Saturday, January 29, 2005
Part II...
Late last night Ben and Candi were airlifted to South Africa. He has been doing well but they have been unable to get his chest pain to subside. Their two kids are staying here with friends. Continue to remember all of them as they deal with these struggles.
Friday, January 28, 2005
SPECIAL REQUEST...
A coworker was rushed to the hospital today. He and his family live about two hours outside the city. They are the family I have mentioned visiting before. My friend was struggling with chest pains.
He has since been brought by ambulance here to the capital city. The truth is the medical facilities aren't much to write home about. Remember he and his family over the next few hours and days as we find out what the problem is.
He has since been brought by ambulance here to the capital city. The truth is the medical facilities aren't much to write home about. Remember he and his family over the next few hours and days as we find out what the problem is.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
"The Poor Will Always be With You..."
I don't give out much money here. One could easily go broke and not even have begun to address the problem that exists. Another issue is trying to figure out what the problem is. I'm not sure the problem is money. Of course they have very little but there are problems much bigger than that. In the light of the little they have they are still a people full of life and joy. It is quite amazing. They have nothing yet they share all they have with their family and friends.
Today however my heart was broken. One of my favorite spots in town is a little café called Café Chocolata. It was started by an organization to help get prostitutes of the streets and give them a job. I like it cause it is close the house, good food, and super cheap.
Some days I get the chance to eat out front on the porch. It is a great place to watch the traffic and the people and they pass by. It is also a heavy begging spot though. Many come right up to the little black wrought iron fence that surrounds the porch and begin to ask for money. They have perfected the puppy dog look. Their eyes, their smile, the slight lean of their head all makes you feel like the dirt under their feet because you aren't willing to give them money. I haven't figured out how to say "no"...all they teach me is "I don't have any." Well imagine that slap in the face. A young mother, probably 30, has one baby strapped to her back with a three-year-old child at her feet. Both are asking for money or even bread. My response is "I don't have any." (I am sitting at a café, sipping on coffee or tea, eating a cinnamon roll or croissant saying, "I don't have any.")
A fear I have is what is called "rice bowl believers." The concept claims that anyone will commit to "the way" if you make food or some other need the reward. My friend I mentioned in the last update (I'll call him T.) shared with me yesterday that the minimum wage has been raised. To be honest I didn't know they had one. It has been raised to 200 something a month. That works out to about $25 USD per month. Why wouldn't they choose "the way" for some extra money or bread; I would in the same situation?
Lots of tangents in here, but back to the story. Today at Chocolata I heard two boys repeatedly saying "hello." I had seen out of the corner of my eye that they were about 20 feet away to my left. They were sitting on a stump beside a big ditch. I ignored them - not just because I am a jerk, but because I have learned that this is the response of nationals if they are not going to give anything.
The two got louder; I could tell they had cut their distance in half. I turned to acknowledge them and responded with my pat answer, "Yellum (I don't have any.)." They smiled at me and I could tell the one on the left was chewing on something red. He was a beautiful little boy with a big smile and bright eyes. His clothes were some shade of brown as is typical. I don't know if they start that way or turn that way over time. His shorts (only beggars wear shorts, usually) were torn and shredded at the edges. His shirt was ragged and clearly would continue to fit for a few more years. His friend didn't look much different. He might have been a year or two older and although he too had a beautiful smile it didn't compare to the one snacking on something.
I turned to my friend I was studying with and asked what he was chewing on. He looked his way and couldn't tell so he asked him. I caught the words "what" and "why" - I'm improving but slowly. I asked what it was. The boy was eating clods of dirt. When asked why his only response was because he had nothing else.
I don't know how to respond to this. I am back in my comfortable apartment typing away on my computer about to make some pb&j. This little eight or ten year old boy is sitting on the street a mile or so away eating dirt.
I did nothing mighty; my response was quite pitiful. I bought a couple croissants and handed them through the fence.
On the way home I was approached by six more people asking for money and bread. I shook my head no and smiled at them. I wonder if they read my smile as mocking. I pray they don't. I want to show them I care but I can't help them all. I hope they pass by blessed by the smile rather than spitting on the ground I walked on as I passed them by.
Just before reaching home, a mother passed with two or three kids. I noticed one specifically. She chased after me hands out, palm up. She was 3 or 4 maybe. Her hair was curly and her smile was infectious. She wore a dress that had faded. It likely began as some shade of brown or orange. I asked my friend what she was saying. As she pursued me less than a block from my house, she repeatedly said, "Daddy, Daddy."
I prayed to her father and I asked that he would give her lunch and a place to sleep tonight. I asked that he would continue to prick my heart so that I would hurt for those in need that surround me. I asked that he would remind me I am just as desperate and in need of his love. I asked that he would come to this young family and begin to meet their need for love and security. I asked that the day would come that I see her again. That day might be in this life or perhaps the one that continues but I pray we meet again as siblings following the same father.
Thanks for praying with me.
Today however my heart was broken. One of my favorite spots in town is a little café called Café Chocolata. It was started by an organization to help get prostitutes of the streets and give them a job. I like it cause it is close the house, good food, and super cheap.
Some days I get the chance to eat out front on the porch. It is a great place to watch the traffic and the people and they pass by. It is also a heavy begging spot though. Many come right up to the little black wrought iron fence that surrounds the porch and begin to ask for money. They have perfected the puppy dog look. Their eyes, their smile, the slight lean of their head all makes you feel like the dirt under their feet because you aren't willing to give them money. I haven't figured out how to say "no"...all they teach me is "I don't have any." Well imagine that slap in the face. A young mother, probably 30, has one baby strapped to her back with a three-year-old child at her feet. Both are asking for money or even bread. My response is "I don't have any." (I am sitting at a café, sipping on coffee or tea, eating a cinnamon roll or croissant saying, "I don't have any.")
A fear I have is what is called "rice bowl believers." The concept claims that anyone will commit to "the way" if you make food or some other need the reward. My friend I mentioned in the last update (I'll call him T.) shared with me yesterday that the minimum wage has been raised. To be honest I didn't know they had one. It has been raised to 200 something a month. That works out to about $25 USD per month. Why wouldn't they choose "the way" for some extra money or bread; I would in the same situation?
Lots of tangents in here, but back to the story. Today at Chocolata I heard two boys repeatedly saying "hello." I had seen out of the corner of my eye that they were about 20 feet away to my left. They were sitting on a stump beside a big ditch. I ignored them - not just because I am a jerk, but because I have learned that this is the response of nationals if they are not going to give anything.
The two got louder; I could tell they had cut their distance in half. I turned to acknowledge them and responded with my pat answer, "Yellum (I don't have any.)." They smiled at me and I could tell the one on the left was chewing on something red. He was a beautiful little boy with a big smile and bright eyes. His clothes were some shade of brown as is typical. I don't know if they start that way or turn that way over time. His shorts (only beggars wear shorts, usually) were torn and shredded at the edges. His shirt was ragged and clearly would continue to fit for a few more years. His friend didn't look much different. He might have been a year or two older and although he too had a beautiful smile it didn't compare to the one snacking on something.
I turned to my friend I was studying with and asked what he was chewing on. He looked his way and couldn't tell so he asked him. I caught the words "what" and "why" - I'm improving but slowly. I asked what it was. The boy was eating clods of dirt. When asked why his only response was because he had nothing else.
I don't know how to respond to this. I am back in my comfortable apartment typing away on my computer about to make some pb&j. This little eight or ten year old boy is sitting on the street a mile or so away eating dirt.
I did nothing mighty; my response was quite pitiful. I bought a couple croissants and handed them through the fence.
On the way home I was approached by six more people asking for money and bread. I shook my head no and smiled at them. I wonder if they read my smile as mocking. I pray they don't. I want to show them I care but I can't help them all. I hope they pass by blessed by the smile rather than spitting on the ground I walked on as I passed them by.
Just before reaching home, a mother passed with two or three kids. I noticed one specifically. She chased after me hands out, palm up. She was 3 or 4 maybe. Her hair was curly and her smile was infectious. She wore a dress that had faded. It likely began as some shade of brown or orange. I asked my friend what she was saying. As she pursued me less than a block from my house, she repeatedly said, "Daddy, Daddy."
I prayed to her father and I asked that he would give her lunch and a place to sleep tonight. I asked that he would continue to prick my heart so that I would hurt for those in need that surround me. I asked that he would remind me I am just as desperate and in need of his love. I asked that he would come to this young family and begin to meet their need for love and security. I asked that the day would come that I see her again. That day might be in this life or perhaps the one that continues but I pray we meet again as siblings following the same father.
Thanks for praying with me.
"When You Gotta Go..."
**WARNING: THIS STORY IS TRUE AND A BIT GRAPHIC, BUT IT SURE WAS FUNNY. JUST KNOW YOU WERE WARNED AND I DON'T MAKE YOU READ THESE THINGS!**
This country is hard on the intestines. I've shared that before. The truth is stomach problems are something I experienced in the states on more frequent than preferred occasions too. A big difference was I could be a bit choosier about where to take care of business in the states.
Most of the time here I have been pretty choosy. On sick days I stay home close to the comforts of my own baby blue porcelain throne and a good book. Yesterday, there was no choosing and there was definitely no waiting on better facilities. Many public bathrooms in the states are just gross...they smell bad, they dont flush, the five guys before you missed the whole and drenched the seat and the floor below. Not a pleasant picture. (Let me say that if this story is beginning as offensive to you: first I apologize, second I say you just go in those toilets at the local 7/11.)
Here it is a bit different. First, never ever go anywhere with out your own supply of paper. Small Kleenex packages are available about everywhere. There is no guarantee that even the nicest bathrooms will have paper. Also beware, only on occasion will you be lucky enough to find a toilet with a seat. And seat or no seat it will stink.
