Three Years, Eight Months and Eleven Days, the Hell Cambodia went through..

When you travel, you see so much, experience much more, sometimes there are experiences locked in your heart that have to be shared, these haunt you, this is one of these experiences.
What do you expect,when you get to Cambodia? Angkor Wat, of course. Thousands of tourists pour into Cambodia every year to see the majestic Angkor Wat Complex. But Cambodia is not just The Khmer Empire with its temple complex at Angkor Wat. Cambodia nurses a deep, dark secret, which the people of Cambodia, the Khmers, insist on sharing with every tourist who visits their peaceful country.
A bit of history, we leave the turbulent times of long ago and move a little closer to our times. Between 1969 and 1973, as we know the United States of America fought a senseless war against Communism in Vietnam. United States Armed Forces bombed and briefly occupied Cambodia in an effort to disrupt the Viet Cong and the Khmer Rouge. Some two million Cambodians were caught in this absurd war and became refugees. Estimates of the number of Cambodians killed during these bombing campaigns vary widely, as do observations of the effects of the bombings.
As the Vietnam War ended, as was expected Cambodia faced severe famine in 1975. Most of its draft animals destroyed, rice planting for the next harvest had to be done by the hard manual labour of an already seriously malnourished people. As if that was not enough, as if the Khmers had not had enough of death, torment, starvation, the Khmer Rouge reached Phnom Penh and took power in 1975, led by Pol Pot.
If you wanted indescribable hell, Cambodia was the place to go during the Pol Pot Regime.
Pol Pot changed the official name of the country to Democratic Kampuchea. He and his aides forcibly evicted entire cities, sent people on forced marches to work on rural projects. Pol Pot attempted to rebuild the country's agriculture on the model of the 11th century. Everything Western was discarded; this included Western medicine, destruction of temples and libraries. At least two million Cambodians, out of a total population of 8 million, died from executions, overwork, starvation and disease.
And now, ladies and gentlemen,we enter Tuol Sleng.
Tuol Sleng was a high school, the Chao Ponhea Yat High School, here there was laughter, light and happy banter, children running everywhere, it was a happy place, as is any school. It was a school where mothers waited for their kids at the end of the day and asked them ‘How was your day today’ or would say to them ‘I have cooked something special for you’, or the child would say 'Do you know how mean that teacher is?
Overnight the Chao Ponhea Yat High School turned into Security Prison 21 (S-21).
Overnight the classrooms with black and yellow patterned tiles, where happy children had studied and played were converted into torture chambers, mass cells. The benches and chairs disappeared; we now have long iron bars to which prisoners were shackled. The shackles were fixed to alternating bars; or were fixed to the floor.
No more teachers and students reading out their lessons, reciting poetry or memorizing tables. The prisoners slept with their heads in opposite directions, on the floor without mats, mosquito nets, or blankets.
No more light hearted banter, no more silly quarrels, the shackled prisoners were forbidden to talk to each other.
Life in the prison followed a routine, much like the schoolchildren followed their own routine.
A day in the prison began at 4:30 a.m. when prisoners were ordered to strip for inspection. The guards checked to see if the shackles were slack, or if the prisoners had hidden objects they could use to commit suicide. Over the years, several prisoners had managed to kill themselves, so the guards were very careful with the shackles and the cells. The prisoners received four small spoonfuls of rice porridge and a watery soup of leaves twice a day. Drinking water without asking the guards for permission resulted in serious beatings. The inmates were hosed down every four days. The prison had very strict regulations, and severe beatings were inflicted on any prisoner who tried to disobey. Almost every action had to be approved by one of the prison's guards.
At Tuol Sleng commonplace objects changed into killer objects, you could die anywhere…
At Tuol Sleng, the ordinary boundary wall was no longer just a simple wall, it had rows upon rows of barbed wire always electrified....
At Tuol Sleng, a simple iron bed was not something where you slept after a hard day's labour, you could use it to shackle prisoners, and maybe if you felt like it you could slit their throats with a curved knife, that also can be used to to harvest coconuts......
At Tuol Sleng, the large yellow tiled classrooms, so happy and cheerful could be converted into box sized cells, where prisoners awaiting torture could be shackled....
At Tuol Sleng, the blackboard could be used to write the roll call of the cell inmates......
At Tuol Sleng, water boarding meant a sloping wooden piece,prisoners could be shackled and water from a blue watering can poured over their faces until they ‘confessed’.....
At Tuol Sleng, the pictures of women and men you see, were not those of merit students, about to receive prizes, they were of prisoners, who have given up hope, eyes vacant already dead.....
And the baby in his mother’s arms would never know what it is to crawl on the floor chasing his cat....
Welcome to the world of Pol Pot, where ordinary everyday objects take on different meaning and function.
Outside on a huge board, there are the rules for the inmates, written in Khmer and translated into French and English
1. You must answer accordingly to my question. Don’t turn them away.
2. Don’t try to hide the facts by making pretexts this and that; you are strictly prohibited to contest me.
3. Don’t be a fool for you are a chap who dares to thwart the revolution.
4. You must immediately answer my questions without wasting time to reflect.
5. Don’t tell me either about your immoralities or the essence of the revolution.
6. While getting lashes or electrification you must not cry at all.
7. Do nothing, sit still and wait for my orders. If there is no order, keep quiet. When I ask you to do something, you must do it right away without protesting.
8. Don’t make pretext about Kampuchea Krom in order to hide your secret or traitor.
9. If you don’t follow all the above rules, you shall get many lashes of electric wire.
10. If you disobey any point of my regulations you shall get either ten lashes or five shocks of electric discharge.

