Like A Rare Butterfly or A Precious Brooch

DATELINE: August 23, 2013
Patriciwa E Lyon

Mony and I began our last session at the Siem Reap Teacher Training College at noon today. At ten minutes to twelve, the floor was already covered with dark blue skirts. There were three young men in navy trousers and blue shirts in the back row. I began to arrange the scissors, clippers, thread and cotton rectangles on the two front tables.

Mony said, “I think today more students.” I worried that I might not have enough supplies. I poured the rice into plastic containers with cut-up water bottles for filling the pin cushions. Then I took out the envelope of donated sewing needles. Each needle was woven into a piece of scrap paper. The students had arranged themselves on the floor in a perfect crossword puzzle grid. They looked at me expectantly.

I visited with them a little bit as Mony translated. They smiled. I asked them if they had seen some of the things the other students had made. Yes, they had.

Mony counted 32 students. I had them move the sewing machines up against the walls.

Without words, I signaled with my hands to make the rows even more straight because more students walked in bowing politely with hands folded together. I referred to the words I had written on the board. Upon request, Mony translated the words into Khmer: button, thread, scissors, clippers, needle, pin, pin cushion. They want to know. I motioned one row at a time to come forward and get their supplies. Such a hard decision to make about the cotton rectangle, jelly beans from the inside of a vest I bought at a rummage sale at Waupun UMC? Christmas material donated by a certain friend of a friend in Delafield? A piece looking to escape my attic? Then I asked them to move one more time to find a sewing partner.

They were very intent on sewing. The room was still. Every needle had been taken from the table, just enough. Next to each student was an open notebook. The page was divided with a ruler-guided line. English on one side, Khmer on the other. They had listed all the words on the board.

After their rectangles were decorated with a button and filled with rice, they whip-stitched them shut. Then they came forward to get 6 pins apiece. (People had donated.) They selected two circles of cotton for yoyo class on Monday. They did not want to stop.

They sat for some time, holding the completed pin cushions on one hand or shyly showing them to me. Three automatically began to sweep up the rice and thread. As the Toyota pulled out, I saw them standing outside the classroom holding their pin cushions like rare butterflies or precious brooches. I wondered with Deanna if they had ever had an art class or been able to make something they could keep.

Every day I am reminded that I am still far removed from the poverty that engulfs them. They are bright and beautiful and gifted. When they are sent out as teachers, some will face between 50 and 60 children in classrooms without electricity. They will shape Cambodia’s future.