Now when I say no seat I don't mean that the part that we put up and down depending on the business to be done will be missing. I mean there is no seat! There is nothing to sit on. We lovingly refer the type of toilets used here as "squatty potties." Let me be honest with you. My knees can't handle squatting long when I'm not going to the bathroom. But yesterday, there was no option.
I'm squatted down over this porcelain hole in the ground with two places to put my feet. I got my pants around my ankles terrified I'm gonna leave what I gotta leave on my khaki's instead of in the hole. I'm also scared my legs are gonna give out and I'm gonna be sitting in the hole (trust me that would not be good at all). And to make matters worse my friend is finishing his lunch while I'm "experiencing culture," and it just plain stinks in there.
My friend gets worried and decides to call my mobile phone. Why do people do that? They do it in the states too. Who in the world is gonna answer their phone if they are in a public toilet not feeling well? The only possible way one might answer is if their stuck and then probably not...imagine the embarrassment. Not to mention if I needed help in the toilet, I'd call them.
So after wading through the difficulties and holding myself up with the wall behind me, I got business taken care of. I'd be all right if I don't have to use one of those again. The truth is I will. They are the most common here. And really it wasn't quite the nightmare I expected.
Excluding this event yesterday was all in all a great day. I'll tell more soon.
This country is hard on the intestines. I've shared that before. The truth is stomach problems are something I experienced in the states on more frequent than preferred occasions too. A big difference was I could be a bit choosier about where to take care of business in the states.
Most of the time here I have been pretty choosy. On sick days I stay home close to the comforts of my own baby blue porcelain throne and a good book. Yesterday, there was no choosing and there was definitely no waiting on better facilities. Many public bathrooms in the states are just gross...they smell bad, they dont flush, the five guys before you missed the whole and drenched the seat and the floor below. Not a pleasant picture. (Let me say that if this story is beginning as offensive to you: first I apologize, second I say you just go in those toilets at the local 7/11.)
Here it is a bit different. First, never ever go anywhere with out your own supply of paper. Small Kleenex packages are available about everywhere. There is no guarantee that even the nicest bathrooms will have paper. Also beware, only on occasion will you be lucky enough to find a toilet with a seat. And seat or no seat it will stink.
Now when I say no seat I don't mean that the part that we put up and down depending on the business to be done will be missing. I mean there is no seat! There is nothing to sit on. We lovingly refer the type of toilets used here as "squatty potties." Let me be honest with you. My knees can't handle squatting long when I'm not going to the bathroom. But yesterday, there was no option.
I'm squatted down over this porcelain hole in the ground with two places to put my feet. I got my pants around my ankles terrified I'm gonna leave what I gotta leave on my khaki's instead of in the hole. I'm also scared my legs are gonna give out and I'm gonna be sitting in the hole (trust me that would not be good at all). And to make matters worse my friend is finishing his lunch while I'm "experiencing culture," and it just plain stinks in there.
My friend gets worried and decides to call my mobile phone. Why do people do that? They do it in the states too. Who in the world is gonna answer their phone if they are in a public toilet not feeling well? The only possible way one might answer is if their stuck and then probably not...imagine the embarrassment. Not to mention if I needed help in the toilet, I'd call them.
So after wading through the difficulties and holding myself up with the wall behind me, I got business taken care of. I'd be all right if I don't have to use one of those again. The truth is I will. They are the most common here. And really it wasn't quite the nightmare I expected.
Excluding this event yesterday was all in all a great day. I'll tell more soon.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
A Holy Day...
Yesterday was a huge holiday here. It is called Timkit. They are celebrating the baptism of Jesus. We went to this huge field which is one of the primary places of celebration. There were tons of people there.
The event actually lasts about 24 hours. On Tuesday they took all of the arks out of the churches and paraded them to the nearest water source. For some this is quite a journey. They camp there overnight and wait for the next morning. On Wednesday the priest blesses the water, be it a creek or a pond, or wherever they are. At this point people go crazy to get to the water. Their belief is that this cleanses them of their sins.
I'm not sure what the source was, but where we were they were using everyday water hoses. They were spraying them in the air onto people who wanted desperately to get hit by the water. It made me think of being a kid. We loved to play water games. We had a basic yard sprinkler that just went back and forth. But for hours we could play in the water. These men and women fought to get wet just as we fought to get near the water. But to them this is religious tradition.
There is such confusion. The patriarch (like the pope) of their church spoke. He was educated in the states and speaks pretty clear English. He shared that this event was not re-baptizing but educating the people on what happened to Jesus. It made since and makes the event look more profitable. The problem is I don't think any of the people believe as he claimed. To them this day is huge...on this day they are forgiven for a years worth of sins. The water blessed by the priest saves them...they've lost sight of the blood of the lamb.
It was a good celebration. Great time with friends. And a huge window into the religious culture here.
The event actually lasts about 24 hours. On Tuesday they took all of the arks out of the churches and paraded them to the nearest water source. For some this is quite a journey. They camp there overnight and wait for the next morning. On Wednesday the priest blesses the water, be it a creek or a pond, or wherever they are. At this point people go crazy to get to the water. Their belief is that this cleanses them of their sins.
I'm not sure what the source was, but where we were they were using everyday water hoses. They were spraying them in the air onto people who wanted desperately to get hit by the water. It made me think of being a kid. We loved to play water games. We had a basic yard sprinkler that just went back and forth. But for hours we could play in the water. These men and women fought to get wet just as we fought to get near the water. But to them this is religious tradition.
There is such confusion. The patriarch (like the pope) of their church spoke. He was educated in the states and speaks pretty clear English. He shared that this event was not re-baptizing but educating the people on what happened to Jesus. It made since and makes the event look more profitable. The problem is I don't think any of the people believe as he claimed. To them this day is huge...on this day they are forgiven for a years worth of sins. The water blessed by the priest saves them...they've lost sight of the blood of the lamb.
It was a good celebration. Great time with friends. And a huge window into the religious culture here.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Possible Need Met...
In the recent update letter I mentioned a need for a digitized map of the city. The truth is many of the people that I work with didn't think one existed and if it did they didn't think we would ever get it. Well I have a new friend who told me I may be able to have it in a few days, but it might cost me...about $1.50. I told him that was "NO PROBLEM!"
Continue to lift this possibility up. This is a huge step in our efforts to map out the city.
Continue to lift this possibility up. This is a huge step in our efforts to map out the city.
Friday, January 14, 2005
A New Friend...
One night at the conference I met a new friend. His name is Caleb; he is seven. As we were singing together, I kept noticing he was watching me. It actually made me quite jealous of his dad that he was standing beside and hugging on. (I am ready to be singing to our Father with my son!)
After the service ended Caleb and I were sort of watching one another. He came over and said, "Whats your name?" I said, "My name is Chad. Come and tell me what your name is." He introduced himself and came and sat next to me. We talked for twenty minutes or so about a little bit of everything. He had a great laugh. He would tell a story about himself or his brothers and he would just laugh his head off. Eventually someone came and found him to tell him his parents were worried because they didnt know where he was.
Caleb and his parents are an inspiration to me. What I didn't tell him is that I knew who he was. We had actually met once although I only vaguely remember him and he clearly didn't remember me at all.
Just over two years ago Calebs dad was shot. He was working in a hospital in a Middle Eastern country. A man came in and killed three people; he also shot Caleb's dad. They spent some time back in the states recouping and then they returned to the country they had been in. To this day they live there. I met them the day they returned. I will never forget the words that Caleb's mom spoke. She was honest in sharing that she was scared to be there and some days all she would want to do is take her little boys home. But she continued and said that she was called to be in that country with those people and although it might be hard at times she was going to follow through with that call.
I'm not sure I'm that committed. Sure I live here now. But I'm single; I've never been attacked for what I believe; I don't have to be as concerned about protecting others as I am myself.
The night before I met Caleb I heard a recorded sermon. A black pastor tries to explain who God is. It is called My King. I had heard the sermon once before. I was at Covenant College on top of Lookout Mountain in Georgia. A young man recited the 5 or 6 minute sermon, complete with mimicking the pastor's voice. That night it became clear that I was called to spend my life serving. I never anticipated that call would include a stay here. At that point I had no idea what all answering yes would entail. I still don't know. My hope is that I am as faithful as Caleb and his parents. I hope that I love my Father that much. I hope that I trust him that much.
After the service ended Caleb and I were sort of watching one another. He came over and said, "Whats your name?" I said, "My name is Chad. Come and tell me what your name is." He introduced himself and came and sat next to me. We talked for twenty minutes or so about a little bit of everything. He had a great laugh. He would tell a story about himself or his brothers and he would just laugh his head off. Eventually someone came and found him to tell him his parents were worried because they didnt know where he was.
Caleb and his parents are an inspiration to me. What I didn't tell him is that I knew who he was. We had actually met once although I only vaguely remember him and he clearly didn't remember me at all.
Just over two years ago Calebs dad was shot. He was working in a hospital in a Middle Eastern country. A man came in and killed three people; he also shot Caleb's dad. They spent some time back in the states recouping and then they returned to the country they had been in. To this day they live there. I met them the day they returned. I will never forget the words that Caleb's mom spoke. She was honest in sharing that she was scared to be there and some days all she would want to do is take her little boys home. But she continued and said that she was called to be in that country with those people and although it might be hard at times she was going to follow through with that call.
I'm not sure I'm that committed. Sure I live here now. But I'm single; I've never been attacked for what I believe; I don't have to be as concerned about protecting others as I am myself.
