Day 5: Only the children are happy

Today starts like all the rest: wake up early, grab a quick coffee and jump into the cars. We are going to the Missionaries of Charity, the order that was founded in India by Mother Teresa. Upon arriving at the mission, we see lots of little kids dressed in clean new uniforms, for it was the first day of school. A kindly-faced nun comes out to the WFP cars, greets us and starts the tour. The girls and I thought we had seen everything at this point and were definitely not prepared for what we were about to encounter.

First we visit the mission school, where kids get free education and are given clean uniforms and a meal every day. The school-feeding program is such an essential part of these kid's lives, it is amazing! The kitchen operation consists of a few Cambodian women and three little burners on the floor supporting big pots of rice and fish stew. It is funny how in America we all have so many kitchen appliances that we never really use; yet here were these women preparing a meal for an entire school of hungry little kids using three little burners.

The building next to the kitchen is the hospital for TB patients. It can hold about 40 patients at a time. The government requires TB patients who are receiving medication to get it from a hospital every day for the first two months of treatment, but most patients simply cannot afford the trek all the way from their villages into the city to get their medicines. And to top it off, although the medicines are free in theory, because of corruption most patients are forced to pay and cannot. This hospital takes in people with TB for two months so they can receive their medicine daily with food. This type of treatment system is vital for people living in rural areas, who lack the transportation and money to be treated any other way.

Next door to the TB hospital is the AIDS unit. Walking into the airy, white-walled ward, I feel it to be a peaceful yet sad place. The women's ward is half-full but only two women respond to our presence and that only barely. We greet them all with the little bow we have picked up, but only a few return the same. Some just smile. But the skeletal body and glassy-eyed stare of the women is shocking. The nun explains that because of limited funding, the adults do not receive ARVS here, only the children, so basically the adults came here to die.

In the men's ward, there are three men. Two just lie there, but the third is sitting cross-legged, leaning forward with his head and hands resting on the metal bedstead. His shirt is off: he is a pile of bones gasping for breath. His face is hidden, but the sight of him is extremely disturbing.

After pulling ourselves together, we head upstairs to see the children's ward. The kids are out on the balcony, playing before their lunch. All but three of the children are infected with AIDS. They are all absolutely adorable. Some are disabled, but most appear to be like any other little kid. As we are sitting on a bench, a plump, friendly little girl in a bright pink shirt plops a book on my lap and proceed to squeeze in between Maggie and me. Then a little boy who is crippled almost falls on me; he smiles and sits on my lap. Another little boy, who must have been about two years old, wears his little shorts like my grandpa does, almost covering his whole chest. The nun tells me that a few months ago, when he was brought in, he was near death but now thanks to ARVS he is alive and showing rapid progress.

Most of these kids are from parents who died in the hospital; the others are brought in and given to the nuns because their parents cannot give them proper care. They are the nameless, faceless tragedy we always hear about, but to me they are all vibrant, precious little kids who were given a great burden from birth.

After saying our goodbyes to the nun, we all get in the car and head for the airport for a flight to Siem Reap. Not a word is uttered during the 20-minute ride to the airport. We all sit sniffling and wiping our eyes. It's the first silence of the whole trip. I think we all finally begin to process all that we have seen over the past few days.

Day 7: The trap of AIDS

Today is our last day in Cambodia. After meeting at the office of the charity Caritas, we drive for about an hour, going eventually from tarmac to bumpy dirt road, to a village where families are getting HIV/AIDS counseling and care. A Caritas staff member checks on each family regularly to make sure they are getting enough food and medicine and have the transportation to go into town to get their meds.

The first family we visit is a beautiful couple, both of them with AIDS. None of their four children, they think, are infected. There is a fifth child on the way. The couple have recently started taking ARVs and seem fairly healthy. When we ask why they allowed a pregnancy to happen when both are infected, the wife replies that they “forgot” their birth control. They bring out a big jar filled with all the pills they take to stay healthy. Their kids are sitting by their sides, silently looking at the ground. If something happens to stop their parents from getting ARVs, then these little kids will lose both their parents.

The next family we visit is a woman whose husband just passed away from AIDS. Once her husband died, she was tested and found to be positive. She has eight kids, all who live near her. Some are married and they are helping support her. She sits in her shaded hut when we visit, with her 13-year-old and 19-year-old daughters on either side. The 19-year-old is nine months pregnant. She is one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen. The mother explained that her boyfriend had left once he found out she was pregnant. When asked if she has been tested for AIDS the mother says that her daughter doesn't like needles. Our guide from Caritas explains that if the girl is positive and knows that before giving birth, she can save her child from being born with AIDS by getting a Caesarian section. Looking at this girl, who is absolutely radiant, I know that if she had been born in other circumstances, she would have the world at her feet. Here, she is pregnant, abandoned, and possibly infected with HIV, and she is younger than I am.

The last family we visit is a couple who both have AIDS and are running a little shop out of their hut selling bits of rice and noodles, fish, and other basic necessities. They have one little boy who is also infected. The woman did not know her husband had AIDS when she conceived of her boy. Mid-way through our conversation, big tears well up in her eyes. She says she is so angry with her husband, and she will never forgive him. She cries for a few minutes. All the man can do is just sit there ashamed as their cute little boy bounces around energetically in the background.

Apparently most of the infected women contract the virus from their husbands who have been sleeping around. The women then pass it on to their children unknowingly when they give birth. Then they are all trapped. Most of a woman's economic support comes from her husband, not like in America where people can just get divorced on a whim. Here, they are bound together with a deadly disease living as outcasts in their society. The mother's emotional agony is so sad and hopeless.

Amazingly, as I look back on my journey here, there is still hope, especially for Cambodia's next generation. It is clear that were it not for organizations like WFP, the situation would be hopeless and catastrophic. Instead, many who would have died are able to carry on and this gives rise for a healthy and happy future, especially for the next generation.