"There is not as much fish coming from the lake like there used to be," she says as she wraps her head with a kroma, a traditional Cambodian scarf. "Buyers are the same. Not as many."
At the same time, 88 miles away on a small fishing boat at the southern tip of Tonle Sap Lake—Cambodia's largest lake—Hem Von is taking a break from his work to eat some rice that his wife prepared for him. Even though it is only 6 a.m., he has been fishing non-stop for the past two hours. His next break will come at 11 a.m. when he goes to sell his fish. After that, he will continue to fish until 8 p.m.
"It is one way or another," Von says with an exasperated sigh. "Sure my fish have gone up in price, but so has everything like the fuel for my boat. I can't catch enough fish to buy food for my family, and so we don't eat as much. It is a miserable way to live."
Like the rest of the world, Cambodia has seen the cost of living increase in the last few months. In the past year, the country's staple food, rice, has increased in price 100 percent. A recent survey conducted by an Oxfam partner shows that for the poorest people in both rural and urban areas, getting adequate food is a daily struggle, with 20 percent of the population living hand-to-mouth on about $2 a day. The survey also showed that fisherman like Von will have a tough time coping with the rise in prices, since fish prices have only gone up 20 percent, while the stocks in the lakes and rivers continues to dwindle.
The hardest hit by this imbalance will be people like Savan and Von. Like most Cambodians, they spend about 70 percent of their income on food. By comparison people in the US spend about 10 percent. To cope with the soaring food prices, people are buying and eating less food—adding to existing malnutrition rates and the poor economic outlook of Cambodia.
Back at the southern tip of Tonle Sap Lake, in the village of Chnock Tru it is 11 a.m. and fish buyer Lor Bun, 40, is setting out scales and money on a straw mat under a make-shift shelter. In front of him several young men spill out of the back of la arge truck, preparing crates and baskets with ice to transport fish to Phnom Penh. Bun, the main fish buyer in the village for the past seven years, says he has seen prices continue to rise as buyers in the market decrease. He says that the price of rice is the highest he has ever seen it.
"We are increasingly concerned about the prices of fuel, food and there are fewer fish, but I have not seen a big drop in profits yet," he says.
Von, the fisherman, who is standing nearby waiting for his baskets of fish to be weighed, says that Bun has coached the local fisherman on how to raise their prices.But even with that he isn't making enough from selling his fish to cover the extra costs.
"We want to cry. We want to shout. But we don't know at who," he says.
Brian Lund, Oxfam America's East Asia regional director, says there are a number of people that need to get involved.
"To solve this issue we can not look to the Cambodian government alone," Lund says. "Donor countries should support the country's effort to support small scale food producers in their agricultural input, resource management, and sustainable production techniques."
In addition, Lund says that providing people living in poverty with the knowledge, skills, and confidence to effectively manage their resources and assisting them to effectively engage and interact with the markets, can ensure they will benefit from selling their products in the market. Nearly 80 percent of people in Cambodia make a living from agriculture, so higher prices offer the possibility of a better livelihood. However, with the agriculture sector accounting for a quarter of the gross national product, strong efforts must be made to ensure that benefits reach small-scale producers in remote markets, not just large-scale commercial operations and agribusinesses.
"And it is important that as investments and aid is given to Cambodia to help with rising costs, that it be a transparent and accountable process," Lund says.
At the same time agriculture investments need to better incorporate poverty reduction elements to create a better environment for small farmers to produce and sell their agricultural products so that they can invest in their family's future.
Von Siphou, 42, dices pineapples in the mid-day heat in Kandal, a Phnom Penh neighborhood. 3 p.m. is the hottest time of day in the city, where the heat comes off streets and buildings in waves. And it is the best time for selling juicy, ready-cut pineapples. For about eight cents more per pineapple, Siphou takes off the rind, cuts it into bite-sized pieces and provides customers with a plastic carrying bag and toothpicks to make the fruit easier to eat—fast food, Cambodian style. Several months ago Siphou saw profits of $7 on a good day. Now she says she is lucky if she breaks even. If she raises her prices—even by a few cents—no one will be able to afford the service, she says.
"I am working as hard as I can and it is not good enough," she says, chopping up a mango. "The only thing left to do is to not eat."
Across the street, Phi Thoeng, 27, is also at his peak time for selling spicy papaya salad out of his street-vendor cart. In the mornings he sells fried noodles while his wife cuts up and prepares the papaya for him to sell starting at noon.
"This is a new business for us, and it is hard work," he says. "My wife and I are doing OK, but we are eating less.You have to manage somehow."
It is now 7 p.m.. Darkness is falling and the heat of the day is receding. As she cleans bits of left-over fish from her counter, Savan, the mother who rose early to fix her children breakfast ,says her family also is coping by consuming less food.. The traffic outside of O'Russey Market is still at a regular hum. Savan won't get home for another hour, but today she doesn't mind.
"I sold all of the small catfish," she says. "It is unpredictable, so we will still only eat a little for dinner. But it is a good day."
]]>But if the passerby stopped to listen to the conversation, she would know that this is no ordinary gossip session.
"I need to find a better way to show off my natural vegetables next to the others in the market," says Horng Vary, a 51-year-old farmer and mother. "They might not look as good, but I know they taste better. How do you do it?"
Her friend and neighbor. Van Sou Cheun, 52, tells her to show only the best ones and then when people come to buy tell them about the taste.
"I think it is best to tell them, not show them," Van Sou Korn, 54, says agreeing with Cheun.
This very simple act of exchanging information on ways to better market their products is at the heart of an Oxfam America initiative designed to allow farmers to pool their savings and take charge of their futures. Called Saving for Change, the program allows members in rural communities to save, lend, and pay each other interest while also encouraging them to share new farming and livelihoods ideas with each other. In the process, small farmers like these three women will become better equipped to battle the rising costs that recently hit the world, and Cambodia.
