A Day in the Life.....

Sat at a folding steel table in the shade of a small tree we finished off the fresh coconut juice, paid the bill, 1400 riel or around $0.30c for 2, and got back on our moto, taking the emptied coconuts tied up in a bag to eat later.
Our plans for Tuesday included collecting a photographic record of possible sites and buildings in which to place the 3 computer centers IDRC will be funding here.
It was 12.00 midday with one done and the last ones just a short drive away, off the main roads and into the patchwork of rice fields. We crossed the main tarmac road to follow the smaller dirt road to Angkaol and raised red orange dust in clouds as we bounced through the stones and potholes past stilted houses and duck ponds, holding our breaths and squinting when oncoming traffic gave us a cloud of their own to navigate through.
It was a beautiful day, sunshine with a cool slow breeze and we drove through an agricultural landscape that looked for all the world as if it hadnt changed for centuries. Naked kids were playing in the deeper ponds splashing and laughing and calling Hello in mid dives into the silty brown water whilst waving madly, farmers were slowly moving along in their fields weeding and checking the rice plants, and old people watched from the shade underneath their houses as we passed by.
Over a few small bridges crossing drainage dykes, and the road bends and curves along towards small hills for around 3 km. At our plodding pace, the first of the hills steadily arrived.
Phum Phnom Leav is a small quiet village built around the road near the entrance to Wat Phnom Leav, a pagoda on a hill. The village market runs along the road edge, selling the household basics, fruit, vegetables and fish that all small markets here sell. The roadside was littered with the junk and remains of the mornings activities and most people were now sitting in the shade away from the midday sun. Dogs meandered around, overheated and underfed, digging at the wilted trash for something to eat. Music played from some of the houses, and people turned to stare at the barang passing through. Round another bend and a group of teenagers were playing snooker on an ancient dusty table under a hot corrugated tin roof opposite a shop selling battery charging services, using a loud chugging generator to refill the nights car batteries. An old man, obviously drunk, was driving a black 50cc Honda older than God in a weaving line coming slowly towards us whilst sticking his feet out to keep his balance. I moved to give him more space and slowed a little when suddenly he accelerated right across the road.

CRUNCH.

