I hadn’t ridden a bike in years. I booked a nice little bed and breakfast for $10 a night, just a bit down the road from The Life Center in Kampot, Cambodia. It wasn’t far, but my hosts had offered to loan me a bicycle, making the trip about 3 minutes. There was a small courtyard at my accommodations that had enough space to practice. I unlocked the cable, typed the combo into my phone so I could unlock it next time, and then tossed it into the handy front basket. I gingerly stepped over the bike and twisted my foot a few times to get it situated on the petal just right. Within two pushes, the bike had steadied and I was rolling along down the driveway. It all came back… just like riding a bike!
The road was paved, but there was gravel and dust along the sides that kicked up anytime traffic passed. The town felt safe, but I secured my purse in the hand basket with a small carabiner I had clipped onto the strap. If someone tried to snatch it, they’d have the drag the whole bike with them. Which they probably would, and then they’d have my purse and a bike. I really hadn’t given this too much thought. Fortunately, no one tried to snatch either one.
The Life Center is a gathering place. They primarily teach English and Chinese, but also host events, teach studies, and create community connections. I pulled up to the front of the building with a large sign in English and Khmer, and rolled my bike through the gate, parking it in front of the huge glass windows. I slipped off my shoes and put them on the rack just inside the front door. The cement building was designed to be cool against the punishing heat of a tropical country, but the homemade signs and decorations on the walls created a hospitable warmth and friendliness. I walked through the large room in the center and paused as a I heard a sound that enveloped me with the sweet pangs of the distant familiar: Christmas carols. Two of the staff members were Filipino, a country that reigns supreme at Christmas. They were jamming out on a keyboard and guitar, and joined by one or two students who were learning how to play.
“Are you going to be visiting our class tonight?” Liz was the lead Chinese teacher. She was petite, with thick black rimmed glasses and an infectious smile. Four women in their 20s ran the Chinese language classes at The Life Center. They came on rotating two-year commitments. Compensation was minimal, but they loved the opportunity to connect with the students and build friendships.
Class sizes are limited to about 12 students. Liz wrote some characters on the whiteboard and the students repeated after her, working on the right tones as they memorized useful phrases. Liz encouraged their efforts, making gentle corrections until their accent was perfect – or at least sounded pretty darn close to me.
China is making huge investments throughout SE Asia. Trade between the two countries totals $6 billion, with 87% of that being Chinese exports. Chinese companies have been shifting manufacturing to SE Asian countries to get around U.S. tariffs, providing new job opportunities and industrial growth in places like Indonesia, Vietnam, and Cambodia. China is Cambodia’s largest investor by far, building roads, hydropower plants, and entire cities. However, the benefits are not widely shared in the local population. Over 60% of foreign residents in Cambodia are Chinese, often imported to work on construction projects. Chinese companies prefer to have workers who understand their language. In a booming tourist town about an hour away from Kampot, 90% of the businesses are owned by Chinese, including the hotels, restaurants, and casinos. All the tourism profits get repatriated, with little left in the local economy.
China is Cambodia’s strongest ally and understanding the language is an important investment for future job opportunities. English remains the primary language of tourism, as well as any international opportunities in education, science, and diplomacy. Language training at The Life Center provides the chance for students to get better jobs, provide for their families, and dream beyond the borders of their village. It offers hope.
I joined Liz and the other Chinese teachers for lunch at a trendy NGO-based café. Many of the workers employed there are deaf, so all the tables come with pencils and tablets to write your orders. The food was fantastic, and the place was buzzing with customers. We found a table for four and squeezed in an extra chair at the end. The gals had just been to the market. They excitedly opened a plastic bag to show me their find. It was a lotus flower, filled with seeds. Liz broke off a piece and offered it to me. “The seeds are good for you. They’re anti-aging!” I took a piece and tried one. “Well?” I angled my face back and forth. “Did it work?” They laughed.
We had an easy conversation. The women loved the adventure of traveling somewhere new. They enjoyed the people they were meeting at The Life Center – the opportunity to make friendships, share opinions, debate culture, and talk about faith. Living in China has many restrictions. Its state surveillance systems are unrivalled in scope and precision. Their social credit scoring system rates you on everything you do, and what your friends do. Bad company corrupts good character, so they say, and if your friends are considered “disruptive” to the government, you may not be able to get a bank loan or travel. Even with its challenges, they obviously loved their home and talked about the many things they missed being away.
We finished up lunch and got ready to head back to The Life Center. I unlocked my bike from a light post in the charming French-colonial downtown area. With the bike, I could make it back in about 15 minutes. I turned left at the main roundabout, the one with a giant durian fruit in the center. Durian is considered the stinkiest fruit in the world and you’ll often see signs banning it from hotels and public transportation. But in Kampot, it is worthy of a statue in the middle of town. This is why travel is amazing.
It was the Christmas celebration that night. The students from both the English and Chinese classes were dressed up as shepherds, angels, and the main characters of Mary and Joseph, with a wadded-up towel passing for the baby Jesus, same as every pageant in the world. There was a paper stable taped up on the wall, with a giant star at the top. The Christmas tree was in the corner, sparkling with decorations.
“I love this Christmas tree. It’s so pretty.” One of the students was standing with a big smile, enjoying the beauty of the season.
I turned to him, “Do you celebrate Christmas?”
“No, my family is Muslim. But I like Christmas.” He loved being part of The Life Center, a group that had welcomed him in with friendship and community.
The team began with the Christmas songs I had heard them singing earlier. I looked at the faces around the room, filled with smiles as they tried to keep up with new vocabulary words and unfamiliar tunes. Christmas songs are pretty simple, though, and they caught on quickly. Then, the Christmas story began. The narration was great practice for the characters to listen for their acting cues in English. The angels came down the flight of stairs, the shepherds overdramatized shock and awe, and everyone gathered at the manger to adore the Savior come into the world. It was so familiar, even in such a foreign place. I congratulated everyone on their acting and English, and they were so proud of both.
The students lingered long after the program ended. One picked up a guitar and started singing, with a few other students joining in. Another struck up a conversation with one of the staff members, talking about his plans for further education. It was clearly a hang-out spot, and everyone felt at home.
Outside, it was dark, but not cold. I lifted my bike over the metal gate and started my short commute back. The hotel owners were sitting outside enjoying the cool night air, and we exchanged pleasantries as I locked up my bike at the rack. The warmth of a kind community filled me with a happy peace as I settled in for the night, humming Christmas carols as I drifted to sleep.