The Village

NHCC. That's what everyone called it. The letters rolled off the tongues of the students and volunteeers easily. No one needing reminding of what it meant. New HOpe for Cambodian Children. Most people would call it an orphanage, but those that live there call it a village. Tucked away in the country side, folded up in the its own corner of a small Cambodian town, NHCC is its own world. 

There live over 200 children, some as young as three, others almost ready for university, all without parents in their lives, all HIV positive. In any other place, that description would spell out a grim picture.

But at NHCC, that picture is something completely different. It has been turned from black and white to a riot of color. Against all odds, NHCC is filled with happiness, filled with joy and love.

Within moments of my arrival, I met Patrick. A long time volunteer at NHCC, he’d been in Cambodia since January. He’d stay until December. I met Davis, a volunteer teacher, and one of the sweetest, most energetic and loving westerners I had met in southeast Asia. I met Malin, a Cambodian woman in charge of the volunteers. She worked just as hard, or harder than everyone else, getting supplies, creating schedules, approving changes.

And I met the kids.

The kids. Fragile but hopeful. The largest hearts put into the tiniest bodies. They never stopped laughing, they never stopped smiling. They never stopped running towards you with open arms.

The week—how could it just have been one week?—was a week of transformations. It was a week that could have held a year. A week where love was the word of the day, everyday.

Our role there, as volunteers was to help out however we could. Mostly, that took the form of tutoring kids. We worked one on one with them, creating games to teach them the ABCs, or explaining why we need to carry the one when we add up big numbers. We helped out during class, giving overworked teachers a little break, giving the kids extra love and attention.

Amongst all the good there could hardly have been any bad. Who would have guessed that waking up at 5:30 in the morning would eventually feel normal? Or that finding a dead rat in the water stored for showers would eventually seem funny?

French fries for breakfast and at every other meal became a running inside joke. We survived having too many bodies in one un-air-conditioned dorm room in 100°F.

In between the heat and in between the mundane moments of daily life at an impossibly magical place, were the best moments.

Peaceful bus rides back home after a day at the water park. Painting a mural of the galaxy while a gaggle of little kids wanted to play, distracted by a bunch of coloring sheets. Kids learning to spell our names and writing them everywhere. Pushing one child, then another, then another on the swings. Disorganized tag games. The chaos of water balloon fights. Decorated Easter eggs. The relief and giddy joy found in the pouring rain. And disco night, when all the kids relaxed, dancing to their own tune, crazy lights and loud music floating off into the dark Cambodian night.

And come time to say goodbye, a line of children followed us. They watched as we swung out bags into the truck. Last hugs. Last goodbyes. They watched, waving and calling out to us as we drove away, growing smaller in the distance, but staying close in our hearts.