A recent survey done by an Oxfam partner shows that in Cambodia, 2.6 million people are facing food insecurity with the poorest people struggling to deal with rising food prices. More specifically, the survey suggests that villages like Kork around the Tonle Sap Lake will be the hardest hit.
Cambodians spend as much as 70 percent of their income on food, as compared to the US where people spend about 10 percent. This means that to cope with the soaring food prices, people are buying and eating less food—adding to existing malnutrition among people and the country's poor economic outlook.
Unlike some African countries that do not grow enough food to feed their people, Cambodia has produced a surplus of food in the past few years—including its staple rice. But rice is now a 100 percent more expensive than it was last year, making it pricey for the poorest 40 percent of the population. The causes of the increased prices are varied—climate change, rising fertilizer costs, insect infestations, and uninformed trade—but the outcomes are the same: instability and insecurity for the poorest families.
But with 80 percent of the people in Cambodia making a living from agriculture, it would seem that higher prices offer the possibility of a better livelihood for farmers. Unfortunately this isn't the case since small-scale farmers individually have little bargaining power in terms of selling their produce or buying things like seeds and fertilizer.
This is where three women working together and sharing information could change the balance of power.
Oxfam America has taken strides in building human connections in East Asia through Saving for Change. The microfinance program has jumpstarted trust and knowledge sharing in rural areas because it allows communities to be in charge of their own futures and promotes the need for them to work together in order to reach individual goals.
All three women are a part of a Saving for Change program and through it have learned of another Oxfam America program: System of Rice Intensification, or SRI. A process of 12 low-cost, simple practices, SRI helps small farmers increase their yields of rice by 50 to 100 percent while allowing them save on seed and water costs.
They are now SRI farmers.
"When I first heard about this way to grow rice I didn't believe it," Vary says. "But when I saw my neighbors growing more rice, I took a small part of my land and tried it. I have had three harvests, each one producing more rice than the one before."
This is especially important now. The survey results show that many rice farmers are facing a 70 percent increase in production costs, so growing more rice while saving on water and seeds can make a big difference.
"Everything is more expensive now," Vary says. "But at least we have more rice than some of our neighbors."
The Saving for Change program requires that group members formally meet each month to go over financial transactions in the community. That meeting also gives them the chance to talk about other issues such as their agricultural practices or selling tactics.
"When one of us goes to another market in another village, we bring back a list of prices to share with the group," Vary says. "It keeps us competitive."
The three women find time each week to talk about how their SRI fields are doing and share practices and experiments with the methodology. They all agree that sharing information on how to grow more rice or how to better sell their products will help them manage during this time of soaring costs.
"It is important for us to do this now because of the prices," Vary says. "We are not worried, though, because we have each other. We feel supported."
]]>"I am 54 and I thought that I was too old to learn anything new," says San Van, a grandmother and farmer in a nearby village. "But I came here and see this movie and it is easy. I will try this new way and save seeds and grow more rice. It is exciting."
Pov Cham shakes her head in agreement. "I am very excited because with the old method of farming I could not have such a surplus like I can with this," Cham says. "I like how easy this was to learn and it was from people like me."
What has excited these women to change the way they will farm?
An instructional movie released today by Oxfam America and the Cambodian Center for Study and Development in Agriculture, or CEDAC.
The new movie, titled "Do You Speak SRI?" was developed to assist Cambodian farmers to easily and effectively grow more rice to support their families and to teach them new ways to farm. It takes a different approach of the traditional educational movie by using real farmers rather than actors to tell their own story and successes in using the new practices. The movie follows the journey of a young farmer as he learns each of the 12 practices from more experienced farmers.
In a recent viewing in Kampong Chhang, audience members were excited to see real farmers in the movie—most of whom were unscripted. The farmers showed off their natural enthusiasm for the practices.
"I like that I could see someone like me," says Van. "They are so happy and have grown so much rice using less seeds."
The movie is an addition to the other training tools CEDAC uses to assist farmers in implementing the practices.
"We hope that farmers will learn how to implement their choice of 12 practices into their own farming practices and realize that this can improve their yield and thus their quality of life," says Dr. Yang Saing Koma, President of CEDAC.
System of Rice Intensification (SRI), which was first introduced to Cambodia in 2000, has helped more than 80,000 Cambodian families grow more rice by using a selection of up to 12 simple practices. By adopting these steps, Cambodian farmers can increase rice yields from 50 to 150 percent, compared to yields harvested from traditional methods. Many farmers use this surplus of rice to feed their families, generate extra income and make improvements for other agricultural ventures.
"Boosting the farming community's skills so that they can grow more rice is about more than feeding Cambodian families,"" says Brian Lund, Regional Director of Oxfam America's East Asia Office in Phnom Penh. "It also is about boosting the farmer's confidence so that they take control over their life now and in the future."
To better empower farmers and sustain their self-reliance, Oxfam America and CEDAC recently combined the SRI training with a savings-led microfinance program called Saving for Change, which enables farmers and community members to better retain and manage the improved wealth they are achieving from their crops.
CEDAC plans to teach the SRI method to farmers in the 13,000 villages in Cambodia over the next five years.
As for Cham and Van, both said the movie convinced them to try SRI practices on a small part of their rice field to test it and see how it works for them.
"I am going to try it out," says Cham laughing. "Then I will let you know if I will be ready to be in the next movie to show my surplus of rice."
]]>Lovethom, a small village in Cambodia's northern province of Kratie, is home to a Muslim ethnic group called the Cham. The Cham are descendants of the ancient kingdom of Champa, who migrated to Cambodia from Vietnam after the fall of their kingdom in 17th century.
For centuries, the Cham in Lovethom have benefited from living on the fertile Mekong river flood plains. The seasonal flooding each year provides fish and just enough water for rice cultivation. However, the delicate balance of nature is changing, affecting the livelihoods of the people and altering the structure of this centuries-old Muslim community.