The night before I met Caleb I heard a recorded sermon. A black pastor tries to explain who God is. It is called My King. I had heard the sermon once before. I was at Covenant College on top of Lookout Mountain in Georgia. A young man recited the 5 or 6 minute sermon, complete with mimicking the pastor's voice. That night it became clear that I was called to spend my life serving. I never anticipated that call would include a stay here. At that point I had no idea what all answering yes would entail. I still don't know. My hope is that I am as faithful as Caleb and his parents. I hope that I love my Father that much. I hope that I trust him that much.
My Travels...
I got back home Tuesday at about 4am. I returned from spending two weeks traveling outside of Africa. I went to Turkey. The country claims to be 98% Muslim; they are also very proud of the fact that they are a "secular country." It works out to be perhaps 25% - 30% are actually practicing Muslims.
We had a great visit. We got to see lots of cool places. In Istanbul we stayed inside the walls of the old city. We saw St. Sophia - a super old church that then became a mosque that is now a museum with aspects that represent Christian faith and others that are Muslim. We roamed all over the place and got to meet lots of interesting people.
It was quite different from being here. Poverty is still an issue there as I understand it, but it looks very different from the poverty that is here. The country is much more commercial and modern. I ate at TGI Fridays, Starbucks, Burger King, Arbys. (Wow those were good!) New Years Eve we had Burger King and then went into this place that was similar to a Super Wal-Mart. It was overwhelming. I had forgotten what it was like to be in a store with that much stuff.
The highlight of touring was visiting the 7 churches mentioned in the beginning of Revelation. Ephesus and Laodicea were my favorites as they are the most restored. Earthquakes have destroyed all of the cities we visited. It is hard to believe that these places were significant enough that they were being written to in scripture. Now they just look like a bunch of rocks...old rocks. It was really neat to visit them though.
After the tours I spent a week at a conference (this is really why I was traveling). All of the people that work in our region joined together for fellowship, refreshing, and training. It was good to spend time with coworkers especially my supervisors that I hadn't seen in a year and a half. They are still in the states until March, but it was good to spend time with them there. I have a better grasp now on what my work will look like over the next years.
It was a good trip but exhausting. By the time it was over I was ready to be home. Now it is time to jump back into the swing of things here.
We had a great visit. We got to see lots of cool places. In Istanbul we stayed inside the walls of the old city. We saw St. Sophia - a super old church that then became a mosque that is now a museum with aspects that represent Christian faith and others that are Muslim. We roamed all over the place and got to meet lots of interesting people.
It was quite different from being here. Poverty is still an issue there as I understand it, but it looks very different from the poverty that is here. The country is much more commercial and modern. I ate at TGI Fridays, Starbucks, Burger King, Arbys. (Wow those were good!) New Years Eve we had Burger King and then went into this place that was similar to a Super Wal-Mart. It was overwhelming. I had forgotten what it was like to be in a store with that much stuff.
The highlight of touring was visiting the 7 churches mentioned in the beginning of Revelation. Ephesus and Laodicea were my favorites as they are the most restored. Earthquakes have destroyed all of the cities we visited. It is hard to believe that these places were significant enough that they were being written to in scripture. Now they just look like a bunch of rocks...old rocks. It was really neat to visit them though.
After the tours I spent a week at a conference (this is really why I was traveling). All of the people that work in our region joined together for fellowship, refreshing, and training. It was good to spend time with coworkers especially my supervisors that I hadn't seen in a year and a half. They are still in the states until March, but it was good to spend time with them there. I have a better grasp now on what my work will look like over the next years.
It was a good trip but exhausting. By the time it was over I was ready to be home. Now it is time to jump back into the swing of things here.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Back @ Home...
I am back in Africa safe and sound. More coming soon I promise! Sorry for the brief hiatus.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Christmas Retold...
It is Christmas Eve. In an hour and a half I catch my ride to the airport. I am headed to Europe for a couple weeks. It will no doubt be quite an amazing trip. But it is so odd.
As I packed I played Christmas music. I stopped to open a few presents. I left one unopened. I know what it is and know I want to take it with me. I'll open it tomorrow. My mom sent me some stuff. I should see it around January 2.
Had a bad stomach day again today. A true African Christmas!
Wanted to give you this link. This guy writes some pretty cool stuff. Be warned it is not as sweet as we might hope. A couple cuss words slip in...but it seems pretty true to tale. I've only read part of it...I'll finish tomorrow in my personal Christmas celebration.
Real Live Preacher - Christmas Story
I'm a bit worried Santa may not know where to find me.
Special thanks to Jason and Christy and the gangs at First Waco and S. Russell. It was such a blessing to open your mail tonight. Glitter is everywhere! Love you guys! Thanks! Also got some great gifts from Dad's side of the family. I am blessed!
Merry Christmas!
As I packed I played Christmas music. I stopped to open a few presents. I left one unopened. I know what it is and know I want to take it with me. I'll open it tomorrow. My mom sent me some stuff. I should see it around January 2.
Had a bad stomach day again today. A true African Christmas!
Wanted to give you this link. This guy writes some pretty cool stuff. Be warned it is not as sweet as we might hope. A couple cuss words slip in...but it seems pretty true to tale. I've only read part of it...I'll finish tomorrow in my personal Christmas celebration.
Real Live Preacher - Christmas Story
I'm a bit worried Santa may not know where to find me.
Special thanks to Jason and Christy and the gangs at First Waco and S. Russell. It was such a blessing to open your mail tonight. Glitter is everywhere! Love you guys! Thanks! Also got some great gifts from Dad's side of the family. I am blessed!
Merry Christmas!
Thursday, December 23, 2004
The Phone Call...
I just got of the phone with the family. It was so good to talk to all of them. No really I think I talked to all of them. Sure enough breakfast had just finished. They were about to start the morning presents. T. told me she got in trouble last night. She was waiting on me to take my turn. I missed out.
They shared with me it snowed. Almost all of them told me it snowed. Dub, my granddad loved it. They got 14 inches or 12 depending on who was talking. I guess some people talk about snow the way they do their golf score or the fish they caught.
It was a tough call. I miss them. I love them. It is neat how being away can do some fun things for bonding. The phone call was tough because the connection was bad. Somedays it is great. Tonight it was awful...big delay...lots of static. I felt like I was six talking on those old walkie talkies that had more static than voices.
It was so good to talk to them. It ushered in Christmas for me. We tried to do so here. We put up decorations at a house. We watched Home Alone last night. But my Christmas was ushered in with the phone call from my family. Dad's side will get together soon. I am blessed.
I am blessed to have family that loves me. I am blessed to be making new family in Africa. I am blessed.
They shared with me it snowed. Almost all of them told me it snowed. Dub, my granddad loved it. They got 14 inches or 12 depending on who was talking. I guess some people talk about snow the way they do their golf score or the fish they caught.
It was a tough call. I miss them. I love them. It is neat how being away can do some fun things for bonding. The phone call was tough because the connection was bad. Somedays it is great. Tonight it was awful...big delay...lots of static. I felt like I was six talking on those old walkie talkies that had more static than voices.
It was so good to talk to them. It ushered in Christmas for me. We tried to do so here. We put up decorations at a house. We watched Home Alone last night. But my Christmas was ushered in with the phone call from my family. Dad's side will get together soon. I am blessed.
I am blessed to have family that loves me. I am blessed to be making new family in Africa. I am blessed.
Almost Christmas...
Christmas Eve is in about 5 hours. That seems so strange. I am sitting in my apartment waiting for the phone to ring. I think my parents plan to call in the next few minutes. It has been a while since I have talked to them.
Today has not been fun. This is the first time I have really sat for a break. I ate once today...no twice. The first time I had three cookies at an appointment. The second time I had a cinnamon roll at another appointment. I guess to be honest I should add that I had another bite of food. My friend Christy visited here with me a year and a half ago. She lived in Mali for two years before that. While here she told me she thought she could eat anything...until she came here. Well, the food isn't that bad, but it isn't great either. Those who know me know I am what you might call a "meatarian" (okay so that isn't really a word). But I dont eat veggies. Well actually I eat lots of potatoes but somebody keeps trying to tell me they aren't a vegetable. I don't think he knows what he is talking about.
So they have this strange tradition here. They like to force feed you. They call it a gorsha (bad spelling) and claim it is to show friendship. Honestly I think it is because they either don't like the food themselves or are full. So tonight my friend, a priest, gave me a gorsha. Yuck! I have no idea what all I ate, but sure enough I ate it. I also quickly moved for a Pepsi. There wasn't a bit of meat in it though. i'm still burping peppers or something of the sort. So if you count that I guess I have eaten three times none worthy of being called a meal. All that to say; it has been a busy day.
This is a tough time. Christmas is in two days. Tomorrow I leave for Europe. Tomorrow fellow Americans and I are having a Christmas dinner. I miss my family. It seems I should be home at my grandmother's. This morning (night here) they likely had a big breakfast complete with sausage, bacon, biscuits, eggs, gravy, maybe even country ham. After breakfast they will gather in the den. All...I can't count anymore...will gather around the room and rip into gifts. As always my grandparents spent too much money. Afterwards everyone will try on clothes and play with any items not to be worn. They are possibly all wearing matching pajamas since that is what we all get the night before. If it is a good year, several cars will head towards the movie theater and they will fight over what will be the movie to watch. They skipped lunch so they'll get sick on a giant tub of buttery popcorn.
I miss my family.
But I have a wonderful opportunity. If in the midst of traveling I don't forget to recognize it is Christmas I will have a chance to celebrate the holiday like never before. Thus far I have four unopened presents. I was already told what one of them was but nonetheless I am saving it. Usually Christmas is spent with far more presents than are necessary. Even four sounds like too many living here. I am not with my family I rarely see; I am not gorged with food. I am here alone. Sure I have made great friends, but at this time my Christmas is between me and the birthday boy. If I slow down and pay attention I will have the chance to celebrate the birth like never before this year.
