The day I felt the dark history of Cambodia in my own skin

by Isabella Galante (Brazil)

A leap into the unknown Cambodia

In the main killing field of the country, at a short drive from Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, my family, the tourist guide and I arrived. It is summer. Shortly before, our trip escort told us about an unknown period (for an international visitor) that killed a third of the nation's population. The regime of the leader Pol Pot changed everything in his life: he was subjected to hunger, separated from his family, had to live for years in the jungle eating insects to survive, lost his father to communist soldiers. In the end, he succeeded in forming a new family circle and came to live with his wife and two daughters, all healthy. I froze in front of a wooden fence. Multi-colored bracelets tied to each stake. "This is the place where hundreds of women and children were buried after they were clubbed to death”, the guide said. His expression was motionless. The scenes of rape and death being described projected sadness in the site that, that day, covered by vegetation, exuded so much peace. The cheerful props made that grave stand out from the others. The sun was shining brightly. Sweat was running down my face. I checked my watch. It was not the hottest time of the day just yet. Amidst bone remnants, mortal remains and tattered pieces of clothing, foreigners bypassed; their faces displayed outrage, horror, commotion, empathy. Meanwhile, the only sound I could hear was the wind stirring the leaves. Terror is now history. Surrounded by 2x2 meter enclosures and lost in reflections, something brought me back to the present moment. "How do you manage to come here after all that you had to go through because of the government? What for?", I did not hesitate to ask the Cambodian. To which he replied almost muttering, leaning against a tree: "I come here every week; it is my job to inform tourists about those days so that history may never repeat itself."