The Mourning After Bon Om Tuk (10/12/10)

“Bon Om Tuk” is the Cambodian name for the Water Festival which takes place every November when boat races are held on the Tonle Sap River in Phnom Penh to celebrate the reversing of the river’s current and mark the beginning of the fishing season. Thousands flock to the city to support their village or town’s crew and join in the party. This year, however, there were tragic results when a bridge spanning the river collapsed and 400+ people lost their lives.This poem was written to remember them and their families. I wasn't actually there that night but have tried to imagine what it might have been like to have been by the riverside before and after it happened.

The water is calm now.

The broken bridge fixed.

The boats that battled back and forth

Long gone.

Up and down the country

Villagers are celebrating victories

Commiserating defeat

Remembering good times

Burying their dead.

Last week we sat here,

Let the crowds pass us by.

Beside me, a small child with his mother

Wriggled and giggled

Dripping orange from his ice lolly.

She smiled beneath her checkered hat,

Crunching on crickets,

All spicy and deep-fried.

Men in their long dug-out boats

Sped by with warrior roars,

Faces full of fight,

Oars like swords.

The yellows and the greens,

The reds and whites,

The blacks and blues.

Tribes let loose to battle it through.

That night fireworks flared

As more people gathered. 

Street vendors cried out

Above the noise and the chatter.

Police patrolled in packs of three

And children weaved, unseen,

Dipping hands in pockets

Running away with freebie wallets. 

We stood unmoved by the river.

The boy and his mother

Gone to join the crowd.

Barges floated by like peacocks,

Their sails lit up

Laughing in the breeze.

Litter at the water’s edge

Danced and shimmied.

And the King in his enclosure

Stood nearby

Smiling at the display.

Further up a bridge was swaying

Full of people

Caught up in the razzle dazzle.

Pushing, squeezing, straining to see.

Not knowing

That soon the wires would frazzle

That soon sparks would fly

That soon they’d lose their footing

That soon they might just die.

That night we left with minds full of spectacle.

Ears numbed by the bangs and blasts

Stomachs heavy with syrupy sweetness

Eyes sparkling and sore

Oblivious to the disaster

Still waiting to happen.

Half asleep in the tuk tuk

That took us to our door.

Today the water is calm

The bridge is fixed

And the boats have gone.

Every now and then

A single flip-flop floats past

And the current, now turned,

Carries it away.

14/12/10