Shoe shining and paper aeroplanes

It's easy to mock tuk tuk drivers or moto top drivers, with their incessant shouts of "tuk tuk?!?" or "moto?!?" As soon as you appear around the corner, they will spring up with the hope of a puppy at dinner time, eager to take anything that you may offer. Our answer of having a bike already or just being out for a walk can cause a slump worse than any stock market has witnessed.

In Europe or America, to earn a living you look for an employer to give you a job. In developing countries, there are very few employers and if you want money to eat, you have to think what you can do to earn money yourself. The question is: "What can I do that will persuade people to give me money?"

I've had 13 years at school followed by 5 years at university and I have no idea what I  could do or produce that would persuade people to give me money. I made a wooden chair once when I was 12 but wouldn't remember how to do it now. Judging by my hairstyles, I don't think offering to cut people's hair for them would be an option. My restaurant would only be able to serve cheese toasties and I get a sore back when ironing for too long (the board is always too low). Imagine how hard this could be when you are illiterate and find it difficult to count and then add in the consideration that you are trying to sell to people whose monthly income is $100.

In my opinion, I can make the best paper aeroplanes ever, but they don't tend to last very long so I couldn't charge very much. I was pretty good at polishing my school shoes though so I guess that is what I could do. I could be a shoe shine boy. Put me into a situation in Cambodia where I would have to be self-employed and my best idea is to earn some money by shining shoes, with a paper aeroplane business on the side.

One lunch time a few months ago, when the heat scares people indoors, I watched my moto dop friend paced around his moto. He would wipe his seat, inspect his face in the wing mirror, look down one street, then another and then another. He would look down all four streets that can be seen from the intersection but there was nobody there. Without any customers, he didn't know what to do other than what he had been doing for two decades.

We have phrases in English that have become so common that we have lost an understanding of what the words mean. To counter this, when we do actually mean what we are saying, we insert the word "literally". In Cambodia, there are literally some people who do not know what to do with themselves. They don't have skills or ideas and they only know what they've done before. If that stops working then what else can they do?

Sometimes, I become slightly tired of tuk tuks offering you a ride or market sellers asking if you want to buy something and when I do I feel a bit ashamed. Despite the vast majority of people saying no, they keep on asking, they keep on offering, they keep on putting themselves out there for a disappointment. If I was a shoe-shiner or a paper-aeroplane seller, I don't think I would be able to keep going like they do.

Gordon

In Cambodia, nobody can be perfect

Cambodian’s have accepted the notion that “nobody is perfect” to such an extent that they do not even have the word “perfect” in their language. You can say that something was good, very good or even extremely good. But you cannot say that it was perfect.

We learn our mother tongue without thinking about the rules that structure our language; we follow the rules almost naturally. When learning a language, not only do you have to learn new vocabulary, you also have to learn new rules. Rules that sometimes can seem strange.

Cambodians pluralise words in a totally different way than in the English language. For instance, we would add a ‘s’ onto the end of the word such as: “he owns expensive cars”. In Khmer, you would say the word for expensive twice to indicate that there is more than one expensive car, so the sentence would be structured as: “he owns cars expensive expensive.”

Cambodians also seem to be so far advanced in eradicating gender bias that they do not even have different words for he/she, him/her or his/hers. The same word is used for them all. When I was trying to describe to colleagues that I was going to visit a friend and her wife in Viet Nam, it took minutes of confused sentences before they understand that:

1. my friend was a female (not helped by platonic friendships with the opposite sex being abnormal here)
2. my female friend was married to another female (again, a scenario not that common in Cambodia)

Such experiences have opened my eyes to the deficiencies that languages can have. In that conversation, understanding was made more difficult because the language cannot differentiate between she and he. Languages enable us to communicate concepts but if we cannot even communicate the concept of perfection, can that concept even exist?

I remember learning, rather sceptically, about how language can restrict our knowledge, but now I have seen how this can happen and how it is harming the education of Cambodian children.

In Khmer, they do not have a word for a lesson or period, such as a period of maths in school. Instead they use the phrase “study hour”. However, in Cambodian schools, a study hour is not the same as an hour. In primary schools, a study hour is forty minutes and in secondary schools it is fifty minutes.

At this point, I would like you to pause, ensure that you have understood the paragraph above and then consider this question: if a primary school child has five study hours in a day, how many (normal) hours does that child study for?

If you can answer that question correctly, then you are doing better than one of the Secretaries of State for Education in Cambodia, and indeed a host of senior directors in the Ministry of Education, Youth and Sport.

In the Cambodian national curriculum for primary education, there are 950 study hours per year. If a study hour equals 40 minutes, then this means that there are 633 hours and 20 minutes in a school year, which is one of the lowest in the world and below the internationally expected 800 – 1000 hours per school year.

However, because the concept of a study hour equalling only 40 minutes has not been grasped, the Cambodian government reports internationally that there are 950+ hours in a school year. At a meeting with the top people from the Ministry of Education last week, I heard (yet again) that Cambodia compares well to other countries.

Now that I see how the structure of Khmer affects their knowledge and understanding, I wonder how the structure of English has affected my own knowledge and understanding.

Gordon