A Newfound Perspective

by Lynette Suazo-Taylor (United States of America)

Making a local connection Cambodia

The smell of paint was foul. My temples throbbed as a headache began to form. “Can I take a break?” I asked. “I can’t breathe.” How long had these students at New Hope Cambodia endured this filthy bathroom? The rust in the toilets mimicked feces; the rust on the walls looked to be splattered by an artist trying to create a masterpiece. We were a group of nine volunteers: eight women, and one man. I was the only woman who volunteered to be a part of the community development team; the other women chose to teach the children English for the day. I was starting to think I made the wrong decision. As I dropped my paint brush, preparing to walk out for some fresh air, I took a quick glance at my work for the day. The lifeless shade of black I’d just slathered on the wall didn’t seem inviting or appropriate for the elementary-aged, jovial faces that kept sneaking by to monitor my work. “Yeah, this is a good time to take a break,” Roeun said. He was one of our tour guides. “Can we go to the killing fields? Is it far from here?” asked Iain, my fellow community development volunteer. “What’s that?” I asked. “Haven’t you seen the movie First They Killed My Father? It’s a film by Angelina Jolie. Some of the scenes were shot not too far from here,” Vireak responded. He was our second tour guide. I stood outside the bathroom door, unsatisfied with his answer to my question, as the three of them conspired to take a quick trip to the killing fields. “Let’s wait until class gets out. The ladies may want to go too,” Roeun said. Shortly after the bell rang, the guys shared their field trip plans with the ladies, and one-by-one they all agreed to join the adventure. Was I the only one who had no idea what this place was? I refused to be the odd man out, so I decided to go too. We began our trek to the killing fields. The humidity thick in the air with every step. “What are the killing fields?” I asked sheepishly, directed to no one in particular. Vireak took the bait and began to tell me about the Khmer Rouge, and the horrific genocide that took place after the country was overthrown by revolutionary communists. I never did well in History class, but I was surprised this was the first I’d ever heard of the atrocity. He continued to tell me that the site was converted to a Buddhist temple. An exhibit of skulls caught my attention once we arrived at the killing fields. The skulls were encased in glass, stacked one on top of the other. Random bones were piled at the bottom acting as a foundation for the skulls above. I gazed beyond the fresh flowers surrounding the exhibit; the bright red paint and gold roof trying to beautify such a painful sight. Those small touches faded in the background as all I could focus on were the hundreds of skulls inside, on display for all to see. Who were these many beloved ones erased from existence and beheaded in such hate? What were the untold stories staring back at me through the glass? My heart broke. Why hadn’t I known about this before? But at least I knew now. A solemn silence filled the air as we began our walk back to the school. With the sight of those skulls still etched in my brain, I reflected on the work our team was doing to support children who were not only stricken by poverty, but a history that affected their present lives. As soon as we arrived back at New Hope Cambodia, I marched into the bathroom with a newfound perspective. I picked up the paint brush with authority. Now I was the artist creating a masterpiece. Every whiff of paint smelled sweeter than before.