"In the last three years we have experienced unpredictable floods. We plant but we can't harvest; it has never happened like this before," said Mom Mayas, a 47-year-old mother of six. Mom owns a small plot of land where her family has been cultivating rice for over a century.
"The flood plain normally overflows from July until September, then the water starts to recede and that is when we start planting. But in the past three years there has been heavy rain, and after the water level receded in September, it just started to rise again, destroying everything in its path, " she said.
Taking this experience into account, this year Mom did not plant immediately after the flood waters receded. But her efforts were in vain because the water level fluctuated three times in the space of two months.
"I have lost most of my early rice crops because of the unpredictable floods and have only started planting rice seedlings in November—the last month of the wet season," she said.
Because of the recent changes in weather patterns, Mom has sent her two oldest sons to Thailand to work as laborers. She now has no men to help her in the fields—her husband fell victim to the civil war in 1995.
"The boys cannot afford to send money back from Thailand," she said. "At the moment they have only got money to support themselves, while my two girls work on a bean plantation up north. I don't really want everyone to split up like this and be far apart from family and friends as well as the community, but if this is what we have to do, then so be it."
Far from being defeated, Mom says she is doing the best she can to support her two younger sons and 95 year-old mother by pressing palm leaves to sell as thatch walls and roofs as well as selling porridge and banana leaves.
"After being hit three years in a row I have no money left to buy seeds to plant next year, " she said. "I have very little hope now, but I am doing whatever I can so the rest of my children can go to school and maybe have a better life."
Tin Ponlok, National Project Manager for the formulation of Cambodia's National Adaptation Program of Action to Climate Change (NAPA), explained that climate change affects an agrarian country like Cambodia in the form of floods and droughts. "The rural poor with limited resources rely solely on agricultural products," he said, "and climate change is costing them dearly."
Tin explained that people living in lowland areas, such as Lovethom, are the most vulnerable to the impact of climate change because of increased flooding and soil erosion. Research conducted by the Climate Change Office of the Cambodian Ministry of Environment has proven that agricultural productivity has gone down during the past five years because of increased flooding, drought and sea water intrusions.
The eighth Conference of the Parties to the United Nations framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) agreed that least developed countries are most vulnerable to climate change. A decision was made to allocate money to countries which submitted successful National Adaptation Plans.
Tin explained that Cambodia's NAPA identified 39 projects in water resources, agriculture, human health and coastal zone management as urgent priorities. Examples include introducing integrated farming such as cattle raising and vegetable planting so that rice is not the only dependent source of income, and improving irrigation systems.
"Because least developed countries suffer from problems that are caused by somebody else, we think it's fair that we get funding to support our adaptation projects," he said. "We want better commitments towards adaptation from developed countries."
"I feel bad; I have a very high temperature but I have no money to buy more medicine," he says.
Sen contracted malaria from mosquitoes, after entering the forest to collect firewood to sell because he lost all of his assets after floods leveled his rice paddy.
"I own a very small plot of land, which normally is not enough for my family's consumption, but this year the irregular flooding destroyed almost everything and I had no choice but to enter the forest," he says.
Since last year, there has been an increase of malaria patients in Cambodia's Kratie province, where Sen's village, Lovethom, is located. According to statistics from the Kratie Provincial Health Department, malaria cases increased dramatically last year and again this year after the numbers went down in 2005.
"There were more than 709 registered cases with 24 deaths last year, compared to less than 200 cases in 2005. Dengue fever cases have also increased from 65 cases in 2006 to 145 cases so far this year," says Dr. Cheam Saem, Director of the Provincial Health Department, Kratie Province.
A recent survey conducted by Cambodia's Climate Change Office found that the recent increase of malaria and dengue fever cases is connected to the change in climate conditions, explains Tin Ponlok, National Project Manager for the formulation of Cambodia's National Adaptation Program of Action to Climate Change (NAPA).
"This year especially, there has been a significant rise in dengue fever, and specialists in the country believe that climate change is the cause," he says.
Vector-borne diseases like malaria and dengue fever are most sensitive to long-term climate change. The incubation period of mosquitoes shortens at higher temperatures, while off-season rainfall enhances mosquito breeding and survival.
"The highland areas are becoming perfect breeding grounds for mosquitoes because of the humidity in the forest," Tin says.
Tin added that the geographical structure of the forest is also changing because of excessive logging and mosquitoes are also now moving to the villages.
Lovethom village, where Sen's family of five lives, borders the Mekong River and has been experiencing irregular rainfall patterns for the past three years, causing recurring floods up to four times in one year. Apart from destroying rice crops and forcing people to invade the forest, the flood is also leaving behind pools of stagnant water, a perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes.
El Hop Sos, a mother of eight, says all of her children either have malaria or dengue, while her husband has also contracted malaria from working in the forest.
"There has been a lot more rain and a lot more mosquitoes in the past two years, and we just don't have the money to take the children to the district hospital," she says.
Dr. Cheam Saem agrees. "This year it has been difficult because there are more loggers, and there has been more rain, and, as a consequence, more mosquitoes," he said. He added that the department has a limited budget and Lovethom village is not categorized as a malaria risk zone, and therefore does not qualify for free medication.
Dr. Cheam Saem explains that his department has been distributing mosquito nets and providing education to those living in remote areas on how to keep themselves safe from vector-borne diseases.
Showing her torn mosquito nets, El Hop says she is very worried about her children. She is trying to find extra income to pay for the medication by working on a cassava plantation, while her husband catches fish to sell in the local market because they do not own a rice field, but it is still far from enough. With global warming forecast to disrupt weather patterns to a much greater extent over coming decades, the health crisis faced by the people of Lovethom is just a foretaste of what is to come.
]]>The report, funded by the United Nations Development Fund, was released in October with the theme, "Expanding Choices for Rural Cambodia." It confirms that of those who live below the poverty line in Cambodia, 90 percent live and work in rural areas. The report recommends among other things, public investments in agricultural productivity and investment in job-creation in rural areas.
