supermarket and points out the baby formula that she needs. The deal is done. We wonder if this is a scam or once more a person in need whose prime concern is the well being of her child. We will never know.
In a market, a man is getting around on his knees. He has only stumps where his feet once were. I see a stallholder give him some money. To me this is a sign that he is in genuine need, my companions and I gather some money and I give it to the man. He places his plans together in front of him and blesses or thanks me.
I negotiate with a tuk tuk driver to visit some temples. He fills up with petrol and visits a place that I have not requested. He is a friendly amiable chap, he tells me about his family. During one stop he asks me about my hat, it is a Panama, he suggests that it is expensive and I agree, he tries to pin me down to an amount. He establishes that I paid over $100 for it. He then launches into a spiel about how he needs books for his children's schooling. He has trapped me, the inference is clear, if I can afford such a hat I can afford to donate money to his children's schooling. We return to my Hotel whereupon he demands extra money for the petrol and extra visits. He has broken what I consider to be a contract, I get angry with him, I give him some extra money and tell him to dissapear and not see me again. I should not have lost my cool, we both lose as I will not engage him for further driving duties.
Monks in Orange robes patrol the streets, they stand in front of shops until the proprieter makes a donation. Some wait at roundabouts and rise expectantly as the vehicles approach, their bowls clearly evident.
Small shrines abound in the temples, each one has a donation box and often a person who will press an incense stick into your hand, make some gestures and expect a donation. One reveals a handful of $10 notes in a bowl, a clear suggestion of what an appropriate donation should be.
There is a constant drain of money from my wallet as donations are made. I am left in constant doubt whether my money is going to the right people or places. One person cannot donate to every person, charity or needy cause. My conscience is never quite at ease, have I given too much? not enough? to the wrong person? I will never know the answers to these questions.
The Bludger is troubled.
Nick Smith
Nick@nicksmith.info
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