River Life, Interrupted

In a brawny longboat built for ten, we float passed the flotsam of their daily lives. My camera, a veteran Minolta, has been relentlessly imprinting its gaze on this Cambodian masterpiece for days and, of course, this day would be no different.

We hover at the Tonle Sap river head between fisher families’ homes that are bolstered onto long, spindly legs. These bamboo sentinels are protectors against invading summer floods and consider us we advance, unannounced. We are escorted only by soothing whisks of oars-in-water and excited clicks of my camera.

The river’s course winds and slices through a mottled patchwork of rice fields, while our boat quietly carves its own path through the water. Both water and sky are like the weakest of coffee, which dilutes the horizon from sight. Only water, reflection and a hypnotic peace remain. Click, click.

I catch the tail end of a human duck-dive as juvenile legs splay and submerge. The diver surfaces and inspects the bounty of overnight fishing nets. The Minolta was not quick enough. Another boy materialises from the depths to assist his friend. This time I am ready. Click and click.

As the river curves, the beginnings of the village-on-water emerge. Each wooden home is moulded onto and into its own boat. Each has its own personality. One boat-home blushes with peeling russet paint; another exhales a hopeful rainbow-coating from its door. There are many more floating homes, with each resident simply going about the business of life on this river. My camera is hungry and chattering. Click, click, click.

When I wave to a girl who watches me from her porch, she returns the camera’s one-eyed curiosity and looks away. But her brother cannonballs into the water in front of her, showing off. Click. A man with a sun- and life-hardened face is indifferent to our presence as he relieves himself over the side of his moored quarters. A new mother lays back in her hammock, exhausted, while her newborn breastfeeds with new born vigour. A pony-tailed teenager seems to be preparing a meal, in what is perhaps a kitchen. I can’t quite see that far, not without my zoom.

I am suddenly very uncomfortable with the accidental voyeur I have just become. These routine, but private, vignettes shouldn't be witnessed by a stranger’s Minolta as it drifts passed uninvited. Camera clicks, off.

Taking a deep breath, I commit such scenes to the passing Moment. And as we continue down the river, there is only silence, water and reflection.