Read the book: «Spice»

-Chapter Three-

Safe Haven

Ravuth shielded his eyes against the bright beam shining in his face. The man wielding the torch spoke, but Ravuth couldn’t understand him. The man lowered the torch and Ravuth could make out a large silhouetted figure as two soldiers rushed over and shone their torches at him.

A soldier spoke to Ravuth in Khmer, “Who are you and where did you come from?”

Ravuth replied with a quake in his voice, “My name is Ravuth. I am looking for my family and I came from the jungle.”

The man in the background spoke to the soldiers, who ordered Ravuth to go with them. Terrified, he did as instructed and they went into a well-lit tent where a soldier told Ravuth to sit.

He could now see the man who was a large, rotund foreigner with a grey beard. He wore a black smock with a white circular collar and a smiling old face that put Ravuth at ease.

The man said something to a soldier and left the tent. The Thai soldier told Ravuth that he was in a refugee camp near Chantaburi, Thailand, that housed Cambodians fleeing from the southern province Khmer Rouge. He told him that the man who just left the tent was Father Donal Eggleton, an English priest who ran the camp.

Donal returned to the tent with a hot bowl of noodles. He laid it on a table, motioning for Ravuth to eat.

Ravuth ate, while the soldiers and priest spoke amongst themselves.

When they had finished, the Khmer-speaking Thai soldier told him, “You are safe and can stay here.” Then the soldier noticed something.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the banana leaf box tucked into Ravuth’s shirt.

Ravuth took out the box, removed the photographs, and handed them to the soldier.

“These are of my family,” he said.

The Thai soldier looked at the photographs and showed them to the priest who looked and then handed them back to Ravuth. He then said something to the soldier who told Ravuth,

“Keep them safe. We don’t get many people coming through now. This camp is only a transit stop. It is the first port of call and from here we move the Cambodian people to permanent camps in Thailand or send them abroad if eligible.” He looked at the bedraggled youngster, smiled and said, “Good luck finding your family Ravuth.”

The priest again said something to the soldier who translated, “We will take you somewhere to sleep and come see you in the morning.”

They took Ravuth to a small bivouac and then left. Feeling confused, but safe, Ravuth lay on a thin grass mat under a low canvas roof canopy. He held onto his box, which he placed on his stomach and fell asleep.

The next morning Ravuth awoke at daybreak and wandered around the camp. The Cambodian refugees were starting their day, and pots of rice and water bubbled away on open fires. Ravuth gazed at his country-folk, who, although happy to be safe, had a look on their faces, which Ravuth could only later describe as fear and despair.

A family invited Ravuth to join them and share their food. They told him how they and others had escaped the Khmer Rouge when they overthrew Phnom Penh. The father told Ravuth of their horrific journey to the Thai border, both in their motorcar, and then on foot. Ravuth could see the fear in the parents and the trembling children’s eyes as they told him of the atrocities they had witnessed, their narrow escape, and the chilling accounts of what had happened to the others in their party who never made it to the camp. He listened and after hearing similar stories from the other refugees, Ravuth felt trepidation for the safety of his family and cried himself to sleep every night for the first few months.

Ravuth spent the next few years at the transit camp. He learned that the Church of England still had several missionaries and clerics in Cambodia who they now believed slaughtered after setting up the camps there. With only a few Cambodians who had escaped the Khmer Rouge coming in, word permeated through the camp of the genocide and atrocities committed in Cambodia.

After showing his photographs to the Cambodians who came through, and with no one recognising his family, he became disheartened, fearing that he would never see them again.

Ravuth settled into a lonely unrewarding life. Father Eggleton and the occasional visiting missionary taught him English, while the Thai soldiers taught him Thai. He could now speak three languages, although he could only read and write in Thai and English. Ravuth made himself useful in the camp, both as a cook and a translator; an invaluable asset with the new refugees brought in. He put the terrified individuals at ease, by cooking them Cambodian food, although he noticed the later arrivals looked so malnourished they only sipped water and most died soon after arriving. Father Eggleton and Ravuth grew close. Donal had spent his life with the clergy and never married or had children, so he cared for him like a son. Ravuth never knew his date of birth, as birthdays were not something rural Cambodians knew or celebrated. Father Eggleton knew this could pose problems for Ravuth. With birth certificates made in Thailand for Cambodian refugees’ repatriation, the priest applied for a passport, giving Ravuth the same day and month as him, guessing him to be around his late teens. Several weeks later, Donal handed Ravuth a small brown-paper-wrapped package, smiled, and said, “Happy eighteenth birthday, Ravuth.”

Ravuth eyes widened as he opened the present and flicked through the small bible, which he later put in his treasure box.

The year was 1978. Now in his late 50s, Father Eggleton’s health deteriorated because of the damp climate, poor hygiene, and diet, along with the tropical diseases exposed to over the years in the dirty camp. The English church council decided that Donal had done enough in his lifetime to help the underprivileged and needy. It was now time to replace him for a younger priest. They wanted him back in England to spend his remaining years at a quiet country parish. Donal agreed but insisted on one stipulation.

The young Cambodian had never seen nor heard of an aeroplane before, let alone been on one. Ravuth sat on board a DC-10 Thai International aircraft, bound for Heathrow Airport, London. He squeezed father Eggleton’s hand as the plane went airborne, but once they flew above the clouds, Ravuth felt excited but nervous. He stared out of the plane’s window, overawed by this strange new world on his way to a new life.

