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Sothea pushes her cart along the muddy pot-holed road. The recent rains and the constant flow of motorbikes and trucks through this developing area of Phnom Penh have turned the dirt road into a treacherous series of ruts and ridges, so although her cart is nearly empty, every meter traveled robs her of more of her limited supply of energy.

Her 2 year old son, La, lies placidly in the hammock suspended across the cart. His tiny body racked with diarrhea but the cost of medicine has become prohibitive on Sothea’s meagre budget. Her first priority is to get enough money to buy food for the day, for herself and her three children. Her husband works sometimes on construction sites but she only sees him about every three weeks, when he turns up to get money, leaving her with a beating if she doesn’t have enough. She doesn’t complain. As far as she understands it’s the way of the world.

Sothea is a recycling lady, placing her somewhere near the bottom of the Cambodian socio-economic heap. When the roads were good she was earning between $US3 and $US5 a day but with the roads the way they have become she is fortunate to get $US2 a day. She daren’t stray to easier roads as the other recycling people are bound to find out. The possibility of having her goods and cart stolen, leaving her totally destitute, is too great to take any risks.

As Sothea struggles along the road, calling out the recycling mantra, “Aichai, aichai”, a large gate swings open and the wealthy woman from the house behind attracts her attention. Smiling to herself as she recognizes this could be a windfall – it’s a while since she has had recycling from this particular large house – Sothea pushes her cart close to the gate, to prevent the woman from having to step out into the muddy road.

The woman reappears from inside the house, followed by a young man, carrying two large piles of bundled up card and paper. This really is my lucky day, Sothea thinks to herself, half a days wage and the morning is only half gone! She weighs the bundles carefully, with the wealthy woman’s hawk eyes watching every move. Recycling women are not trusted by well-off Cambodian people. The bundles weigh well and so Sothea pays the woman the 50cents she has earned so far today, knowing that she can probably sell it for at least twice that much. Sothea stows the bundles in her cart and moves on, her lifted spirits helping her push on barely aware of the extra weight. Perhaps she will even earn enough to buy medicine for La.

An hour later, Sothea is exhausted. Having moved only a kilometer down the road she has received no more goods, so she stops for a rest outside one of the foreigner’s houses on her route. Sometimes she does well from the foreigners as they drink a lot of beer and coke and don’t take money when hand her the valuable aluminum cans. She welcomes the bonus although she doesn’t really understand why they would give them perfectly good cans for free. Today, however, the foreigners are not at home, the houses are shut up and quiet, and so, as La stirs sleepily in his hammock, Sothea settles down to sorting out her mornings takings.

As she unties the bundles of cardboard, she notices something strange. The weight seems to move inside. The last string comes off and the parcel falls open onto the bottom of her cart. A look of horror crosses Sothea’s face as she sees no longer a large pile of card and paper, but a large pile of worthless rubble. Inside the card and paper was packed rocks, pieces of concrete, and scraps of cloth. The look of horror moves to a gut wrenching feeling of despair as Sothea recognizes that she has been ripped off. With her last ounce of resolve and energy flowing out of her Sothea staggers to the side of the road, crouches down in the mud, and weeps.

And Jesus weeps.