Clowns, children and Cambodia

Dozens of tiny, grubby fingers snatch at the air like the tentacles of an anemone striking at passing prey. Shrill squeals of excitement escape through smiles that reveal decaying baby teeth. A small girl is hoisted onto the back of the truck, bewildered at the tall man furiously pumping air into the long balloon. He twists two brightly coloured sausages together to make an elaborate hat and places the creation on her head. She acknowledges her playmates with a huge grin, which incites desperate tugs at shirts as they vie to be next.

This poverty-stricken community outside Phnom Penh is living illegally between rice paddies. Their flimsy bamboo huts cling precariously to the banks of fields, where conical hats can be spied bobbing among the green tufts of rice.

Women sit in doorways, waiting patiently as we hand out plastic bags containing food. Once the exchange is made the women scurry into the darkness of their homes to examine the contents.

A young girl runs out onto the dusty road to receive a bright pink knit jumper. She holds the jumper up, examining it casually as if she’s just plucked it off a rack in a department store. She seems unconvinced but wraps it in her arms anyway and runs off, the calloused soles of her feet kicking up puffs of red dust as she goes.

Back at the truck dozens of children now parade around with balloons manipulated into all manner of objects. One of the balloons bursts and the children recoil, unsure of what to make of this strange phenomena.

The little girl runs up wearing the bright pink knit jumper. It envelops her entire frame and she struggles to find her hands, lost in the oversized sleeves. An index finger emerges and points expectantly at the balloon being inflated in front of her. Seconds later she struts away triumphantly grasping a balloon, stumbling carelessly on the jumper as she goes. Our visit has brought a smile to her face and it’s brought one to mine too.