by Tara Winkler
While we were licking our wounds over the loss of Reaksmey, we also had to face up to the fact that my suspicions about our cook, Heng, were right. She was stealing money from the food budget. Not an awful lot of money, but the change she was getting at the markets definitely wasn’t making it back to CCT.
Whenever I asked her about it, she’d always come back with some vague excuse—a different one every time. We tried to give her clear warnings and change the process to make her more accountable, but it kept happening.
We had—and still have—a zero tolerance policy on corruption at CCT, so eventually we had to let her go, too.
A week or so later, it was time for Sinet and me to set off for Phnom Penh on the first leg of our journey to Australia.
I tried to prepare the kids well in advance for our departure and kept our goodbyes very light and cheery. Even so, saying goodbye was tough. All the kids cried.
As we travelled to Phnom Penh, they kept calling to tell me they missed me already. Jedtha told me they’d cried themselves to sleep for the next few nights. The kids’ sense of safety in the world seemed to depend so much on me. It was a concern.
Sinet was sorry for the kids, but her eyes were alight with excitement—her first plane trip, her first trip outside Cambodia.
I was too nervous about the fundraiser to feel excited. I’ve never been what you’d call an enthusiastic public speaker. But Sinet seemed unfazed. I asked her multiple times whether she was sure about wanting to share her story—it was a lot to share, a lot to open up about. She’d always reply: ‘Yes, I’m sure. I want to help. CCT is my home and it is my future and I am not losing it.’ Of course, she was a little nervous too. She wrote out her life story on palm cards and worked hard to get the English pronunciation down pat.
We picked up Chloe from Phnom Penh’s busy little airport and took her out for dinner. Chloe was going to stay in Battambang for six months, so she’d be there when we got back from Australia, but it was great to see her and have a short catch-up before I left.
We went to a cafe to scoff tofu and vegies and I briefed her on everything that had been happening at CCT. The sibling reunion project, the kids’ health, everything that had happened with Chan and Rath . . . ‘But we’ve got round-the-clock security at CCT now so you don’t need to worry,’ I assured her. ‘And I’ll be just a phone call away, and Sally Power will be visiting in a few weeks.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Chloe said. ‘I can’t wait to see the kids—and the dogs!’
After dinner we went back to the cheap hotel room we were all sharing. Sinet fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but Chloe and I got into one of those deep and meaningful late-night conversations.
Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop—it was such a relief to have a sympathetic ear. I told her all my worries and anxieties over funding. It looked like my future was going to be one long, unending hustle for money . . . (Turned out I was right about that.)
I nearly broke down in tears as I told her all this. The reality of helping children in Cambodia meant witnessing and working among desperate poverty, abuse, corruption and crime. The first eighteen months of CCT’s existence had been a real baptism of fire. In hindsight, I can see that I was quite traumatised by it all. I’d been running on pure adrenaline for months.
‘Let’s hope you can get a good rest in Australia,’ Chloe said. ‘You seem to really need it.’
15
Sinet’s first glimpse of Sydney was on a beautiful clear morning in October 2008, as our plane banked over the sparkling blue of Botany Bay. Compared to the bustle of Cambodia, Sydney was shiny, clean and modern, with massive buildings, amazing beaches, stunning harbour vistas and unimaginable wealth.
It was great to be around familiar faces, to sleep in my old room at Peter and Sue’s place. It was fun to introduce Sinet to all of my old stomping grounds, my friends and our family’s dogs. Everything in Sydney was exactly the same as it had ever been, and that familiarity was comforting.
But I was still so wound up inside that anyone who was foolish enough to ask: ‘How are things going over there?’ got a teary twenty-minute diatribe about everything we’d been through.
And I worried constantly about the fundraiser. Everything was riding on it being a success. But who was really going to care about our story? And even if it did go well, it seemed highly unlikely that we’d get enough new supporters to keep CCT afloat for the months and years ahead.
