18 December 2006
By Chris Farewell
On a recent trip to Kampong Chhnang with my friend, Srey
Mom, I was very
keen on finding a historical site that I'd heard of long before.
The area northwest of the city is covered in the traces of the Khmer Rouge,
including derelict buildings and the abandoned airport, but there was
something more sinister as well.
During the Khmer Rouge era, the black pyjama clad thugs forced their
countrymen to dig a tunnel into the side of a hill and construct rude brick
prison cells where they would be confined.
Nowadays, many of the locals don't know how to find the site, and it took
some time asking for directions and zigzagging over the area before we could
find anyone to point us to the hill.
Finding a path on the side of the hill, we rode as far as we could and then
parked the bike and started to hike. But when the path shot off in more than
one direction, we became confused and turned back to reconfirm our
directions.
That's when we met two girls riding past on their bicycles. They had just
finished school for the day and were still wearing their white shirts, with
the school's name stitched over ther shirts.
Asking them about the site, they pointed right back up the hill and told us
to just keep hiking upwards. So we drove back, and started the climb up the
rocky path up the slope. Stopping to look back over the hilly landscape, we
saw the schoolgirls, and a few of their plainclothed, following.
We found the mouth of the tunnel, smothered in vines and creepers, carved
out of a bare rockface. There we waited for the kids to catch up, and then
we walked down into the mouth.
Anticipating the darkness, I'd bought a lighter, and Srey Mom had a mobile
phone with a flashlight, but neither of us had thought of the weather. It
was still the monsoon season, and the tunnel angled downward, and now it was
filled knee-deep with milky green water.
At first, Srey Mom was hesitant. Others would have been spooked by the
history of the place. But she just said, after talking to the schoolgirls,
that the people build 'bedrooms' inside. She was curious, more than scared,
and she had a flash of resourcefulness.
Squatting down, she picked up an old rubber tube from inside a bicycle tire.
It had been lying on the path, near the mouth of the cave. She asked for my
lighter, burned a hole through the tube, and then shoved some sticks through
the inside. These would keep the tube from flopping around and add some
substance to the fire.
I still wasn't sure what she had in mind when she kicked off her sandals,
rolled up her jeans, and started wading into the tunnel. She'd been talking
with the schoolgirls, and they too kicked off their sandals, hiked up their
skirts, and followed her.
After a moment, I tried to follow, but I couldn't keep up barefoot on the
jagged stones. So I turned back, and after watching them disappear, and
hearing Srey Mom call me, I put my shoes back on and sloshed into the
darkness by feeling my way along the wall.
The level rose after about thirty meters, and so we were on dry ground
again. They waited for me there to catch up, and then the schoolgirls held
the torch and led the way. Bits of glowing rubber fell to the ground, and
black smoke curled into our faces, and bats flitted in front of my nose.
The tunnel was about two meters wide and three meters high. It went back for
about three hundred meters, and soon the smell of burning rubber and the
stale air began to make me nauseous. At the end were the huge 'bedrooms.'
They were bare and empty now.
Back in the sunlight and fresh air, I gave each of the girls a little money
for showing us the way. There was another tunnel nearby, the kids said, but
it had collapsed long ago. There are probably others, somewhere, that they
had never even heard of.
Copyright 2006