The first time I arrived in Phnom Penh late 2002, the air was warm as Dinesh and myself stepped out of the terminal and sucked in the atmosphere. I forgot to tell him one little detail about our airport pick-up transfer to the hotel. Yes, I told him 2 guys were picking us up. Just forgot to mention that they'll be coming on their motorcycles.

Nawin and Joy (dont ask me why a guy calls himself that) looked like about 45kg each. I weighed in at a healthy 95kg and had my doubts about the forthcoming balancing act on the motorcycle....luggage and all.

Dinesh gives me the first of his many dirty looks of the trip and nimbly clambers on the back of Joy. Luggage secured between their thighs, we held our breath as we dived right into Cambodian traffic.

Few wore helmets but almost everyone was diecked out in fake Police and Oakley sunglasses. Needing to cross a busy boulevard jammed with a few thousand fellow 2 wheelers, our guides didnt take a second look as they turned INTO traffic. My screaming almost caused a traffic accident as Nawin almost crashes in shock into an couple of oncoming speeding bikes. Dinesh looked pale as his knuckles turned white while his nails dug deep into the flesh from Joy's back. Joy was trying not to scream in pain.

Strange, Dinesh is a long-distance cyclist having ridden his bike up and down Malaysia quite frequently. I thought he'd had more fortitude than this. "We dont exactly cross crowded roads like the way these lunatics do"

We arrived at the hotel Cambodia in one piece. Nawin was half deaf from my screaming in his ears, Joy was cleaning blood from his back. Dinesh and myself were trying to keep our knees from buckling. "Well, that was fun...heh heh" I smiled at him.

After a quick shower we stood outside the hotel and soaked in the hustling.

'Hey mister, you want lady?'
'Happy pizza? I take you there'
'Psst....want this local Viagara?'
'Massage?'
'U have US$? I give good price'
'I have little girls'
'I be your guide with moto for $8 a day boss'
'Boom Boom?'
'Ni Hao! China? Hong Kong?'
'I get you Rambo Gun (AK-47) shoot ducks, chickens and dogs at range cheap cheap'
'Want a grenade? Only $20'

Whatever happened to ..'Mister.I have cheap Rolex',... 'U want a Gorgio Armani suit for $50?' or... 'pssst I have cheap CDs, VCDs and DVDs' ....??????

Nawin and Joy soon showed up and whisked us off on the back of their motos.

'What u want to do?'
'uh, I dunno'
'want to see Cambodia boxing?'
'sure'

Arriving at the stadium we entered into another world as we were mobbed like movie stars by ticket touts and hawkers shoving pieces of BBQed chicken, pork and other animals in our face. The collective chant was 'BUY BUY BUY!!!' We bought 1st class ringside tickets.

Oh boy, there wasn't any air-conditioning inside. Dreams of a Vegas style ring-side VIP treatment evaporated when the stench of burning incense, cigarette smoke, sweat, drying meat and body odour greeted us on the floor of the stadium.

I loved it.

The atmosphere was thick and intense. The first fight on the cards had gotten underway and the one in green trunks was already in trouble getting knee-butted in the ribs repeatedly. An obvious mismatch, the referee did little to stop the slaughter. Actually the referee seemed to be egging them on to keep the fight going. They also didnt seem to understand the concept of throwing in the towel as the poor bastard continued to get thrashed.

He tried saving himself by getting knocked down and staying down near the end of the fight. Before the count reached 10, a bell sounded the end of Round 1. His coach promptly rushed into the ring and plopped him into the corner desperately throwing water and oinments on the poor boxer, hoping for a miracle within the 60 seconds of rest.

The bell sounded for Round 2. I could tell he just wanted to end it. He walked to the center of the ring, both arms down on his sides and met his opponent's right hook straight to the jaw and collapsed in an unconscious relief!

I looked around me...gave a little pat on my camera bag ....hmmm....there's a story here. But there's been hundreds of boxing stories before. How was this going to be different? The problems of not doing any research..... hell, half an hour earlier, we didnt even know there was such a thing as Cambodian kick boxing.....I thought it only happens in Thailand.

'I'll figure out the research later' as I got off my butt and walked around the place slowly surveying angles and accessibility.

