The month of May was spent in a flurry of activity helping my family prepare for a big celebration. Everytime I asked what celebration it was, they told me it was a "special" one, and that they were all very excited I could attend. I wasn't going to get a straight answer, so I didn't press it much.
It wasn't until about two weeks ago that I found out the celebration was, in fact, my host-grandmother's 1 year funeral. The special thing, they told me, is that my host-grandmother, whom I am sorry to say died before I could meet her, was so respected in the community that she was chose to have her ashes interred at a very famous, centuries old wat near our house. I, for one, was not aware that this particular wat existed. I asked ar
ound and received various answers as to the age of the wat, but from all sources, I know that the wat is at least 200 years old and may be as many as 500. How amazing is that??? All the grandmothers I have had in this world have been so awesome, and here I have one that is considered awesome enough to be interred in a holy place that could quite possibly be older than my own country?! That kinda blows my mind. Like...woah.
From what I've heard of this woman, she is the kind of person I would have chosen to be my surrogate grandmother, if I had known her during her life. In my interviews with people over the last few weeks I've learned that she was kind, generous, loving, wickedly intelligent, a survivor, a fighter, compassionate beyond measure and wise.
She survived Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge, built a life for her family and helped others as she could, and sometimes, even when she couldn't. She lived true to her Buddhist ideals, and in so doing embodied love for all life. Sometimes when snuggle with my host mom, she pets my hair and smiles down at me and whispers, "you are just like my mother. I miss her, but when she left you came into my life. I don't hurt so much because I have you" or "you love like my mother loved...it is difficult, and beautiful, to love like that."
The ceremony at the wat lasted for nearly three days, and we were at the wat nearly the entire time. It began in the pre-dawn hours of Sunday, May 30th and ended in the late midnight hours of June 1. Sunday was spent setting up the wat area for the celebration. In most villages, and mine is like most, the elderly do all this work. They are the ones that take care of the monks and help with chores, so it was a little awkward for me to watch 70, 80, and 90 year old men and women do some pretty heavy labor and be scolded and smacked when I tried to help. I suppose if I werent' their Barang I'd be allowed to help, but there is no changing who or what I am. So instead of setting up canopies and laying down the mats to sit and pray on, I played with the kids (which in itself is a service to the elders...the kids get into EVERYTHING).
Mid day, a bunch of women my mom's age came around and started setting up great big cooking pots that looked like they should be used to feed an army. Little did I know, later the ENTIRE village would show up, and they pretty much did feed an army. Anyway, they showed up and started cooking all kinds of food that I think the FDA would throw a fit over. No hand washing, no clean utensils, chopping meat and vegetables on a dirty tarp on the ground. It was awesome.
In the late afternoon the monks showed up and we went through a series of prayers. As the Barang belonging to the family of the honored deceased, I was, naturally, sat right down in front of the monks. Now with me not being steeped in Buddhist customs, and not being able to completely understand what all was being said (rapid talking + loud speaker + strange people poking me as I try to concentrate and pray = not totally aware Nikki) I did my best to grin and fake it with the proper bowing and chanting. I'd like to pause here and thank my own mother, Mrs. Kimberly Ann Canady, for forcing me to eat carrots as a child--it was your dedication to my nutrition that allowed me the peripheral vision necessary to accomplish this task.
After dinner the first night, there was a live band complete with THREE scantily clad (they wore skirts that showed their KNEECAPS!) women and a man that looked sorta like a hobo gigilo. My mom was a little dismayed that nobody was dancing. She asked me why nobody was dancing. I wanted to offer that perhaps they couldn't dance because they'd all be deafened by the impossibly loud volume of the music, but that just doesn't translate into Khmer. When you say, "wow...that's really loud," you are invariably met with an offer to turn it up even louder. Instead, I pointed out that it was impossible to get to the dance floor due to the thousands of mayflies drawn to the bright lights (post thunderstorm). She told me that bugs should be no obstacle to dancing, paired me up with one of the policemen under my father's command (he LOVED that....me, not so much) and shoved me out into the swarm to fend for myself while trying to appear graceful.
To quote a favorite song of mine, "And with the way I stare you'd think I'd seen through a 2x4. And with the way I walk you'd think I've never seen grace before."
WELL. Trying to dance traditional Khmer dancing (in a circle, very slowly with lots of elegant hand movements) is NOT easy when being bombarded by insects! I was anything but graceful. My partner didn't seem to notice, however, since he was busy making sure everyone knew that he was dancing with the white chick. He did make sure to tell me that even though I am very fat, I have a beatutiful face. Oh Cambodia, how I love thee....
And so the world turned, and night fell. And then I noticed that there were children crawling all over the outside of my grandmother's tomb. And that they were, in fact, stringing up Christmas lights. Not only Christmas lights, but BLINKING Christmas lights. Then my brother Daro mentioned something about looking for a disco ball. My grandmother's funeral was turning into a rave. I wanna say, for the record, that when I die, I want to be so epic and made of so much Win and Awesome that my funeral turns into a rave, too. Just sayin.
Anyway, the disco ball never materialized, sadly, but the party went on well into to pre dawn hours. I was hustled home for a few hours of sleep, then back at the wat for sunrise and another long day of prayer and beseeching the good spirits to guide grandmother on her journey in the next life. Her ashes, contained in a beautiful urn, were poured out on a plate and doused wtih water for nourishment, then placed on top of a prayer rug in her tomb, along with a massive bundle of burning incense. There were a few tears shed, and I lamented that I was not afforded the opportunity to meet someone so loved by her family and community. After grandmother's tomb was closed up and padlocked, there was more praying and bowing and chanting and the party was re-kindled and went well into the night.
It was durring the party, part deux, that I had the awesome opportunity to look inside the wat and talk with the monks that live there. They told me the history of the wat, though none could agree on the age of the building itself. It is at least 200 years old and maybe 500 years or more. During the Khmer Rouge, most wats were destroyed but for some reason, Pol Pot decided that this one particular building should be kept whole. It was used to store salt and grain, as well as prisioners, and while some of the artwork on the walls was destroyed by the salt, for the most part the building is remarkably intact. The structures the monks live in, just a stone's throw from the actual wat, are decrepit and disolving at a rapid rate. They are made of bamboo and palm leaves, with a few brick supports. I'm sure when my father sees this building he will have visions of OSHA complaints and fines flash through his head.
All in all, the experience was amazing and humbling. It was a very intense time and while I am sad that I never got to meet my host grandmother in life, I feel as though I've grown close to her even after her death.
Blessings from Cambodia.
(Picture 1: My grandmother's tomb, Picture 2: The old folks praying with the monks, Picture 3: One of the inside walls from the ancient wat)
