Compensating a ‘parlour’ owner in Cambodia

by Jayantha Perera

I joined the ADB in Manila in November 2002. The highlight of the new job as a social safeguard specialist was the opportunity to visit and study projects in Asian countries. In 2003, I visited Cambodia to check whether the physically displaced persons of an ADB-funded highway project had received fair compensation for their lost property and adequate assistance to restore and improve their affected livelihoods and income sources.

The Travel Branch of the ADB secured an official Cambodian visa and a business-class air ticket for me. I expected to travel without any hindrance. At the Bangkok airport, my self-image as an international civil servant was smashed when a Thai Airways officer refused to board me because Cambodian authorities had not informed the airline about my arrival. The visa and the exchange of official letters between the ADB and the Government of Cambodia regarding my mission should have facilitated my travel. The airline counter officer called Phnom Penh to check whether I was on the list of arrivals for the evening Thai flight. After ten minutes, the officer issued my boarding pass.

Just before landing in Phnom Penh, I saw the vast floodplain. It stretched from the banks of the Mekong River to the outer edges of the expansive valley. The setting sun with many clouds created patterns of fantastic colours across the sky. I thought about the highway I would visit soon and wanted to see it from afar. I could not find it, but I saw a wide road with several overpasses under construction. I thought that was the highway that I was going to visit.

At the Phnom Penh airport, two uniformed officials stopped me. They grabbed my passport before I arrived at the immigration counter. They did not speak English but beckoned me to follow them to a large room. They went behind a large desk and ruffled through my passport as if looking for a hidden treasure or contraband. One of them scrutinized the Cambodian visa page. Then, both studied it together for another ten minutes. They waved at me to follow them to another room.

An old officer with more stars on his uniform lapel sat behind a vast, ornate table with a giant old computer. The two who accompanied me saluted the old man and said something loudly. The boss listened carefully and smiled. He asked me in English where I was going and whether I was an ADB staff member. Then he waited a few minutes, stamped my passport, and told me, “You can go now.” The two officials looked sad, as if they did not want to part with me.

When I exited the airport, a uniformed young man was waiting for me with my name on a piece of cardboard. He did not speak English, but I trusted him to take me to the hotel that the ADB had booked for me. The evening was pleasant soon after a light shower. I could see and feel the heat emanating from the newly tarred road in front of the hotel. I wanted to go out for a walk but was scared that another uniformed person might stop me to interrogate me. I found refuge in my comfortable hotel room.

I met with the project international resettlement consultant at the hotel in the morning. As a British citizen who had lived in Cambodia for a decade, he brought a wealth of experience and understanding of the local context to our discussions. Together, we identified a few locations on a map to visit in the morning. At the first location, we met about 10 persons. Each had lost a narrow strip of land from their front yards to the highway. They still lived on their shrunken property. They complained that they had not received adequate compensation for the acquired property.

The project had not improved or at least restored their lost livelihoods. Many were fruit and vegetable sellers with stalls in their front gardens close to the road. After the road widening, no driver stopped at their fruit and vegetable stalls to buy. Vehicles moved very fast, and there were no kerbs where a car could park safely to purchase local products. The resettlement planners of the project, too, had apparently ignored the loss of income of the fruit and vegetable sellers.

The consultant took me to a small bazaar on the highway. I walked around and saw a new building. Its front door was closed, but several persons were standing before it. I walked to them with the translator and asked them whether they, too, had lost land. A man in a short-sleeved red shirt and white trousers smiled and introduced himself as the building owner. He spoke English haltingly. He invited us in and opened a few windows. The furniture smelled musty. He shouted at a young man, and in a few minutes, the young man brought us herbal tea. While sipping tea, the owner studied us without talking. Once we all drank tea, he rubbed his palms and smiled again.

“Are you from the World Bank?” the owner inquired.

“No. We are from the ADB,” I replied.

“Good. I wanted to talk to you,” the owner said.

He took time to discuss his issues, was apologetic, and gave the impression that he was reluctant to divulge some information or that some problems bothered him.

I asked him, Did you lose any land to the highway?

Yes, I lost a strip of land to the road, and as a result, I had to rebuild the facade of the building, he complained.

“Did you get money for the land taken?” I asked.

“Yes, the company paid me. But not enough money. The land by the highway is precious. I spent more money to rebuild the facade of the building. He hesitated again and smiled. I waited for him to collect his thoughts.

