By Mia-Margaret Laabs '93
(The Internationalist Fall 2010 Vol. 46)
Mia-Margaret Laabs, Class of 1993, attended Nishimachi from kindergarten to ninth grade. (She is the daughter of Mariko Laabs, Director of Admissions, and sister to Dawn Laabs, Class of '86 and Eve Laabs, Class of '96. ) After Nishimachi, she attended the American School in Japan and Barnard College, Columbia University. After working as a financial journalist, she now works at an asset management firm that specializes in alternative investments.
It was originally a whimsical suggestion—three words, over e-mail: "How about Cambodia?" I was visiting my mother in Tokyo and we were looking to take a trip from there. Cambodia had always been one of my "must visit in this lifetime" places—and this, combined with my aunt's advice to my mother to visit the ruins of Angkor while still young and fit (my 60-something aunt was wheelchaired off the plane at Narita with knees the size of bee hives), comprised the bases of the suggestion. The response was a quick yes—and it was only then that I learned of Nishimachi's involvement in Cambodia.
Nishimachi built a school in 2001 through the American Assistance for Cambodia, a not-for-profit organization founded and run by Bernie Krisher and his daughter Debbie Krisher, a Nishimachi alumnae. I learned many other Nishimachi families individually donated to build schools through the program as well. These schools predominantly follow the nationalized curriculum, but differentiate themselves by having a strong focus on English by dispatching English teachers trained by the program, and by supplying internet access, however remote the location. The cost to build the school: US$13,000; and the annual operating cost: US$9000. Nishimachi is a vibrant institution today, but had its beginnings as a makeshift classroom inside Miss Tane Matsukata's private home. Half a century later, Nishimachi sowed the seeds of Kirivorn School, located approximately 160 kilometers south of Phnom Penh.
I could not but help overlay my own narrative to Nishimachi's close relationship with Kirivorn School—it was in ninth grade in John Montgomery's Social Studies class that I had first learned of this Southeast Asian country. It was the latter half of ninth grade—I was juggling my studies, basketball and a looming deadline for Chiheisen, when Mr. Montgomery assigned us to choose a country in Asia to write a report on. It was like nowhere I knew—a military regime, genocide by its own people, relentless landmines—and a name that kept switching back and forth between Cambodia and Kampuchea. With Chiheisen faculty advisor Ginny Anami breathing down my neck daily for an editorial that still hadn't been written (in hindsight, one of the first cases of my long string of writer's blocks—not to mention a long string of harassing editors and the mechanical response: "It will get done," pause, "sometime"— I decided to see where the writing would take me if I let it flow—and flow I let it, and found myself juxtaposing my blissful life adorned with cherry blossoms and afterschool ice cream to limbless laborers of my own age.
Thus, it struck a chord when my mother informed me that Nishimachi's student government this year made a donation to comprise the lion's share of the annual operating cost of Kirivorn School. I was awed—raising JPY900,000 through hot dog sales and car washes was no joke. My pride for my alma mater surged, but at the same time, I was enormously humbled—I can't say the student government I served in the early 90s could have pulled off such a feat, but alas, we were busy trying to figure out who would deejay the next dance party.
But now, I was here to do my part, to observe firsthand how our sister school was doing. The slowing down of the van and the switch to a gravel road gently woke me from my snooze. "It's a left turn here," announced Chihhn Sokna, who accompanied us from the American Assistance for Cambodia. The van parked parallel to one of the long three building structures under the shade of a handsome tree. Through the windshield, I saw one boy come twirling down the tree trunk—and another, and another—I think there were about four or five of them all together. We had stumbled upon recess for the younger grades—and our arrival escalated the happy shrills of the playground, which had no slides or jungle gym, but the happiest group of children I have ever seen.
Once class recommenced, we visited each one. In addition to the attentiveness of the children and the warmth of the teachers, it was noticeable right away how cool it was inside. There was no air conditioner or fan—however, the well-planned architecture allowed students to focus on their classes, despite the midday sun outside. Nop Vey, who recounted his memorable visit to Tokyo and Nishimachi, introduced us to the rest of the faculty, including one who recently obtained a teaching degree to return to Kirivorn School—she was amongst the first group of graduates. We learned that talented teachers were drawn to the schools operating under American Assistance for Cambodia due to better salary, and that on-going funding for operating costs was crucial for program development. Apparently, some other schools had been physically built, but lack of subsequent funding and donor interest had stalled progress. No such thing here—we were shown a couple of bookshelves, supported by Nishimachi parent Terence Murphy, with well-read copies of Harry Potter in Khmer; the garden planted with morning glory (a spinach-like native leaf vegetable) that is cooked so students don't skip breakfast; and three to four computers—clearly a student-favorite.
Nop Vey walked into a fenced area by the garden and yanked on a lever, and the buzz of the power generator reverberated throughout the schoolyard. About eight to ten children surrounded each monitor—while one group played games, another was on Nishimachi's homepage looking at photos. They had borrowed the business card my mother handed to one of the teachers, and were quickly researching where their strange mother-daughter pair of visitors had come from. In addition to the website, an art book compiled by Nishimachi students of all grades addressed to the students of Kirivorn was also lying about, and it was clear the students enjoyed thumbing through this as well.
The challenges to the school are not few. As most families work in agriculture, the harvest period competes with school for the student's time. For some, physically getting to school is a burden due to the distance—this apparently is a bigger issue for the high school which is located even further, a deterrent to advancing their education. Still, it was evident there was no other place than school the students wanted to be. When classes ended, they lingered as long as possible—they loved their peers and teachers so much. The Kirivorn School is a very special place—Nishimachi can be proud and honored for its on-going involvement.