Question: What do Land Mines and Volleyball have in common?

Answer: They sprain ankles!

I am sure you are scratching your head over my question. Land mines kill they don’t sprain ankles. But in my case both volleyball and a land mine sign were the cause of spraining both my ankles.

About three weeks ago Phil and I arrived in Cambodia and were doing our first day of touring temples. We were in an area that had a high concentration of land mines and there were signs everywhere telling you not to cross beyond the sign because the area had not been cleared. The pictures below are of these numerous signs.




I asked the driver to stop the car so I could get a photo of the signs. I leapt out of the car, ran across a (cleared) area and snapped the picture, swiveled around and began trotting back to the car. The bad news was that I stepped into a hole and badly twisted my ankle. All I thought was “Oh oh…this could be bad!” First day in Cambodia…and we are miles and miles from civilization. I heard it pop…and was worried that I broke it. But after a few minutes of whimpering, I managed to get into the van. I hobbled for a few days and the ankle is still a bit swollen, but it is mending well.

Fast forward until today.
I worked all day in my room. I am struggling with trying to figure out how to teach non-English speaking, non-English writing students to understand what a Literature Review is and how to write one. All the exercises and activities I use in the US require back-and-forth analysis of their written work. It isn’t going to fly here and I am at a loss on what to do.

It is a misty and rainy… still warm—about 70 degrees (eat your heart out!). I decide to abandon my work and head over to play volleyball with the seniors. Yesterday I elbowed a 72 year old lady in the eye and today she has a shiner. But she got even with me. We were going for a ball and I stepped on her foot---and ended up spraining MY OTHER ANKLE! Again I found myself crumpled on the ground whimpering in pain. The oldies helped me up and dragged me over to the bench. It is swollen and sore….and one of the old guys drove me home on his motorcycle.

So here I sit—my foot in a bucket…..gin in my glass….and no food in the refrigerator. I may be forced to eat downstairs in the student cafeteria. It is not a great place…Phil ate there twice and refused to set foot in the place for the rest of his stay. But if I am going to get anything to eat, it is going to be downstairs tonight.

So…my body is going to seed. My ankles are rubber bands. I am just hoping the ol’ mind doesn’t “get sprained” or begin its downward slide. Meanwhile….think of me sitting here with my foot in my laundry washing bucket –the good news is that the gin is cold and I have a fresh lime and some tonic water to sooth my pain.