Ravuth drank a Coca-Cola and enjoyed the fizzy sensation and the taste of the first cold drink he had ever had.

The flight was a long, tedious thirty hours with several refuelling stops along the way, giving Ravuth time to wander around different airports and see other races. It was a journey filled with wonder for the Cambodian boy.

‘Wait until I tell Oun about this,’ he thought, and although feeling sad when thinking about his family, he smiled.

Father Eggleton, with help from the church’s legal departments, waded through the red tape in Thailand and got temporary custody for Ravuth. Once in England, they went to the Parish of St. Wulfram in Rutland, near Grantham, and moved into the vicarage.

Ravuth loved his new home, which felt strange at first.

Father Eggleton chuckled after showing him the light switch and Ravuth stared wide-eyed as the light went on and off.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a large radio.

Father Eggleton tried to explain and Ravuth asked, “And what’s that?”

For the first few days, Ravuth questioned everything. He found it difficult at first to sleep on a bed, preferring the hard floor, but he soon became accustomed to the mattress as the stone floor felt cold.

Father Eggleton regained his strength and took up his position as the parish vicar.

Because he didn’t feel confident enough to speak English at first, Ravuth was shy and reclusive, but the small English community took the little lad from Cambodia to their hearts. The townsfolk were unaware and uninformed of Pol Pot and Cambodia’s plight. These were English country folk, with no interest in events taking place 7,000 miles away. They had their own concerns, trying to get their local heroin, Maggie Thatcher, into the Prime Minister’s spot.

Ravuth lived in a small room at the vicarage and assisted Father Eggleton with his clerical duties. The priest was a kind man, but the church paid him little, so the congregation rallied around to help with clothing for Ravuth, who spent his days in the church cleaning and helping organise events. He was too old to attend school, so father Eggleton spent afternoons educating him in English history, current affairs, and mathematics, which, with Ravuth’s thirst for knowledge, he soon learned. His language skills improved and as he became more confident, he mingled more with the community.

One of his duties was to go to the local bakery to collect sandwiches and Cakes for the weekly parish meetings. He loved the smell of the bakery with the aroma of fresh bread making his mouth water. The woman who owned the shop always saw the look of delight on Ravuth’s face when he came in to pick up his order and one day she asked, “The baker is preparing a new batch. Would you like to see how bread’s made? ”

Ravuth smiled, “Yes please.” He said, and the woman took him through to the bakery and over to a man in baker’s whites.

“My name is Patricia, and this is my husband, John, he’s the baker.” She chuckled and said, “I know you have been coming here for a long time, but I don’t know your name.”

“My name’s Ravuth,” he said smiling.

Ravuth watched John as he mixed the ingredients, put the bread dough in baking tins, and popped them into the oven. He showed Ravuth how to make cake sponge and Ravuth loved the silky aroma from the fresh baking products.

Ravuth went back to the bakery the next day at 6:00 am, and every day after, to learn and help John before returning to the vicarage at 9:00 am.

The bakery was a quiet workplace, with Ravuth’s permanent smile brightening up John, Patricia, and the customers.

After a while, John let him experiment with various ingredients, and impressed with the results, he used Ravuth’s recipes

John paid Ravuth £2 a week and let him prepare the morning stock of products, with the morning customers complimenting on the baker's fresh-tasting treats.

Ravuth spent lonely nights shivering in his cold room at the vicarage, clutching his banana box to his chest and remembering his family. His life and struggle in Cambodia now seemed like a lifetime away.

They had no T.V. and keeping abreast of world events had been difficult because Father Eggleton rarely listened to the radio. However, one parishioner informed Ravuth in 1979 that they had seen on the TV that the Khmer Rouge had lost power to Vietnamese liberation forces.

After hearing the news, Ravuth felt elated but knew that Father Eggleton did not have the funds for him to return to Cambodia and find his family. Despondent, he cried himself to sleep but remained hopeful.

It had taken time for lawyers, bureaucrats, and embassy officials to sort out Ravuth’s legal papers. In 1980, the necessary paperwork came through and Donal adopted him. Ravuth Eggleton was now a citizen of the United Kingdom and his old legal guardian was now his dad.

He spent the evenings with the ageing priest, learning the Gospels and reading his bible. Although Ravuth had no religious beliefs, he liked the stories of Christ and the Virgin Mary. Donal baptised him on in his 20th birthday.

The long years ticked by.

Patricia and John sold the bakery, realising that supermarket bakeries and their cheap products would push them out of business. Ravuth continued baking at the vicarage for the weekly meetings and his father. With more variety of ingredients becoming available in supermarkets, he experimented with foreign food, especially Thai and Cambodian cuisine, which he had made at the transit camp.

Ravuth was forty-two when Father Eggleton died, which devastated him. The old priest was his only family, mentor, and friend. His Cambodian family and roots were now just a distant memory. The two companions had been together as father and son for over a quarter of a century and once again, Ravuth felt a lost, desperate soul, with no family or friends.

They buried Father Donal Eggleton in the small cemetery at the side of the church. On the day of the funeral, Donal’s replacement handed Ravuth a brown envelope containing the priest’s gold crucifix on a chain, a cheque from the church’s lawyers that represented Father Donal Eggleton’s estate, and a notice to vacate the vicarage. Ravuth hung the crucifix around his neck and read the letter.

“What does it mean,” He asked, frowning.

The new vicar smiled and said, “Sorry Ravuth, but you have to leave the vicarage. My family will arrive tomorrow, so there would be nowhere here for you to stay.”

