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Bizarre Fruit

by Naomi Dixon

Bizarre Fruit

Bizarre Fruit

In 2009 James Garcia a paramedic and his wife Cara, a nurse from South Carolina sold their house, their car and possessions and moved with their two children, then aged nine and 12 to Cambodia. As ‘Medical Missionaries’ they were to set up a health clinic in rural Kampong Thom Province, offering free health care to thousands living without access to proper treatment. Six months later they would leave Cambodia, afraid for their lives, after Cara was brutally bound, gang raped and left for dead in a flooded rice paddy. Nearly three years on and back in America, James has written a compelling memoir of their experiences, Fruit of the Buddha, and spoke openly to me about the events that took place and why he felt moved to write the book.

The first time I encountered James and Cara Garcia was when I received a midnight phone call from the States, asleep in my Phnom Penh apartment, in Cambodia. I had little time for their questions and even less for their story. I had been based out there as a photojournalist and as eager as I always was to earn the extra bucks from an assignment, the middle of the night was not a time when I wanted to be negotiating fees. Little did I know then, that I was about to become embroiled in an episode so bizarre and appalling that it would leave the Phnom Penh expatriate population reeling in horror; that a year later, that I would have formed a deep friendship with this strange and indomitable family. A year later I would receive yet more midnight phone calls, this time to another continent as they tried to escape Cambodia with their lives and few remaining possessions, and that anyone who helped them or knew them would themselves be put in danger. It seemed strange to hear that James had written a book, even stranger that he would want to publish that book, reliving every painful second in eloquent detail and that he’d want me to be a part of it.

I’m nervous when I sit down to answer the Skype call from James, snug in my Brighton apartment, worlds away from Cambodia, I have just finished reading the final chapters of Fruit of the Buddha and was bowled over by the honesty of his writing and wondered if some of my questions might still be too painful for him to answer. “I’m glad to do it, ask anything that you want” were the first words of encouragement from a man I have come to not only admire, but also to be a little in awe of.

All I can think of in response is a feeble “Why? What possessed you?” a question, perhaps I already know the answer to. “Well, I guess you could say it’s entirely cathartic, I needed to do it, for Cara more than myself, we needed to put an end to it, go right back to the beginning, hash it all out. Did you enjoy it?”

It’s difficult to enjoy a book that so openly examines what happened that year, their move from South Carolina to a small village deep in Kampong Thom Province to open up the clinic; the battles they faced treating the people there, the war they fought with the Cambodian government and corrupt officials, resulting in the rape and attempted murder of Cara and their eventual flight from the country with their two daughters. But yes, I liked (if like is indeed the right word,) it, with its raw emotion and unbridled honesty.

“I don’t know when it was I decided to write the book” he goes on “I just sat down one day, and I suppose it just wrote itself, though I never really imagined anyone would want to read it”. I ask if Fruit of the Buddha is perhaps not just an exorcism but also maybe a cautionary tale to others wishing to embark on a similar quest. “Well, maybe, but I would never want to discourage anyone from trying to help, giving money is like putting a band aid on the problem, the issues are still there underneath, I’d still tell anyone who wants to help to go there themselves, to get their hands dirty, but to check your facts first, we were so naive, you thought we were crazy didn’t you?”

And the truth is yes, I thought they were crazy, we all did. Despite the millions of dollars poured into the country in foreign aid and the thousands of NGO’s that have made Phnom Penh their base, Cambodia can be a difficult country to help. Everyone is watched, everything you do is monitored and if the government thinks you’ve stepped out of line, well, trouble is not the word.

So how did it all start? How did they find themselves in Cambodia in the first place? “Well it started when Cara ‘found’ Buddha, Cambodia’s one of the only places where Theravada Buddhism is practised on a daily basis, so it sort of became a pilgrimage, a two week holiday to the Temples of Angkor, and it was the first time we had ever experienced ‘real’ poverty, I remember a young girl approached us outside a store. She was five or six, and was carrying a very young baby in a sling around her chest, their mother was sick, and the baby was starving, we were already aware of the lack of medical services there, but encountering those acutely affected by that was still heartbreaking. We needed to do something, we knew we could help.”

It seems strange now to hear him speak of his initial optimism about moving to Cambodia, the blind faith with which they thought they could so easily help. Meeting them for the first time at their clinic in Kampong Thom, I was blown away by the lengths they were willing to go to; the selling off of all their assets back home, uprooting their children, using their own money to buy medicines. And James still seems enthusiastic about what they were trying to achieve. Until that is, the conversation turns predictably to corruption. “We were used to the oiling of palms by then, but it’s hard take when the government is stealing medicine from the poor to sell on the black market, we were treating kids dying of malaria, while they’re driving their Lexus’s, it just all got too much for her.”

He’s referring to Cara and her outburst, now infamous around the streets of Phnom Penh, the day when on national TV, in front half the Cabinet, Cara Garcia stood up and told the Minister of Justice for Cambodia “He should be ashamed of himself!”

“Women do not speak like this here! We will let the Ministry of Foreign affairs know of your behaviour” was the last thing they had told us as they quickly adjourned the Ministry of Health conference, just days before the attack. And that was all we heard from them.”

Less than a week later, Cara was returning home after closing the clinic when she was attacked by three masked Cambodian males, her hands and feet were bound with barbed wire, she was beaten, gang raped for over an hour and left unconscious in a flooded rice field a mile from her home. It was an incident that would shock many living in Cambodia and one that certainly left a bitter taste in the mouths of those who were trying to help. The days that followed resulted in constant death threats to not only the Garcia’s but anyone who had known them, including many Embassy officials.
“Whoever gave the order for the hit must have been shocked to learn Cara had lived through the attack, and throughout the last 10 days spent hiding underground, Goon Squads had been kicking in the doors of our friends and associates, trying their best to track us down.

We were penniless and friendless, hiding out in guesthouses, afraid to step onto the street; the best we could hope for is that they wouldn’t shoot us in front of the kids.”
Eventually the Garcia’s made it out. When their story became public donations came in from all who could spare them, enough funds were raised and flights were booked. Back in America, Cara underwent months of counselling and despite continuing death threats and warnings never to return to Cambodia, they still seem remarkably forgiving despite the storm they have had to withstand.


Perhaps too few of us could look back on such a time with the dignity and grace that is demonstrated in James’ words.
“We don’t blame them, in fact I think we have a new found love of the Cambodian people, their stoicism, their kindness, their generosity and we’re still raising money, trying to help. The years and years of killing and torture they have endured and still do; our suffering pales in comparison. The Khmer Rouge may have gone, but the fear is still as strong as ever.”