I was starting to seriously dread the speech I was going to have to give—I was already emotionally fragile and I knew that would only be amplified when I was up on a stage, standing at the podium. I was going to burst into tears and ruin the whole thing. I wished someone else, not me, could do the talking.
My head was full of all of these fears and worries when I got a cheery email from Chloe, letting me know that everything was going well, and the kids and the dogs were fine. Also, she’d been offered a dog and cat by some locals and could she take them on? They badly needed a home.
I wrote back rather frantically: ‘Chloe—I’m sorry, but I’m afraid not. We have too many mouths to feed already. Right now we just can’t afford it.’
I was sure she’d understand.
Sally Reynolds told me she was expecting about fifty or so people to come to the fundraiser. Fifty people! I’d never spoken in front of a crowd that big before. My anxiety grew and grew. By the time the night of the fundraiser rolled around, I was almost mute with terror.
When Sue, Sinet, Noni and I arrived at the small art gallery in Surry Hills, the place was packed. It seemed Sally’s strategy of sharing the fundraiser with Charlie Teo’s Cure for Life Foundation had worked well. More than a hundred people had turned up. The smart, glamorous Sydneysiders left Sinet and me feeling terribly unsophisticated in our polyester specials sourced from Battambang’s markets, with Cambodia’s dust still on our shoes.
During the welcoming drinks, whenever people asked me about CCT and the kids I started misting up with tears as I tried to answer. I quickly realised I just couldn’t speak to a crowd in the state I was in . . . I had a bowling ball in my stomach that wasn’t going anywhere.
I croaked at Sue: ‘I’m not doing it—I can’t.’
Sue looked at my face and immediately got it. She said: ‘Okay. Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll say a few words for you.’
So when my name was called, Sue heroically stepped up to the microphone and ad-libbed on my behalf. ‘Tara’s feeling too emotional to speak, so I’m going to tell you about the work that my daughter is doing in Cambodia . . .’ she began. She told the story of how we’d rescued the kids, and how proud she was of me. She concluded: ‘When people ask me why we should help people in Cambodia when you can help people at home, I tell them that when Tara was in Battambang she saw that something needed to be done about the poverty she witnessed. Wherever you are, if you see a need that should be addressed, you should do something. We should all do something.’
She started crying, and everyone applauded, which made me feel better about how tearful I was. The sympathy in the room spurred me on to be brave, so I stepped up to the microphone. It was excruciating, but I managed to elaborate on Sue’s depiction of events over the previous eighteen months and share some stories of the trials and tribulations—and also of some of the bittersweet times. I even managed to get a few laughs from the crowd, which was enormously encouraging. I ended by explaining how much we desperately needed their support to give the kids the futures they deserved.
Then I introduced Sinet—one of the bravest girls I’d ever met in my life.
It was a small, intimate room, so emotions were contagious. By the time I stepped away from the microphone some people were already dabbing at their eyes.
But Sinet was amazing. Beyond amazing. It turned out she was a natural at public speaking. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she slowly delivered her heart-rending story. As soon as she finished, she was greeted with deafening applause. Everyone—I reall
y do mean everyone—was crying. Some were even pulling out their hankies and blowing their noses.
For Sinet, receiving such a heartfelt ovation from the people in that room helped her to see what a brave, inspiring and extraordinary young woman she is, and to turn a series of traumatic events that had been a source of terrible shame for her into something she was proud of surviving. She realised that she could be a role model for the many other young girls in Cambodia who have lived through similar horrors. It was a life-changing moment for Sinet.
Sally Reynolds then stepped up to the mic to invite neurosurgeon Charlie Teo to speak. Everyone turned to look up at the mezzanine level of the small gallery, where a tall, fit-looking guy in his forties stood. Charlie called down: ‘I’m sorry—I can’t follow that. What an amazing story. These girls deserve all of your support tonight.’
People started coming up to me and saying incredibly kind, generous things. I felt very moved and humbled by the reaction. I wished Jedtha had been there, because a large portion of all that praise belonged to him, too.