The following day, Ravuth packed his bags and moved into a room in a bed-and-breakfast in Grantham. The small room had a shared bathroom, although there was a sink in the room, there were no cooking facilities. Ravuth only owned a few clothes, his crucifix, old bible, and his banana leaf box, which the years had aged, but although now tatty, it gave off a sweet, pleasant aroma. Other than that, he had no other possessions to show for 42 years of life. His skin was now a lighter shade of olive because of harsh English winters, but he had remained active by walking everywhere.

Ravuth spent the first few days in his B&B room watching T.V. During the time, he had spent at the vicarage he had never seen a T.V., as Father Donal never had one, telling him that it took away the ability to learn from books and conversations. Ravuth had read many books and became knowledgeable in many things, except for life in the big mad world. One day, during breakfast, he met another long-term resident, a young unemployed Indian man. After several hours of talking, the man mentioned the internet, email, and computers, and took Ravuth along to a nearby internet café to show him how to use the technology.

After learning about the wonderful worldwide web, Ravuth spent most of his time in the internet café, glued to the screens. He researched events happening in Cambodia and found a renewed purpose in his life.

With the world now at his fingertips, he became intent to search for his lost family.

One day, Ravuth sat on his bed, opened the banana leaf box, took out the faded Polaroid photographs, and stroked them. He removed the archaic leaflets he’d found in the Koh Kong café and studied them. He then took out the seedpod. Memories of the adventure with Oun flooded back and made him smile as he recalled his last happy memory of his family. He sniffed the now brown shrivelled plant.

‘It still smells pleasant, like a honeydew, vanilla, air-freshener,’ he thought, as he looked at the gnarled shrivelled up pod. ‘Although old and looks like a lump of dog turd, it keeps my box smelling nice,’ he chuckled.

He stood up, looked over at the mirror above his sink, and smiled.

“Old and rough looking, just like me,” he said and chuckled to himself as he rubbed the dark patches under his eyes. He put the seedpod back into the box along with his bible, closed the lid, and placed it on a shelf.

Taking a folder from the bedside drawer, he put the old leaflets alongside sheets of printed out instructions, directions, and information that he had found on the internet. He hoped they would help him with his quest, and he would take them along with him the following day on his flight to Phnom Penh.

With his thoughts in turmoil, many things went through Ravuth’s mind. ‘Would I be able to find the village and are my family still alive? Maybe Oun now has a family of his own. Would they remember me?’ His stomach then churned and his eardrums popped as the plane descended.

2002. Cambodia felt unfamiliar to Ravuth Eggleton. He landed at Pochentong International Airport in Phnom Penh and after getting glares from the customs officials after looking at his UK passport, he caught a taxi into the city. He smiled as the warm air and familiar smells of Cambodia brought back fond memories as he looked out of the taxi’s window. They drove past large modern buildings and small open food restaurants filled with smiling Khmers eating and chatting.

He checked into a hotel recommended by the taxi driver on the Riverside. During the time Ravuth lived in Cambodia, apart from the short, unnerving visit to Koh Kong, he had never left his village, so knew nothing about the country he used to call home. Having been a long time since he had spoken Khmer, he struggled to speak or understand his native language as the taxi driver spoke to him.

Arriving mid-afternoon, his plan was to visit the registry and records offices in the Council of Ministry buildings on Confederation de la Russie. But first, he wanted to get a taste of home. He left the hotel and went into the first open-air Cambodian restaurant, ordering plates of Cambodian food.

“Ahh,” Ravuth sighed with pleasure as he crunched on fresh Cambodian vegetables. He smiled, ‘Beats pot noodles’ he thought after living on Pot Noodles and any other dehydrated food that he could cook with his kettle in the B&B. He spent the rest of the day contacting various departments and making appointments for the following day.

Ravuth went out in the evening and strolled along the Riverside. The large, still, Basaac River glistened, and Ravuth watched the lights of small boats as they flitted back and forth. He had brought some pounds sterling with him and after the bank teller advised him to use US dollars instead of the Cambodian Reil, he exchanged his cash to USD. ‘I will use my bank card when that’s gone,’ he thought. He hoped he had more than enough in his UK bank to cover any costs he might incur.

Tourists and locals walked up and down the pavement, while noisy tuk-tuks and moto-dop taxis drove up and down looking for customers. The noise of the big city at night made Ravuth feel uncomfortable

He saw several Khmer and foreign-owned restaurants and watched Khmer touts and beggars approaching foreigners, who tried to ignore the nuisances. He sat in a restaurant, ordered a meal and a beer, and after finishing his food, he returned to his hotel room and sifted through his information for the next day’s meetings. Realising the first obstacle he had to overcome was to find out his family’s name. Living in a small village, the family’s details only got recorded at the local Sangkat (district council) and they issued family books to each family as a record. His father took care of all those details as none of the family could read or write, Ravuth was unaware of his family’s surname or real date of birth. He realised it would be a hurdle after spending the next day shunted around different offices and achieving nothing.

