Another place

If you cross your eyes and pinch your nose, the yellow, blue and faded red plastic trash bags in the Phnom Penh slums make me think of springtime in Chapel Hill.

I went on outreach again this morning. The tuk tuk carried me and 5 guys wearing blue and red Korsang shirts that declared the mission of risk reduction in Khmer. We set out toward Boeung Trabek, an area I've been many times, about 5 minutes from the drop-in center. Most of the drug users who use Korsang's space live in the streets here. Bony was driving and cranking up the music, for everyone, a mix of Khmer love ballads, American hip-hop and the occasional Eric Clapton "Lady in Red."

Crossing the street, a woman with a korma scarf wrapped around her head and with ankles caked in black dirt, waved at the tuk tuk. JB explained that he'd helped deliver her baby 2 months ago. The next day she sold the child for $200.

We turn down one dirt path, just one or two streets off Monivong, the biggest street in Phnom Penh. Teenagers, men and women carve wood doors in the streets. Around every building, drug users congregate. Injection drug users shoot in groups, or at least with partners. Its safer that way, as long as they aren't sharing needles. JB and I start doctoring a knife wound on one of the user's hands. It had gotten infected and was swollen. The teenager showed us at least 5 other stabbing scars on his arms.

As we worked on his wound a mother came up to the group holding a barefoot 2 year-old boy wearing an old t-shirt. A 5-year old tugged at her leg. In the mother's hands were a package of clean needles we had given to her. She began to shoot up. For a second I felt nauseated, like I was feeding her habit, providing her with the means to continue the cycle. But I wonder what will happen to her when she dies of AIDS. Maybe those clean needles will keep her safer longer? Its true, her children might be safer without her. But where would they go? I think they'd die. The children walked towards me. Most young children in Cambodia, I have found, are pretty shy with white people, or so scared that they run. These kids let me hold them and throw them around. The youngest had infections all around his ear. I asked what had happened. Another drug user said the mother puts all kinds of things in the boy's ear when she gets too high.

We drove a little further down the road and stopped to look into a field. The big brother of the community was high, alone. He had recently overdosed but survived. We waved hello and asked if he had seen Aveay. Aveay has been missing for 3 days. So we looked in the bushes for him. JB pointed to the place in the field where he found a young woman who had been gang rapped by 10 men. We then continued on our way.

Several of the drug-users recognize me now. I was nervous they would be scared of me, but they've really welcomed me. One of the younger guys, he must be 18, had a needle in his hand and came up and gave me his firmest handshake and a little smile, saying "Hello Madame!"

At another stop, we cleaned up a guy with an infected finger and scabs all over his legs. As we were working, a drug user I've met at the clinic called me over. She had a needle hanging from her thigh, but she was still conscious. She wanted to practice her English.