I read the rules, but I read and reread Rule 6
6. While getting lashes or electrification you must not cry at all.
I cannot stop reading this rule. My son pulls me away gently.....

I sit on a stone seat under a frangipani tree, shedding its flowers gently on 14 graves. These were the graves of the prisoners found by the liberating Vietnamese Army, their throats slit. One of them a woman.
I pray, I do not know for what, Tuol Sleng teaches you to pray without words to any God who might hear your prayer.
For Three Years, Eight Months and Eleven Days the Cambodians prayed……..

A Mulher que Acreditava Ser Presidente dos Estados Unidos......João Botelho

A beautifully dressed woman, Alexandra Lencastre, sweeps the steps of a long winding staircase, collects paper and some other garbage neatly in piles ready to be disposed off, just then a gust of wind scatters the papers all around, so tired, so very tired is she of this monotonous work…. But she is a Woman of Substance, not to be outdone, she realises that the only way out of this drudgery and misery is to dream, to dream big and where do all big dreams lead?
America of course, America the proverbial land of milk and honey…
And what can be the biggest dream you can dream of in the United States of America?
To be the Woman President of course, slowly her dream takes shape, her tiny house when seen from outside, assumes enormous proportions when viewed on the inside, surely it is a mirror image of White house? Yes, it is; there is of course the Oval Office where she as the President takes all her important decisions. You do not expect the Woman President to operate on her own do you? She has her inner core of advisers as well as other women who help her run this Office of prestige, there is even the President of the Society of Dead Languages, who only speaks in Latin.
The Woman President can never, ever be shabbily dressed. No chance, she and her coterie of dear friends, who obey her implicitly, have lovely sessions getting their hair done, manicures and pedicures, facials thrown in regularly.
As the Woman President, she has to give interviews to magazines, not to Time or Newsweek, that’s passé my dears, it is Vogue that’s de rigueur. Of course, there are plans and political discussions, where every problem is solved by the annihilation or bombardment of the enemy or foe.
Any resemblance to American foreign policy is to be taken dismissively.
As expected all good things have something not quite so right, in this case the Woman President in addition to juggling problems requiring utmost strategy, (pssst the Woman President has serious money problems)planning meetings, giving interviews to magazines or other organizations, appearing at functions or social events, has a thorn constantly piercing her side, her Bizarre Mother. The Bizarre Mother ensconced comfortably in one of the huge rooms in the White House, grumbles continuously, runs huge bills buying the most expensive hot house flowers, has a stash of cannabis that she smokes gleefully when the Woman President is busy with her myriad duties, teaches the First Daughters or the First Twins all manner of insalubrious stuff. If the First Mother was not bad enough, the Woman President’s Husband, the First Gentleman, spends his time sleeping in another part of White House, snoring, drooling all over the pristine bed sheets, getting very drunk, truly acting like a swine, for want of a better word. When the Woman President is busy, as she is most of the time, he is up and prowling searching for women and sex. No they do not share a room, much less a bed, would you fancy such a lout in your bed? No, never.
So now you can understand with great insight what problems beset People in High Places?
As in a flash, the Woman President, decides to honour the women of the world by celebrating her 37th Birthday on a colossal scale. Why her Birthday you ask? Oh, come now, who better to represent the entire Womanhood, than the Woman President of America? Preparations are in full swing, crates of Coca-Cola, huge quantities of hamburgers, pizzas arrive in truckloads, which the loyal platoon of servants accommodate in huge warehouses.
Any resemblance to American food habits is to be taken frivolously.
Meanwhile, her most loyal inner core of friends works tirelessly arranging the gigantic party, the strident band rehearses continuously, dressed in the colours of the American flag. Masses and masses of flowers are arranged everywhere. Whenever the Woman President, feels a panic attack coming on, she has her Secretary of State a very patient woman, ready to help shoulder the onerous burden resting on the Woman President’s shoulders.
Later we see a great multitude of women enjoying the enormous party in the company of the Woman President and her core group, the First Mother and the First Daughters. No the husband has not been invited. It is Women’s Power.
Is this the story of a Woman, who has dreams like women all over the world?
Is it a spoof on the American way of life?
I think it is a mélange of dreams, life, aspirations, joys and sorrows, with a soupcon of the American way of life.
But do not take my word for it, see the movie and do write and tell us what you think of this exceedingly humorous film.

