Feeding the Future of Phnom Penh
These children, our future.
Around us, the devout set sparrows free.
Lotus flower offerings were carried in a temple procession. While my travel companions, an American couple, were taking in the sights, I sat beside a row of Khmer women, quietly soaking in the sounds. We were at the river’s side. Phnom Penh. Close by, gleeful children jumped off a platform into the river, swimming for a bit. Some without clothes. An adorable, wide-eyed boy approached me with his steaming wares, a large basket of steamed groundnuts and small packets of strange looking sweets. I politely declined and he later reappeared with neatly packaged cut fruit.
Slices of pomelo, pineapple, cherry-sized small and pink local fruit that tasted like water apples; and my all-time favorite, unripe mangoes. I have always liked the refreshing, tart, taste of the fruit, so I bought a pack for less than fifty American cents.
For a bit, that boy and I sat in peaceable silence. He holding his tray of fruit, me munching slowly.
We were surrounded later by curious street urchins, wanting to see this stranger in their river side playground. I offered them slices of fruit. And then some more. Each one had some to eat. For about four American dollars, I bought over nearly the entire tray. They stared at me with their large eyes, content with a slice of fruit and some adult company.
Still shy, they stood as close to me as they possibly could. I saw the yearning in their eyes for some affection, and I patted the heads of those who crowded nearby, the ones who tried to teach me the names of every little one. They started to feed me fruit, using their hands to put the slices in my mouth. My travel companions emerged from the temple-going crowds to see me surrounded on all fronts by these adorable, too well-behaved street urchins, some shyly standing at a close distance, others boldly teaching me Khmer words; all eager to participate in something a little different from their usual daily experience.
The joy they expressed touched me, such little minutes of attention from an unusual traveling adult could light up their eyes. How much they needed, a kind word, gentle looks; a tender embrace from a parent-adult, this was the silent message their large eyes conveyed, to me.
Having myself surrounded by these little ones made me smile and smile, something I have not really done in a long time.
An hour ago, sitting by myself at the riverside, it did not cross my mind to make it my intention to feed the hungry. Unknowingly doing so, I too, felt fulfilled.
The writer lives in Singapore and this is possibly her last trip in 2013. Next year, she aims to see how marmots live in Chamonix, journey to Sardinia in winter, and in summer, cross the sand dunes in the Middle East, on horse back.