Charlie introduced himself and we had a quick chat. He was a very down-to-earth guy, and he listened intently to everything I had to say about CCT.
‘I’m gonna help you,’ he said, handing me his card.
Thanks to Sally’s incredible efforts, the night was an outstanding success. People dug deep to buy the donated artworks and raffle tickets.
Some incredible musicians donated their time, too. The Aussie-Israeli pop star Lior settled at the microphone and announced that he was dedicating the song he was about to perform to Sinet.
Sinet and I had no idea who he was, but soon the whole room was spellbound, singing along to his hit song, ‘This Old Love’. I looked at Sue and thought: Far out, even my mum knows the words! I really have been away a long time.
He came over to speak with us for several minutes and instantly became Sinet’s biggest celebrity crush. He is still a dedicated supporter of CCT and we’re very grateful for everything he’s done for us over the years.
I was blown away by the response we got at the fundraiser and hoped it was an indication of what was to come—because we still had a lot of fundraising to do to make CCT viable.
For the next few weeks, our lives were all about rushing from one meeting to the next. Sinet and I met with people who had attended the fundraiser, almost all of our existing donors (whom we only knew via email at that stage) and with many of our donors’ friends and colleagues. We told our stories over and over again to small groups of people at cafes and restaurants, in people’s homes and offices.
The meetings proved successful. We got twenty new regular supporters on board. One very kind-hearted businessman wrote us a cheque for $20,000 on the spot. I came out of every single meeting thinking: YES! We can do this! I felt profoundly grateful for every dollar we received. None of these people had to part with their hard-earned cash. The privilege of seeing such extraordinary acts of human kindness is still one of the best parts of my job.
I wanted to give something back to our supporters. We didn’t have the money to get anything professionally printed, so Sinet and I got a bunch of my old, unused black art books and spent our evenings cutting and pasting photos to create little CCT scrapbooks as ‘thank you’ gifts.
I couldn’t believe it. Everything was going to be okay.
Charlie Teo took Sinet and me out to lunch. Charlie is a freak of nature. He’s one of the world’s top neurosurgeons, performing amazing feats of surgery on patients when other surgeons have given up hope. He has a passion for kickboxing and motorbikes, and he is the founder of the biggest brain cancer research foundation in Australia.
He was very easy to talk to and listened intently to our stories. He said he’d plan a visit to CCT as soon as he could. He also said: ‘I’m going to contact ABC TV for you. The guys at Australian Story will do a great job of representing you.’
It was a big promise—the documentary show Australian Story had done huge things for Charlie’s foundation, as far as I understood. It seemed like a great opportunity, but one I never quite believed would materialise. That was, until I got an email from one of their journalists asking to meet with Sinet and me while we were in town.
We met the journalist at a cafe in Bondi Beach. She was a tall, elegant woman with a kind face. ‘I’ve heard some amazing things about you from Charlie,’ she said. ‘I’d love to hear more!’
I launched into the spiel I’d been giving everyone over the last few weeks. She seemed to hang on every word and said lovely flattering things like: ‘It’s such an amazing story! You’re such an inspiring/brave/ incredible girl!’
I was so encouraged by the journalist’s interest I couldn’t shut up. When she asked me what made me go to Cambodia I told her my deepest darkest secrets. My teenage struggle with anorexia, my disappointment with the film industry, the dark feelings that had overwhelmed me after my grandmother’s death . . .
She said: ‘You’re amazing—honestly, I’m just so blown away. This will make a terrific story!’
I left the meeting thinking: Great, that’s in the bag. Of course I realised the journalist had to put it to her bosses first, but I’d given it my best shot and I had the sense that her enthusiasm was genuine.
I knew this was a brilliant opportunity for CCT, but I didn’t stop for a moment to consider the impact it was going to have on me personally. And in hindsight I can’t believe I overshared so much. I’d behaved like I was talking to my long-lost best friend, not a journalist.