I will miss the traditional Communion at LOFBC. I will miss the hugs and the gifts. I miss my family and my friends immensely. But I am here in the midst of living into the Kingdom. I am in the midst of a call that is bigger than gifts and family and food. It can only be described as a call to eternity.
Merry Christmas!
Today has not been fun. This is the first time I have really sat for a break. I ate once today...no twice. The first time I had three cookies at an appointment. The second time I had a cinnamon roll at another appointment. I guess to be honest I should add that I had another bite of food. My friend Christy visited here with me a year and a half ago. She lived in Mali for two years before that. While here she told me she thought she could eat anything...until she came here. Well, the food isn't that bad, but it isn't great either. Those who know me know I am what you might call a "meatarian" (okay so that isn't really a word). But I dont eat veggies. Well actually I eat lots of potatoes but somebody keeps trying to tell me they aren't a vegetable. I don't think he knows what he is talking about.
So they have this strange tradition here. They like to force feed you. They call it a gorsha (bad spelling) and claim it is to show friendship. Honestly I think it is because they either don't like the food themselves or are full. So tonight my friend, a priest, gave me a gorsha. Yuck! I have no idea what all I ate, but sure enough I ate it. I also quickly moved for a Pepsi. There wasn't a bit of meat in it though. i'm still burping peppers or something of the sort. So if you count that I guess I have eaten three times none worthy of being called a meal. All that to say; it has been a busy day.
This is a tough time. Christmas is in two days. Tomorrow I leave for Europe. Tomorrow fellow Americans and I are having a Christmas dinner. I miss my family. It seems I should be home at my grandmother's. This morning (night here) they likely had a big breakfast complete with sausage, bacon, biscuits, eggs, gravy, maybe even country ham. After breakfast they will gather in the den. All...I can't count anymore...will gather around the room and rip into gifts. As always my grandparents spent too much money. Afterwards everyone will try on clothes and play with any items not to be worn. They are possibly all wearing matching pajamas since that is what we all get the night before. If it is a good year, several cars will head towards the movie theater and they will fight over what will be the movie to watch. They skipped lunch so they'll get sick on a giant tub of buttery popcorn.
I miss my family.
But I have a wonderful opportunity. If in the midst of traveling I don't forget to recognize it is Christmas I will have a chance to celebrate the holiday like never before. Thus far I have four unopened presents. I was already told what one of them was but nonetheless I am saving it. Usually Christmas is spent with far more presents than are necessary. Even four sounds like too many living here. I am not with my family I rarely see; I am not gorged with food. I am here alone. Sure I have made great friends, but at this time my Christmas is between me and the birthday boy. If I slow down and pay attention I will have the chance to celebrate the birth like never before this year.
I will miss the traditional Communion at LOFBC. I will miss the hugs and the gifts. I miss my family and my friends immensely. But I am here in the midst of living into the Kingdom. I am in the midst of a call that is bigger than gifts and family and food. It can only be described as a call to eternity.
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 18, 2004
The Countryside...
Tuesday I returned from a trip. It was my first trip to the countryside since I have been here. The town is about two hours from the city. Thankfully the pavement goes all the way to this town in which my friends live. Just beyond this town the pavement stops. However the only paved road in the town is the main road. All the others are dusty dirt roads.
I don't know the best way to explain the vast difference that exists between my city and the countryside. It is almost like living in two different worlds. My friend Mark moved from Baltimore to Texas to go to school. He talked as if the transition was pretty tough. It was hard for him to adjust to a knew way of life, new assumptions, new traditions. The countryside here is even more extreme. There are more languages in this country than I can count. And there are numerous different tribes or people groups spread across the land. On the two-hour trip we took I was in the midst of four different peoples. That means they would each have different traditions and ways of living. There is some overlap but also great distinction.
Life in the countryside is peaceful. The pace of life is slower. In the city it is easy to go back into an American fast-paced lifestyle, with of course some differences caused by the third-world. Most of the time I was out there the electricity was out. I was in one of the last towns were electricity stretches in that direction.
It was a good visit. It was peaceful. It was refreshing. It was needed. I wish I could have stayed longer than the couple of days I was there.
I rode out in a car with my friends. I came back on the bus. I was terrified. I had heard only nightmare stories about the buses. My adventure on the bus revealed so much about the people here.
The buses don't leave on an exact schedule; they leave when they are full. We got to the station a little before nine. I had been made aware some buses are much better than others are. We tried to scout a decent looking one that was yelling the name of my city. I bought a ticket; it costs just under $2 USD. It looked like it might be a while so we told them we were going to go across the street to a café and wait. My friend Ben told me they would come get me when they were ready to leave.
We sat for a while and talked about what it looked like for people there to join our family. There are so many difficulties. We saw the bus start to pull out. It came around to a gas station where they loaded some large burlap sacks on top. The bus still didn't look full though. We waited a few more minutes and decided to go ahead and go wait at the bus.
When I bought my ticket the seller promised to reserve me a front seat. This isn't because I didn't want to sit near people. It is because typically the only open window in the bus is the driver's. All of the other people are terrified the wind will make them sick. Actually many of them vomit riding this way. We got on the bus and waited...and waited...and waited. We watched two other buses to the city pull in front of us, fill up, and leave. It wasn't looking like my bus was in much of a hurry. We chatted with nationals for a while, played with kids, bought a bottle of water. Actually we sent a kid to buy the water for me.
Eventually the waiting got to be too much. Ben went to see if they would put me on a bus that was actually leaving. He came back quickly and said, "Get your bags, hurry." We ran up to a bus that was literally pulling out. But they had one more seat. After a brief argument between six people of whether I could get on the bus, I climbed up the stairs and away we went.
That whole front seat thing...didn't happen on the new bus. I was in the very last seat. It was a bench stretching from side to side of the bus. It was five or six feet long and six of us were crammed in it. Buses here aren't made for Americans. We are typically both fatter and taller than they are. The seat in front of me sat so close that even sitting exactly upright my knees were up tight against the metal backing.
As we pulled out I had to buy another ticket. Somehow the transfer wasn't completely successful. As we pulled out there were about three windows open. One was right in front of me. Everyone started yelling at them and the windows were closed. Interestingly one man then turned to me and I think asked me if I wanted it open. Of course I did, but I also wanted to suit their culture. I said it was no problem. Just after that they chose to let the man in front of me open it again. It was a Godsend. I even got cold on one piece of the trip.
The man who wanted his window open seemed to be a bit more educated then most. He was in a blue oxford shirt and dress pants. He had brought a newspaper with him. He was pretty friendly. I assume he spoke some English but I never heard it. The two guys to my left were pretty quiet. I never heard a word. One slept. The other gnawed on sugar cane. It looks like a small piece of firewood. It is about 2 inches in diameter and about a foot long. He would peal the outside off and chew on the innards. Then he spit them into the floor after all the flavor was gone.
To the right sat a guy who was actually with about four or five who sat in front of me. At least two of them were Muslim, I could tell by their attire. They were all clearly together because they shared the local narcotic with one another. It is a leaf that they chew on. The numbers that partake in it here are overwhelming. It takes a lot of it to get a buzz so many spend all the money they make and then some trying to suffice their habit.
On the far right were two guys that I think must have been brothers. They looked a lot alike and shared a bag of traditional snacks together. They even shared some with me.
I tried to speak with them a bit. But my ignorance limited the conversation. I tried to sleep a bit. At one point I even pulled out my iPod. Imagine, not only are they staring at me because I am the only white guy. Now the white guy has a little white box with earphones in his hand.
The guess was that the two-hour trip would take about three and a half by bus. Luckily it was uneventful; I made it home in two and a half. It was a fun journey. I think I'll go somewhere by bus again sometime soon. This time I might take a friend though.
I love this place. I love these people.
I don't know the best way to explain the vast difference that exists between my city and the countryside. It is almost like living in two different worlds. My friend Mark moved from Baltimore to Texas to go to school. He talked as if the transition was pretty tough. It was hard for him to adjust to a knew way of life, new assumptions, new traditions. The countryside here is even more extreme. There are more languages in this country than I can count. And there are numerous different tribes or people groups spread across the land. On the two-hour trip we took I was in the midst of four different peoples. That means they would each have different traditions and ways of living. There is some overlap but also great distinction.
Life in the countryside is peaceful. The pace of life is slower. In the city it is easy to go back into an American fast-paced lifestyle, with of course some differences caused by the third-world. Most of the time I was out there the electricity was out. I was in one of the last towns were electricity stretches in that direction.
It was a good visit. It was peaceful. It was refreshing. It was needed. I wish I could have stayed longer than the couple of days I was there.
I rode out in a car with my friends. I came back on the bus. I was terrified. I had heard only nightmare stories about the buses. My adventure on the bus revealed so much about the people here.
The buses don't leave on an exact schedule; they leave when they are full. We got to the station a little before nine. I had been made aware some buses are much better than others are. We tried to scout a decent looking one that was yelling the name of my city. I bought a ticket; it costs just under $2 USD. It looked like it might be a while so we told them we were going to go across the street to a café and wait. My friend Ben told me they would come get me when they were ready to leave.
We sat for a while and talked about what it looked like for people there to join our family. There are so many difficulties. We saw the bus start to pull out. It came around to a gas station where they loaded some large burlap sacks on top. The bus still didn't look full though. We waited a few more minutes and decided to go ahead and go wait at the bus.
When I bought my ticket the seller promised to reserve me a front seat. This isn't because I didn't want to sit near people. It is because typically the only open window in the bus is the driver's. All of the other people are terrified the wind will make them sick. Actually many of them vomit riding this way. We got on the bus and waited...and waited...and waited. We watched two other buses to the city pull in front of us, fill up, and leave. It wasn't looking like my bus was in much of a hurry. We chatted with nationals for a while, played with kids, bought a bottle of water. Actually we sent a kid to buy the water for me.
