I can feel small hands all over my body, trying to grab my hand, they are sticky, and as soon as they have gotten a grip on something, they hold on to it. The smell of hair oil, milk, head lice shampoo, mould, sweat mixed in with fish odour reaches my nose, and I hear giggles and babble. As we move along the path of cracked concrete more children join. A dog eating the discarded rice leftovers off the floor gets kicked away from an old woman that is trying with little effort and an improvised fan to keep the flies off the frog legs that are laid out on the floor to dry. The shacks move closer together, and little lanes appear between them. Through one of these I grasp a glimpse of the Boeng Kak lake. Crystal blue water slightly riffled by the low breeze hosts little islands of green where lotuses blossom, its hard to imagine, that all factories of Phnom Penh pour their waste into this isle of paradise. This place conveys controversies my mind has trouble catching.