Muserology Cafe

One Dollar (October 2009)

by Sharon Lurye, age 17, New Jersey

My sister and I were settling down in an Italian restaurant when we noticed a curious scene. Three girls, each looking no more than 10 years old, approached a man who was dining outside. They wanted him to buy a postcard--no, they insisted that he buy a postcard. "One dollar, one dollar!" they chanted.

The man declined, but he could not escape the persistence of the most determined 10-year-olds in the entire world. After several minutes of refusals, one of the girls suggested this: three rounds of rock-paper-scissors. "We win, you buy a postcard; you win, we give you peace and quiet," she said matter-of-factly.

Desperate, the man agreed. The sight of it--a grown man earnestly playing rock-paper-scissors with three little girls--was so funny that I quietly tried to take out my camera and film it.

Without missing a beat, the girl said, "Pictures, one dollar!"

Such was an everyday scene in Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, where my sister and I were staying on vacation. Cambodia is a small country in Southeast Asia--on the map it looks like a round button between Thailand and Vietnam--that ripples with giant scars. Between 1975 and 1979, a brutal regime called the Khmer Rouge was responsible for the deaths of more than a fifth of the country's population. Decades later, the surviving generations still feel the psychological and economic effects fo this genocide.

However, life goes on. Thanks to Cambodia's impressive ancient monuments, tourism brings in much-appreciated cash to some of the cities. Thousands of visitors crowd in to see wonders of the world, such as ancient temples where overgrown trees crack through the very rocks, their enorous roots sliding over the stones like spider webs. When affluent tourists come here, they see an unusual mix of past and present, and they see a scarred country whose young residents are nevertheless brimming with ambition and determination.

That's what I noticed most about my trip: young people, little children, everywhere. Many of the kids I saw were trying to sell us gifts, postcards, books, anything. Even a toddler who couldn't yet speak stuck out his hand immediately when he saw me, to ask for a dollar. They had nothing except infinite patience.

Though these kids had to work (or just beg) to support their families, many still went to school and were eager to show off their knowledge. One 16-year-old girl I met worked in her own T-shirt shop during the day and studied at night. A boy who was trying to sell me a one-dollar postcard walked by my side for several minutes, listing the capital cities of various countries. (I was impressed, but, to his consternation, declined to buy anything.)

I saw another side to the children when I visited a local village. What I saw were kids, with little clothing on and only some sticks for toys, having just as much fun as American kids at recess. They laughed and chased each other around in the dirt; splashed naked into the river and fished; shared dinner in bobbing, one-room houseboats; and rode on their parents' laps on motorcycles that sped across dusty roads. It struck me that even people who live in poverty still get the most joy out of their lives from playing with their friends and family.

I also saw a much more tragic side to the country. My older sister and I were at a restaurant when a boy came in and started to beg us for food or water. My sister was quite suspicious of him because he, unlike many Cambodian children, had shoes and clean clothes, and she had spotted him playing happily just a few minutes ago. So she refused to give him any of our food.

He begged and begged. For the entire meal. He even pushed a girl in a wheelchair in front of us, as if he hadn't pulled at our heartstrings enough.

When we got out of there, I cried in the car all the way back to the hotel. I just didn't know what to do. When so many children need food, how can you help them all? Is it better to give money directly to children, or instead to donate the money to schools and local businesses, so that the economy can grow and the children can have a future? I'm still not sure.

The four days my sister and I spent in Cambodia were like a visit to another world. The trip opened my eyes to what it really means to live in an impoverished country. The smallest children can work unbelievably hard for what American kids take for granted: one dollar. At the same time, I realized how much children all over the world have in common: they just need food, friendship, and their families to survive.