"It comes as no surprise to me that these are the areas indentified to help boost the rural economy since most Cambodians work in agriculture," says Brian Lund, Director of Oxfam America's East Asia Regional Office in Phnom Penh.
Oxfam America has been tackling these issues with its partner, the Cambodian Center for Study and Development in Agriculture, or CEDAC, through several of its programs that support agricultural and rural development such as the Saving for Change program, which to date has reached more than 35,000 Cambodians.
But Lund says that while focusing on investing in rural development is important, resources are only part of the equation. There is a human element too.
"In the wake of the Khmer Rouge, the financial systems in the country were in shambles—and the culture of sharing and trusting was severely undermined," Lund said. "A lot has been done to invigorate the economy, but also there are human relationships that need to be rebuilt. An economy might grow but without growing trust and sharing among people it will not be sustainable."
Oxfam America has taken strides in rebuilding those human connections through its Saving for Change program—an alternative microfinance program that allows group members in rural communities to save, lend, and pay each other interest. The program has jumpstarted trust and knowledge-sharing in rural areas because it allows the community to be in charge of their own future and promotes the need for them to work together in order to reach individual goals.
"Giving a community financial opportunities and engaging them to work together for a common goal has transformed the way Cambodian people deal with one another," said Lund.
In addition, Lund says that taking a more holistic approach will help to alleviate rural poverty in Cambodia. In its Saving for Change program, farmers also are exposed to the System of Rice Intensification (SRI) approach. Based on traditional methods, SRI is a technique that enhances the production of rice giving the small farmer a higher yield. These programs form a package that together aim to better support to more than 6,000 villages in rural Cambodia by 2010.
So, while the economy might be growing in Cambodia, Oxfam America remains committed to ensuring that the rural people like Seng and her four children are not left behind.
"This country has seen tremendous growth," Lund said. "Now it needs to be managed in a way that focuses on people and the numbers."
]]>Following the advice of the Cambodian Center for Study and Development in Agriculture, or CEDAC, Som abandoned his use of chemicals in favor of organic fertilizer. He planted fewer seeds and spaced them widely apart. He kept the soil moist—without flooding it. He transplanted the rice seedlings while they were young and took the time to weed. Halfway through that first season, Som noticed his rice plants were growing bigger and stronger.
"The same seeds used to produce plants that came up to my knees," he said. "Now they reach above my head."
Since Som's experiment, CEDAC has trained more than 60,000 Cambodian farmers to modify their farming techniques to correspond with SRI. Like farmers in Madagascar, China, and Bangladesh, they have increased their yields by 50 to 100 percent, and sometimes more.
Yang Saing Koma, the president of CEDAC, better known as "Dr. Koma," calls it the "Root Revolution," and eventually he wants the majority of Cambodia's rice farmers to have joined in.
"It's just a question of changing your attitude and thinking," he said. "Conventional agriculture just looks at the plant above ground. With SRI, you look at the roots—big, strong roots."
Using grants from Oxfam America totaling about $222,000 since 2003, CEDAC has used SRI to build financial and food security in one of Southeast Asia's poorest countries. More than 70 percent of the workforce depends on agriculture to make a living—most of them, rice farmers.
Dr. Koma says it's like a metaphor for human development. If you give people enough room to grow, they flourish. If you plant seedlings far enough apart, the seedlings sprout several stalks and the stalks produce hundreds of grains of rice.
He first learned about SRI after reading a magazine article chronicling the experiences of farmers in Madagascar. Jesuit priest Father Henri de Laulanié spent 20 years working with Malagasy farmers, refining a set of practices that required less land, seed, water, and money.
At first, the Cambodian farmers who are approached by CEDAC about trying SRI had trouble believing what they were hearing. Some even ridiculed the farmers who tried the new method.
When So Tith began planting through SRI three years ago, his neighbors saw him pressing fewer seeds into the soil and pitied him, thinking he couldn't afford to buy more. "They offered to give me some of their seed," he said.
Even after Tith's new stalks began to grow, his neighbors wouldn't attribute their sturdiness to SRI. They attributed it to "trickery" instead. But Tith didn't mind, for in a couple years these same doubters would end up changing their practices, and more important, their minds.
Accustomed to using oxen and carts to take water to their fields, they now fill jugs and carry them on their shoulders to small plots of land near their homes. They plant during the wet and dry seasons, doubling their production and incomes.
"Daily life is better than before," said Sorn Ton, another rice farmer who adopted SRI. "When we used to farm, there wasn't enough rice to support the family for the whole year. We had to borrow money to buy rice from others in the village. Now my family has enough to eat."
The farmers use the extra profits to invest in more rice seed, send their children to school, and participate in the simple joys of everyday life—the religious and family ceremonies, the weddings and festivals.
All this from a little bit of creative thinking informed by the people who work the land themselves.
"Throughout Cambodia, the farmers who adopted SRI—they have more self confidence. They see what they can get from what they do," Dr. Koma said.
]]>The water running through the northeast highlands of Cambodia was brown and muddy, but she was hot and needed to cool off. Later that night, Ranh woke up scratching at a rash on her hands and legs. Several months pregnant with her second child, she traveled hours by motorbike to find a medical clinic.
Weeks later, her scabs still covered in purple ointment, Ranh said she was worried her skin condition might hurt her baby. But, like so many others living downstream from the Yali Falls dam who reported rashes, stomach illnesses, and diarrhea since the dam's construction, she feels like there's no alternative to using the river to bathe and drink.
"I don't have a well at home," she said. "Even if the water looks dirty, I have to wash."
Built upstream in Vietnam and Laos, hydropower dams are rising up on the Sesan, Sekong, and Srepok Rivers that flow through Cambodia's northeast provinces, Ratanakiri and Stung Treng. Dams, such as the Yali Falls, have changed the water quality, killed whole species of fish, flooded villages, and wiped out large fields of rice.