Over the next few days going through the archives, his search came up fruitless. He spent the evenings walking along the Riverside and a few hours at an internet café before returning to his hotel. His week in Phnom Penh disheartened him because he had uncovered nothing. Ravuth had hardly spoken to anyone, since the Khmers seemed standoffish and cold toward him, considering him an outsider who had escaped the Khmer Rouge. The foreigners also ignored him, assuming he was a tout wanting to sell Killing Fields tours or sexy massages. He felt alienated and lost and kept himself to himself, concentrating on his seemingly impossible quest. He looked at the records of the genocide museum at Tuol Sleng. Surprisingly, the Khmer Rouge that had controlled the central provinces kept meticulous records; including photographs of any unfortunate individual that came through the hellish place. Ravuth sifted through every photograph, knowing the demise of the individuals whose emaciated images now stared back at him. He felt relieved that his family were not amongst the victims of this nightmare. Ravuth had studied several articles on the website about the atrocities committed by Pol Pot and his indoctrinated band of murderers. Now that he was in Cambodia, the facts became a lot clearer and realised that his parents were probably dead, but hoped Oun had survived. While alone in his hotel room, he tried to imagine how that terrifying period could have affected Oun and remembered his brother’s happy, smiling, grimy face as they played and went on adventures.

Haunted by the horrific images he had seen over the past few days, Ravuth spent long sleepless nights at the Phnom Penh hotel, with both happy memories of his childhood and turbulent and frightening thoughts about the possible demise of his family.

An administrator, who saw Ravuth’s daily pilgrimage to her offices, handed him a piece of paper, giving him information about the province offices where his family would have gone through.

“Maybe they can help,” she said, “all the people from that area went to that commune to be processed. Perhaps they would know where your family were sent from there.”

Ravuth looked at the address and cringed.

“Would you like me to make you an appointment?” asked the woman.

Although unnerved by the thought of returning to Koh Kong, Ravuth took a taxi to the border town the following morning for his appointment with the head administrator. The journey took almost eight hours in an old Toyota corolla with the air conditioner not working and the four stops by the rivers to await the floating pontoon to ferry them across, Ravuth felt uncomfortable. However, speaking with the driver throughout the journey, slowly his understanding of the Khmer language returned.

He went to see Ny Ngem, chairman of Dang Paeng Sangkat, the commune offices that covered the Koh Kong province during the Khmer Rouge period.

Ravuth and Ny’s English speaking assistant, Rom, went through records. The problem was that there were many unnamed villages and sporadic residences, so the only records that the Khmer Rouge had noted down were the number in the group, the destination camps, and the surnames. Unlike the meticulous records kept in Phnom Penh, these were sketchy. After a few days of mundane searching, Ravuth realised this was not the way forward and fed up with having to pay the chairman daily coffee money, as he liked to call his back-handers. He felt he had no other choice but to pay, after noticing that ever since he arrived, the Cambodians did nothing without money, especially from foreigners, which he now was.

Ravuth learned nothing with his time with Rom, but it had been useful because they spoke Khmer, with Rom correcting his mistakes. After a few days, his Khmer improved.

Large plush casinos had sprung up near the Thai/Cambodian border, so people now only passed through Koh Kong, the few guesthouses in the sleepy grimy town were mainly Khmer-owned and dingy. Ravuth stayed in a guesthouse near a market in the town centre. He didn’t feel comfortable or safe in Koh Kong and his room smelt damp and musty. Not wanting to venture out after finishing at the commune, he stayed in the guesthouse. He had eaten in the restaurant every night and the owner stared at him with disdain as he served him cold Cambodian food.

Ravuth had used the same moto-dop taxi every day to travel the short distance to the offices. The driver was a cheerful young Cambodian called Tik, who had been hanging around at the guesthouse for the past few mornings. Ravuth hired Tik to take him to the offices and bring him back late afternoon. Ravuth had now been in Koh Kong for four days and knew that he was wasting his time, not knowing what to do next. He decided to return to Phnom Penh the following day and spent his last few days there.

“See you in the morning,” said Tik as he dropped him off at the guesthouse.

“Thanks Tik and tomorrow I want you to take me to the bus, ” said Ravuth.

Tik frowned and looked disappointed, “You’re not leaving are you?” he asked

Ravuth nodded and said, “Yes, I haven’t found what I came here for.”

Tik had not asked why Ravuth was there, but seeing the disappointment in the old Cambodians face, asked, “What are you looking for?”

Ravuth smiled and said, “My family. We were separated and I believe they were brought here many years ago.”

Tik smiled and said, “I know people who have lived here a long time. I will ask around. Have you got any photographs?”

Ravuth had made photocopies of his old photographs and handed Tik two A4 sheet’s with them on. Although the black and white prints were poor quality, he pointed at the figures.

“This is my mother, Rotha, that’s Tu, my father, and he is my younger brother, Oun.”

“You look a lot different now, Ravuth,” said Tik, who chuckled as he saw the young Ravuth’s grubby young face smiling back at him. Tik folded up the copies and put them in his pocket. “I will try to find out something before you leave,” he said, before driving away chuckling.

A creaky old fan squeaked as it slowly rotated, swirling hot muggy air around the small tatty guesthouse room. The dimly lit room made reading difficult for Ravuth. He spent a few hours going over more literature, discarding most of it as rubbish. There then came a knock on his door. It was Tik with another Khmer, who appeared of similar age to Ravuth.

“Ravuth, meet my father, Sok,” said Tik, introducing the Khmer man who greeted Ravuth.

They sat on the bed while Ravuth related his story to Sok. Ravuth noticed that Tik bore no similarities to his father. Sok was a short, chunky, hard-faced individual, who wore a large amount of gold jewellery around his neck and chunky gold and ruby rings on each finger. He spoke with a harsh, intimidating tone.