Eventually the waiting got to be too much. Ben went to see if they would put me on a bus that was actually leaving. He came back quickly and said, "Get your bags, hurry." We ran up to a bus that was literally pulling out. But they had one more seat. After a brief argument between six people of whether I could get on the bus, I climbed up the stairs and away we went.
That whole front seat thing...didn't happen on the new bus. I was in the very last seat. It was a bench stretching from side to side of the bus. It was five or six feet long and six of us were crammed in it. Buses here aren't made for Americans. We are typically both fatter and taller than they are. The seat in front of me sat so close that even sitting exactly upright my knees were up tight against the metal backing.
As we pulled out I had to buy another ticket. Somehow the transfer wasn't completely successful. As we pulled out there were about three windows open. One was right in front of me. Everyone started yelling at them and the windows were closed. Interestingly one man then turned to me and I think asked me if I wanted it open. Of course I did, but I also wanted to suit their culture. I said it was no problem. Just after that they chose to let the man in front of me open it again. It was a Godsend. I even got cold on one piece of the trip.
The man who wanted his window open seemed to be a bit more educated then most. He was in a blue oxford shirt and dress pants. He had brought a newspaper with him. He was pretty friendly. I assume he spoke some English but I never heard it. The two guys to my left were pretty quiet. I never heard a word. One slept. The other gnawed on sugar cane. It looks like a small piece of firewood. It is about 2 inches in diameter and about a foot long. He would peal the outside off and chew on the innards. Then he spit them into the floor after all the flavor was gone.
To the right sat a guy who was actually with about four or five who sat in front of me. At least two of them were Muslim, I could tell by their attire. They were all clearly together because they shared the local narcotic with one another. It is a leaf that they chew on. The numbers that partake in it here are overwhelming. It takes a lot of it to get a buzz so many spend all the money they make and then some trying to suffice their habit.
On the far right were two guys that I think must have been brothers. They looked a lot alike and shared a bag of traditional snacks together. They even shared some with me.
I tried to speak with them a bit. But my ignorance limited the conversation. I tried to sleep a bit. At one point I even pulled out my iPod. Imagine, not only are they staring at me because I am the only white guy. Now the white guy has a little white box with earphones in his hand.
The guess was that the two-hour trip would take about three and a half by bus. Luckily it was uneventful; I made it home in two and a half. It was a fun journey. I think I'll go somewhere by bus again sometime soon. This time I might take a friend though.
I love this place. I love these people.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Sacrifice...
[Listening to: She Must and Shall Go Free - Derek Webb - The House Show (3:16)]
Tuesday I was with a national friend. He is an amazing man. He started his own business, led almost all his employees to the family. Now he has a piece of the body meeting each week in his house. He does incredible things.
They just finished Acts and John. Now he wants to lead them towards the OT. I have been pondering on his words since he mentioned them. I asked what books. He mentioned two different ones based on their call to sacrifice. He said that no believers here are willing to sacrifice anything. They are all taught that joining the family is about blessings you receive.
This land is desperate. I wonder if we (Westerners) did that blessing thing to them. I don't remember many sermons on sacrifice. I didn't preach any either, I don't think, it is a good way to not get invited back. All of our favorite books in the Bible and at the bookstore deal with all the great things we get by believing. Not many tell us that God might decide to kill off our family (Job). We aren't often told we might get so frustrated with how different God is than what we expect him to be we might kill ourselves (Judas). We aren't told that we have a good chance of being hated by everyone and eventually killed (most of the disciples). We aren't told God might ask us to kill our son, only to change his mind at the last minute (Abraham). We aren't told that we may get run out of our own home and have to live in the desert for a while (Moses). We aren't told that it may mean we have to wander in the wilderness our whole lives (Israelites).
Instead we read that we will have peace in all things. We read that our inheritance will be multiplied. We focus on jewels in crowns and blessings from above. Now I am not making the claim that there aren't wonderful blessings for us in the kingdom. My claim is that they don't look the way we expect them to. My claim is that it seems clear in the Bible that believers get more sacrifice than blessing. In the annals of our tradition it seems that a mark of faithfulness was persecution. Many of the great bearers of truth sacrificed their life, their family's lives, their freedom, their respect, their power, their authority, their wealth, etc. for the kingdom.
My friend is upset because no one here sacrifices anything to be called a child of God. It hurt me to think of how much more they sacrifice here than I ever sacrifice...here or at home.
After all of that, is it bad to say I got a new refrigerator this week? I was pretty excited about it. It has a freezer. I can actually fit Cokes and leftovers in it!
Monday, December 06, 2004
Good Intentions and Dinner Guests...
I have been meaning to write for a long time. Last week was a great week, for so many reasons. First the runs were gone...nough said! Second I have had some great conversations with old friends and new ones. Great things are happening here. I continue to say that, because I don't know the words to explain the wonderful things that are happening in the hearts of people. Great questions are being asked by me and by the nationals I get to spend time with.
But tonight I decided I had to write. Let me apologize, this isn't a story original to the country, it is just kinda neat.
Just before leaving the states I met a girl who was headed here. We had a chance to share together and encourage each other in the states. Now here we hang out every now and then. She lives with some people doing some great work here in the city. They have been great to welcome me into their home.
So tonight I am headed to one of my regulars for dinner. It is close to the house and reasonably priced and good food. As I was walking down the street I thought, "I need to call Jess and see how her trip was." Before I did so I saw Linda (the lady she lives with) at the restaurant. Since I was alone Linda invited me to come join them at their house for pizza, they had guests. Come to find out two of them are a bit famous. They were on this fairly popular TV show...The Bachelor 5. One of them won.
Jessica won and Jenny was the spy. They became friends. Now they are spending a couple weeks over here. Now is that strange or what?
I'll write some more original stories soon. Thanks for you faithfulness!
But tonight I decided I had to write. Let me apologize, this isn't a story original to the country, it is just kinda neat.
Just before leaving the states I met a girl who was headed here. We had a chance to share together and encourage each other in the states. Now here we hang out every now and then. She lives with some people doing some great work here in the city. They have been great to welcome me into their home.
So tonight I am headed to one of my regulars for dinner. It is close to the house and reasonably priced and good food. As I was walking down the street I thought, "I need to call Jess and see how her trip was." Before I did so I saw Linda (the lady she lives with) at the restaurant. Since I was alone Linda invited me to come join them at their house for pizza, they had guests. Come to find out two of them are a bit famous. They were on this fairly popular TV show...The Bachelor 5. One of them won.
Jessica won and Jenny was the spy. They became friends. Now they are spending a couple weeks over here. Now is that strange or what?
I'll write some more original stories soon. Thanks for you faithfulness!
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Thanksgiving...
Thanksgiving has always been a pretty major holiday in my family. All of the family comes in and we get to have two big feasts, one on each side of the family. it is not quite the fun Christmas is because rather than gathering in the living room to open gifts together we just eat (well we do that at Christmas too) and watch TV (okay we do that too) and fall asleep watching TV (well we do that too). So more is different than just the gifts, I just don't know how to explain it. There are sort of gifts at Thanksgiving too, but only for my grandfather Earl. He loves presents so much I think he starts opening Christmas presents in early November!
Back to Thanksgiving. This year it almost came and went without me noticing. I got to talk to Mom and Dad and Ryan and Whit which was good; it had been a while. And all of my coworkers and I had a big dinner on Friday (the day after). Had it not been for the get together on Friday I would have missed the entire holiday.
I think maybe I still missed it. I'm not really sure who started the holiday. I know we go back to the pilgrim and Indian thing, but what made it stick? Whose idea was it that we should gather together once a year and celebrate all of the things we are thankful for? I think that is the part I missed of Thanksgiving...not just this year, but probably for a while.
Sure I missed being with family! And I have a great family! But usually I let the trip I've made home and the chance to get fatter and all the hugs overshadow the chance to truly celebrate having all of those things. I ate this year...we even flew in a Turkey from Dubai. I even watched part of a prerecorded football game. But I missed my family and I missed giving thanks.
Perhaps I need to have Thanksgiving again this week. This time I will skip the game and the Turkey (it completely counteracts the diets I have been on: 1. The stairs diet; 2. The running to the toilet diet). I think I need to take a day and celebrate the things I am truly thankful for.
I am thankful for an amazingly loving family. I am thankful to serve a mighty Creator. I am thankful to have so many people committed to that same Creator and me that they often remember me and the work I am invested in. I am thankful I have a job. I am thankful I can afford clothes. I am thankful I have food on the table. I am thankful the sun is shinning. I am thankful for the chance to spend the next month celebrating the upcoming holiday. I am thankful...
Back to Thanksgiving. This year it almost came and went without me noticing. I got to talk to Mom and Dad and Ryan and Whit which was good; it had been a while. And all of my coworkers and I had a big dinner on Friday (the day after). Had it not been for the get together on Friday I would have missed the entire holiday.
I think maybe I still missed it. I'm not really sure who started the holiday. I know we go back to the pilgrim and Indian thing, but what made it stick? Whose idea was it that we should gather together once a year and celebrate all of the things we are thankful for? I think that is the part I missed of Thanksgiving...not just this year, but probably for a while.
Sure I missed being with family! And I have a great family! But usually I let the trip I've made home and the chance to get fatter and all the hugs overshadow the chance to truly celebrate having all of those things. I ate this year...we even flew in a Turkey from Dubai. I even watched part of a prerecorded football game. But I missed my family and I missed giving thanks.
Perhaps I need to have Thanksgiving again this week. This time I will skip the game and the Turkey (it completely counteracts the diets I have been on: 1. The stairs diet; 2. The running to the toilet diet). I think I need to take a day and celebrate the things I am truly thankful for.
