I tell the four children (Channa, Rithy, Srey and Chong) that we will get them bicycles once we see that they are able to take care of their things responsibly. Until then, they will all share my red, adult-sized bicycle. Since only Channa and Rithy, the two older boys, know how to ride a bicycle, this has never caused too many problems. But after having recently surprised us all with her sudden (and very hilarious) love for dancing, Srey has set it in her mind that her next great task shall be to learn how to ride a bicycle. She asks for a Srey-sized bike every day, but her first lessons are taking place on the big red bicycle. Since she isn’t able to sit on the saddle and reach the pedals, we take the saddle off. She climbs on the bike, and, exclaiming wildly (mostly to herself), grabs the handlebars while staring ahead with great determination and pedaling as fast as she can, leaving it up to me to secure her balance. Holding the back of the bike, stabilizing Srey and running along as fast as I can in my not very secure shoes, I wonder how I ever managed not to notice all the stones and potholes in the dirt road. “Leun peik oat?”, I ask her quite out of breath. “Are we going too fast?” Without looking back, she calls “atee!”, meaning “not at all”. Still looking ahead and pedaling wildly, she continues: “let’s go until Ya’s house… down there… way down there… wumm, WUMM!” I barely have time to notice a group of women with scarves tied around their heads stop in mid-track and stare motionlessly at this very, very strange sight. They stand and stare, in fact, so long that we pass them a second time on our way back, leaving them staring after what I picture to be a red cloud of dirt.
- Jenny
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