Phnom Penh has been a tormented and tantalizing melange of emotions over the past two weeks yet I feel ready to bid adieu. One week was required to "warm up" to this place, despite the actual temperature reaching being freakishly hot degrees. The following week arrested my soul and I fell in love with the people, the smiles, the attentive students, the Tuk Tuk ride to school, my rooftop workout routine the riverfront, and even our charming little rue in the ghetto.

That's right, we were in the ghetto.

In my experience, it's quite universal that neighborhoods next to airports seem to be more run down than other parts of town. I guess when one has a choice to live where planes landing rattles your entire Home and explodes your eardrums, or to live where planes soar soundlessly 200000m above the rooftops, most would chose the latter. In phnomn penh however, choice barely exists. The people go where they need to go in order to survive.

We did live in the ghetto. Smack dab in an oasis of nicer, newly built narrow complexes. We were living on a small island where a couple other young families where making a go in their new condos in this developing neighborhood. In the daytime it was hot and dusty like the rest of phonomenal penh with mocking birds chirping, listless tots playing in the street, and the coconut men swinging by our door at 10am for our morning post class snack. But there was no questioning why we had a stict 10 pm curfew every night. We were on island in a sea of KTVs. Three streets down to the south and to the west, which I could see in plain sight form our rooftop, rested the sex trafficking hub of Southeast Asia. It's no wonder Tuk Tuk drivers would question, "why you live here?" KTVs are Kareoke joints where men can go to drink cheap beer and get attention from the young, country girl who needs fast cash to feed her family.

Waht many, a new dear friend, and courageous, intelligent, honest and good hearted Cambodian man explained to us is that most of the young girls that work at the KTVs actually aspire to be there. As country girls, they come from unimaginably poor families, who send them to the city for government factory work at a very young age. Sometimes as young as 15 even though the legal age is 18. So these innocent young "country chickens" as many referred to them, arrive in the city with little to no education, little to no exposure to life outside their conservative village, and are suddenly thrown into the wicked chicken coop where the pecking order is rough. The one thing they have going for them is their innocence. Just like chickens in the literal sense- meat from the fresh countryside is often preferred to the scrawny polluted city chicks- and this reigns true in the KTVs world too. The nights we did Tuk Tuk home nearing 10pm we witnessed police cars at the larger joints. Many explained to us this is not a raid against sex trafficking, but what most likely occurred is the police were called due to men brawling over the youngest, freshest most attentive country chick of their choice. Many made it pretty clear that these KTVs do not necessarily have rooms for sex, but the girls are lured by nice motorbikes and promises of big tips if they cross the street to the "hotel" next door.

So these young ladies either work nearly to death underage at the factories or get to sty up all night and sing and receive attention from men. There are promising rumors about rich men and huge tips that mask putting their body up for sale. And to us western girls this may seem unfathomable until we think about the fairytale stories we grew up with like pretty woman, where Prince Charming is just one lucky limo ride away.

The difference between us and them is we have so many more options. We have opportunity for education, there's at least a Denny's that needs third shift servers, or foodbanks with healthy options.

It was a surreal feeling when driving past lines and lines and lines of these women. What did we look like to them? To give you the magnitude of how many of these establishments surrounded our neighborhood next to the airport, I am not exaggerating that we drove down a bumpy poorly paved path for five minutes straight of its after Kts after kTv. Some are crowded some our not. Some have pool inside. Some you can hear the laughter and what seems to be fun ringing outside the walls. Some have 20 young girls done to the nines in their high high heals, short skirts, big necklaces, and white powder, sitting on couches jut outside the narrow walls, beckoning at any male counterpart that drives by on a moto. Some of these ktvs may not be much different than the stop clubs in America, where waitresses are just paid to entertain.

The girls who do earn cash in this way do not let their families know as most likely they'd be austiciizied.

We rode along that foreign street lined with Kareoke and drinks for long enough for me to start planning an escape route in my head, how do we get out of this Situation? Where are we? It's not like I felt like Our Tuk Tuk would be hijacked and we'd be drugged then repeatedly raped taken style, but it was not a place for two white girls to be late at night.

And how pitiful my selfishness of getting home safely seems when locking eyes passing by one of these little ladies.

Most of the girls grew up on farms that just could not produce enough to eanr wages enough to support a family. Their fathers may be prey to the deforestation industry huge corporations run incollaboration with thencambodian government. Often these laborer a are overworked to the point of death. It is extremely common to die on the job, with zero repercussions for the family. All they know is dad did not one home today and they cannot question in fear of being keilled themselves.

As many and amihcelle and I spoke of then trajedies of Cambodian culture there was a surreal feeling pitted deep inside me. I thought I imagined many's response to my question, what about the prime minister? "I cannot talk about it or I might be killed." But michelle later confirmed she heard him say this too. He also shared that several NGO workers wahoo have challenged thenroregstatioj and overwork practices have disappeared and no one knows if they are alive, I provisioned, or what happened.

So there is this tragic nonsensical side to cambodia that one is continaullynadjustingntoo. It also makes it easy and difficult to leave. I'm leaving after two weeks of teaching 11-15 year olds who come from improverished families. I can only pray they stay in school or somehow my two weeks of influence can remind them of their worth enough to continue studying or have opportunity to work anywhere but a kTv