I am thankful for an amazingly loving family. I am thankful to serve a mighty Creator. I am thankful to have so many people committed to that same Creator and me that they often remember me and the work I am invested in. I am thankful I have a job. I am thankful I can afford clothes. I am thankful I have food on the table. I am thankful the sun is shinning. I am thankful for the chance to spend the next month celebrating the upcoming holiday. I am thankful...
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
The Electric Bill...
I started getting sick Sunday night. I couldn't sleep much that night and Monday morning began the ritual of numerous uncomfortable stops in the bathroom. (Potty talk is not as prohibited here as it is in the states; it is just part of life here.)
I had hoped it would pass quickly so I continued with my normal Monday schedule. Now as you may be assuming the story could get gross from here...don't worry. I'm not headed that direction.
I spent two hours or so studying language with one of my helpers. He is a funny guy. I think I have thus far convinced him I am a heretic. He swears I haven't but he takes issue with some of the questions I ask him sometimes. I've tried to tell him not to assume my opinion based on my questions, but I'm not sure he gets that yet. (That's okay neither does my dad. He thinks I'm a heretic too. Love ya Dad!)
I knew I wasn't feeling very well by the end of my study, so I was going to run by and pay my electric bill before going home to go to bed. Boy was I mistaken. I've been to pay the bill before and there has never been a line. Monday it looked more as I expected the first time. What was weird is others who entered after me seemed shocked by the number of people there too. There was a line of some sort...come to find out there were actually three. I was pointed to where I should stand and began to wait.
Processes here work differently than in the states. Although standing in line to pay a bill does remind me of trying to pay a bill at Baylor. One big difference is the line part. They just don't get it. Lines are more like a stretched out glob. And once you get to the front it doesn't matter who was behind who, it becomes all about who has the longest arms. He/she gets to stick his papers closer to the attendant's nose and therefore gets taken care of first.
There had been a man in an interesting ensemble roaming around working the crowd the whole time. He was balding, and wore thick glasses. His blue shirt hadn't been ironed (It looked worse than I usually do.). His pants almost matched the color of his tie; they were sort of a reddish orange...I think. The tie was one of the thin kind from the eighties and was a bit too short. Now I am not making fun of his clothes, he was dressed fairly nice. I am trying to give you the mental picture. I assumed he was in charged based on a few things. First he seemed to have some idea what was going on. Second he seemed to be telling others that were working what to do. Third, he watched others work a lot...pretty common. Fourth, he disappeared for a few minutes and reappeared munching on something.
I had been in line for about 30 minutes and hadn't made much progress. The tummy was rumbling a bit and I probably didn't look super friendly. I kept thinking, "I should smile more," but it was quickly followed by, "If I hadn't already stood in line this long I would go home and go to bed."
I was doing a lot of watching people. It is pretty fun. One cool thing about lines here is they save places well. Multiple times I would see someone look to the person in front or behind him or her and say something. Then they would disappear; some would go sit for a while, some would go pay another bill. When they returned the person they had spoken too let them right back into line.
I noticed an older man a couple times. He was just behind me in line. They are really kind to elderly here (traditionally) and I kept wondering if I should let him in front of me. He had gone to the side to sit in a chair and wait. I noticed that he flagged down the guy I mentioned above. Both the older man and the working guy had both looked at me at separate times and made some attempt to apologize. I guess they felt bad I was waiting. I'm not sure why they felt bad about me and not others though.
After their conversation I saw the working man glance at me and then head to the front of the line. He started talking to a few people. And I thought, "oh no!" Then he looked at me and waved me up to him. I politely refused and again he said to come. The others around me gave me a slight nudge so I went that way.
The two of them moved me to the very front of the line. My stomach was thankful, but I was embarrassed. I felt dirty. I didn't want to be treated special. I wanted to be the same as all of the others. I wondered if the others I was cutting in front of were in agreement or angry with me. I wanted to crawl under the desk.
I paid my bill and specifically thanked the old man. I also tried to give a general thanks to all of those still in line. I ducked my head not really wanting to look in their eyes in fear it might look like I felt superior. I went and thanked the man who was working there. He smiled and wished me farewell.
Then I went home and began three days of sleeping, watching movies, and running to the toilet. You read that right...three days...not over it yet.
Happy Thanksgiving!
I had hoped it would pass quickly so I continued with my normal Monday schedule. Now as you may be assuming the story could get gross from here...don't worry. I'm not headed that direction.
I spent two hours or so studying language with one of my helpers. He is a funny guy. I think I have thus far convinced him I am a heretic. He swears I haven't but he takes issue with some of the questions I ask him sometimes. I've tried to tell him not to assume my opinion based on my questions, but I'm not sure he gets that yet. (That's okay neither does my dad. He thinks I'm a heretic too. Love ya Dad!)
I knew I wasn't feeling very well by the end of my study, so I was going to run by and pay my electric bill before going home to go to bed. Boy was I mistaken. I've been to pay the bill before and there has never been a line. Monday it looked more as I expected the first time. What was weird is others who entered after me seemed shocked by the number of people there too. There was a line of some sort...come to find out there were actually three. I was pointed to where I should stand and began to wait.
Processes here work differently than in the states. Although standing in line to pay a bill does remind me of trying to pay a bill at Baylor. One big difference is the line part. They just don't get it. Lines are more like a stretched out glob. And once you get to the front it doesn't matter who was behind who, it becomes all about who has the longest arms. He/she gets to stick his papers closer to the attendant's nose and therefore gets taken care of first.
There had been a man in an interesting ensemble roaming around working the crowd the whole time. He was balding, and wore thick glasses. His blue shirt hadn't been ironed (It looked worse than I usually do.). His pants almost matched the color of his tie; they were sort of a reddish orange...I think. The tie was one of the thin kind from the eighties and was a bit too short. Now I am not making fun of his clothes, he was dressed fairly nice. I am trying to give you the mental picture. I assumed he was in charged based on a few things. First he seemed to have some idea what was going on. Second he seemed to be telling others that were working what to do. Third, he watched others work a lot...pretty common. Fourth, he disappeared for a few minutes and reappeared munching on something.
I had been in line for about 30 minutes and hadn't made much progress. The tummy was rumbling a bit and I probably didn't look super friendly. I kept thinking, "I should smile more," but it was quickly followed by, "If I hadn't already stood in line this long I would go home and go to bed."
I was doing a lot of watching people. It is pretty fun. One cool thing about lines here is they save places well. Multiple times I would see someone look to the person in front or behind him or her and say something. Then they would disappear; some would go sit for a while, some would go pay another bill. When they returned the person they had spoken too let them right back into line.
I noticed an older man a couple times. He was just behind me in line. They are really kind to elderly here (traditionally) and I kept wondering if I should let him in front of me. He had gone to the side to sit in a chair and wait. I noticed that he flagged down the guy I mentioned above. Both the older man and the working guy had both looked at me at separate times and made some attempt to apologize. I guess they felt bad I was waiting. I'm not sure why they felt bad about me and not others though.
After their conversation I saw the working man glance at me and then head to the front of the line. He started talking to a few people. And I thought, "oh no!" Then he looked at me and waved me up to him. I politely refused and again he said to come. The others around me gave me a slight nudge so I went that way.
The two of them moved me to the very front of the line. My stomach was thankful, but I was embarrassed. I felt dirty. I didn't want to be treated special. I wanted to be the same as all of the others. I wondered if the others I was cutting in front of were in agreement or angry with me. I wanted to crawl under the desk.
I paid my bill and specifically thanked the old man. I also tried to give a general thanks to all of those still in line. I ducked my head not really wanting to look in their eyes in fear it might look like I felt superior. I went and thanked the man who was working there. He smiled and wished me farewell.
Then I went home and began three days of sleeping, watching movies, and running to the toilet. You read that right...three days...not over it yet.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Some ramblings...
A wonderful thing is happening. It does however mean that stories might become less interesting. The odd of the country is becoming much less shocking.
I am still quite fascinated by the sight of a herd (is that what you call it) of donkeys running down the road the wrong way with no apparent shepherd (What do you call a person who tends donkeys?). I keep hoping to get a picture while I am in the traffic jam caused by the donkeys, or sheep, or cows, or goats, or whatever the animal of the day might be.
It is still surprising to be standing inside a fancy coffee shop and look out the window. Just behind the shop are the slums. Houses are very close together. All of the roofs are tin. There are large rocks on top of the roofs. It appears as if one day a rainstorm dropped rocks instead of rain. The truth is the rocks are very intentionally placed where they are so that the roof stays on top of the house. Drying laundry hangs all over the small yard as half-naked children play underneath the clotheslines.
Today I had a first. I was on a minibus taxi (see modes of transportation entry) with some American friends. We were talking when I heard what sounded like an animal. We made a curious look towards one another. A few moments later I heard it again. It really sounded like a chicken. I was a few rows back and kept seeing the woman two seats in front of me looking down. I didn't hear the sound again so assumed maybe it was the brakes or rattling whatever (Everything rattles on the minibus!). Down the road a bit farther the woman got out of the taxi. Under her arm a brightly colored chicken. She walked out as if it was nothing.
It was nothing to her. We see it as crazy that a chicken is in a taxi or a goat is on top of a bus or donkeys use the same road as cars (it would be helpful if they would use the right lane though). To the people here it is normal. In one region I have visited they have no paved roads. I got so frustrated at the livestock all over the roadway. "Why won't they get the animals out of the way?" It took me a while to remember…they don't have cars either. Of course the road is for pedestrians and animals. What else would they use it for? I am borrowing their road; it isn't the other way around.