Sok pulled the folded copies from his shirt pocket, unfolded them, and said, “I remember this family... and the village they came from.” He looked at the sheet, pointed at the picture of Rotha, and said, “Yes, I know this woman and her husband and son, your brother, he is about my age.”

Ravuth’s heart leapt as Sok continued, “I know their village… I will take you there tomorrow. Oh, but I will need to hire my friend’s Range Rover. He will want $500,” said Sok

Ravuth knew this was well over the odds, but didn’t care. He felt elated and would have paid a lot more.

“Fantastic, thanks,” said Ravuth. “Although I will need to go to the bank first, I only have $300 on me.”

“No problem,” said Sok and grinned.

A shiver went through Ravuth as Sok grinned. He looked into his menacing eyes that brought back terrifying memories of the last time he saw evil in a Cambodians eyes, but this man might have found his family so he ignored his instincts.

“Okay,” said Sok, “let’s celebrate.”

“Yes, yes, and thank you again,” said Ravuth with a beaming smile.

They walked a short distance to a dimly lit Cambodian karaoke and entertainment bar. Ravuth noticed how much respect people paid to Sok in the establishment and many ‘taxi girls’ (hookers) came and sat with them and Sok ordered them drinks. One pretty girl caught Ravuth’s attention. She was a young Khmer called Anni. Ravuth felt uncomfortable in the bar and having no experience with women, he was still a virgin. Anni and Ravuth chatted over the loud thumping music, and she could feel his nervousness. Anni kept receiving stares off Sok and the *mamasan, which was her signal to get on with her job and seduce Ravuth.

The mamasan came over, whispered to Anni, and then asked Ravuth, “Do you like Anni?”

“Yes,” Ravuth mumbled looking timid.

“She wants to take you somewhere a little quieter,” said the mamasan sounding aloof.

Ravuth, being naïve and unsure of what the mamasan implied, shrugged and said, “Yes, okay.”

Anni led Ravuth to a block of five dingy apartments outside the rear of the bar and they went inside a small dirty room. There was a bed and a shower room, with a hole in the floor for the toilet and a square concrete container full of dirty water, which the girls and customers used for ablutions. Noticing several rails of clothes, Ravuth realised that many girls must live in this shabby room and it had a strange smell, which Ravuth never having sex it was unfamiliar to him.

They sat on a thin, filthy mattress. Anni smiled and said, “I will shower Ravuth,” she pulled off her t-shirt Jeans and bra; Ravuth looked away as she wrapped a large threadbare towel around herself and removed her panties.

Ravuth was nervous and apprehensive, but as he watched Anni naked, throwing small pales of the dirty water over her head, and lathering herself in soap, he became aroused. Anni came from the shower wrapped in the scruffy towel, looked at Ravuth, smiled, and let her towel slip.

Anni was so thin he could see her ribs; she had small pert breasts and a shaven chalice. She grabbed his hands and eased him to his feet. Ravuth felt nervous and excited but became embarrassed when Anni removed his Y-fronts and he stood with a boner, which he covered with his hands.

Anni smiled, knelt down, and took a condom from the pile on the table. She moved Ravuth’s hands away and rolled on the condom; having to replace it several seconds later.

“I am sorry,” said Ravuth as Anni smiled and caressed renewed vigour back in his old todger.

Once his old todger stood to attention, Anni directed him to the bed and he lay down. Anni straddled him, thrusting herself up and down on his little soldier.

Thirty seconds later as Anni took another shower, Ravuth lay on the bed smiling, in his blissful heaven,

Anni felt pleased that it was over so quick, she still had a long night ahead, and Ravuth was her fourth customer already.

Ravuth returned with Anni into the main bar and sat with Sok, Tik, and several girls. They drank and chatted for a while longer and noticing Ravuth looking tired, Sok said, “Okay Ravuth, pay the bill and we will take you back to the guest house.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Ravuth “I want to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“Som khet loy, the bill please,” said Ravuth, and then asked Anni, “Can I see you tomorrow evening?”

Anni nodded and smiled. “I will be here if you want to see me,” she said.

The mamasan brought a small folder containing the bill and handed it to Ravuth. The total was $300.

Ravuth paid the exorbitant bill. He knew it was far over what it should be, but didn’t care.

Tik and Sok escorted Ravuth back to the guesthouse and arranged to pick him up at 8:00 am. Ravuth went to his room and lay on his bed, feeling ecstatic. ‘It has been one of the best days of my life,’ he said and thought about Anni.

Sok and Tik returned to the karaoke bar, the mamasan handed Sok $200, delighted at having made $100 for herself. Sok took Anni for a free short time shag.

Sok then got into his Range Rover and took the photocopied sheets from his pocket. He laughed as he tore them up, threw the pieces out of the window, and drove home.

Ravuth had a restless night, excited by his thoughts of reuniting with his family after all these years. Unable to settle, he sat on the concrete benches outside the guesthouse, watching the sunrise, swatting away mosquitos, and looking at his watch, willing the hours to pass until Sok arrived.

It was a hot, muggy day. Sok drove Ravuth to a bank and smirked as he watched him withdraw cash. He, Ravuth, and Tik drove to the outskirts of the town and headed towards the Cardamom Mountains. The Range Rover’s air conditioner was a welcome relief to Ravuth, who still hadn’t acclimated to his old country’s climate.

