Excerpts Upon Us

At the onset of sudden, torrential rains today, the Nepali man whom I was visiting remarked, "Oh, it seems the rainy season is now upon us."

On Tuesday, I drove the passenger van to the Perdue Chicken factory in Perry, GA. Perry is 117 miles from the World Relief office. That means the refugees who work there commute 2 hours EACH WAY (by MARTA, busses, and walking) every single day to provide for their families. Some of them work the night shift and then go to school during the day to try to better their opportunities for themselves and ultimately, for their families. I commented to a Sudanese man that working the night shift and going to school during the day must be very difficult and tiring. This man, Suleiman, who is an eye-witness to the crimes of genocide in Darfur and who was flown to Prague to testify at the ICC, quietly and simply replied, "Miss Kelley, I have done many difficult things in my time. I am happy to work and go to school."

This morning I took Esther to her pediatric pulmonology appointment. On Monday, she has a follow-up with the pediatric cardiologist. Her two weeks in the hospital for TB and pleural effusion were well spent - she has minimal post-surgery pain, a great prognosis, and an incredible and contagious joy. Her family and relatives, by the way, are refugees precisely because they are Christians. You know how the Apostle Paul talks about enduring prison, beatings, and persecution? And you know how many Western Christians try to make sense of that with respect to their own lives? Esther's family didn't have to try hard to make Paul's writings relevant. Bhutan does not allow any organized religion; when Esther's father (a pastor) refused to deny Christ, he was imprisoned and beaten. Praise the Lord, he and his family are here today, praising the Lord in freedom and praying for their brothers and sisters in Nepal and Bhutan.

Yesterday I set up home phone service for three families, all Iraqis. The mother in one of the families is the most welcoming, huge-hearted, give-you-a-bear-hug-that-completely-smothers-you-type woman I've ever met. She's a big lady with messy hair and a loud, raspy voice. When I arrived, I slipped off my shoes at the mat, greeted her with "Aasalaamu Aleikum" and received a "Wa-Aleikum Aassalaam!" This woman assures herself, anyone in her presence, and Allah himself that she wants only what Allah wills, for she utters, "In šāʾ Allāh," or "إن شاء الله" in Arabic (God willing) after every other word. Literally. Have you ever read Greg Mortenson's book, Three Cups of Tea? The title comes from the cultural practice in many Middle Eastern cultures wherein one does not talk business or anything of serious concern until the third cup of tea has been served. One cup of tea is for greetings and small talk, a second cup is for other/family matters, and the third cup is over formal matters. I wanted to discuss her AT&T plan and details of a job application, but she would NOT talk about this or anything else work related until I ate the full plate of rice, vegetables, and chicken with a cup of hot tea that she whipped up in five minutes. Though I was especially full since I had just eaten my own lunch, and was thus a little physically uncomfortable, I love this aspect of their culture. I wish Americans would adopt the practice of treating the guest as the king/queen and serving tea, coffee, fruit, etc. immediately upon the guest's arrival, and only after a time of relaxation and mutual niceties begin to discuss matters. Over my second cup of tea, we talked about my family and my brothers and sisters. I told her I had two brothers but no sisters, and she said, "My daughter, you have always two sisters who will love you and an extra mama here for you to make you good and fat; yes, we are here, always." She was referring, of course, to her own daughters and to herself. She asked if I wanted to get married and have children one day. "Yes, absolutely. I don't know when, but someday, In šāʾ Allāh, God will bring me a man who is perfect for me and will bless us with several children." ( I think it is INCREDIBLE that I, as a believer in and proclaimer of Christ as the living Son of God, can talk about God, His blessings, and matters of faith to a devoutly Muslim woman. )

A young wife and mother from Baghdad became very anxious when I told her she had a visitor coming to drop off some gifts from the World Relief donation basement because she could not see if the visitor was a man or woman and was afraid she would not have enough time to cover her head and put on a third layer of robes if the guest was a man. As a follower of one of the most conservative sects of Islam and under the strict rules of her husband, she may only be seen by her husband and friends who are women when she is without her coverings. This woman is breathtakingly stunning. Absolutely gorgeous. She is a gem, a jewel, a beautiful daughter of the King. But she does not know it. Through the language and cultural barrier, I can recognize insecurity and low-esteem when I see it because I know what that looks and feels like. Often, I am in that place myself... I pray for Zinah to know that she is worth saving, and to experience the freedom that is hers. She needs counseling for PTSD because she was in the buildings when a set of bombs exploded in Baghdad. I wish I could speak Arabic so I could get to the heart of things with her. I take comfort, though, knowing that I can pray for her. I take comfort and I experience joy, though, when I see that a smile, laughter, jokes, and silly faces are the same in all languages.

Last week an Iraqi man and a Sudanese man asked me to explain the difference between a cowboy and a redneck, and wanted to know when it was OK to call someone a redneck to his face. ("To his face? Pretty much, never.")

