“Have you eaten rice yet?”
“Nham bay howie nov?” is a common and typical greeting in Cambodia, and other Asian countries. In Cambodia, the saying comes with stories attached. An exploration.
by Katharina Müller
4 April 2024
The elderly lady behind the grill gave me a toothless smile. We smiled and nodded at each other, hesitantly at first, as I watched her flip the stack of beef skewers in front of her. It was an early morning in Phnom Penh, and Cambodia’s capital was up on its feet well before the sun rose. Behind the Royal Palace, smoking mopeds and Tuk-Tuks whisked through the narrow streets, parrying people crossing the streets on the way to work, some dressed smartly with blue trousers and matching ties, others leaving their houses dressed in colourful pyjamas. The warm air of the monsoon season hung between the buildings. It was my first morning in Cambodia. I sat down on one of the white plastic chairs that the elderly lady pointed at, unwavering friendly and patiently communicating with only her hands, accompanied by a warm smile on her face.
In the food stalls facing the street, large metal spoons ladle rice and broth, beef and eggs into bowls, filling empty stomachs on a rush to start the day. I decide on a plate of stirred rice from the large wok, which the elderly lady behind the grill handed me with a boiled egg cut in halves, and four perfectly cut cucumber sizes. She pointed at the small metal bowl that had a sour and spicy runny red sauce in it, to sprinkle some on top, I understood. I sat down on a red, wobbly plastic chair, waiting Tuk-Tuk drivers nodding at me—if I needed a ride after breakfast?—, chickens picking up dropped cucumber peel or rice from the asphalt street.
I returned the next morning, and was greeted by the same broad smile. “Nham bay howie nov?”, the elderly lady asked me in Khmer. The following day I would learn what the significance of this greeting in Cambodia was. I attempted to master a quiet “Jom reap su'or”, a greeting I was told to address elderly people. She waved me into the food stall, and rushed inside the house entry behind the stall to get me a red plastic chair. I sat down next to a group of earl risers, lost in their thoughts, leaning over their bowls and plates of warm congee or rice.
Her back bended and finger bones protruding, the buttoned up white blouse she wore that morning, and the blue checkered Krama, a Khmer cotton scarf, tied around her head, made her look rather youthful and not 82 years old. A short while later, I picked up my plate of aromatic and fine-grained rice, garnished with cucumber slices—and a flower, carved out of a carrot. Her name, I would learn, is Bopha—and Bopha means flower in Khmer.
Cambodia is rice country— a consumer, a producer and exporter alike. The Royal Cambodian government is pushing the rice production aiming at introducing Cambodia as a “rice basket”, and a major milled rice-exporting country on a global level. The country’s production has notably increased in the past two decades, with a significant surplus exported mainly to Europe. With nearly six million tonnes of rice processing per year, Cambodia is the 10th exporter globally, according to a recent release by the Phnom Penh Post. That wasn’t always the case in Cambodia. As a result of food shortages in the late 1970s, beginning with the terror regime of the Khmer Rouge under Pol Pot, many farmers were forced to eat their rice seeds and as a consequence, traditional varieties were lost. In the 1980s, the International Rice Research Institute (IRRI) in the Philippines reintroduced 766 traditional Cambodian rice varieties to Cambodia from its seed bank in the Philippines, retrieving seeds from their bank they created in the 1960s. In 2022, the Cambodian Rice Federation launched two new varieties of rice to compete on the international market. Phka Rumduol, a whole-grain Jasmine rice variety was chosen as the “World’s Best Rice” at three consecutive The Rice Trader World Rice Conferences—firstly in Bali in 2012, Hong Kong in 2013, and Phnom Penh in 2014. The demand for Cambodia’s milled rice is growing on a an international level—a remarkable achievement.
“Rice is the most important resource for us Cambodians, and our language adapted to that. There are three words to describe rice, there is the famous greeting, which really shows how ingrained rice is into society and Khmer life.”
In a small restaurant not too far away from the riverside promenade Sisowath Quay, I meet Sophana, a 43 year old school teacher. She waved at me entering the restaurant terrace, hidden from the street, overgrown with bushy greenery. “Nham bay howie nov?”, she greets me, broadly smiling, pulling the chair back. Sophana is Bopha’s daughter, and we met the previous day at her mothers food stall. I told her how fragrant the rice was I had for breakfast, and that it did not need any condiments at all, certainly a sensory experience for my European tastebuds. I detected hints of nuts, but also a slight flowery aroma. Sophana nodded, having her mother’s smile on her face.
“Nham bay howie nov”, which translates to “Have you eaten rice yet?” is a typical greeting in Cambodia, and synonymous to Westerners inquiring “How are you"?”. “Or you talking about the weather” Sophana jokes. In Khmer life, rice is a stable food for every meal, and in Khmer language, there are three words to distinguish grown, cooked and uncooked rice.
It is also a painful memory of the past when food was precariously scarce. Bopha is a Khmer Rouge survivor. In her early 30s, she was forced to leave her home and life in the north-east of the country to work on the rice paddies in the north. Her family was displaced, and it would not be the last time she was forced to leave behind her home. Across the table, Sophana speaks of the miraculous strength of her mother. “She never talks about what happened and how she survived, or how she lost her family. I know it pains her.” It is a sentiment that is widely shared among Cambodians. “She does, however, speak sometimes of the few rice grains that was left for them to eat per day”, Sophana remembers.
In the evenings, when the night falls over Phnom Penh, the food stall is brightly lit. “Ptaeh bai”, Sophana taught me is the Khmer word for kitchen, and translates to “house of rice”. I pass the stall, Bophana must be asleep already I guessed, and so I walked towards the Royal Palace to my hotel. In my mind, the catchy rhythm of “Have visa, no have rice” by The Cambodian Space Project plays, and only later I would find out that this song talks about a Khmer woman who unexpectedly receives a visa by the French Embassy to leave Cambodia, but when she arrives, very hungry, there is a lot of food to fill her empty stomach, but no rice.
Food stall by night, Phnom Penh. Photography by Katharina Müller, 2015, on film.