Sok explained that after the Khmer Rouge was ousted and Cambodia liberated, most survivors returned to their old towns, cities, and villages. Although the Khmer Rouge still had sporadic bands of fighting factions in and around the areas, once Pol Pot died in 1999, they had integrated back into society. He again assured Ravuth that he knew the whereabouts of his village and family.

“I bet you feel excited,” said Sok looking at the smiling Ravuth, “Not long now, we’re almost there.”

Sok got onto a dirt track off the main road. Ravuth looked at the terrain, but he could still see the Cardamom Mountains some way off, so he became concerned.

They drove along a dry muddy track for 30-minutes and into a small village. This looked unrecognisable to Ravuth. There had been no familiar landmarks or anything along the route that he’d recognised and still nowhere near the jungle.

Sok pulled up in the village centre and Ravuth got out and looked at the communal hut. The inhabitants came out to greet him, laughing, smiling, and welcoming him home.

A middle-aged man in shirt and trousers went over and * wai’d Ravuth.

Sok introduced him as Boran, the village Chief.

“Welcome home Ravuth,” said a smiling Boran.

Ravuth looked around the village and the small gathered crowd but recognised nothing or nobody.

“Your village has a problem,” said Sok. “They needed money for a new generator and building materials.”

“Where are my parents?” asked Ravuth, feeling perturbed and upset.

Boran smiled and said, “Come eat, we have prepared food.”

“But it’s not my village,” said Ravuth and frowned as Boran led him inside the communal hut where a feast of vegetables and rice lay on a straw mat.

While they ate, Ravuth leant over to Sok and repeated, “I know this isn’t my village.”

Sok appeared shocked, and said, “Sorry Ravuth, I felt certain it was where I last saw your family. That was a long time ago, so maybe I confused it with another village. Eat up and we will look there. You need to pay the Chief and the villagers here a little money, please help, give them a small amount, $600 would keep them happy.”

Ravuth had withdrawn several thousand dollars from the bank that morning to help his family when he’d found them. He had already given Sok $500 he’d requested for the loan of his ‘friends vehicle’ and now handed over $600 to the village elder; followed by two more payments to village chiefs after taken to the wrong villages… again.

They returned to the guesthouse at dusk, after driving around in circles on the outskirts of Koh Kong all day. Disheartened and angry, Ravuth realised that Sok knew neither his family nor the whereabouts of his village, and this wasted excursion had so far cost him $2,300.

While eating his evening meal at the guesthouse, Sok turned up, went over to Ravuth, and said, “Sorry about today. I was sure that one of them was your village. Never mind. We can try again tomorrow. I am sure that we will find it. I think I know where it is… Look.”

He unfolded a black and white photocopy of a map with areas circled on it. Ravuth stopped eating and looked, as Sok told him, “You said it was in the jungle by the mountains.” He pointed to three hand-drawn circles and said, “It must be one of these villages, sorry, I came off the main road too early.”

Ravuth looked but saw nothing apart from a black and white photocopy with three pencilled circles. He frowned and continued eating. Sok sat down and smiled, “Do you want to go to see Anni?” he asked

Disgruntled, but looking forward to seeing Anni, Ravuth went along with Sok to the karaoke

“Where’s Tik?” asked Ravuth.

“He’s working tonight,” said Sok and took a gulp of Johnnie Walker.

Tik had taken the back roads and shortcuts to the three villages nearby to collect Sok’s large cut of the money extorted off Ravuth.

Anni came from the back room several minutes after Ravuth and Sok arrived. She had just finished with one customer who had taken ages and looked happy to see Mr two-stroke Ravuth in the bar. The mamasan encouraged Ravuth to take her now because she would be busy later.

While in the shabby room and after satisfying Ravuth, he asked, “how long have you worked here Anni?”

Anni looked taken aback, customers never asked questions, she was only there to give them relief and once finished that was it. No one had ever shown any interest in her as a person. She looked at Ravuth smiling at her. Sok had told her that Ravuth was now a rich foreigner, but realising he was also a kind man, related her plight.

It had been four years since the mamasan went to her village on the outskirts of Koh Kong. She offered to loan the villagers with daughters $200, telling them to use the money to improve their lifestyle.

She told them that they could pay her back anytime, but they must pay interest. In the meantime, she would employ the daughters, who would receive $40 per month salary and given food, clothing, and accommodation, which she would deduct from their salary, along with the loan’s interest. These simple country folk thought $200 a godsend. They could buy machinery to help with their land, new generators, and hire machines to dig deeper wells for when the annual droughts hit and their shallow wells dried up.

Anni told him, “We were all happy and I couldn’t wait to start work,” she frowned. “The mamasan told us it was a simple job to ‘service the customers’. Although nobody understood what the work entailed, the families agreed and took the money. What she didn’t tell us was our cost of living in the back rooms was $20 per month and the interest on the loan was $20 per month; so until the families could raise the $200 to repay mamasan, we were stuck here. Our job was to entertain the local Khmer customers every night, who were usually drunken moto-dop taxi drivers and border touts who had made money that day from the foreign border crossers. They wanted to get drunk, play with the girls, and get quick relief. Sometimes we get the local mafia coming in, people like S…” Annie paused and hoped Ravuth didn’t work out the end of the sentence as she said. “But they don’t pay. The mamasan is an unkind and unpleasant tyrant, who terrified us girls into undertaking any sexual act the customer desired.”

Ravuth saw tears in Anni’s eyes as she looked embarrassed and told him, “We get paid $1 per customer.” She looked around the shabby room and her rack of scruffy clothes and said, “Which doesn’t buy much.” Anni then wiped away her tears and smiled.

