Cambodia: Day 5 (the day of death)

Ridiculous rules

Today shall be referred to as the day of death. As i write this I sit on a straw Cambodian mats on a raised platform in our guest room at the Bodhi leaf guest house. Opposite resides the S-21 prison in which thousands of detainees were held, questioned, tortured and killed in the most awful and harrowing conditions. This was one of the most fascinating aspects of Cambodia for me before we visited, the talk of the traumatic killing fields was something I’d always wanted to experience; the idea of death is such a foreign concept, it fascinates me hearing stories about what happened to people, of course it shocks the soul that humans just like you or I are capable of subjecting other individuals to such torture.

Khmer Rouge soldiers - look how young they are

The prison chambers were ridiculously small, some rooms contained just a metal bed on which a metal bar that was used for beating the prisoners lay. A cast iron box was there for their excrements (that some were made to ingest) and glass on the windows to try and contain the screams of the prisoners as they were bludgeoned, hacked and lashed. Large wooden boxes lay in other rooms in which paintings on the walls illustrated the story of how the prisoners were to lie in the boxes full of water as electric shocks passed through them continuously but never to the point of death, as that would destroy the massachistic purpose of the Khmer Rouge.

The man responsible - Pol Pot

We learnt that 1000 prisoners were taken their every day, the numbers on each prisoner was to be re-used after they were killed so as not to waste any material. The prison was divided into three buildings, the third of which was untouched, with the mesh and barbed wire still lining any chance for the prisoners to escape through the doors to commit suicide – a far less painful idea than what awaited them. The rooms were divided into tiny sections by wooden or cement walls for each individual prisoner, and walking through the dark corridors sent shivers down my spine as I envisioned the unimaginable pain they must’ve gone through. In the ‘B’ building there were mostly biographies of prisoners or soldiers of the Khmer Rouge. Portrait photographs of Cambodian women, men and children stared out at us with a range of emotions on their faces – from pure shock to hatred to happiness to pain.

One of many prisoners

The individuals weren’t always aware of what they were going to experience before the photographs were taken, while some had their prisoner numbers pinned into their necks, with the rule being that no tear of pain was to be shed otherwise further torture would commence. The soldiers were so young, little girls and boys from the ages of 8 – 19 were everywhere, all wearing their monotonous black uniform and red and white chequered scarves. There were other photographs of victims after their torture, bloated, swollen, skeletal, blood stained, lashed, burnt, the list goes on. Mothers watched their children being smashed against walls, brothers watched their sisters having their heads drilled in and all of them must have heard the screams of their inmates.

One of the cells

 I can only imagine their fear, as they conjured up the next ‘fake’ story to stay alive when they were questioned about what they’d done wrong – these stories included supposedly working for the CIA or KGB, stealing rice or burning down another’s house. When one ran out of these ‘confessions’, they were killed. The goal being to create a sense of guilt and shame in everyone for no valid reason. Every viewer in the prison wore their heart on their faces as they walked around, absorbing the shock of this painful reality that ended a mere 30 years ago.

Behind the wire mesh (so prisoners couldn't commit suicide)

One of the babies killed

At the killing fields we were aided by an audio tape, a recording of an individual who had escaped the killing fields and was able to describe the torturous events of every corner of the area, from the grave where 250 individuals were bludgeoned to death to avoid wasting bullets, to the torture chamber, to the tree where babies were smashed against. Mum teared up, as it held more sentimental value to her, and I slid off my pink string bracelet to hang on the fence surrounding the grave as a symbol of peace and sorrow. We listened to recordings of survivors who’d experienced rape, witnessed murder or those that were forced to issue torture to others.

'The magic tree' where babies were whacked against
in front of their mothers before being thrown into a pit

The bones and skulls were stacked high in a memorial stupa for the thousands that had been killed. Pol pot, a sick man that had himself had the priveledge of an education, killed all those with glasses, soft hands, intellectual capabilities or talent, and everyone related to them – he managed, in his (almost) four years as the leader of Cambodia, to murder a quarter of the population – over 2 million individuals. What’s so shocking is that some of the Khmer Rouge leaders are still on trial today, with the thousands of deaths that hang over their heads, charges have still not been decided. A sense of oppression has fallen upon my mother and I today, of betrayal and pain and sadness. Knowing that most people in Cambodia today are probably linked with a victim of this period of Genocide. And while life goes on, the earth continues pushing out bones and clothes of the victims from 30 years ago as a constant reminder that these people existed. I suppose we feel humility at the moment, an appreciation for life and for the circumstances we’re in now. This event is not the only one either, Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Genocide in Ruwanda, North Korea, Libya, the list continues – all events, places and people that demonstrate this sickness, this hunger for power and money at the expense of  innocents. That was during the Piscean age, as we move into the age of aquarius, hopefully this pattern will stop. As I close my eyes i mutter a few words of thanks, to whatever energy surrounds me, and I truly hope that the spirits and souls of all those lost unfairly in the Genocide are freed and at peace.

The killing fields - the grooves in the ground are graves

The Khmer Rouge uniform

Foods ability to console the mind and the body is something to be praised and respected. The meals of the ‘day of death’ shed a bit of light over a very dark day – breakfast not so much, though the guest house we were staying at was charming, the non-functioning AC, constant sound of drilling and poor service and food didn’t give the place a very good rep in our heads. But for lunch we had a delicious clear Taiwanese wanton soup with fresh greens, and for dinner we walked along the sea-front, choosing a French restaurant called ‘bouganvillier’... I walked along to the restaurant with my stomach clenched and my eyes darting to every tuk tuk driver in the area... having scored earlier from our tuk tuk driver, who i’d made the mistake of asking as he knew where we were living – i was quite nervous not knowing whether he was linked to the police, I could imagine returning to our hotel room with five men in uniform ready to tear all my bas apart.. due to the mass corruptness of the police in this country (just a tip, if buying weed, always be wary that the locals could easily be working with the po po which would result in a bit of an unpleasant confrontation and a lot of money) ... I really didn't want the responsibility of ruining our bonding Cambodian holiday – the hurricane of butterflies in my stomach increased in number and i could feel their tiny wings batting everywhere, the constipation from travelling and moving around so much not being of any service to the my nervous state!
A quick skype sesh with my boyfriend only got my heart racing more so as we walked along passed the pubs and restaurants before choosing Bouganvillier, my mind was scattered and my heart was pumping in my stomach. The ambience of the restaurant was odd, we had a group of French and Cambodian people sitting near us eating from the French-Cambodian buffet, waiters floated around in tail coats but no other customers were in the restaurant creating a slightly ghostly vibe.
 We ordered a glass of red wine to share, duck confit for mum and pan fried salmon with ratatouille for me. The wine was great, and the fresh French bread was delicious, but the food could’ve been vamped up just a tad – dry duck and oily salsa verde wasn’t a good look. We had a treat of ice cream at ‘the blue pumpkin’ a few blocks down, I chose chocolate rocky road (with almonds and raisins) and vanilla with brownie in a cup. Mum treated herself with just one scoop of rocky road in a cone. Mmm sitting by the sea with our ice cream, nostalgically running through childhood stories of sneaking lots of ice cream toppings into my cone under the scoop of ice cream so mum could never see. The grass situation turned out to be fine and I had nothing to worry about, but getting rid of the tuk tuk driver allowed me to breath a deep sigh of relief.


Recipe of the day: Grilled Salmon with Ratatouille
http://culinaryarts.about.com/od/fishseafood/r/salmonrata.htm