These problems are compounded by what's happening in the nearby forests. There, armed guards stand in the thicket, threatening to arrest anyone who enters. The guards hack ax-cuts into the tree trunks, marking off ancestral land the government has sold to the highest bidder—usually a foreign company looking to start a lucrative plantation. The forests have traditionally served as a safety net for the indigenous people, providing a source of income during the "lean months" when the fish aren't spawning and the rice is too young to harvest. But when the government sells off the land, the safety net goes with it.
These dangerous circumstances threaten the very existence of the more than 66,000 people who live in these remote hills. What's worse, the indigenous people here lack any real political power. Many feel marginalized by the mainstream Khmer, who dominate the government and still associate the rural minorities with the genocide of the 1970s, which began as an agrarian revolution.
"The people here, they feel very isolated. They feel like no one from the outside will come to help them," said Kim Sangha, coordinator of the 3 S Rivers Protection Network (3SPN), an Oxfam America partner.
As the scorching sun sets on the Sesan River, the people of Taveng Lou village get to work. Men take out their fishing boats and pull in their nets. Women fill their watering cans and irrigate their gardens and rice paddies. Families wade into the shallows, bathing and collecting water for household use.
Vietnam's Yali Falls dam disrupts this daily routine. Since it became operational in 2001, the Cambodians living downstream have noticed dramatic changes. Unexpected water surges have eroded the shoreline, depositing silt, sand, and rocks in the deep pools where fish live. And the fluctuating water levels have either swept away nets or left them high and dry.
All in all, villagers here say they've seen a 70 percent drop-off in their fish catch.
"Before, you used to be able to put a pot on the fire, walk down to the river, and catch some fish—all before the water boiled," said Em Vuthy, deputy governor of Taveng District. "Now you can spend a whole day and get one fish."
Beyond reducing the number of fish, the dam has altered the way people farm along the Sesan River. Traditionally, the villagers depended on the overflow of the river to water their plants and rice during the wet season. During the dry season, they would plant different crops that could handle the heat and scarcity of water. But now people like Mean Trosh, a mother of seven who grows cabbage, watercress, pumpkins, red chilies, eggplants, and rice along the water, can't plan around the seasons; the dam creates unexpected floods. Trosh says she tries to plant on higher ground, but even those gardens and rice paddies have been destroyed.
"When the water level changes, it rises quickly and goes down quickly," she said. "Last year, I tried to grow rice along the river, but it was damaged by the floods."
According to the villagers and Oxfam partners, the Yali Falls dam was built with no formal assessment of the environmental and social impacts downstream in Cambodia. And right now, more than a dozen dam projects like it are already in the works along the "3 S Rivers"—the Sesan, Srepok, and Sekong—that flow from the central highlands of Vietnam and southern Laos downstream to the northeast provinces of Cambodia.
Last August, a huge flood along the Srepok River inundated at least 15 villages in Stung Treng and Ratanakiri. More than 650 families were affected. Months later, sitting on the wooden floor of their village pagoda under a cascade of prayer flags, Dae Low villagers shouted over each other as they recalled what happened.
Villagers reported hearing a bulletin on the radio that one of the dams under construction would be releasing water for a few days. But by the time the bulletin aired, the Srepok was already rising. Many of the villagers didn't have access to radios. Those who did, lost time warning family and friends. When they returned home, their chickens, pigs, and water buffalo had drowned. Their vegetables had been washed away. More than 1,300 rice fields were destroyed—an entire year's harvest.
"We are very worried about the future," said the village chief, Prom Phally. "We don't know how to prepare for these floods."
The people of Cambodia's northeast highlands depend primarily on fishing and farming to make a living. But they have always looked to their forests as sacred places. They supplement their income by collecting local plants there and gather herbs for traditional medicines. During the dry season, when the green grass turns to yellow straw, they let their livestock wander into the woods for food and water.
At 67, Seth Gnal makes the three-mile trek to the woods near the Srepok River every three days. Together with family members, he collects tree resin to repair and maintain his fishing boats. He uses what's left to fuel the torches that illuminate his home in Kbal Romeas village.
Gnal feels threatened by his new neighbors: foreign-funded, Cambodian-fronted land concessionaires. These are the companies that make use of Cambodia's weak land titling laws to buy up what indigenous people consider their land. Even before these companies clear the land to plant single crops like teak—a hardwood requiring at least a decade to mature before it can be logged—they pay armed guards to prevent the local people from coming through.
"Before, the indigenous people in the village always went to the forests to gather vines, resin, rattan, and honey to sell," said Kim Deung, another villager. "Now, if we go into the forest, the guards will catch and arrest us. We're afraid to go in."
According to locals, the plantation owners have promised to give them work. But it's usually people from the larger towns who get hired. And even then, the pay is poor: less than $2 a day.
At the same time, the concessions often encroach on land the indigenous people use to grow rice. This situation forces them to remain on the few parcels of land they already occupy. For farmers and fishers who typically move every 15 years to allow the soil to regenerate, it threatens the farmers' ability to feed their families. Many people end up producing so little that they must sell the rice they grow and borrow the rice they eat.
"The Forest Administration tells us we can't clear some of the forest for more rice fields, yet the concessionaires are permitted to clear the forest and sell the trees," Gnal said.
To make matters worse, the land concession sales slowly strip the local people of their culture. As Estela Estoria, a program officer in Oxfam America's East Asia office explained, the 15-year interval of farming is so engrained in the highlanders' way of life that they use the Khmer word for these farms—chamka—to measure the ages of their friends and family members. A 15-year-old is one chamka. A 30-year-old, two.
"The indigenous people don't know why this is happening to them," Estoria said. Animists and Buddhists, "they feel like God or their ancestors are angry with them."
The work of Oxfam's partners begins here, teaching the local people about the outside forces impinging on their lifestyle and working with them to advocate on their own behalf.
