Sydney Life

A motorbike’s carrying power should never be underestimated. Minutes after touching down in Phnom Penh I was marvelling at the acrobatic precision of a young boy twisting and turning a giant truck fender through the pulsing traffic. A family of five whizzed through the streets on their ‘sedan’. One man, while talking on his mobile, sat taking notes in a book wedged between himself and the driver. Others were loaded up with colourful fruit, veggies and produce from the markets, bags hanging from every nook and cranny.

Zigzagging through the city, life was loud and unabated. But street 264, a quiet bougainvillea and Buddhist Watt lined haven, was my final port of call. After months of dreaming, planning and anticipation I was suddenly ‘Gemma from the Phnom Penh Post.’

I had arrived on the doorstep of Cambodia’s oldest and most comprehensive English newspaper for a six week internship. A small office of about 12 staff, the bi-weekly Post is admired for its independent and fearless reporting.

The press card I was issued, stipulating my role as ‘reporter’ and ‘photographer’, was purely administrative but, for me, carried much more symbolic weight. I was a journalist in what I considered one of the most interesting countries in the world!

As an aspiring reporter it was an unparalleled opportunity made possible by the Myer fellowship program at uni. Offering placements at newspapers in Phnom Penh, Manilla, Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur these fellowships, along with another program sending students to Seoul, were open to all final year Media and Communications students.

Securing one was a matter of applying, showing evidence of published work, a passion for journalism, an interest for and knowledge of the country and a final interview.

Lucky enough to have been given the chance, my time in Phnom Penh was fuller and more rewarding than I could ever have dreamed. Everyday presented a new challenge as I fell into the rhythm of the paper, the media scene and life in Cambodia. More than a work placement, I felt settled and part of a wonderful community. The Khmer people, having been through so much in the recent past, were amazing.

Riding through the streets, whether in the cool of the early morning or fierce heat of the midday sun I had the freedom of watching life unfold around me. Monks draped in orange and yellow robes, holding books and umbrellas, wandered to and from prayer and lessons. Men, women and children gathered to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner on street corners. The markets, packed full of produce and colour were filled with eels, snake meat, glazed duck, fried cockroaches and sumptuous mountains of fruit and veggies. Moving slowly through the traffic, people on bicycles laden with goods peddled their livelihoods through the city maze. Small children, whose parents sold fruit on the side of the road, with smiles to melt any heart danced dangerously close to the passing flow. Cymbals and chants rung above the noise as quiet Buddhist Watts provided sanctuary across the city.

More than anything, with the opportunity to delve into the lives and stories of everyday Cambodians, it was a privilege to be a journalist. My role opened up windows into worlds and issues I felt lucky to be privy to and involved in reporting. From community street cleaning initiatives to the growth in youth literacy to the garment industry’s struggle for fair industrial relations my stories were varied and reflective of the amazing access and opportunity for growth and learning I had.

I chased stories through the provinces, did a ten hour trek in a day to interview surveyors of a controversial development project, interviewed government officials, trade union leaders, artists and the community, spent time in a garment factory, attended press and national conferences, sought out corrupt traffic police and submitted my own photography with each piece.

After a few days in Phnom Penh I was invited to a local party. Sipping on Angkor Beer and learning how to curl my hands in a traditional Cambodian way I danced to Khmer pop with new friends. After a dinner of congealed pigs blood, vegetables and noodles I rode my purple bicycle home. Earlier that day, pressed up against US actress Mia Farrow in a rowdy demonstration against genocide in Darfur outside the Khmer Rouge prison I enjoyed my first media rumble. Six weeks, a myriad of press conferences, interviews, photos, stories and wonderful experiences later I fad fallen for a country and city that, without a doubt, will be calling me back before too long. But for now, my final year of uni awaits!