City of no facilities

April 19, 2016

I took our tuk-tuk driver Setain to the clinic the other day. This involved sitting around for a spell, a period of gabbling in Khmer between Setain and some doctor-type people, Setain being given a plethora of pills, and me paying the surprisingly ample bill. I hope that doesn’t sound paternalistic or patronising: we genuinely like Setain, and despite us paying him pretty well, he probably couldn’t afford decent medical help without going to a loan shark. So we’re happy to help.

It turns out that the poor bloke has kidney stones, mainly due to him not urinating enough. And that’s no great surprise. As a tuk-tuk driver, he, like every other driver, and hundreds of thousands of other people in Phnom Penh, has no access to public toilets. Setain is a man of great dignity and pride, and would hate to be spotted pissing against a wall. That’s not the case for every Cambodian. It’s an utterly unremarkable sight to see men angled up against walls, all over the city: no one thinks twice about it. Which only adds to the general pungency of Phnom Penh, especially during the dry season.

There is a tree on a side street next to the Royal Palace a few metres from the main thoroughfare. In the evenings and at weekends, thousands of people congregate on the maidan opposite the palace to hang out with their families and drink beer. Which means that the tree gets visited probably a couple of hundred times a day by micturating men. I have to keep Harley well away from it in the mornings, but, to be honest, I think he finds it a bit overwhelming. He’s only a little dog.

And it gets worse. The only park in the city, again, just yards from the palace, is used for more, er, textural deposits. There is a little sign on the way in which says ‘No Defecation’, but for some reason it’s in English, and I would imagine that English speakers crapping in a park in Phnom Penh’s central business district isn’t a huge problem. Nevertheless, the margins of the park, and the surrounding gutters are studded with coprolites.

And what do the women do? I have absolutely no idea. Not a clue. It must be magic.

Now, the provision of public toilet facilities has, as far as I know, never been an issue in Cambodia: there are far more pressing and urgent things to worry about. But I have noticed recently that city authorities have replaced almost every street sign, city-wide, with new and fancy ones. And in the Cambodian-Vietnamese park, a short walk to the south, they’ve replaced the edgings around the patches of grass: they were formerly concrete; now they’re beautifully milled granite. Neither of these jobs can have been cheap. One has to wonder about their priorities, if only to keep Setain out of the clinic and on the road.