Local o rganizations like 3SPN, the Culture-Environment Preservation Association, and the NGO Forum on Cambodia encourage the highlanders to use their indigenous knowledge to keep written records about the changes in their environment. The records describe which species of fish are dying off, how quickly the water is rising or falling, and which plants have been eliminated by the clearing of the trees. Then the partners train members of the communities to form local networks. Through these networks, the network leaders, called "focal people," teach the villagers to consolidate their research, write petitions to land concession companies, and even speak out at stakeholder meetings of dam developers and governments.
As a result of this work, officials of Electricity of Vietnam, the agency behind the hydropower dams in that country, met to discuss the environmental and social impacts on the Srepok River basin this past January. It was the first time in more than a decade that the Cambodian indigenous people affected by these projects could speak directly with the Vietnamese government, the Cambodian government, and the donors funding the construction.
The indigenous people used the opportunity to ask for compensation for their lost livelihoods, fishing boats, and equipment. They asked for a share of the benefits of the dam, such as electricity transmission lines for their community. And they asked that no new dams be constructed without their consultation.
According to news accounts, the Vietnamese government agreed to "implement dam projects with bilateral agreements, follow international treaties, look to having the citizens of Vietnam and Cambodia gain income," and reduce environmental impact. The Cambodian government said it would work on reducing the impact of the dams on local people and the environment.
Having accomplished this much already, Oxfam's Cambodian partners hope to increase the participation of indigenous people in dam projects and land concession disbursements. It's a slow path to success, but in a country working to overcome so much, the progress is historic.
"It was amazing to realize that the ministries were all raising the same issues as the local authorities and villagers. Everyone was just waiting for a legitimate platform to speak out," said Sangha of 3SPN. "Now we need to follow up with the national governments to make sure they come through on their promises. That's the biggest challenge."
With additional reporting by Brett Eloff.
]]>"Cambodia needs a very good new petroleum law and expertise from Oxfam and World Bank would be very interesting," said Than Sina, chair of the National Assembly's planning and investment commission, at the first national public forum on extractive industries in April.
Oxfam America organized the event in Phnom Penh, which was attended by more than 130 members of the public, media, government, the private sector, and diplomatic missions.
"It would be a big opportunity for the government to draft a good law. We can't do it by ourselves, but with the help of Oxfam and other groups we have a good chance of making it work – other wise, Cambodia will be like Chad," Sina added. In Chad, a much vaunted plan to direct oil revenues towards poverty reduction, backed by the World Bank, has unraveled and the population has seen few concrete benefits from the oil boom there.
Chevron and other companies are currently exploring oil fields in Cambodian territorial waters. It is possible that oil production could begin in 2010, although the probability of finding significant oil reserves is not known. Sina said that oil and gas exploration represents a great opportunity for Cambodia because other natural resources such as timber and fish are quickly depleting.
Oxfam welcomes and supports the government's intention to work with other organizations to make development that supports poor communities part of the agenda. Our work centers around helping civil society and the wider population engage with the government before the new law is created. The current Cambodian Petroleum Act regulations were adopted by the Council of Ministers in 1991.
Oxfam's extensive extractive industries program in South America, Central America, United States, West Africa, and East Asia seeks to ensure that oil, gas and mining projects are designed in ways that respect the rights of the poor, and contribute to the long-term reduction of poverty.
In several countries, Oxfam has supported local groups to influence the development of new petroleum and mining laws. In Bolivia, for example, the new government's hydrocarbons law increased the rights of local communities to be consulted before oil and gas projects moved forward, and gave the National Assembly the ability to approve individual projects.
"The promise of oil wealth for Cambodia presents an opportunity to reduce poverty. But, experiences from other countries show that, on a variety of economic indicators, those that become dependent on oil as their leading export have often performed worse than countries without oil," said Ian Gary, extractive industries policy advisor for Oxfam America.
"While no country is perfect, there are positive elements of particular country experiences that Cambodia could draw upon. Nigeria, for example, has completed three audits under the "Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative," Gary said.
Oxfam also highlighted the experience of the joint government and civil society Petroleum Revenue Oversight and Control Committee in Chad. While the Chad experiment with oil revenue management has largely unravelled, this Committee formed in 2002 and tasked with approving social spending projects using oil revenues, made some strides to provide checks and balances in government spending. "In many countries, local civil society organizations have played a crucial monitoring role to try to ensure that oil, gas and mining revenues are used for beneficial purposes," Gary said.
Cambodian civil society could draw upon the experiences of other national level coalitions involved in the global Publish What You Pay campaign, which is a coalition over 300 NGOs worldwide who calls for the mandatory disclosure of the payments made by oil, gas and mining companies' to all governments for the extraction of natural resources. Publish What You Pay also calls on resource-rich developing country governments to publish full details on revenues.
After a preliminary meeting in August, Oxfam brought together a number of key organizations in January, including World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF), Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS), and PACT Cambodia. The groups reviewed proposed oil and mining projects and discussed ways to ensure that future revenues contribute to sustainable development in the region.
In recent months, companies from the US, China, and Australia have scrambled to obtain mining rights in Cambodia, a country rich in untapped resources. BHP Billiton, Southern Gold, Oxiana, Chevron, and other companies have signed deals with the government to explore indigenous lands, including protected forests, for minerals such as bauxite, gold and copper and offshore areas for oil and gas.
"The rapid pace of the development means that we might not have a say about if it happens, but more how it happens," said Warwick Browne, a program officer in Oxfam America's East Asia office.
The future revenues from the extraction of resources could add up to several billions of dollars a year in the near future, according to estimates by local organizations. That amount is expected to dwarf Cambodia's current economy, which is currently based on foreign aid, agriculture, and garment manufacturing.
With that sort of cash influencing the government's actions, Oxfam and other non-governmental organizations say they will have to act as watchdogs over the burgeoning extractive industries, making sure that the affected indigenous people get a say in the whole development process—and if and when oil and mining projects should even move forward on their ancestral lands.