I saw the stones in the road rushing up and I remember shouting out as I hit the ground with my right shoulder, still holding onto the handlebars, it wasnt a word, maybe Grrrr or something equally useful. I remember looking left as I shouted, and seeing Z falling spread eagled to land on top of me. But I dont remember him hitting us and Im not sure where he hit us. The next moment I was pulling my leg out from under our moto while Z climbed off me with a dazed look on her face. She told me that she was ok and unhurt. She walked a few paces away and then grabbed my arm and thats when I realised I was shouting again. I was trying to pull free and turn towards the old drunk, I managed it twice, and twice, she grabbed me back. Shock, surprise, and adrenaline had turned immediately to anger and she could see it, at the time, I didnt even realize I was doing it. The teenagers in the snooker hall had all stopped to watch, and were asking if I was angry in hushed voices, Z told them I was just injured and hurting. The old guy had wheeled his Honda a long way away and was walking back staggering and shouting with a loud, deep voice while the rapidly assembling crowd of villagers were watching with interest. The snooker hall section of the crowd offered Z a small blue plastic chair and she sat down trembling while I bent forward with my hands on my knees, trying not to vomit. The pain in my shoulder was incredible and I was beginning to shake too. Z tried to call for help on her cellphone, the boss in PP, the district police chief that we had met earlier, anyone she could think of, but nobody was answering. I could see the panic beginning to rise in her, fumbling with the phone and asking me who to call. The shouting drunk was now at my left shoulder and although I didnt understand the language I knew he was calling for attention. The crowd seemed to be listening to him and the few friendly faces I could see were the kids laughing and pointing, the rest were just blank stares. He was gesturing angrily, repeating the same phrase and staring angrily at me, I took off my hat and sunglasses and stepped closer, looking him directly in the eye, trying not to be intimidated and at the same time wanting simultaneously both to beat him up and to take Z and run. He swatted at my arm and the crowd ooohed and went a little quieter. He spoke to the crowd again and I hadnt a clue what he was saying, a little fear of what might result began to creep in amongst the adrenaline, pain, and shock. He showed the crowd 3 small scratches on the toes of his left foot, and the crowd looked and talked, so I showed the road rash on my right arm and the crowd murmured on. A few inquisitive people politely looked more closely at my jeans and tshirt, so I pulled open the neck of the shirt to show the dark red mark where I had hit the road. The pain in my shoulder was getting worse. He shouted louder and the look in his eye became angrier and meaner.
I think this was around the time that I began to realise the possibilities of who we could be dealing with.
An hour or so earlier, and perhaps 10km away, Z had pointed out where 3 backpackers, 2 Brits and an Aussie, had been kidnapped from a train in 1997 as we had crossed the train tracks on exactly the same level crossing. They were taken by the remnants of the Khmer Rouge and were not seen alive again. When she told me about that, I had thought about an introductory meeting 2 weeks earlier when I had shaken hands with an old man who told me an hour later that he had joined the Khmer Rouge in 1996, but had left when government forces had offered him a motorbike. The site of that introductory meeting was less than 5km from where I was stood right now, preparing to defend myself and Z against, or argue with, a drunken 55 year old in front of a still gathering crowd.
I walked to the moto, picked it up and got it off the road.
Then the policeman turned up, immaculately dressed and pressed with not a hair out of place, wading through a dusty crowd of poor farmers and grimy barefooted kids.
Id like to say that Ive never been so glad to see a policeman, as his arrival had a startling effect on the drunk, but both Z and I looked at each other and both had the same thought in mind…. this is going to cost a fortune.
Z was still frantically trying to raise someone on the cellphone while he was asking our names and taking the chassis number of the moto. Then she got through to the district police chief. We had met him when we had first come to this area to work, Z introduced IDRCs project in informal meetings to all of the authorities here, and now, with a little luck, that meeting may well pay off, although not in any anticipated way. The chief spoke on the phone to the policeman we were dealing with, and also immediately dispatched one of his own men with 2 deputies to help us. The drunk, who had at first calmed down when the policeman arrived, was now shouting at him too. The crowd seemed to have made their decision and were now laughing at the drunk, and it was the policemans turn to shout.
The atmosphere lightened a little further with the arrival of the second policeman and his deputies, as the drunk now sat and rocked on his heels with his head in his hands at the side of the road, and a small child came and stood next to me with his bicycle and repeatedly mimed falling off it and clutching his arm, much to my amusement!
All crash and accident site details recorded and names taken, and upon agreeing to return to the police station the next day, we were offered a lift home by the 2 deputies. By now around one and a half hours had passed since the accident and I couldn’t lift my arm or move it at the shoulder, so I couldnt drive. Their offer was gladly accepted and 45 minutes later we, and our moto, were back at the hotel and were explaining to the owner of the rented moto what had happened to his bike.
It felt very, very good to be home and after cutting off my tshirt, cleaning up the dusty grazes, and downing a couple of painkillers, we thanked ourselves for building a decent first aid kit back in PP before we came here.
Then it was time to figure out the damage. Z had some scratches on her right knee, but thankfully nothing more than that.
Looking in the dark bathroom mirror (no electricity) and experimentally moving both arms it took a while for me to realize that one of my shoulders was maybe 2 inches lower than the other and that my right arm was moving in a most unusual way. After the sick realization that I was stuck with a broken shoulder in rural Cambodia had faded we sat on our bed and talked our minds straight again into the evening.
The next day, another moto ride, 3 up, took us back to the chiefs office to recap the accident and give a statement to the police. It was a nerve wracking trip on the bumpy roads as we worried about what would happen and whether we, particularly I, would be charged and held responsible either legally or financially for the previous days collision.
We need not have worried. The aggressive drunk of the day before was now a picture of abject servitude, sat on the floor next to the small, lone, police occupied desk in the same bare room as his confiscated moto. A thumbprint signed independent witness statement was resting on the desk. His wife and daughter were there too, although they werent quite as close to the floor as he was. The police opened by sternly speaking to him, then asked us what we would like to do. Z was interpreting and the impression that I got was that the police were saying it was our choice as to what would happen to the guy.
We had agreed the night before that it had just been bad luck, an accident that could have happened anywhere and to anyone, and that, in fact, we had all been very lucky to not be more seriously hurt. We told this to the police and asked that he sign an agreement not to drink and drive again, and not to cause us any problems while we were working in the area. Everyone agreed to that, and the police made it clear that if he were caught again he would be put in jail. Without further ado, he signed.
More stern words for him from the chief and it was all over.

Injuries?
I have a broken right collarbone, a broken rib, and a little grazing from the road, and there were some aches and pains for Z over the next few days.

Costs?
Police and legal = None. Not a penny. Zero.
Medical = $10 X-ray, $35 Orthopedic surgeon consultation.

Time taken to finalise paperwork with police etc?
29 hours from the crash to the end of all obligations.

Many, many thanks to everyone who helped us.

R.