And I thought I was doing so well on the bike...

This blog is a great way for me to help me take stock of the situation while sharing my experience to people close to me. The experience I am about to express is not a pleasant one, and I hesitated to write it out. But in fact, just like good experiences, writing helps me make sense of what I am living through here, and I want to share this too.
Every first Friday of the month, there’s a big party in this bar called the elsewhere. The whole expat community is there, in this big garden with a pool. I had loads of fun. Corinne was there, as well as the founder of the Krousar Thmey, Benito. We drank a bit, danced a lot. I was all hyper because for the first time I had taken out the motorbike for a long-ish distance. I still didn’t feel ready to take it to work, but I had managed that afternoon to go to my driving lesson and back without any trouble. I was so excited by that performance that I asked Clayre if we could take it to the party too and she agreed.
I stopped drinking after a bit as I knew I had to be driving. Still, I was kind of worried for the way back. I just though if something goes wrong in the middle of the night we’d be screwed, so I asked a guy friend if he could escort me home. We joked about that a bit with Corinne, saying that he might just escort me to his house, and he was like yeah yeah sure, let me just finish my drink. In the end I got tired of asking him. When I said “I’m going” I though he was following me, but when I realised he wasn’t I didn’t worry too much. I thought I’d be fine after all as I felt completely sober and that anyway Clayre was there behind me to tell me where to go.
I was worried about my driving skills, not about anything else. But I drove really well. In any case there’s no one in the streets of Phnom Penh at 3.30 am so it wasn’t hard. We arrived home and Clayre complimented me on my driving. She got off the motorbike to open the front door. Then two guys on a motorbike stopped next to us. When I saw them my first thought was there are motodops, which was very silly as we were on a bike ourselves and obviously arriving at our house, but that’s just the thought that crossed my mind. My second thought was that they were guys who wanted to chat us up and asking what we were up to. That thought didn’t last long as suddenly a gun was pointed to me and the other guy pointed to my motorbike. The whole scene lasted like 10 seconds but in my head so much stuff happened that it feels like it was 10 minutes. I though of saying no, please don’t take that, it’s not mine but here have my hand bag, have everything you want. Its ridiculous, but the gun didn’t scare me that much at first. I was shocked by it. It was the first time in my life I saw a real gun and here it was directed to me. Then I thought, no they just can’t take the bike, it’s only been 4 days since Amaury lend it to me, he’ll kill me. So I thought what’s the worse that could happen, he’s about to shoot in the stomach, that won’t kill me. I’m glad Clayre was there to put me off that though. She pulled me off the bike, they hopped on it and there I was just paralised, looking at them just drive off. I was speechless, motionless. Clayre was all panicked and she pulled me inside the house telling me to hurry. She locked the front door and pulled me up the stairs. I just couldn’t believe it. I kept swearing to myself. We arrived upstairs and I called Amaury to let him know for his bike. I was starting to shake a lot. He was all worried asking if we were alright and I kept apologizing for the bike. It cut off pretty quick (Cambodian mobile to Belgium mobile in France is pretty steep…). Then we called Corinne. There I just burst out in tear like a baby. I was crying so much I couldn’t breathe. She was trying to calm me down, telling me I mustn’t care about the bike and that I did the right thing. She was really comforting. That’s probably why I let go so much and couldn’t stop crying. She told us to lock the padlock inside the house (my house keys were on the with the bike’s key) and to sleep in the same bed with Clayre. That night Clayre was being much stronger than me. She’s the one who told me to get off the bike and pulled me inside the house. Then she was comforting me when I was crying.
We had a pretty rough night. I kept dreaming of the gun and the bike driving away while Clayre would wake up at the slightest noise outside. We woke up in the morning and saw the little note I had put on her door the previous morning saying “have a nice day” and we were like, yeah, that was a great day indeed. There were loads of ironies to that day. Like the way I wanted someone to escort me, or how I was all proud that I finally felt ready drive the bike, or how I told Corinne’s sister that I felt at ease and really secure in Cambodia and that I really loved my new house. She even told me that I should probably leave the bike there and take a motodop home and I was like no way, the bike will get stolen if I leave it here. Little did we know…
The next day was pretty hard. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of guilt. I felt so stupid for taking the bike that night. I thought it’d be a good idea to get used to driving because it wasn’t very far away and there is hardly any traffic at night. It didn’t even cross my mind that it could be dangerous for other reasons than my driving. I’d hardly heard any stories like that. Last week a British guy got burgled when he was in the house and when he caught the guys and tried to resist them, they knifed him and his wife and he died. But I’d never heard of stories of mugging at gun point. And I felt like I’d been so naïve to go out so late at night, two girls on a motorbike.
Clayre was dealing with this in a much more different way. She was really strong that night but the following morning she was completely freaked out. The smallest sound or movement would make her jump, even when I was talking too loud she would look terrorized as if I was about to attack her. I went to work in the morning and she got up with me to buy new locks for the doors. She came back and went to see our neighbours, two nuns from France. There she burst out into tears and they comforted her. She couldn’t stay alone. We went to the market together when I came back from work and then I was supposed to meet a friend and I made sure she could come with. It was a bit hard cos I felt like I needed someone to be there for me but I had to be there for Clayre first, and she was having a much harder time to deal with things. In the evening Kesor came to see if we were alright. A friend texted me to come have pizza with them but Clayre didn’t want to move from the house. We ate at home and went to bed pretty early. It was good to sleep and this morning, after a nice lie in, we went to a nice café near where we live and had brunch there. A bit of a treat, but felt great. We were a bit better today. Now and again it hits me what happened and I feel down again. I guess It’ll keep happening like that for a while. I can’t help but feel guilty and stupid still. No matter how much people tell me I did the right thing and that I was the victim in the story, I keep feeling bad for having lost Amaury’s bike after just 4 days. He didn’t even want to lend it to me in the first place, I asked him. And just 4 days later I manage to get it nicked. Now I’m trying to find ways to buy a new one, because no matter what he says, and I know he’s not annoyed at me now, but it will be a pain for him when he comes back and has to take a flipping motodop every day to go to work. I might have to get another job and eat noodles until July…
Clayre reminded me today that that night I blurted out “putain de pays de merde”. No need to translate. I was angry at them, that’s for sure. But that hasn’t changed a bit about how I feel about this country and about the reason why I am here. And on the positive side, I will now be more vigilant and realize that I am in Cambodia after all. I wouldn’t have gone home that late on my own or with another girl in Leeds so there’s no reason I should think it’s safe to do it in Cambodia. I would have preferred that they’d took my bag and not Amaury’s bike but at least I’m safe, I wasn’t brutalized and maybe some kind divine force decided once again to forbid me to ever be able to drive by confiscating my motorbike. Maybe I’m avoiding a deadly accident this way.
That’s what I’ll keep trying to repeat to myself anyway…