"Now they're just exploring, but it's important to get people involved early on. By participating, we want to avoid environmental, social, and cultural impacts," said Chhith Sam Ath, executive director of The NGO Forum on Cambodia, an Oxfam partner. "We also want to empower communities to have some decision-making power."
NGOs have long played an important role in advocating for Cambodian people and their rights over natural resources. Back in the early 1980s, when the country began rebuilding after the devastating reign of the Khmer Rouge, groups like WWF and WCS began their campaign to conserve the forests of the northeast highlands, those threatened then by a sudden influx of illegal logging, and now by the extraction of minerals.
The organizations made the issue a zero-sum game, said Joe Walston, country program director for WCS. There was little conversation about how logging revenue could help Cambodia, only about how it would hurt the affected ethnic communities and biodiversity. With mining, the groups need to think more broadly and consider how mining could actually fuel the economy, Walston said.
The biggest challenge for Cambodia will be avoiding the "resource curse." when countries rich in resources are essentially cursed by their bounty instead of blessed by it. Unable to translate their resources into a strong economy, some countries actually become poorer when large-scale mineral, gas, and oil companies generate export revenues that are either squandered or misused.
"Oxfam and its partners need to engage with the government and corporations to make sure that affected communities are not left worse off," Browne said. "At the same time, Cambodia needs to follow best practices and international standards so that oil, gas, and mining can be managed in a just and equitable way."
]]>Now, "the field" may sound like an exotic place, full of adventure and intrigue. As a Boston-based writer for Oxfam, that's usually what I've experienced during visits to mountain villages in China, rice farms in Cambodia, and coffee farms in Guatemala. Then I spent a week with Estela in late January, traveling to the northeast highlands of Cambodia. The trip gave me a whole new understanding of the sort of challenges Oxfam's dozens of program officers face.
People like Estela work full-time while finishing their PhDs. They leave their home countries—the Philippines, China, Australia, Vietnam—to live in poor communities. They develop not only specialized knowledge but also the people skills to share it. But beyond the impressive credentials and the wealth of experience, theirs is hard, hard work – and it requires a good deal of patience and flexibility. Luckily for Oxfam, program officers like Estela seem to genuinely enjoy what they do. In fact, it's the messy, uncomfortable, generally stressful work they like the most.
It was a Monday morning, and we were flying north in a chartered plane no bigger than a minivan. Estela was chaperoning photographer Brett Eloff and me during a trip to interview the indigenous people who live near the Sesan and Srepok rivers. We were on our way to Ratanakiri and Stung Treng, Cambodia's least populated provinces, which sit along the Vietnamese and Laotian borders. Brett sat in front with the pilot, Estela and I sat in the middle, and two other passengers sat in the back.
We passed over the snaking Mekong River, the source of life and livelihood for so many Cambodians. Dry rice fields blanketed the ground below.A thick expanse of trees gave way toa patchwork of square fishing plots on the Srepok River.
As we climbed higher, the small plane caught the wind under its wings, skidding a bit atop the clouds. Clutching my seat, I looked over at Estela who gave me an encouraging smile. It was frightening and exhilarating all at once.
Two hours later, the plane touched down on a red-dirt runway doubling as a playground. We loaded our sleeping bags and backpacks into a waiting SUV, and traveled a few miles to the local office of our partner, 3SPN. After a quick PowerPoint presentation and lunch, we were back in the SUV, four of us crammed into the backseat for the two-hour ride to a village in the Taveng District. As we nodded in and out of sleep, our driver artfully navigated the dusty roads, slowing down to maneuver around holes and bumps. By the time we arrived at the village, it was late in the afternoon and the sun was dipping in the sky.
Like many Cambodian villages, Taveng Lou was overrun by livestock. Roosters, chickens, pigs, and water buffalo wandered freely. Giant stilts held up wooden homes with thatched roofs. Children huddled in clusters and stared at outsiders, the smallest kids running around in the buff. Dirt was everywhere, except in the homes, which mothers and daughters meticulously swept clean.
With the light fading and the mosquitoes emerging, we set out on a trek to interview and photograph the villagers. I wanted to talk with the indigenous people who are struggling to maintain their lifestyle despite the construction of a dam upstream in Vietnam. The dam has polluted their drinking water, decimated their fish catch, and wiped out their rice fields.
We hiked to the Sesan River, crossing a suspended bridge rickety enough to test anyone's sense of balance. But when we got to the water, we couldn't find any fishers or farmers. The local people used to depend on the river for their livelihoods. Now, many villagers have simply moved away. Others are spending more and more time trying to supplement their incomes, going deep into the nearby forest to collect honey and rattan to sell.
Kim Sangha, the executive director of 3SPN, told us we'd have to look for people by boat. Getting to the boat, however, required scaling the muddy banks of the river. Estela and I held hands to make it down together. As we stepped into the small fishing canoe, we worried aloud about capsizing it. Before we knew it, though, we were in and on our way. The sun reflected off the water as we motored past sandbars and fishing traps.
Spotting a riverside gardener, we brought the canoe ashore and got to work. Sangha, Estela, and I interviewed the woman, who depends on the natural flow of the river to irrigate her vegetables. The water flow has been erratic since the dam construction. Her gardens have sometimes been flooded and destroyed.
After the interviews, we headed back to the village chief's home to eat and spend the night. When we got there, covered in dust, I remembered what Estela had told me before the trip. No running water in this village. No wells. No pumped water of any kind. We'd have to bathe in the Sesan River.
We walked down to the water. As I leaned against a canoe to balance myself while changing into a sarong, I realized that Estela had no intention of getting in the river. The villagers had told her too many times how dirty the water had gotten since the dams were built. Some reported getting skin diseases.
Given that this was my only source of water, though, I felt like I had no other choice. As I entered the water, Ame Tandem, another 3SPN staffer, warned me that the rocks were slippery, covered with the algae growing uncontrolled since the dams had changed the water's flow. I grabbed her hand as I slithered in. Estela watched us from the shore, using her handiwipes to clean up.
