When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [128]
The work is important to me. But it won’t last long because my family will soon be transferred to Mairut Camp. Part of the process of coming to America involves going through transit camps. Aunt Eng’s family has just been transferred to another camp. Already I begin to miss my friends.
Our bus stops behind another bus amid a green landscape where tall grass and distant coconut trees stand majestically, swaying in the soft breeze. So this is Mairut, I think to myself. It’s pretty. The air smells different. Fresh, as if we were near a body of water. We are led to large quads about two and half times the size of the ones in Sakeo II Camp. Like the ones in Sakeo II Camp, these are built facing each other in groups of four. In front of them is a huge open space where flowerlike plants grow in little square gardens. Our assigned spot, a doorless compartment in the center of the quad, is spacious, and it has long fluorescent lightbulbs! Electricity! What a treat!
It is awkward to be living again with Ra, bang Vantha, baby Syla, and Savorng. We haven’t talked to bang Vantha since the incident when the soldiers tortured Than. Now we share the same living space, and it’s uncomfortable to just talk to Ra and Savorng or play with Syla. When Ry, Than, and I are around bang Vantha, we each pretend the other doesn’t exist.
On the outskirts of Mairut Camp, Ry and I go exploring with our friends Arom and Anny, who have also been transferred. When we come to a watchtower, I decide to climb it. Looking between the branches of tall trees, I see a body of blue and green water with waves rippling in the distance. As I near the top, I see a few people looking out, away. I hurry in their direction, and I can’t believe what I am seeing. It is an ocean!* A vast blue body of water along which stand coconut trees. I shout to Ry, Arom, and Anny to come up. This is my first time seeing an ocean. I’m grateful to be alive.
Later we get to go to the ocean. The beaches fill with people. Some rest below the coconut trees. Others, like Than and us, have water fights, soaking each other with our splashing.
Many people, perhaps a hundred, crowd offices that hire refugees for various paying jobs, such as interpreter or teacher. For two days I’ve been without luck. At least I find that there will be a public school offering English classes. The classroom is made of thatch and bamboo rods. In it, there are seven long benchlike desks, one row on the left, one row on the right. The girls sit on the left. The boys choose the right side of the classroom near the desk of our English teacher, who is one of the refugees. We study grammar as well as practice conversation.
It is May 1981. My family is transferred to another camp after two months in Mairut. It is a long ride on the bus from Mairut to Pananikom Holding Center. The gate of the camp opens as our bus approaches. The weather is hot, humid. Map and Savorng frown. They are thirsty for water. Baby Syla cries, fussing.
With seven other families, we are led through quads that look like the ones in Sakeo II Camp. We walk through a barbed wire gate connected to a barbed wire fence encircling four empty quads. The ground in the middle is eroded and muddy. This place is at a remove from the main population of refugees. We are told that they have no other quads for us to stay in except these—a place where Thai soldiers used to imprison Vietnamese refugees.
I remain in the quad for two weeks until we are transferred to another camp, called Lompini. Everyone else goes to a makeshift market. Ry and Than take Map and Savorng to see it and urge me to come along. But I don’t want to. I’m afraid of the Thai soldiers, who continue to patrol and threaten us.
To keep myself occupied, I study English. I go over my notebooks, reviewing grammar. When I get tired of memorizing