Sophal at former home

Sophal; Hero, hooligan, soccer imp, up and coming rap star, and so much more

Sophal is simply Sophal.  He is the student you identify with and sympathize for, even if he never does his homework.  He’s the kid who’s absolutely brilliant and makes enormous leaps of insight in every class, despite not doing said homework.  And, regardless of these periodical leaps, he unfailingly flunks evaluation after evaluation for trivial reasons that drive you off the wall.  After showing him the correct solution to one of his errors, he looked at me as if I were some lesser Neanderthal.  “Of course I know that, teacher Robbie!”  He is an enigma, sharp as a tack, endlessly inspiring you to laugh, smile, tear your hair out or shed a tear, all at a moments notice.  He is Sophal.

Perhaps one of the reasons I’ve grown so close to this child is that I see a bit of myself in him.  I identify with him.  Its the classroom ADD, the quirkiness, the dangerous ease of underestimating him, the everyday rebellion against any and all authority (myself occasionally included), that reminds me of a much spunkier version of my younger self. 

Sophal is always quick to come to my defense, both physically (despite his status as the smallest and youngest student) and socially.  When my other students erupt in a communal chirping to each other in hopelessly indistinguishable Khmer, giggling and yelling back and forth, Sophal administers a quick, sharp admonishment, which, although I am not entirely sure what he’s saying, is effective at quelling the uprising.

One day, while erasing a lesson emphasizing the intricacies of comparative and superlative adjectives, my eraser strayed towards the left edge of the board, pressing it down against the wall behind it slightly.  This slight pressure startled undoubtedly the largest spider I have ever seen into jumping out from behind the board onto the wall, several inches away from my face.  This thing was gnarly; full, thick, hairy abdomen, long elegant legs, pinchers, eight eyes, and fast as hell.  I saw a flash of furry exoskeleton and eight legs, which was enough to engage the flight instinct (I’m a pacifist, what can I say), sending me to the other side of the room with a quick graceful leap and high pitched ungraceful shrill scream.  Sophal, who seconds before was diligently writing the comparative and superlative forms of various one syllable adjectives, jumps out of his desk without a moments pause, dives into the corner of the room in a flash and begins scrambling for our hairy adversary.  Fear tends to produce ignorance about the object in question; naturally I assume the spider to be capable of seriously injuring Sophal.  This assumption further fueled my amazement when, several seconds later, Sophal cries out,

“Teacher Robbie! It ok!  I have the spider!!”

The most shining example of Sophal’s defensive instincts arose from a peculiar aspect of my classroom.  The whiteboard I use is unique in its faults.  Its smudged with myriad streaks of blue, red and black (seemingly) permanent ink, spread across in dull, hapless patterns resembling a failed attempt at designing some psychedelic tapestry, which persists no matter the potency of cleaning supplies I apply to it or the strength with which I try to erase it.  This whiteboard is untamed, and laughs at my puny attempts.  Cambodia being a humid environment, the bottom of the whiteboard has warped so badly that it is no longer attached to the wall, so while the very middle of it remains flush against the plaster behind it, the edges curl up several inches off the wall, making writing difficult as the board is constantly moving as you apply pressure in an attempt to write.  At first, this was merely a pesky annoyance.

Sophal is Sophal, my student and guardian, soccer imp and star dancer, but most importantly, a dear and trusted friend.

-Robbie Flick

He emerges with its abdomen pinched between thumb and forefinger, eight spindly legs firmly outstretched.  I look on in wonder as he calmly places it in a plastic container, securely screws on a lid, and proceeds to show me how harmless his new friend is.

The following week, while all the other students tease me endlessly with taunts of “Spider! Spider on your shoulder!” Sophal played it cool.  I trusted him as an ally against the significantly more robust Southeast Asian arthropods, and he was right by my side at every class, checking behind the board for any threats.  Sure enough, last week, when a small tarantula poked out from behind the board next to my head without me seeing it, Sophal was there without a moments hesitation.  This time, not only does he hunt down the spider and capture it, but effectively tames it, and for the rest of the day has his “pet” crawling over his shoulders and face while we practice identifying angles and discuss the literacy rate of South Korea.  At the end of the day, he holds the spider out for me to touch, encouraging me to conquer my illogical fear.