The great thing about loosing the shock element is that although some things may remain strange, they seem normal. I expect them. It means I am growing to love and understand the people for who they are not who I think they should be. All of this is normal to them.
Poverty is normal to them. It is not a rare site to see someone give beggar money. It is also not rare to see the giver wait for change. He/she had no intention of giving the beggar a full bill, they just didn't have coins. The one with nothing gives back change. Can you imagine that in downtown DC…"Oh here is a dollar, but all I have is a ten; you got change?"
The other day we were talking. The talk was about cultures. Is our goal to put on lenses that allow us to see their perspective and give up our own? Is the goal to keep our perspective and never adopt there's? Or is it that our goal is to allow one lens to be from their perspective and one from mine? Does this keep me safe or does it keep me honest? Not sure. I do believe however that the more I understand them the more I will grow to love them and the more I can do to help them and be helped by them.
I am still quite fascinated by the sight of a herd (is that what you call it) of donkeys running down the road the wrong way with no apparent shepherd (What do you call a person who tends donkeys?). I keep hoping to get a picture while I am in the traffic jam caused by the donkeys, or sheep, or cows, or goats, or whatever the animal of the day might be.
It is still surprising to be standing inside a fancy coffee shop and look out the window. Just behind the shop are the slums. Houses are very close together. All of the roofs are tin. There are large rocks on top of the roofs. It appears as if one day a rainstorm dropped rocks instead of rain. The truth is the rocks are very intentionally placed where they are so that the roof stays on top of the house. Drying laundry hangs all over the small yard as half-naked children play underneath the clotheslines.
Today I had a first. I was on a minibus taxi (see modes of transportation entry) with some American friends. We were talking when I heard what sounded like an animal. We made a curious look towards one another. A few moments later I heard it again. It really sounded like a chicken. I was a few rows back and kept seeing the woman two seats in front of me looking down. I didn't hear the sound again so assumed maybe it was the brakes or rattling whatever (Everything rattles on the minibus!). Down the road a bit farther the woman got out of the taxi. Under her arm a brightly colored chicken. She walked out as if it was nothing.
It was nothing to her. We see it as crazy that a chicken is in a taxi or a goat is on top of a bus or donkeys use the same road as cars (it would be helpful if they would use the right lane though). To the people here it is normal. In one region I have visited they have no paved roads. I got so frustrated at the livestock all over the roadway. "Why won't they get the animals out of the way?" It took me a while to remember…they don't have cars either. Of course the road is for pedestrians and animals. What else would they use it for? I am borrowing their road; it isn't the other way around.
The great thing about loosing the shock element is that although some things may remain strange, they seem normal. I expect them. It means I am growing to love and understand the people for who they are not who I think they should be. All of this is normal to them.
Poverty is normal to them. It is not a rare site to see someone give beggar money. It is also not rare to see the giver wait for change. He/she had no intention of giving the beggar a full bill, they just didn't have coins. The one with nothing gives back change. Can you imagine that in downtown DC…"Oh here is a dollar, but all I have is a ten; you got change?"
The other day we were talking. The talk was about cultures. Is our goal to put on lenses that allow us to see their perspective and give up our own? Is the goal to keep our perspective and never adopt there's? Or is it that our goal is to allow one lens to be from their perspective and one from mine? Does this keep me safe or does it keep me honest? Not sure. I do believe however that the more I understand them the more I will grow to love them and the more I can do to help them and be helped by them.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
A New Phone...
What a week! It has been the busiest since I have been here. Mostly this was due to a new phone. I had Mom send me my cordless phone from home with a couple ladies who had come to visit and work with us for a week. Well, the phone got stopped in customs.
Tuesday I got a taxi to the airport to go get it. The airport is literally on the opposite side of the city from where I live. I took a contract taxi and it still took me quite a while to get over there. I got in the airport and finally found the right office. Once I arrived they asked where my letter was from the telephone company. What letter I asked. I had to have a letter of permission from the phone company to have my phone…still not sure why. I asked where the phone company was. They told me which hotel it was in, but know one actually knew where it was. They new it wasn't far from one of the craziest intersections in the city…they told me to go to the intersection and ask for directions.
The next day I found the hotel and a big sign saying the telephone company office was there…on the second, fifth, and sixth floors. I started on the second after being directed there by a security guard. I entered the office to see numerous doors to other offices and no receptionist. I stood there for a minute hoping someone would ask to help me. Nope! I tapped on the first door and went in. I showed the papers to a man behind a desk who told me where to go, but first told me I would have to leave the building to go photocopy my papers. I went to the new office…again no greeting.
I walked to the only man helping no one. He took my papers, flipped through them, and grabbed some other paper work. He handed me a form to fill out. It was all in their language. I just looked at it funny, then looked back at him, and told him I didn't speak his language well. He filled out all of the work for me (Might I add all of the paper work was in the woman's name that brought me the phone. I kept telling them it wasn't me; they just kept making it Mr. Sandra.
Finally he finished and directed me to the sixth floor. I entered again to find no receptionist. I went in the first door and the man took my papers. He started asking me questions. "Do you have the owner's manual?" "I don't know I don't even have the phone back yet." "You need to bring me that." "Customs won't let me have the phone, not to mention the manual might not be here." "How much did it cost?" "I don't know it is old." "We'll have to find it on the internet." That took quite sometime. Thankfully the guy was nice enough to let me practice some of his language I had learned with him.
He sent me to a fourth office. She wrote me a letter, and then sent me back to the last office. He handed me a print out of my phone and said, "Is this it?" "I think so." "The model number is the same." "Must be it then." He left with my papers and said he'd be back. He disappeared for several minutes as I sat in his office. He came back begging my pardon; in his language I said no problem. He told me there actually was a problem. Apparently he couldn't find his boss and the boss had to sign the paper work. He told me to come back Thursday.
After two hours, five offices, and two different floors, I left. And he kept my paperwork. Let me tell you leaving the papers with him made me pretty nervous.
Thursday morning I got a taxi back to the hotel. I went to the sixth floor (Should have told you earlier, although it was numbered six it was the eighth floor.) Popped in the man's office from Wednesday, he sent me back to the office where the lady wrote the letter. I got my letter and they sent me back to the second floor to pay. I finally found the right office and sat down with a man and a woman as they figured out what I owed them. Again I practiced my language with them, and I think made a new friend. He invited me to come again…just to visit he said. I paid them and they sent me to another office for some type of stamp. I got the stamp I the office I had started in Wednesday. As they finished I thanked them in their language and said goodbye. All of the nationals in the room laughed when I spoke their language…quite common, yet still uncomfortable.
Finally I returned to the airport. I stood in line a while and then handed someone my papers. He kept them for about 30 minutes then called me again. I got a paper, and he sent me to the next window to pay. I paid the girl. Then she told me to wait, she left for about 20 minutes then reappeared. I owed more money. "For what?" I asked. Storage. I paid her again and asked where to go. She sort of bobbed her heard towards the left and said, "Where else?" I guessed and moved to the next crowd of people. Finally after waiting again they brought the phone.
They flipped through a book for several minutes looking for record of my phone. Not sure what took so long as they appeared to be in numerical order, but he had some trouble. Sign your name here the man said. "My name," I asked. "Yes." So I did. That isn't the name on the papers the two replied. "Oh you want that name, well here, I'll put it." "No you can't do that!" I thought I was going to have to start the process all over again. Thankfully they asked if the phone was mine and I said it was. They let me have it.
After 3 days, 6 taxis, 2 buildings (both two times), more flights of stairs than I care to count, multiple offices, some money, and lots of paper work, I have a new cordless phone, with an answering machine. More than anything the machine is for calls from people like mom and dad. However I think it could become quite comedic. I assume there will be multiple messages consisting of, "Hello, Hello, Hello…well you get the picture."
To be honest, I know this sounds like quite a fiasco, and don't get me wrong…it was. But it was really a relatively light process in comparison to others.
Tuesday I got a taxi to the airport to go get it. The airport is literally on the opposite side of the city from where I live. I took a contract taxi and it still took me quite a while to get over there. I got in the airport and finally found the right office. Once I arrived they asked where my letter was from the telephone company. What letter I asked. I had to have a letter of permission from the phone company to have my phone…still not sure why. I asked where the phone company was. They told me which hotel it was in, but know one actually knew where it was. They new it wasn't far from one of the craziest intersections in the city…they told me to go to the intersection and ask for directions.
The next day I found the hotel and a big sign saying the telephone company office was there…on the second, fifth, and sixth floors. I started on the second after being directed there by a security guard. I entered the office to see numerous doors to other offices and no receptionist. I stood there for a minute hoping someone would ask to help me. Nope! I tapped on the first door and went in. I showed the papers to a man behind a desk who told me where to go, but first told me I would have to leave the building to go photocopy my papers. I went to the new office…again no greeting.
I walked to the only man helping no one. He took my papers, flipped through them, and grabbed some other paper work. He handed me a form to fill out. It was all in their language. I just looked at it funny, then looked back at him, and told him I didn't speak his language well. He filled out all of the work for me (Might I add all of the paper work was in the woman's name that brought me the phone. I kept telling them it wasn't me; they just kept making it Mr. Sandra.
Finally he finished and directed me to the sixth floor. I entered again to find no receptionist. I went in the first door and the man took my papers. He started asking me questions. "Do you have the owner's manual?" "I don't know I don't even have the phone back yet." "You need to bring me that." "Customs won't let me have the phone, not to mention the manual might not be here." "How much did it cost?" "I don't know it is old." "We'll have to find it on the internet." That took quite sometime. Thankfully the guy was nice enough to let me practice some of his language I had learned with him.