Cast : Alexandra Lencastre, Rita Blanco, Laura Soveral, Helena Vieira, Suzana Borges, Paula Guedes, São José Correia, Patrícia Guerreiro, Conchita Sacchetti, Io Apolloni, Adelaide João, Mrs. Meng, Lia Gama, Lídia Franco, Márcia Breia

Salt panning any takers?

Yes, even though it is hard to believe I was enjoying a lovely meal of sole fish in a very nice sauce, but here was Prof. Delfim hurrying me as though the devil was on his heels, ‘Sonia não perca tempo! Devemos estar na Ria as duas!’ Why did I choose to sit opposite him where he could eye my every move? ‘Sonia, pode levar a sua maça’ I slipped my maça into my bag, I always slipped those lovely fruits in my bag, why tell him that, so I looked suitably horrified, an air of ‘How could you expect me to do that!’
We hurried past the Museum, plunged into the alley at the side, down past a Confeitaria selling all manner of delicacies, yes, ovos-moles and Bolo Rei rich in spices and candied fruit. Why oh why was I wearing trendy, or so I thought, flip-flops, summer, but flip-flops on cobbled streets? Whilst the well toned body of Professor sped without much effort over those killer cobbles, I struggled, ‘Estas cansada Sonia, mais um pouquinho, vocês, Alexandre, Bosco apressem, quem falta?’ And we all knew the answer…….poor Dhruv, his misfortune of being the roommate of the most elusive hottie, his arms spread out in resignation, Rahul!
The Language department at the University believed we should learn something of the culture of Portugal too, an idea we wholeheartedly agreed to, who in his right mind would want to be doing Conjutivo Imperativo on a hot summer’s day after a good meal?
So here we were boarding a very colourful bus, a hop on, hop off for a trip around Aveiro and Ílhavo.
The traditional occupation of Aveiro, years back when the world was a simpler place to live in, had been salt panning, but now salt panning is completely on the decline, however the University of Aveiro conducts studies on salt panning and we passed a series of salt pans with heaps of white crystalline salt. Sara who was next to me jolted me out of a pleasant dream, ‘Sonia, Sonia veja sal’ and I full of pleasant dreams thought, ‘Mitache agor’- Salinas why the hell should I wake up just to see ‘Mitache agor’- Salinas, my route to Panjim is via Agassaim which used to be the home of ‘Mitache agor’- Salinas. My sleep had just been kicking in, you know that very pleasant zone of semi consciousness, between wakefulness and sleep, no I was not at all pleased that Sara had woken me up.
But on another trip we did visit the Salinas and had the very ebullient, Sr. João showing us around, salt panning is a back breaking, arduous work, who in the right mind would want to walk around in the hot sun, ankle deep in salt water, scratches and wounds on the feet killing you, all that salt pouring in those wounds, but to Sr. João it is a labour of love. He explained that salt panning was not one of the most desirable professions which resulted in the neglect of the salinas, as a result of this neglect, fresh water had inundated the salinas making them unfit for salt extraction. The salinas however, are a different world altogether, peace and the silence washes over you, the light has a different quality to it, or was I letting my imagination get the better of me? Tiny flowering plants with tinier flowers beckon you, birds chirping warning other tiny denizens of this strange world that intruders are approaching. However they had a welcome visitor, a great pal, a huge slobbering Labrador who accompanied by his owners visited the salinas regularly. To the Labrador this was his park, he gambolled in the fresh hay, he wished the workers good morning, he barked from sheer joy, generally very happy that there was such lovely place in the world.
Sr João was a good guide as well as extremely business savvy, whilst we rested under a gnarled fig tree, in Portugal the trees show a certain class befitting their age, they are twisted and gnarled; they want you to see that they have lived and continue to live their lives even when times are not so pleasant, Sr. João talked to us about the salinas and his conversation took us to the coast of Holland and Newfoundland, where in his opinion, cod was not cured as it should be, it was raw, it did not spring back as it should, which it only does as when cured by the Portuguese of yore. He really knew so very much, Dhruv was fascinated by his rapid fire talk. Man of salt that he was he had diversified into soaps. He had homemade soaps with salt as the base, salt is an exfoliant, so very intelligently he was marketing this property as well, in addition to the one we all know about, food. He had pretty jute bags with premium salt also called flor de Sal, packed in them and these were tied with a neat, little straw bit. Talk of business.
My mind went back to the salt pans of Agassaim, what did I know about our very own Mitache agor? All that I knew about salt in Goa is the trucks passing by and hoarse voiced women yelling; Mit, mit and more mit. Will I visit a mitacho agor, I doubt, we do these things elsewhere but never at home. Enfim……