… the sounds …

As the team spending their very last day painting rooms after rooms in the Sanctuary (see photograph, a building which was originally built as a live-in child sex hotel, and is now turned to be a school/medical clinic), as their hair were caked by the red dust, moisty humidity and old paint, as their hearts are heavy with their treaded feet leaving this village …

I was woke before 6 o’clock this morning by the following lines written by Pastor Grant Wilson (the Senior Pastor of Fairview Presbyterian Church in Vancouver, B.C.) when I slept unintentionally all through the night in the family room all by myself.  I was woke up by the noises made from the far-away land.  I was not literally hearing them, yet the noises of what he wrote woke me up to a shudder, not from fear, but from the descriptive loudness, and also from one of the sounds – the business of trafficking children!  What does that sound like?  It’s not the type of sound I want to hear in the middle of the night when I am asleep, thinking that my family and I are safe at where we are.  Yet there are children 13,872 kilometres (or 8,621 miles) away think and feel absolutely otherwise. 

How can I sleep ever again??

“There are many sounds and noises in Svay Pak and in the Sanctuary. Inside the sound we hear most often is grinding. They are grinding down all the surfaces of the concrete stairs – two stair cases; Grinding. Grinding. Grinding. The grinding provides us not only with ear shattering noise but with great clouds of red dust – it is everywhere.  The sound of loud buzz accompanied by electrical zapping sounds. The sound of fresh plaster being scraped into place and there is the sound of doors slamming as the breeze blows through the building.

There are also voices. Voices of people speaking Vietnamese, sometimes Khmer, occasionally English from a Western visitor. These voices some times sing, some times speak softly and some times in louder tones.

There are also our own noises.  Noises of paint brushes and rollers.  Noises of quietness as the reno crew breaks for lunch.  Noises of our voices, often laughing.  Noises of our own sweat drops smaking into the plastic drop sheets.

There are the sounds from outside. The sounds of children at play – joyful and angry. In the afternoon you can hear the sounds of Rahab’s House, 5 doors down. From there we hear the sounds of singing and much laughter. Of course these sounds change at night as we are gone, the construction crews stops for the night.  The sound of the business of trafficking children picks up.”

That’s the the sounds of Svay Pak, Cambodia!

Believe me, that was this very sound that woke me up this morning with a shudder and also now comes my wonder!

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