Ravuth felt sad for the pleasant young woman, who had now gratified him on two occasions. He could only imagine what kind of miserable life she led.

He smiled, took $50 from his wallet, handed it to Anni, and said, “Sorry, I am short of cash until I get to the bank in the morning and I still have to pay the bill here.”

Anni, looking stunned, but feeling delighted said, “I never told you about my family to get money from you. I think they’ve robbed you enough… You are a kind man Ravuth. Thank you, I will hide this money and give it to my family.”

She and Ravuth went back into the karaoke bar and the following morning, Ravuth felt a little happier after Sok convinced him he would find his family today. He withdrew more money from the bank and paid Sok another $500 for ‘his friend’s motor.’

On the way back to Koh Kong, Ravuth sat in the Range Rover feeling depressed and dejected. He knew that Sok had again swindled him. He had taken another route and driven around in circles, returning to the same villages they had visited the previous day, with Ravuth having to pay them again.

“Never mind,” said Sok smiling, “we can try again tomorrow.”

Ravuth felt enraged. “No, we cannot. I’ve had enough of your lies.” He pointing at Tik and snapped, “And you are not his son. I know who you are Sok, you are the Koh Kong mafia, and you have both robbed me, but no more. Take me back to the guesthouse. Now!”

Sok sneered at Ravuth as he dropped him off at the guesthouse and drove away agitated and angry. Ravuth ate and wanted to go to Phnom Penh the next day. He was to return to the UK in a few days and felt angry about wasting his time, spending a lot of money, and no closer to finding his family. He no longer wanted to stay in Koh Kong. Looking around the dingy room, he felt unnerved and stared out of the window. With only a few hundred dollars left in his pocket, he stayed in his room. It was now night, and he knew he would not get a taxi to take him in the dark because of the unlit windy mountain roads to Phnom Penh and the river crossing pontoons would not run at night. Ravuth lay on his bed and watched the creaky old fan rotating until he dozed off.

The guesthouse owner and an armed policeman banging on his door at midnight woke Ravuth. The policeman ordered him to go to the reception. Confused, Ravuth slipped on his trousers and followed them downstairs, where a drunken Sok and a sullen-looking Anni stood.

“That’s him!” Sok screamed, pointed a finger at Ravuth as he came into the reception. “That’s who beat Anni!” he slurred.

Anni's face was bruised and she looked embarrassed. She held her swollen jaw as the policeman asked her, “Was this the man who beat you?”

Anni nodded.

Ravuth felt shocked and clasped his hands to his mouth.

The policeman growled, “You beat this lady, you must pay!”

“But I never touched her,” pleaded Ravuth.

“You beat this lady, you pay or go to the ‘monkey house’ (prison),” the policeman snapped, producing a set of handcuffs.

Sok glared at Ravuth, grinned, and slurred,

“Pay $5,000 or get locked up for a long time. It’s up to you,”

Ravuth looked at Anni staring at the ground.

“Please… tell them the truth Anni,” he beseeched her.

Anni remained silent while the police officer moved toward Ravuth to handcuff him.

Ravuth realised he could not win against this setup,

“Wait,” he said. “Okay, I will give you the money, but I will have to go to the bank to withdraw it in the morning.”

The policeman looked at Sok for direction. Sok stared at Ravuth’s crucifix hanging around his neck. “Give me that as a guarantee,” he snapped, pointing at the gold cross and chain.

“No! this was a gift from my dead father.”

Sok nodded at the policeman, who moved closer to the frightened Ravuth with the cuffs.

“You will get it back once you pay the money,” said Sok, grinning

Ravuth, knowing his position was hopeless, removed his crucifix, and handed it to Sok.

“I want it back when I give you the money,” said Ravuth glaring at Sok.

“Of course,” Sok replied, smirking as he looked at the gold crucifix and hung his new prize around his neck along with his other jewellery.

“I will be here to take you to the bank at 9:00 am,” he slurred.

He then grabbed Anni’s arm, and along with the smirking policeman, left the guesthouse; leaving the irate owner and Ravuth standing by the reception.

“Pay your bill in the morning and leave,” said the owner sounding abrupt, who then went to his room.

Ravuth went into his room shaking and sat on the bed. He cupped his head in his hands. He knew this would be a long sleepless night and he was correct. He sat on his bed staring out of the window all night, dozing off for a few minutes at a time.

Around 6:30 am, he heard a motorbike pull up at the front of the guesthouse. Anni appeared at the window, startling Ravuth. She looked worried and motioned for Ravuth to open the window, which he did and she climbed into the room. Ravuth felt angry, but he could see Anni looked in pain as she explained.

“I am sorry about what happened Ravuth. Yesterday Sok came into the karaoke late afternoon, He was furious about something and I heard him tell mamasan it was your fault. He drank several shots of whisky in quick succession and groped me. As the night wore on, he became more intoxicated and abusive. He told me that he wanted to get more money from you before he would allow you to leave Koh Kong and I must help or he would go to my village and hurt my family.” She sighed and continued, “I tried to calm him down and took him to the back rooms to relieve him, but he was too drunk to do anything so became angrier. He punched me in the face and kept punching me until I fell, and then kicked me. I screamed for help and when mamasan came he stopped kicking me.” Anni grimaced as she told Ravuth what had happened. He could see she had been through a hellacious beating as she said, “Mamasan called one of their police friends and between them concocted the story about you beating me.” Anni coughed and winced, holding her ribs. She trembled and looked terrified. Ravuth understood why she had to lie. She had no choice.

