The meaning of life

I wake up to someone knocking on my door. “TUM, TUM, TUM, TUM! Mr. Osssoliuh, Mr. Ossoliuh, wake up! It is time!” I groan, pull my hand out of my boxers, roll to my left side, and slightly open my eyes. The sun flashes at full strength, making me close them instantly and bury my head in the pillow. “TUM, TUM, TUM, Mr. Ossoliuh, TUM TUM TUM TUM!” “Please… give me 10 minutes, okay? …Thank you…” That was Mr. Teh.

I met Mr. Teh yesterday, seconds after my arrival in Pursat. He fetched me when I stepped off the bus. “Need a room, Sir? Very cheap, 4 dollars! I take you there. No charge.” “Okay, I can see the room.”

We drove on his motorbike. No more than 100 meters later, he stopped at a guesthouse. “Is this it?” I asked. “Yes, Sir. Free internet and television.”

I inspected the room. The price was fair: a double bed, toilet with cold shower, and a cable television that would allow me to follow the Australian Open and the Football Asian Cup quarterfinals. “I’ll take it.” “Sir, tomorrow would you like to go to the floating village?”

Back in my room, I finally managed to roll out of bed. A mirror was in front of me, and I got a glimpse of my condition: unshaven, six months without a haircut, thin as usual, and huge dark circles under my eyes. I brushed my teeth with my right hand while trying to put on my trousers—everything in a hurry; Mr. Teh was waiting. I threw on my yellowish (once white) shirt, combed my hair with my fingers, and, just before leaving, had a quick look in the mirror. “Boy, nobody will take me seriously today…”

Mr. Teh sat outside the guesthouse, smiling as I approached. “Good morning, Sir. How do you feel today?” “Wonderful!” I lit a cigarette and looked at the sky—not a single cloud, blue as the ocean. “Did you have breakfast already?” I asked, feeling some weird noises in my belly.

We sat down to eat. I ordered fried rice with egg and a cup of hot, strong black coffee. Mr. Teh ordered the same, but with tea. “So… how old are you?” I ventured. “I’m 29, and you?” I took a good look at him. He didn’t look older than 18. “I’m two years younger than you.”

Mr. Teh would drive me to the floating village of Kampong Chhnang, about 35 km from Pursat. While waiting for our food, I asked several questions. His English was fairly good, allowing for a good conversation. He was married, had two boys and one girl. His wife didn’t work but took care of the family while selling small handicrafts. He had studied for 11 years, and when I asked about his subjects, he answered, “The meaning of life.” I couldn’t help but smile and asked if he quit because he hadn’t found any meaning in it. He nodded, so I changed the subject to geography.

“Do you know where Portugal is?” I asked. “No, Sir, I don’t.”

I picked up my Point It book (thanks to my colleagues at Neue Digitale Berlin) and showed him the world map. I pointed out Asia, Cambodia’s position, then Europe, and finally the small pink rectangle representing Portugal. “Ah! Very small,” he said, fascinated. He had never really looked at a world map. I wondered how the Cambodian Ministry of Education could have omitted geography from their 11-year program of “The Meaning of Life.”

After finishing my coffee, we stood up. Mr. Teh asked if I would like to stay in Cambodia and teach English. I thanked him but explained I had no qualifications to teach English or any other subject. He seemed puzzled, so we hopped on his motorbike and hit the road.

It was a wonderful morning in Pursat. I wasn’t wearing a helmet, and since I’m about 30 cm taller than Mr. Teh, the wind hit my face at 50 km/h—it’s easy to understand why dogs love it.

After half an hour, Mr. Teh touched my left leg with his hand and asked, “Is it healthy to have a lot of sex with women?”

I wasn’t prepared for such a complicated question at 9 a.m., but I tried my best. “Well, it depends… if you protect yourself, use a condom, then biologically, it’s fine. Whether it’s healthy for your mind… I’m not so sure. Do you have sex with a lot of women?” “No, just with my wife.” “Oh, then that shouldn’t be a problem, at any level.” “But what happens when she doesn’t want to have sex?”

This was not getting easier. I was enjoying the wind, thinking of my childhood, old friends, and good memories, and now I had to think about Mr. Teh’s sexual life. “Well… then you might have to talk to her, understand why she doesn’t want to, and if you still feel like it, you can always masturbate.” “What is that?” Oh boy… I should have stayed in bed. “Well… you know… you have your hands…” “Ah!!! But it’s much better with a woman!” he exclaimed triumphantly. I closed my eyes and felt the wind on my face.

We soon reached the floating village. The smell of fish and garbage was nauseating. My fried rice threatened to come back up. As I stepped off the motorbike, a woman guided me to a long-nose boat. “10 USD per hour,” I bargained it down to 5. With a kick of the engine, we sailed through the village. Houses, markets, pagodas, gas stations, mobile shops, even a church—everything floated here. It was wonderful and insane! Each building was wooden and painted in vivid colors, creating a chromatic feast for the eyes.

Dozens of boats came and went. Some stopped at houses, selling fish directly to the people — fresh fish on demand. The water was black and greasy, with undulating oil patterns that refracted and scattered the light.

A small cat was tormented by a kid with a water pistol, chased along the bamboo platforms supporting the houses. Poor animal… if there is a cat’s hell, this must be it.

An hour later, we returned to land. Flying insects landed on my hair, buzzing angrily close to my ears. I find Mr. Teh was surrounded by locals looking at the world map in my Point It book. “China is very big!” says Mr Teh. “Well… it has roughly one-sixth of the world’s population,” I replied.

His eyes opened wide as he lifted his head from the book and looked at me. I knew that expression — I had seen it this morning, and I knew then we would have plenty to talk about…