Moving right up to the ringside, I meet a circle of chest-high metal barricades 6 feet from the ropes. A couple of press photographers were sitting just inside the barricade taking a break from the stifling heat. 'Hi' I greeted them. They look at me blankly while I quickly whipped out a little portfolio of photos from inside my bag and handed it to them, motioning them to open it. I cant speak Cambodian and I hoped the portfolio will do its work for me.

After a minute, one of the photographers looked at me with a grin, pointed to the portfolio and then to me, I guess it was sign language for 'You took these pics?' I nodded my head vigorously, plucked up my courage and walked past the security guard at the barricade, pulling up a chair next to them. I darent look at the security guard. He assumed I was with the press photographers and left me alone. Whew, I'm 'inside'!

The 3 of us spoke as how chickens would speak to a donkey, not understanding each other's language but generally comfortable with each other in a silent way within the company of a photographic fraternity. As usual (!) we checked out each others' gear. They were shooting with battered Nikon Fm2 and what I guessed an ancient 30 year old F (it had a single 'F' marking on the outside prism housing). Their lenses looked a cool black with generous amounts of bare metal showing.

I pull out my titanium Contax G2 that was coupled with a 35/2 and their eyes popped wide open with Cambodian 'Ooohhs' and 'Aaahhhs' but throwing in a 'Kon-tap?' and a few questions which I didnt understand. Seems like nobody's heard of the brand.

After fondling each othes' cameras, I asked if I could approach the ropes and shoot. They waved me towards the ring and I kept low as I crawled just outside of the ropes careful not to get into the spectators' line of vision.

It was the 3rd fight of the afternoon and one of the boxers had slipped on the sweat and fell on the floor. Before he could react, his opponent delivered a full blooded kick to the side of his head, instantly knocking him out. I wasnt aware of ring rules but it seemed pretty mean and unsporting for one to hit at an opponent who was apparently down on the mat and getting up.

Anyway, the match ended as the mortally wounded boxer was out cold. Qualified first aid was non existent as several friends and his trainer grabbed a hand and a leg each and carried him off the ring like a freshly butchered bull and out of the stadium!

I followed the party. He was still unconscious when they dumped him on a patch of grass outside the toilet area. A couple of plastic stools were found and he was made to sit on one while his legs were propped up on another.

A block of ice was hurriedly bought off one of the road-side drinks sellers, wrapped in a filthy towel and applied to the side of the kicked head. The boxer had come around somewhat by the wailing of his wife. The coach was applying generous amounts of smelling salts and other herbal oils around the now swollen left cheek and jaw area.

The groupies from his neighborhood and gym gathered around him, all calling out his name but none really knowing how to apply proper first aid.

A few people walked up and pressed money into his hands. Receiving pats on his shoulder, sympathizers checked if he was OK. Some of the bills dropped from his lifeless hand onto the ground. I picked them up and couldnt help but notice that they were mostly 1000 Riel notes, about US 30cents a piece. There were a couple of US $1 bills mixed amongst them. I fought back a sniffle at the scene before me .....a human being going through such anguish and punishment for a few sympathy dollars. I thought about the US$500 sitting snugly in my pocket, an amount that I thought would barely last me a week in Cambodia before I arrived. It suddenly seemed obscene and vulgar.

I fished out the rest of my day's allowance ..... about $15 in ones and fives and pressed it into his palm. Through his pain, he looked at the sum and then up at me, hand still on the piece of ice pressed against the side of his head, and nodded in appreciation, trying to get up from his seat to thank me.

'Hey sit down fella, you're in no condition to get up' I cried

'Mr Eddy, ...you tip him.... too much' I looked behind me and saw Nawin looking on.

'Nawin, mind your own business' I snapped back.

But he was right. Immediately, beggars....limbed and limbless, women with babies and children appeared out of nowhere and everyone seemed to have their palms out chanting 'One Dollar Mister, One Dollar Mister...' Where t'hell did these people come from? I beat a hasty retreat back into the tented stadium as the begging mob grew larger around me.

I had spent weeks before leaving for Cambodia researching and thinking of a possible story seldom told and little known outside of the country. I couldn't put my finger on anything that has not been done before. Thanks to Nawin, I found a story I knew needed to be told ............ 'My Fists Feed My Family'

10 months later, after that first afternoon encounter with the lives and characters revolving around Cambodian kick-boxing and after a 2nd trip to Phnom Penh to pursue the story line, 'My Fists Feed My Family' debuted for the month of July 2003 at the Singapore History Museum.

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