My monky moment

(Note: This is not a picture of the monk in this blog. And I did not take this picture. The monk mentioned in this blog looks a lot like this though.)

When I walked into my host family’s house the other night, there was an unfamiliar man watching TV inside. A brown man with a shaved head whose left arm and pec were naked. The rest of his body was wrapped in orange cloth. He was a monk. 

It’s hard to avoid monks in Cambodia. I’ve seen them in temples, at ceremonies, walking the streets asking for money, and even in my university classes. But I’ve never seen monks just hanging out, watching TV. What was this holy man doing in my host family’s house?

After peeking in at the guy, I peek back out, to ask my host dad why the monk’s here. He says because construction of his new house is finished. (He’d said that monks would bless his house when complete.) OK. I peek back in.

I’d heard that women aren’t supposed to make eye contact with monks or talk to them, but I don’t want to ignore the guy. I’m not comfortable kneeling in front of him and bowing in prayer like Khmer people. So I joom reap suah him, which means I say the polite version of hello with my hands in a flat-palmed prayer gesture.

He doesn’t  joom reap suah me back. He doesn’t respond at all. My family laughs. I think I must have done the wrong thing and go outside for dinner. The monk doesn’t join us for the meal. Monks don’t eat dinner, my host dad says. Water is all they have in the evening.

During dinner, I grill my host dad. Why didn’t the monk acknowledge me? Was I rude? No, maybe he is rude, is my answer. Is it OK for me to talk to monks? My host dad answers by yelling a question inside. “Che Anglais? (Do you speak English?)” “Ought che (No),” comes the answer.

I continue asking questions about monk-female-foreigner relations until the monk emerges. He stands in the doorway and splits his lips into perhaps the largest smile I’ve seen in Cambodia. I smile back, then look away, embarrassed. He retreats inside, before returning a few minutes later to sit on the bamboo bed near me.

I ask my host dad if he and the monk are friends. He says no. The monk finally speaks up. He says my host dad is his brother. I think he means brother in the monky way, but my host dad’s not a monk. Yes, my host dad confirms, they really are brothers.

“What?” I ask. Why didn’t he tell me this half an hour ago when I was wondering why the guy was here? 

Turns out he’s not here to bless my host dad’s house after all. He’s just here to hang out with his brother.

The monk gets friendlier after this breakthrough. He tells me he can speak a little English, and I tell him I can speak a little Khmer. I ask him about his monkhood.

How long has he been a monk? Three years.

How much longer will he be a monk? Seven years.

Why did he become a monk? Because he wants to study. Monks can study for cheap at university and assumedly for free at temples.

Do a lot of Khmer men choose the monkhood path to get cheap schooling? Yes.

What is he studying? Buddhism.

Does he like being a monk? Yes.

Is it difficult being a monk? No. My host dad says he thinks it would be difficult not eating dinner. But the monk says he can drink coffee and coke for dinner.

Doesn’t coffee and coke keep him awake? No.

What time does he go to bed? 9 or 10.

Doesn’t he have to go to bed at the same time as the other monks? No.

What time does he get up? 5.

What does he do all day? Pray.

Is it OK for me to talk to him and look at him? Yes. But it’s not OK for me to touch him or his robe.

What happens if I touch him or his clothes? Does he have to wash himself? No. Nothing happens.

How many robes does he have? Three.

Does he sleep in the robe? No. He sleeps in an undergarment, which is the same tangerine as the robe he’s wearing right now.

Why does he wear the tangerine robe instead of the maroon, dark orange or bright orange robe? He likes the color.

So a monk chooses his robe based on what color he likes? Maybe. He says there are only two real robe colors. Those monks who wear the other colors are just poseurs. (He doesn’t say it exactly like this but I don’t understand what he says.) I have repeatedly tried — and failed — to get the robe colors explained to me. Maybe they have something to do with the level of monkhood? 

What will he do when he finishes being a monk? (No clear answer.)

Will he get married? Yes.

Will he sleep in my house tonight? Yes. (He then goes to do just that.)

Later, I hear him talking through the wall. “Yes!” I think, “I get to hear him chanting!” Then I realize that I can easily understand his words. He’s speaking English. “I’m at my brother’s house,” he says. “In Sisophon.” He’s not chanting, he’s talking on his cell phone.

When I wake up in the morning he is gone.