Taxi Conversations : A refugee of the genocide

* This is not a political piece. I just wanted to write about a cab driver's story, someone i met 3 years back, who has earned my respect and admiration.*

It was a rainy morning in Arlington in April 2010, and we decided to take a cab, instead of the Metro. It was a good 15 minutes walk from where we were to the nearest train station. We were just glad to have found a cab who was willing to take us to downtown DC for a very important meeting.

I was with an Indonesian colleague, and decided to strike up a conversation with the cab driver, who was more than willing to exchange a few stories. He said that traffic is manageable, but can get bad sometimes, and that it's a bit difficult to find a cab from where we were staying. Then he suddenly asked, "You are Asians?". It was actually more of a statement, than a question.

My Indonesian colleague said yes, and i tried to look into his eyes through the rearview mirror. He did not sound Asian, but he definitely had an accent, but i just cannot guess what country he was from. More conversations about our work (as development workers), and after around 15 minutes, we were in front of our office building. He gave us his business card, just in case we wanted a ride going to the airport. We said our goodbyes, and promised to call him the following day, as my Indonesian colleague was about to leave.

Unfortunately, we did not call him, as previous arrangements have been made for my colleague. But i made sure that the following day, the day of my flight back to Manila, that i call this cab driver so he can take me to the airport. I was curious as to where he was from, and wanted to know if his ethnicity is Asian.

On the day of my flight, he picked me up, and as soon as i got into his cab, he told me that Asians have a very different character -- that we honor our word, and we give respect to people. We promised to call him for his services, and we did. If it were other nationalities, he said, they would have just thrown out his business card, and ignored their agreement. This got me more curious. I said that it was nothing, and that for a Filipino like me, word of honor (i told him we call it "palabra de honor", which is actually spanish), is something that we value. His eyes suddenly lit up, and he looked at me, turning his head to actually look into my eyes. He said, "ah yes, i know that Filipinos use a lot of Spanish words, because you were colonized by the Spaniards".

I couldn't help myself anymore. I asked him if he was Asian, and if he has been to the Philippines. He said, "Yes, I am from Cambodia. I have been to Palawan when i became a refugee after the war. I love the Philippines and the Filipinos, because you treated us like human beings." I found out that he lost a lot of relatives and family members during the genocide in Cambodia, after the civil war. He said that only him and his sister survived. But he lost her, as she was transferred to a different refugee camp, while he was initially sent to Thailand. He became quiet for a moment, then said, "I had fun in Palawan, unlike in Thailand. The Filipinos treated me like a brother, like a family." He said that he would like to go back to Palawan. And i told him that he should.

We talked some more, and i found out that he met a US-born Cambodian woman when he arrived in America. They got married, and now they have 2 teen-age kids, a girl, and a boy. I asked him if he plans to go back to Cambodia soon, and his response was a firm, "No! I have no more family there, my family is here in America." He certainly doesn't have a Cambodian accent now, his was more of a Latino accent.

After about 45 minutes, we reached the Dulles International Airport. I got out of his cab, and he helped me with my luggage. As i was paying him, i asked if i could take his photo for souvenir. He smiled, and declined. But he reached out his hand and told me, "My name is George. Thank you for asking me things. My kids never dared to ask me about my past, and i am not sure if they are even interested to know." I was surprised with his words, and i saw deep sadness in his eyes. All i could manage was to say, "They will when they're ready." Then i said goodbye.

I felt sad for George (i wonder what his Cambodian name is), and hoped that he could somehow share his dark past with his children. And i promised to write a blog entry about him. But i couldn't find the perfect timing, and the perfect motivation, not until today.

I visited Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and the Killing Fields in Phnom Penh a few months after. My heart felt so heavy, especially because i was thinking of George and the family that he lost. I kept on thinking whether his children would someday share his pain by knowing at least about what happened during the genocide.

The genocide museum and the killing fields are now tourist destinations in Cambodia, but i hope the tourists don't forget that there are still a lot of people like George.

Today, I had a sudden urge to write about my conversation with George. I guess it was because a few days back, i had a casual conversation with some high school friends about a play that we produced in high school. It was called "Takas" (to break free), about a Cambodian refugee in Palawan, who developed a deep friendship with a Filipino boy. I don't remember the character names, but i do remember George. And i just hope that he finds genuine peace of mind and stillness of the heart.

Photos of the Killing Fields: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.391085642806.170604.537402806&type=3

Photos of the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150093813267807.272349.537402806&type=3

May 04, 2013, Saturday, My Shoebox

Kiss The Rain

We are under the same sky. #6wordPoetry

My song: Kiss the Rain

04 May 2013, 6:35pm

Saturday, My shoebox