Bad Lady Barang, Bad!

I’m running late for a hot Skype date with my mum at the Foreign Correspondent’s Club in Phnom Penh so I’ve hailed a tuk-tuk with particularly swish leather seats (which turn out to be a mistake as I melt into them on a night like this). We’ve just done a U-turn because the main road is blocked and I’m getting rather a long tour of Phnom Penh by night. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing as I’m just sat here thinking how much I like this city already. Sure, I’m also in a tuk-tuk because I don’t feel 100% safe walking around in the dark with my laptop but then again, in how many cities in the world would a lone girl feel 100% safe doing that. Here, I feel about a 65%.

Monks are still pacing the street although minus the yellow umbrellas which, in the day-time, are as essential as their bright orange robes. Street vendors are cooking up a treat on their barbeques and as we drive up Sisowath Quay I do a double take as I spot a couple of people I know from university. Small world. I’m too shocked to shout-out for a second and by the time I do the tuk-tuk’s passed them. The traffic in this bit of town looked to be moving but we soon reach a police blockade which needs to be bypassed slowly.

The whole time I’ve had a scarf over my head because I’ve found it means you get fewer stares as it’s not as obvious that the 5’10” giant in the tuk-tuk isn’t Khmer (at least that’s my thinking – how much it actually works is debatable). But, as we’re going slower, the police man spots me and walks over to the crawling tuk-tuk walking alongside with his hand on the side just inches from mine. I move my hand and avoid his eyes. I’m thinking “Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit”. The police are known for handing out random fines or attempting to take you to the station for no reason other than being a Barang. It supplements their $50 a month income. As it turns out, all he wanted was a good stare at the Barang in a tuk-tuk but as he moves away after a curious “hello?” (see the last entry for my views on this sort of greeting) I think hmm, at least I could have sworn to myself in Khmer now even if I can’t say anything else. In fact, swear words seem to be the only things that are understood without having to be repeated.

"Kñom chong choy pro-chea-chon kmae"
It’s a mouthful and I’m not pretending I could say it any more successfully than the volunteer who declared at a meeting with the Ministry of Education that he “wants to f*** Khmer people”. What he meant to say was “I want to help Khmer people” - Kñom chong chooy pro-chea-chon kmae.

Choy and chooy are unfortunately too similar. More unfortunately, Dara, the infamous language teacher, had already told me and Claire this story before yesterday’s class so when Roger, star pupil and former French and Russian teacher, came out with exactly the same phrase I don’t blame Dara for breaking down into a pile of embarrassed giggles in the middle of the class. This probably wasn’t helped when he caught my eye and realised that yes, of course I remembered how to say “f***” in Khmer and had found Roger’s faux pas just as funny as Dara had.

Unfortunately, YfDs are not known for their conservatism and whilst discussing the incident later in the evening at pregnant-ice-box lady’s ice-box beer bar, the word was repeated several times more loudly than was intended (I won’t name the culprit for the sake of the YfD-manager’s mental health). The true power of this new word was shown by the speed at which pregnant-ice-box lady came running over to shout “Ot la-or! Srey ot la-or! Ot la-or!” (bad, bad lady Barang, bad!) Promising we wouldn’t use the word again and muttering a few apologetic som-toh, som-tohs, we skulked off to bed only to be found the next night at dinner asking Dara the correct pronunciation of yoni. He never told us but the giggling gave it away. And yes, it does mean the same as in Sanskrit and no, I won’t be shouting it loudly at the next police-man who approaches my tuk-tuk.