Peter, Sue and Sally Power were instantly supportive of the idea of appearing on Australian Story. ‘This is exactly the kind of show we should be doing, Tara,’ Sally said. ‘It could be life-changing for CCT and the kids!’
It sounded wonderful, but we didn’t even know if the documentary would go ahead, let alone if it would actually help raise any money. So Sinet and I returned to our hectic schedule of meetings and talks with potential donors, focusing on the funding. We needed to raise as much as we could if CCT was going to survive.
Chloe emailed to let me know that things at CCT were going along well, but Sida had caused a small furore with the staff. Apparently Meah had come down on her quite hard for being late. She promptly informed him that if he ever spoke to her like that again: ‘I’ll tell Tara and she’ll fire you!’
Okay, so I’d have to have a chat with Sida. It wasn’t great that she was rude to Meah, but I thought it was quite good to hear that our once shy, beaten-down girl felt safe enough to stand up for herself. I saw it as a small victory. We must be doing the right thing if the kids felt safe enough to speak their minds and weren’t intimidated like they were at SKO.
I felt nothing but buoyant and confident about the future as the departure date for our trip back to Battambang approached. Sinet and I couldn’t wait to head home in triumph.
Throughout these busy weeks in Sydney, I spent whatever spare time I could with Carolyn Shine.
We quickly developed a lovely relationship that bounced along in text messages and late-night dinners at her place. She had so many passions: music, linguistics, tropical plants, art, animation, cats, vegetarian cooking, physics, scepticism, travel . . . There was no denying, I’d developed quite the crush on her by now.
Every spring, Carolyn’s large circle of musician friends hold a get-together they call Floranaelia at a friend’s house about an hour north of Sydney. They set up tents, light campfires, eat incredible food and play mind-blowing music together for three epic days. This year, it was to be held just a few days before I was due to fly back to Cambodia with Sinet. When Carolyn invited me along, I performed some quite advanced feats of mathematics to make the room in my schedule to go.
I’m so glad I did. It was a magical weekend.
Carolyn was in her element, her quick dry wit and infectious laugh at the ready. She had a sense of curiosity and humour that lit up a room. I was amazed by her ability to maintain close friendships with so many people. And her friends were an
amazing community—musicians, writers, scientists, intellectual hooligans . . . they suited me down to the ground. I felt completely at home with them.
Over the course of the weekend I was pretty chuffed to find out that she was into me, too. It was just a casual fling, but I was on cloud nine. I managed to extract a promise from her to come and visit me in Battambang soon.
The day after the party, I was back at Peter and Sue’s place, sleeping off the mother of all hangovers, when Peter knocked on my bedroom door. ‘Tara, I need to talk to you. It’s important.’ His tone was heavy and serious.
I staggered out of bed and followed him to the living room, going ‘What? What’s going on?’
He sat down opposite me on the couch, and took my hand. That was not a reassuring gesture. It made me think: WHAT the FUCK is going on?!
‘I have something to tell you.’
That was even worse.
Then he said: ‘Tara, I know you’re looking forward to going back to Cambodia, but it looks like you might not be able to. There’s been some trouble at CCT. You’re being accused of breaking a number of Cambodian laws . . .’
‘What?’ Was this some bizarre joke? Peter wasn’t that closely involved with CCT at this point—what on earth could he know that I didn’t?
‘The allegations are coming from Jedtha and Davi,’ he continued. ‘ . . . And Chloe.’
The blood drained from my face and I felt like I was going to faint. Or vomit.
Peter started running through the list of alleged crimes.
First, they accused me of possessing pornography, which is illegal in Cambodia.
I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘What? What pornography?!’
It turned out that Chloe had gone through all my stuff and had given the staff a box set of the Showtime TV series The L Word that was among my small collection of DVDs. She’d also given them a pop art image of a mouth that I’d been playing around with in Photoshop. The L Word is a primetime commercial TV show and the picture was my clumsy effort to teach myself how to apply coloured filters in Photoshop.