Wood Apples and Babar

There are wood apples that grow on a tree in the backyard behind the office. The tree is very old and very large, and there are a lot of ripe wood apples hanging from it right now. Wood apples are nothing like any apple I have seen. The outside has a rough texture similar to sandpaper, and the inside flesh is very dry and bitter. Cambodians like to eat them with papaya, sliced up thin.

Yesterday at the office, my coworker Marin approached me and gave me a warning. He told me to make sure to cover my head as I walked under the wood apple tree, because the ripe fruit was beginning to fall from the tree. Some of the wood apples are almost 70 feet off the ground, at the very top of the tree. Certainly enough to do some damage. I thanked Marin for his warning and went back to my reading.

About 5 minutes later, my coworker Vanna walked over with a broken wood apple in his hand. He pointed to the tree, pointed to the wood apple, and then motioned to cover his head with his hand. I understood what he meant, and told him “thank you” in Khmer (“ahkoon”).

5 minutes after that, my boss Ing came over.

“Colter, when you walk under the wood apple tree…”

I immediately began to laugh, and told Bong Ing that I knew to protect my head.

I feel grateful to live and work with such caring people. This is just one example of countless I have experienced so far. My coworkers are always asking me how I’m doing, and letting me know they care about me in so many ways. I will try to share more examples as the year goes on.

This morning I am in Phnom Penh. Next Monday is another national holiday (no work) and the following Thursday, Friday and Saturday are Water Festival (no work). My coworkers are not going to be at the office next week, so I will be spending a decent bit of time in the city.

This morning I walked down the street from the hostel where I am staying to get breakfast with my fellow YAGM, Chelsey. We went to a small stand selling bowls of savory porridge. The porridge is served with sprouts, slices of chicken, and slices of pork, and I always add a small spoonful of chili sauce and squeeze a lime to mine. As I sat down and ordered, an older woman with a kind face asked me in Khmer if I was eating there. When I told her I was, she smiled and said she thought I was lying! Then she laughed and told me she was kidding (“niyey lang”). As I was eating my porridge (called “babar”), she finished hers and stood up. Much to my surprise, she smiled, walked over, and leaned down to give me a hug.

I am continuously overwhelmed by the kindness of everyone I meet here, whether I know them or not. I have been missing hugs quite a bit lately, and this kind woman that I didn’t know at all gave me one.

Kindness is not bound by culture or language, and it is so wonderful to receive it.