Another memory of this child is burned into my memory, albeit an image of him in a somewhat rawer state.  The end of the school day here brings a sigh of relief from both staff and students, usually ushered in by torrential downpours. 

One day, as the kids play soccer in the courtyard of the wood house (Note; classes take place at the schoolhouse, the students live at the wood house, down the street), dark clouds collect overhead, and thunder begins grumbling from the distance.  As I decide to partake in their game, the first few drops of rain begin falling.  Within minutes, in typical Cambodian style, this has accelerated into a full monsoon, bending trees, igniting the sky with lightning and dumping rain on our cement playing court, transforming it into an ankle deep pool.  The rain is falling so hard it hurts.  Features become indistinguishable.  Teams break down, and sounds are muffled for the falling rain.  Harsh claps of thunder grow closer until the sky above dances with electricity, shedding enough light to momentarily recognize the players.  Before long, it is chaos, no longer soccer, having evolved into some awful hybrid of soccer, mud wrestling and cage fighting.  Half naked, scrambling, yelling, running, crawling, diving, tackling, laughing, we are closer to some degenerate pack of Mayan ball players than soccer players.  Through the dense sheet of rain, I manage to see the opposing team’s goalie has white skin...Ah, that must mean its Jon...I wind up for a mighty kick, but am halted in my tracks as lightning flashes, its phosphorescence illuminating the scene before me.  Sophal has climbed up on the metal gate behind Jon, and with both arms outstretched, hands gripping tight the wet metal bars, body arched upwards, dressed in nothing more than a small red speedo, lit by periodic bursts of white lighting, is screaming a primal roar over the chaotic scene of water, electricity and thunder before him, a naked brown imp declaring his unmistakable presence to the world.

Although the sight is authentically and fundamentally human, a scream demanding acknowledgement from the world before him that has often turned its back on this small child, it is undeniably hilarious; little Sophal, weighing in at 20 kilograms at most, morphed into this malevolent soccer devil screaming his mighty war cry against the quarreling barbarians below.  While Jon and I roll in the water laughing, Sophal leaps down, juggles the ball around every defender and promptly scores; despite his small size, Sophal is a simply phenomenal soccer player.

Sophal loves rap, and is an incredible dancer.  The staff here refer to him as “the little monkey”, in a positive way.  He is one of the most flexible, acrobatic and agile humans I’ve ever witnessed.  After dinner at the wood house, I’ll tie a bandanna around his face, and we’ll dance to several hip hop songs over and over.  Jon and I tend to do our white guy thing, while Sophal melts our faces.  Naturally, I’ve tried to get him keen on some of the hip-hop I listen to, but after several songs, he latched onto only one and doesn’t seem to be budging.

“You, you got what I neeeeeeeeeed....”

Yes, Sophal, and now the rest of the students at TGC, absolutely dig Biz Markie.  Sophal took it up at first, singing the chorus as we danced together between classes.  It has gotten to the point where I have to make outlandish deals with my students towards the end of a dull lesson.

“Chamroun!! We need to study geometry now!  I promise I’ll sing Biz Markie for EVERYONE after class!”

That usually quiets them down...

Sophal is one of those students who symbolizes the nature of the school and its students.  You can see the light go on over his head when he understands something, recognize the spark of understanding in his eyes when we go over a new concept.  Even though he makes silly mistakes, leaves answers blanks, has trouble focusing at times, drives you periodically crazy, it is his spark, love for life, ambition, strong sense of right and wrong and brilliance that keep me going at the end of a long day.  He is outrageously loyal to his friends and teachers, and I know he’ll be there for the next curious spider who thought they found the perfect home behind my board.  Unfailingly, he was there when I fell ill, snoring softly on my floor, periodically waking to check on me, the student transformed into a responsible caretaker watching over and caring for his sick teacher.  And when I returned from my trip to the hospital, it was him at the airport, waiting patiently for my return.