Phnom Penh, Cambodia 14/12/10
“Bon Om Tuk” is the Cambodian name for the Water Festival which takes place every November when boat races are held on the Tonle Sap River in Phnom Penh to celebrate the reversing of the river’s current and mark the beginning of the fishing season. Thousands flock to the city to support their village or town’s crew and join in the party. This year, however, there were tragic results when a bridge spanning the river collapsed and 400+ people lost their lives.
The water is calm now.
The broken bridge fixed.
The boats that battled back and forth
Long gone.
Up and down the country
Villagers are celebrating victories
Commiserating defeat
Remembering good times
Burying their dead.
Last week we sat here,
Let the crowds pass us by.
Beside me, a small child with his mother
Wriggled and giggled
Dripping orange from his ice lolly.
She smiled beneath her checkered hat,
Crunching on crickets,
All spicy and deep-fried.
Men in their long dug-out boats
Sped by with warrior roars,
Faces full of fight,
Oars like swords.
The yellows and the greens,
The reds and whites,
The blacks and blues.
Tribes let loose to battle it through.
That night fireworks flared
As more people gathered.
Street vendors cried out
Above the noise and the chatter.
Police patrolled in packs of three
And children weaved, unseen,
Dipping hands in pockets
Running away with freebie wallets.
We stood unmoved by the river.
The boy and his mother
Gone to join the crowd.
Barges floated by like peacocks,
Their sails lit up
Laughing in the breeze.
Litter at the water’s edge
Danced and shimmied.
And the King in his enclosure
Stood nearby
Smiling at the display.
Further up a bridge was swaying
Full of people
Caught up in the razzle dazzle.
Pushing, squeezing, straining to see.
Not knowing
That soon the wires would frazzle
That soon sparks would fly
That soon they’d lose their footing
That soon they might just die.
That night we left with minds full of spectacle.
Ears numbed by the bangs and blasts
Stomachs heavy with syrupy sweetness
Eyes sparkling and sore
Oblivious to the disaster
Still waiting to happen.
Half asleep in the tuk tuk
That took us to our door.
Today the water is calm
The bridge is fixed
And the boats have gone.
Every now and then
A single flip-flop floats past
And the current, now turned,
Carries it away.
Sitting by water always has a calming effect on me. And when I wrote this poem I needed some calm. The disaster I’d heard about and seen on the news had disturbed me deeply. I’d not been in Cambodia long but the place had got under my skin. And I really felt it when I saw the images of all those people, mainly young people, bruised and battered and laid out, dead. Sometimes I’m not sure if a sadness I’m feeling is mine or someone else’s. Or something I’m picking up in the atmosphere. Whatever, that day I had to write to lift off the heaviness. To join in the collective lament. And to find rest for myself too. The only place where it felt right to do that was the river. Where it had all happened. But where life still went on. Albeit in sharper focus.