Joyful chaos. There is no other way to describe bowling in Cambodia with a dozen teenage girls, some of whom have never bowled before.

It's a race to find a shoe that'll fit. A ball to throw. And yes, I do mean throw. The rules of bowling don't necessarily change when you enter a new country, but in this case, there are no rules. No funny names are entered in the computer. If you bowl a strike, there's no need to wait for your next turn to finish it off, just take another.

Everyone adds their own flair and technique. Some run right up to the line and lob the heavy pink or blue or green ball toward the pins. Others have almost perfected palming the ball with two hands. Still some lack all patience to wait for the sweeper gate to finish before they hurl the ball down the alley. The ball clears the gate by only a matter of seconds.

It doesn't matter if you hit a strike or the gutter (and there was plenty of both), no one is keeping score. The only score to be seen is in the smiles of the girls as the pins go down. Their smiles are big. They are bright. They gleam. Their shrieks and shrills of laughter and delight drown out all other sounds. They are teenage girls after all.

Seeing the smiles. Cheering them on. Celebrating with high fives. That was the best goodbye to the girls of Transitions Global that we could imagine.

At the bowling alley they are any other girl. At the bowling alley their laughter and joy erase for the onlooker any hint of the lives they've lead.They are girls. Being girls. And Transitions Global is helping them to smile again. Teaching them to laugh again. To hope again.

As we head to the airport tomorrow morning, we won't be quite as whole as we were when we arrived. For the girls of Transitions Global have stolen our hearts.

 

Tuk Tuks are our major mode of transportation this week. Opened-aired chariots. No A/C. No radio. No entertainment systems. A ride in a Tuk is an experience for all the senses. Bouncing around potholes. Through mud puddles. On the wrong side of the road. Cutting across and through traffic. The smells are strong, both good and bad. The exhaust and dirt stick to your teeth even after the ride is over. But there's a flip side. 

At relatively slow speeds and no tinted windows, you get to see the city as well. The vehicles. The buildings. The animals. The food. The people. Especially the children. 

A group of young ones stretch a rope between them and begin to play a game.

A group of girls in matching uniforms and pink backpacks hold hands as they walk home from school.

A boy spins helicopter circles in the drive of a storefront that's very likely his home too.

A teen blows bubbles for small children to chase and pop.

A mama wipes the nose of the baby on her hip.

A daddy reaches down to take hold of his son's hand as they begin to cross the street.

And among them a young man wears a shirt that reads, "Same Same But Different."

A ride through Phnom Penh in a Tuk might not look like a ride through any American city, but when you look a little closer it's easy to see that we're all the same, even when we're different.