“I am sorry and wish I could help, but what can I do? I cannot leave without paying them money and I must get back my crucifix. It’s important,” he said.

“Sok will never return it to you and they will keep you here paying them more money,” Anni told him.

Ravuth considered that would be the case, but couldn’t figure a way out of this nightmare.

Anni then took the crucifix from her pocket and handed it to Ravuth.

Ravuth looked dumbfounded and gasped. “How did you get that?” he asked and put the gold chain over his head.

“When we left here, we went back to the karaoke bar where Sok and his policeman friend celebrated. They drank more and played with the other girls. Mamasan went to bed around 2:00 am and ordered me to clean and wait until she woke up. Sok and the policeman fell into drunken stupors in the bar around 4:00 am. I put ice on my face to ease the pain and stared at the bastard while he snored on the sofa.” Anni scowled as she continued. “Knowing I could not work and pay mamasan because of him, it made me angry. I took your crucifix from around Sok’s neck and mamasan’s motorbike keys from behind the bar. I came here to help you escape.”

“How?” asked Ravuth, looking puzzled, “I would think Sok warned all the taxi drivers and moto-dops to keep their eye on me, and the first bus doesn’t leave until 1:00 pm. Sok said he would be here at 9 o’clock, but once he found my crucifix gone, he would come straight here.”

Anni nodded and told him, “Your safest and quickest way out was to cross into Thailand and return to Phnom Penh, either at the northern border at Poipet or go to Bangkok airport and fly into Phnom Penh International airport.” She looked at Ravuth and said, “That was your only way. But we would have to go now before the guesthouse owner wakes up and alerts everyone.”

Ravuth nodded, and with his bag already packed, he grabbed it and climbed out of the window. They got on mamasan’s motorbike and drove the 4 kilometres to the border

Immigration, customs officials, and small food stalls vendors, along with border touts, were preparing for the day ahead when Ravuth and Anni pulled up. They got off the bike at the border post and Anni showed him what counter he had to go to leave Cambodia.

Anni saw Ravuth looked nervous, so held his hand. “Don’t worry, Sok has no influence at the border.”

They faced each other and Ravuth said, “I don’t know how to thank you, Anni. I hope you will be okay.”

Anni smiled, nodded, and said, “I’ll be fine,” although knowing that her suffering was about to become worse.

Ravuth took out his wallet and counted his money. He couldn’t let the girl who had risked so much, stay in Koh Kong, realising she was in danger.

“If you need more money, there’s an ATM on the Thai side of the border where you can get Thai baht’s,” said Anni, seeing him counting his cash.

“Good,” said Ravuth, “but I want to give this to you so you can get away from Sok and mamasan.” He handed Anni $320. “I would like to give you a lot more, but that was all I have until I get over the border.”

Anni took the cash and winced as she kissed Ravuth on the cheek and said, “Thank you… you are a kind man with a good heart.”

With relief etched across her swollen face, Anni knew she could get far away from her Koh Kong oppressors to start a new life. She would take mamasans motorbike and leave straight away; she was wearing her only belongings.

“I imagine Sok will come to Phnom Penh to track me down, so I will lie low for the next couple of days until my flight home,” said Ravuth.

Anni smiled and reassured him. “Don’t worry, he won’t go to Phnom Penh, he has no power there. Sok is former Khmer Rouge and a coward. He would be too afraid of what the police in Phnom Penh would do to him.”

Ravuth looked at the bruised and swollen face of poor little Anni. He felt anguish and pity for her, and a seething hatred toward Sok.

“Will you be alright? What will you do?” he asked, concerned for this girl, who risked so much to help him.

“I will be fine. The money you have given me will last me quite some time. I will drive to the ferry port and catch the morning ferry to Sihanoukville. I have friends there and neither Sok nor mamasan will find me.”

Anni noticed Ravuth’s sadness and frustration, so she stroked his face and smiled. “Don’t worry Ravuth. Thanks to you, I will be safe and once settled, I can help my family.”

She nudged Ravuth, signalling him to go. He walked toward immigration.

“Maybe we will meet again someday Ravuth.” Shouted Anni as she got onto the motorbike and headed off toward the small ferry terminal.

Ravuth watched her speed away and although he knew she couldn’t hear him, whispered. “I hope we do Anni.”

After being stamped out of Cambodia and walking the 200 yards stretch of no-man's-land, Ravuth crossed the border into Thailand and breathed a sigh of relief.

After withdrawing Thai baht at the ATM, Ravuth caught the morning bus to Bangkok. He spoke with the Thais, remembering enough of the Thai language to get by, and the few he came across spoke English. He arrived at Don Muang Airport with only having to wait a few hours before he caught a routine flight for the ninety-minute short hop back to Phnom Penh.

Terrified that Sok would track him down in Phnom Penh, Ravuth stayed in the hotel room. The next day he went to the government offices and told the woman who assisted him before about his nightmarish encounter in Koh Kong. The woman said she would report it to Ny Ngem, but knew nothing would happen and looking angry, told him, “Koh Kong was a law unto itself being cut off from Phnom Penh by river crossings, it was difficult for the capital to monitor or police. But report it to the Phnom Penh police and if Sok or his thugs came searching for you, they would arrest him and he’d face real Cambodian justice. With Sok being ex-Khmer Rouge, he would pay dearly for extorting money off a tourist.”