Suddenly, he said, “I had a popular parlour here, and 20 women worked for me.” His voice lowered, and he seemed to be struggling with his emotions. He muttered something, and then, visibly emotional, he began to cry. I waited, understanding the depth of his experience.

Finally, he said, “I didn’t receive any compensation for losing my livelihood and those 20 young women. They were good girls from nearby villages. Customers praised their service.” Despite the challenges, the owner’s resilience was genuinely inspiring.

Did anyone visit you before the construction of the highway started? I asked.

“Several surveyors visited me and collected information about my land.”

Did you tell them about the parlour and the girls?

The town officer was with the surveyors. He knew about the parlour. He criticized me for running an unlicensed brothel in front of the surveyors. But I had paid the town officers monthly for running the parlour.

Do you still run the parlour? the consultant queried.

“How can I? The town office threatened to acquire the whole building if I restarted the business,” he retorted. Then he continued, “I was born in Vietnam but moved to Cambodia when I was young. I knew some American soldiers, and I learned English from them. My father left this land to me. I did various odd jobs and earned money to start the parlour. First, I brought in three young village women and paid them well. They were happy, and they still wanted to be with me. I treated them as my sisters. I protected them from nasty gangs who kidnapped women to smuggle out of the country.”

He paused for a while and got into a reflective mood. We all waited. Because I treated the three women well, they offered to bring their friends to my parlour. I was very reasonable with all of them. I paid them weekly and provided free food and lodging. For ordinary services such as body massages and head rubs, I charged only five dollars. If a man wanted to stay longer, I charged 10 dollars and the food cost. Some village girls offered their services part-time to earn a little extra money. One girl wanted to earn money for her wedding. When all of them were with me, this large house was full of fun, food, and company.”

Where are those girls now I inquired.

The parlour owner explained, “Most of them returned to their villages. About six brave women stayed with me to serve clients from the bazaar. You know their job is precarious, as most clients are truck drivers and strangers. Some have tried to take women from the bazaar to unknown places.

He said in a sad tone, Women chose to stay with me because I know most of the men at the bazaar. The women love me. When the women were with me, a doctor checked them every month for infectious diseases. I provided free condoms and told my clients that they should wear condoms if they wanted services other than massage. There were a few instances when clients refused to wear condoms. I intervened and sent them off after refunding them.”

I heard recently that three women disappeared from the bazaar. They were not my women. Someone told me that the Police had picked them up and taken them away. I don’t know what happened. The Police continued to visit me, and the town officer threatened the building would be acquired soon because of its bad reputation.”

He smiled and told me that the Police and town officers were unhappy because some could not get free services anymore. Some of them blamed me for the collapse of the parlour. With 20 women, two full-time cooks and four waiters lost their employment. They did not get any compensation for losing their livelihood. The project authorities did not treat them as project-affected persons because they worked at the parlour.

I inquired about the women who had gone back to their villages. He did not know what happened to them, but he was sure they were unemployed. Their families depended on the money they had earned at the parlour. He got pensive again and waited a few minutes as if worried about their fate. He inquired whether the women could get compensation because they had lost their employment. I told him they should get compensation and at least some training in income generation.

The ADB’s Involuntary Resettlement Policy views a displaced person’s employment from an economic, not an ethical, point of view. The parlour business was not considered immoral or illegal in countries such as Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam. Women who worked in such places did so to earn a living for themselves and their dependents.

Just before we left the parlour, he showed me the rooms and facilities he had offered his clients. There were eight rooms, each with a bed and a small shower stall. The rooms were clean. Then he took me to a heap of boxes covered with a bedsheet. He took off the bedsheet, and there were many condom boxes neatly arranged on a table. He said that he had bought 2,000 condoms from a businessman just before the town office closed his parlour. It had cost him a lot, and now he did not know what to do with them.

In my ‘back-to-office report’ (BTOR) to the ADB, I discussed the predicament of vegetable and fruit sellers and the parlour owner and his workers. I highlighted that the project had not yet paid them reasonable compensation or provided income rehabilitation assistance. I pointed out that compensation should not be limited to the land acquired. Those who lost their livelihoods and sources of income should also receive compensation and project assistance.

The Division Director at the ADB encouraged me to revise the BTOR and focus only on land acquisition and compensation. I hesitated to change the report. Two days later, the Chief Compliance Officer came to my room smiling and wanted to know more about my encounter with the parlour owner. He agreed with my analysis of the problems of project-affected persons. Still, he asked me to remove the details about the parlour from the report.