He sent me to a fourth office. She wrote me a letter, and then sent me back to the last office. He handed me a print out of my phone and said, "Is this it?" "I think so." "The model number is the same." "Must be it then." He left with my papers and said he'd be back. He disappeared for several minutes as I sat in his office. He came back begging my pardon; in his language I said no problem. He told me there actually was a problem. Apparently he couldn't find his boss and the boss had to sign the paper work. He told me to come back Thursday.
After two hours, five offices, and two different floors, I left. And he kept my paperwork. Let me tell you leaving the papers with him made me pretty nervous.
Thursday morning I got a taxi back to the hotel. I went to the sixth floor (Should have told you earlier, although it was numbered six it was the eighth floor.) Popped in the man's office from Wednesday, he sent me back to the office where the lady wrote the letter. I got my letter and they sent me back to the second floor to pay. I finally found the right office and sat down with a man and a woman as they figured out what I owed them. Again I practiced my language with them, and I think made a new friend. He invited me to come again…just to visit he said. I paid them and they sent me to another office for some type of stamp. I got the stamp I the office I had started in Wednesday. As they finished I thanked them in their language and said goodbye. All of the nationals in the room laughed when I spoke their language…quite common, yet still uncomfortable.
Finally I returned to the airport. I stood in line a while and then handed someone my papers. He kept them for about 30 minutes then called me again. I got a paper, and he sent me to the next window to pay. I paid the girl. Then she told me to wait, she left for about 20 minutes then reappeared. I owed more money. "For what?" I asked. Storage. I paid her again and asked where to go. She sort of bobbed her heard towards the left and said, "Where else?" I guessed and moved to the next crowd of people. Finally after waiting again they brought the phone.
They flipped through a book for several minutes looking for record of my phone. Not sure what took so long as they appeared to be in numerical order, but he had some trouble. Sign your name here the man said. "My name," I asked. "Yes." So I did. That isn't the name on the papers the two replied. "Oh you want that name, well here, I'll put it." "No you can't do that!" I thought I was going to have to start the process all over again. Thankfully they asked if the phone was mine and I said it was. They let me have it.
After 3 days, 6 taxis, 2 buildings (both two times), more flights of stairs than I care to count, multiple offices, some money, and lots of paper work, I have a new cordless phone, with an answering machine. More than anything the machine is for calls from people like mom and dad. However I think it could become quite comedic. I assume there will be multiple messages consisting of, "Hello, Hello, Hello…well you get the picture."
To be honest, I know this sounds like quite a fiasco, and don't get me wrong…it was. But it was really a relatively light process in comparison to others.
Monday, November 08, 2004
Clowns at the Circus, and Monkeys at the Zoo...
So far I have discovered five primary means of transportation in the city:
1. Personal Vehicle - I clearly don't fall in this category; although there are friends who have loaned me vehicles on occasion. There are several pluses to driving yourself. The first is that it is like being in a real live video game. The other day a guy and I were talking about how much it is like a real live Need for Speed. Another plus is speed. There is clearly no quicker way to get anywhere in the city. The greatest drawback is not being able to be with the nationals while you travel.
2. Contract Taxi - These are small, old, rickety, sedans. You pay the driver an agreed upon amount to get anywhere you need to get. This has the plus of speed listed above, but is not as quick as driving yourself. There are a few drawbacks. It is more expensive than any other form of public transit. There is little consistency in pricing. You can have a guess on what it "should" cost, but it will definitely cost more for "the white guy" and who knows the current mood of the driver. Another down fall is that it is also similar to a game. It reminds me of Fear Factor; sometimes I feel like Jason or my parents riding with me in my car. (They tend to get a bit freaked out!) I've learned that sometimes the best remedy is just close your eyes and hold on. At least that way you don't have to go through all the "I am about to die stuff."
3. Minibus Taxi - This is what all the nationals would call a taxi. Approximately 11 plus the two workers fit in this vehicle. (Plus they often add a few more just to make some money.) The clear pluses are the chance to be with nationals and the price. Today I got all the way across the city for the equivalency of about 50 cents. It would have cost 4 or 5 bucks in a contract. (I know that doesn't sound like much, but trust me it is!) The largest downfalls are time, heat, and smell. They rarely go anywhere unless the vehicle is through. People get out all along the laid out route. If four or five get out, the rest of us sit and wait for it to fill back up. It can easily turn a 15-minute contract ride into an hour affair. The people are a bit scared of wind. They think it will make them sick. Therefore all the windows are closed which makes the ride both hot and stinky. Another flaw has to do with the routes; because they only run direct routes if you want to get somewhere that isn't on one you get close then walk. (This is good for me obviously…it helps with the stairs!) All that said, if I have the time this is one of my favorite ways to get around.
4. Bus - I have never been on one. Remember the VW Bug at a circus? About 25 clowns come out. Well the bus hold 50ish give/forget take about 50. When these things unload it is almost funny. They are standing in the aisle, riding in laps, you name it. Outside of the city some people and animals are even on top of the buses. The pluses are this mode of transport is extremely cheap. When a bus stops and unloads others run to board it. For me the negatives still outweigh the positives. The time/heat/smell thing; multiply that by about 100, literally.
5. Bus 11 - I am a pretty big fan of this one. Hills make it a bit tough so I don't go overboard, but I love to walk in the city. Get it, bus 11? (Look down at your feet…11.) The pluses: lots of people, see all the city has to offer, get exercise, among others. The downfalls: clearly it takes longer, exercise, and the people. The people can be tough sometimes. I love them, dearly. They are typically so friendly and fun and hospitable. But sometimes the poverty begins to become too much. It tugs at the heart and frustrates you all at the same time. Another issue is the monkey at the zoo issue. Today I sat on a wall by the street waiting for a friend (Come to find out I actually wasn't supposed to be sitting there which may have added to the stares.) And I seriously felt like a zoo exhibit. They would just stare at me. Some would throw out the English they know. It always sounds something like: "You, you!" or "You, how are you!" or "You, where are you go!" I got to the point I wanted to start making monkey faces at them. It is interesting what we do to help make others feel uncomfortable when we feel that way. Yesterday I told a friend I was going to start laughing at nationals speaking English. They laugh at me speaking their language…even when I don't screw it up (which I must admit is rare.)
It's fun! It's tough sometimes! I love it! Come visit! We'll try all but the bus!
1. Personal Vehicle - I clearly don't fall in this category; although there are friends who have loaned me vehicles on occasion. There are several pluses to driving yourself. The first is that it is like being in a real live video game. The other day a guy and I were talking about how much it is like a real live Need for Speed. Another plus is speed. There is clearly no quicker way to get anywhere in the city. The greatest drawback is not being able to be with the nationals while you travel.
2. Contract Taxi - These are small, old, rickety, sedans. You pay the driver an agreed upon amount to get anywhere you need to get. This has the plus of speed listed above, but is not as quick as driving yourself. There are a few drawbacks. It is more expensive than any other form of public transit. There is little consistency in pricing. You can have a guess on what it "should" cost, but it will definitely cost more for "the white guy" and who knows the current mood of the driver. Another down fall is that it is also similar to a game. It reminds me of Fear Factor; sometimes I feel like Jason or my parents riding with me in my car. (They tend to get a bit freaked out!) I've learned that sometimes the best remedy is just close your eyes and hold on. At least that way you don't have to go through all the "I am about to die stuff."
3. Minibus Taxi - This is what all the nationals would call a taxi. Approximately 11 plus the two workers fit in this vehicle. (Plus they often add a few more just to make some money.) The clear pluses are the chance to be with nationals and the price. Today I got all the way across the city for the equivalency of about 50 cents. It would have cost 4 or 5 bucks in a contract. (I know that doesn't sound like much, but trust me it is!) The largest downfalls are time, heat, and smell. They rarely go anywhere unless the vehicle is through. People get out all along the laid out route. If four or five get out, the rest of us sit and wait for it to fill back up. It can easily turn a 15-minute contract ride into an hour affair. The people are a bit scared of wind. They think it will make them sick. Therefore all the windows are closed which makes the ride both hot and stinky. Another flaw has to do with the routes; because they only run direct routes if you want to get somewhere that isn't on one you get close then walk. (This is good for me obviously…it helps with the stairs!) All that said, if I have the time this is one of my favorite ways to get around.
4. Bus - I have never been on one. Remember the VW Bug at a circus? About 25 clowns come out. Well the bus hold 50ish give/forget take about 50. When these things unload it is almost funny. They are standing in the aisle, riding in laps, you name it. Outside of the city some people and animals are even on top of the buses. The pluses are this mode of transport is extremely cheap. When a bus stops and unloads others run to board it. For me the negatives still outweigh the positives. The time/heat/smell thing; multiply that by about 100, literally.
5. Bus 11 - I am a pretty big fan of this one. Hills make it a bit tough so I don't go overboard, but I love to walk in the city. Get it, bus 11? (Look down at your feet…11.) The pluses: lots of people, see all the city has to offer, get exercise, among others. The downfalls: clearly it takes longer, exercise, and the people. The people can be tough sometimes. I love them, dearly. They are typically so friendly and fun and hospitable. But sometimes the poverty begins to become too much. It tugs at the heart and frustrates you all at the same time. Another issue is the monkey at the zoo issue. Today I sat on a wall by the street waiting for a friend (Come to find out I actually wasn't supposed to be sitting there which may have added to the stares.) And I seriously felt like a zoo exhibit. They would just stare at me. Some would throw out the English they know. It always sounds something like: "You, you!" or "You, how are you!" or "You, where are you go!" I got to the point I wanted to start making monkey faces at them. It is interesting what we do to help make others feel uncomfortable when we feel that way. Yesterday I told a friend I was going to start laughing at nationals speaking English. They laugh at me speaking their language…even when I don't screw it up (which I must admit is rare.)
It's fun! It's tough sometimes! I love it! Come visit! We'll try all but the bus!