I was cold and feeling ridiculous. Then I looked up. Before me, a sky full of stars. Behind me, the sunset cast an orange glow over the horizon. It was a good way to end a very long day.
Our pocket flashlights guided us back to the village chief's house. We were tired and ready for our beds – sleeping bags under mosquito nets. But Estela informed us that the district chief and his deputy were waiting to speak with us. It was the last thing I wanted to do. But it was the culturally appropriate gesture. So, I did what Estela does every visit. I sat down and listened.
The next couple of days were more of the same, long car drives to dusty villages. Somewhere along the way I ate something I shouldn't have, maybe an undercooked vegetable, maybe something else. It was my second bout of food poisoning in five days. On top of that, I was exhausted and irritable. I told Estela I didn't know how she did this all the time.
That Thursday, CEPA, another partner organization that works with river communities, took us on our next trip. By this time, I'd had plenty of experience with the rough, unpaved roads we'd need to travel to get to the next village. So I was surprised when our driver showed up not in a four-wheel drive, but a 1980s Toyota Camry with no air conditioning. As the driver flew down the road, much faster than felt safe, we sat quietly in the backseat, sweating through our clothes. What else could we do? In these situations, Oxfam staff have to just go with the arrangements made for them.
Finally, our driver's recklessness led to the inevitable. While trying to cross a dried-up riverbed too fast, we got a flat tire. We were 11 miles from the village and in the middle of a forest. The driver had a spare, but after changing the tire, he announced that he was leaving us and would like to be paid for the gas required for his trip back home.
My patience exhausted, I started to argue. But Estela stopped me. There was nothing else we could do, she explained. It was better to just pay the man and move on. We ended up laughing in disbelief at our situation as we waited a few hours for another car to pick us up.
And, making the best of things yet again, Estela pulled her hammock out of her backpack, tied it to a tree, and took a nap.
By the time we made it back to Phnom Penh on Friday afternoon, I was cranky and feeling weak. All I really wanted to do was stumble into my hotel room, take a shower, and go to bed.
It took the weekend to get over my food illness. When I arrived at Oxfam's Phnom Penh office Monday morning, I was still shaky, and quite itchy from mosquito bites. But there was Estela, bustling about, neatly dressed in a pretty linen skirt and blouse.
She told me she was getting ready to leave for Vietnam the next day. Watching her run around the office, trying to secure her entrance visa and finalize last-minute details, I was astounded. A week in the rough had worked me over. Estela seemed invigorated by it, and eager for more.
"Going to the field keeps me energized," she explained. "I love talking to the local people, hearing their stories and experiencing their culture. No matter how difficult their situations, they always seem to not only survive, but live happily. The trips inform my work – and they remind me why I came to Oxfam in the first place."
]]>They want to sidestep outside lenders who charge exorbitant interest rates.
They want to put their savings somewhere safe, instead of hiding it in a suitcase or cupboard.
And they want to keep their money in the community so they can make loans to villagers, and pay for health care, education, farm tools, or extra help. For countless poor people around the world, having a safe place to save and access to that savings when a need arises means a way out of poverty.
"I want to use the money to buy a rice mill," says Ros Dy, a rice and vegetable farmer. "A rice mill is very good to keep in the group."
While an estimated 60 million of the world's self-employed have access to small loans from NGOs or private lenders, at least 200 million more are too poor or live in areas too remote for such services.
Oxfam America is working with local partners in Cambodia, Mali, and Senegal to develop a community finance approach that trains poor people to save what they can and distribute it within their villages—for an investment of about $20 per savings group member.
Oxfam and its partners use this methodology to combat poverty on a large scale with low costs, local control, and an easy-to-replicate format, said Jeffrey Ashe, the manager of the Community Finance program.
"What you want to do is drop that pebble in the water and see the ripples spread," he said.
How do you to teach the world's poorest people to save when many cannot read or write? Through active participation, Ashe said.
When Oxfam staff traveled to Mali in February to train Senegalese and Malian partners on how to form savings groups, they learned that some Western methods—like drawing on paper with markers—didn't really work too well.
"But if you drew in the dirt, people understood because they could do it themselves," Ashe said.
In May, that theme carried through to Cambodia, where Oxfam staff watched its local partner, the Centre d'Etude et de Développement Agricole Cambodgien (CEDAC), trade stories with villagers as a way to get them talking.
By asking questions and responding through stories, savings groups could decide who got a loan and at what interest rate. And they could establish rules for when money should be repaid.
"It's all very discussion-based," Ashe said. "You ask, ‘What would you like to do with your money? Well, how much would that cost?'"
By June, Oxfam staff and local partners were watching their simple, accessible approach take off.
In West Africa, partners Conseil et Appui pour l'Education a la Base (CAEB) and Le Tonus reported forming more than 200 village savings groups with an average of 24 members each in just six weeks. Some planned on divvying up the cash to individuals at the end of the saving cycle, while others focused on using the money to benefit the whole community—purchasing a grain mill or cultivating vegetables for sale at local markets.
In Cambodia, CEDAC reported plans to retrain its current base of 700 savings groups and add 300 new groups in just one year of using the new methodology. Ashe said CEDAC is in a position to actually accomplish it.
They have plenty of experience pulling communities together. Many of their savings groups are actually farmer associations that focused on specific high-yield agriculture techniques. Others had formed to work as self-help groups. Transitioning intosavings represents a natural progression.
But it can work in the other direction, too. Once a savings group is formed, it can take on other goals, like agriculture, health issues, or literacy. First though, the partners have to build up trust with villagers, said Vincent Wierda, the Community Finance Specialist in Oxfam's East Asia office.
"When it comes to saving together, it's a test of leadership to manage and protect the money jointly," Wierda said. Partners like "CEDAC allow a community to get used to the idea before pooling their money like this."
This is the first step in a long process of community finance, Wierda said. "Within four to six years, most of these villages should have the resources to effect change in their communities."
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