Loung Ung • 6 augustus 1977

• Loung Ung (1970) is een Cambodjaans-Amerikaanse mensenrechtenactiviste. Haar herinneringen aan haar jonge jaren in Cambodja zijn verschenen als First they killed my father. In augustus 1977 werd de zevenjarige Loung doorgestuurd naar een trainingskamp voor kindsoldaten. Hierdoor werd ze gedwongen haar zus Chou achter te laten.

August 1977
On my first day of field work, after only a few steps in the muddy water, my ankles and toes start to itch. I lift one foot out the water and scream loudly. There are fat black leeches all over my ankles, feet, and between my toes. I have seen leeches before, but never ones so big and fat. These are bigger than my fingers. Black and slimy, they attach themselves to my flesh with suction cups, sucking my blood! Their bodies writhe and vibrate, making my skin itch and tingle. Frantically, I try to peel them off, my fingers grabbing their cold squishy bodies. The leeches stretch with my pull, become longer. They refuse to let go. Finally, I get one head off but the other end stays firm and continues to take more blood. 

A workmate comes over to me and laughs. For a brief second the sound of laughter startles me. “You are so stupid! This is the only way to get them off.” She pulls out a stalk of grass. Her hands hold both ends of the stalk, and she swipes the grass down and around my ankle. The leeches fall off onto the ground, leaving my ankle bleeding. 

“This way both heads come off at once. Next time, put the legs of your pants down, and tie them tight around your ankles so nothing can get in.” I had rolled my pants up so as not to get them wet. I was wondering why everyone wore them down. 

 “What about my feet and toes?” I ask anxiously. The girl shrugs her shoulders. 

 “There’s nothing much we can do. They don’t hurt and they can’t take much blood. I pull them off at the end of the day. Get used to them.” 

 I shudder at the thought and wonder if I can. From afar, Met Bong screams for me to stop being lazy and get back into the water. My heart beats quickly. Laziness is the worst crime against the Angkar. I tie my pants tight around my ankles with long grass and jump back into the rice paddy. In the water, the warm mud oozes itself between my toes and after a few steps, my feet and toes begin to tingle and itch again. “Get used to it!” I mutter to myself. Gritting my teeth with determination, I bend over to plant the rice. The work is back-breaking and boring, and the sun burns my black pajama clothes. As the hours pass, my mind wanders to Keav. This is what she did every day until she died. Sweat drips down my face and chin as my stomach convulses. I have no time to be weak. At the end of the day, I did forget about the leeches clinging to my toes, but I did not forget about my sister.