Dear friends and partners, Today we return to work after Khmer New Years and Easter celebrations.
Both occasions are times of renewal and hope, a time of rejoicing and
looking forward. For us at Tabitha, this New Years and Easter were marked
with sorrow for we lost our friend, husband and co-worker. Deth Dara died
suddenly on April 4. He was just 37 years old. Dara joined Tabitha in 1996 - he married Ani, our manager in Siem Reap.
The first time I met Dara was in April of 1995. He was a very quiet man
who wanted to marry Ani - he asked for my permission and blessing. It
soon became clear that Dara was an ordinary man with an extra-ordinary
compassion for the poorest people of this land. He was a man of curiosity
and intellect - our discussions focused on how things happen in life,
why the genocide here, why the suffering, why the pain. He was intensely
interested in how politics worked - how the future of this country was
being shaped.
E- mail from Cambodia: Tuesday, April 17. 2001
His life story, like so many he touched, was one of pain and anguish. He spoke of how he watched his 2 brothers, a sister and his mother starve to death before his eyes. He felt so helpless - only a handful of rice a day, were all we wanted he said. But I could not get that handful of rice and so they died.
He took this burden and turned it to hope for so many of the families he worked with. Each visit I made meant another trip with Dara on his motorbike to another destitute and suffering family. We must do more, he would say.
We'd talk about the future - about his dreams and Ani's dreams and Apos and Sarouen - of all our staff. Save your money, I said, buy land, I said - this country was still in turmoil and land was cheap. And so my visits then included looking at land - land that Dara and Ani bought and sold until they bought the land where they would build their home. Dara made sure the families he worked with saved their money to buy land - hundreds did.
Their son was born two weeks before I got my daughter Miriam in January of 1999 - we rejoiced together - you must name my son, Dara insisted. I could not do so but I did give a list of ten names from which they could choose and so Zacahary and Miriam became part of my monthly trips.
We must build a home for our son, they told me. Dara pulled out the blueprints and asked me what I thought. It was a big house, 12 bedrooms in all - too big said I, - no, said Dara. The upstairs is for you - one day when you are too old, you will need a home. This will be your home. They paid for the materials from left over land that they sold and the house took shape. Now each trip included watching the progress of their dream house being built.
Dara contracted malaria last summer - he was ill for the month of September. He spent that month in Phnom Penh to be close to the medicine he needed. I think he knew that he was very ill but he did not say anything. Each time I saw him after that, I would ask him how he was - he failed to regain his weight - he was often tired but his spirit remained strong. The last time I saw him was a week before his death. He was ill and I brushed his forehead as I asked him how he was. I just need some sleep he said and so I let him sleep.
On the weekend, Dara was well again, he laughed and teased as was his way. He talked of his families and he talked of his son. We all rejoiced to see him so happy. On Wednesday morning his fever was back and Wednesday evening he went to his rest.
Ani is devastated - her grief is painful to see - it was so quick she said. We brought Dara to his final spot - the place for his cremation as is the custom here. His final trip was through the community he loved so much - down the dusty paths through the unrelenting heat - his mourners were the poor whom he loved - lined along the pathways where he worked - paying homage to the man who cared so much for them. We stopped under the mango tree where we stopped each trip - Apo handed me a coke - that's what Dara always did - and as we gathered there for the last time, I thought, how like him this is - the very poorest kneeling around us - the lowing cattle, the dust and the heat, the startling beauty of the countryside surrounding us - the coke and the sharing of our thoughts and tears - goodbye my friend, we will miss you.
This morning Ani phoned - her voice is still marked with unshed tears but her words brought hope. Apo's baby is born she said, its a little girl - Apo, who was so strong for Ani in her grief; who with Sarouen and Mari made all the arrangements for the funeral, who stayed by Ani's side both day and night, whose first child died in stillbirth a year ago - came on the phone and spoke with joy. You must name this child, she said.
Dara's life brought hope and love to so very many; this new little one is the fruit of hope and love. This is the message of Easter; a time of sorrow: a time of rejoicing and hope. May God, who loves us so, who comforts, bring this same love and comfort to each of you, our friends and partners.
Janne
Click here to read more about Deth Dara.