Phnom Penh Landfill

During our time visiting with the children at the orphanage, Soka, the director asked us if we would like to see the place from where many of the children come. Not knowing what to fully expect, I tagged along. A short drive led us to the largest landfill I have ever seen. Not that we all frequent many. . .we may pass one on a country road or rural town. But this was no ordinary landfill. It was the size of Pac Heights, Cow Hollow and the Marina combined. As we got out of the car and approached the area, the smell of methane grew so intense, I remember remarking to myself, “I don’t know how long I will be able to take this.” Right at this moment I saw a small child rummaging through the garbage looking for anything that could claim a price. The photographer in me had to retreat to behind the lens. As I sat there behind my 400mm telephoto, I began to catch anonymous glimpses of life in a landfill: Children running after the garbage truck to claim the premiums amongst the newest arrivals, watching them find such fascination in their new finds. They had it down to a science. They would sort the plastic from the perishables, the metals from the glass, the edibles from the deadly. Here, in the midst of serious oxygen shortage, frail children found a method in the madness. My eyes were unable to connect my brain to what was happening around me. I felt like I was a stranger in a surreal world. Yet, the harshness of reality wouldn’t have me disconnect any longer. A truck came from behind, passed me and I caught a glimpse of two boys in the back trailer. They realized that I was taking their photo and laughed, gestured, & waved excitedly. Amongst an entire cities’ filth, these young children somehow found moments of fun and laughter. I was suddenly aware of the human-ness I had just encountered. This wasn’t an allusion. This was as real as it gets. Barefoot, starving children, living in total waste, scavenging for anything that could offer a profit. All I could do was just weep over my guilt, my ungratefulness, my American citizenship. It was the necessities of life – food, clothing, shelter – staring me in the face, asking me what I thought of myself now. I could have gone in so many directions. The fact of the matter was, … there, in the midst of the broken, the dejected, the unsightly, the barely breathable air, a blessing, in the strangest of packages carved out a new little facet in my understanding of grace. Life was unfair, but this time I knew it was in my favor.

As we made it back to the car, Soka gesturing over the garbage fields saying, “This is hell. Where the rich people are, its Heaven.” Seeing what I’ve seen, he isn’t far from the truth. Even our poorest in America are rich by Cambodian standards.

I’ve learned about just a few of the kinds of sufferings Cambodian children endure. Hundreds of families live for daily garbage trucks. This is their way of life. Poor, starving families often do whatever it takes to survive. . . even sell a child if they have to. Many of the young girls here are sold into slavery for child prostitution. There is one child at CCH that is a product of this kind of dealing. Her family knew her beauty could claim a very high price so they took money, sacrificing their daughter’s innocence. She is indeed a beautiful child, but now protected by law from such criminal acts (many from men traveling here from the U.S & Europe for just such a thing).

Being here only opens eyes to the harsh realities outside of bubble life. We can read about what goes on in poor and volatile areas of the world in our National Geographics & Newsweek. We Hear Oprah tell us to get helping during a “use your life special.” Occasionally one of our liberal newspapers runs a story to fill the NGO quota. But what a privilege, what a surprise, what a gift that I “happened” to come upon something as rare and precious as these children. I’m always amazed by God's work in the world. At the same time, after a bit of thought, I’m not surprised by it at all.

I know we all get those emails that talk about how if we have one dollar in our pockets, we are richer than 95% of the world. At the risk of sounding preachy and cliché, remember as you lay your heads down on your many-thread count pillowcases, think about the little toddlers in the landfill that will lay their heads upon a plastic water bottle, a piece of scrap-metal, a garbage bag. This is night after night with no respite. Therego we but for the grace of God.