Tomorrow I'm taking one of my Somali families downtown Atlanta to show them how to use MARTA and the bus system. Abdi is the one who asked me to take him to my "social area" to speak with my father to "discuss a marriage proposal." Abdi and I get along great now :-)

Six Sudanese men live together in one apartment, and every time I visit, they serve me three oranges and two cans of Coke. I don't tell them I am afraid to drink regular Coke because of the sugar content, so I always tell them I will drink it on my way home. I normally eat 1 or 2 of the oranges and bring the 3rd back to the office with the Cokes for my coworkers. Mohamed and Abd Alla tested positive for methamphetamines on their drug screen at their job processing at the chicken factory. They weren't kickin' back on pain killers for the hell of it, though; they'd gotten teeth extracted a day or so before and the dentist prescribed them codeine. Unfortunately, they didn't think to tell us about their medicine, so now we're not sure if they'll be able to get jobs. I asked Yousif why there were almost all Sudanese men and very few Sudanese women here. "They kill all women and children and men. Boys run. We were boys. Now we men." Damn. Just damn.

Two young Somali men asked to be moved to the next apartment complex over where their mother and sisters will be placed next week when they arrive. I asked why they wanted to move, and they said that this other apartment complex is dangerous and "dominated by black criminals." (Keep in mind these men are black men themselves.) I asked them to explain further. They said they had heard of an incident in this other village, and that they wanted to move out of their current village so that they could protect their mother and sisters in this village that hosts many dangerous black men. I was at a loss for words . . . (though I think it's hilarious that they refer to apartment complexes as villages.)

I know A LOT about the conflicts in Sudan, Bhutan, Iraq, and Somalia. More than I ever could have hoped to learn in a classroom.

I'm learning that I love learning Arabic and experiencing the Middle Eastern culture, particularly Iraqis. I also absolutely adore and love all of my Nepali families. They. Are. Incredible. Too much for words.

It's all just too much for words.

deefekilt

Every day, something happens that triggers this mental note, "Kelley! You HAVE to write about this when you get home!" But then, something else will happen and then another something later in the afternoon. Pretty soon, I'll have learned and experienced more things in one day than I could adequately depict in a 1,000 word blog entry. I don't know where to start or how to end. Perhaps I must write a book. Or commit myself to writing blog entries almost every day, and then compile them into some massive journal. Between the stories I'm compiling and memories I'm making with the refugees through this internship at World Relief, and the experiences I'm encountering with the women coming out of the sex trade and staying at the emergency housing shelter, and the soon-to-come lessons learned from my time as an intern with the Clarke County School District, I have so much to write about.

I feel privileged that I get to know these people and be a part of their lives, if only for a few hours, days, or weeks. I know that I am blessed to be in a position to serve and love them, and to be served and loved by them. Every day I see the face of Jesus in the families with whom I work. Every day I learn a little more about how to love like Jesus loved. Every day I make mistakes and am (at times) selfish and proud, but, every day I am extended grace and continue to learn in love. Does that sound cheesy? Maybe, but it is true.

Even though I spent three months in some of the rougher (i.e. poorer, crime-ridden) parts of Washington, D.C. last summer, and even though I was one of four leaders charged with the daunting task of leading ~60 teenagers & their adult leaders and providing meaningful service opportunities for them in the district, it is only through this job in this city with these people that I feel I have truly stepped into the 'real world' of adulthood (whatever that means). I do things like activate food stamp cards, chance the PCP because a client is on PeachState and not WellCare Medicaid, take clients to get their social security cards, argue with DDS employees, drive 12-passenger vans to the chicken plant and check IDs and tax forms so they can get processed, teach families how to comparison shop at Thriftown, apply for waivers for the $50 deposit for home phone service, get money orders cheaper at the gas station across the street, put clubs on the cars we drive, explain to families why they really can trust the police and why they must not use their AK-47s to defend themselves, and so, so much more.

Sometimes my job feels like a scene out of the controversial and immensely popular film, Borat. (Ex: Upon discovering and attempting to use a water fountain for the first time, a young Nepali woman said, "Ooohhh, dees eez very deefekilt." ... also: "No, I cannot take you to my special social area for you to meet with my father to discuss a marriage proposal on my behalf.") Other times I feel like I'm an interviewer for the National Geographic or New York Times. (Ex: a Sudanese man is a witness to the crimes of genocide in Darfur and is being flown to Prague to testify at the ICC.) Occasionally I feel like a taxi driver. (Ex: every Tuesday morning I drive the passenger van full of refugees to get their social security cards; frequently I drive them to get groceries, to doctor appointments, etc.) Sometimes I feel like an interpreter. (Ex: Apparently some of the doctors from the CDC don't know how to speak slow, broken English. So I listened to them in regular, educated English and spoke to a client in the hospital for TB in slow, broken English.)
Always I know that THIS - assisting my two supervising case managers and working with these Iraqi, Bhutanese/Nepali, Somali, and Burmese families - THIS what I'm supposed to be doing this summer. Even when it is hard and stressful and overwhelming, it is good, and it is right.

I see the nations.
I see Him.

535,600 minutes

Five-hundred thirty-five thousand / six-hundred minutes. How do you measure / a year in the life?

5:30- alarm clock goes off; original plan was to run before work (plan failed);
6:45 - final snooze alarm buzzes: wake up; shower; dry & straighten hair; get dressed; make coffee for Dad & I;
7:30 - print copies of expense report, gas mileage report, Redeemed e-mails, & YW! D.C. prayer requests; make today's To-Do list (a.k.a. "Kelley's Git-R-Done's");
7:40 - eat one apple and 2/3 of Cinnamon Apple Oatmeal packet; fill water bottle; double-check gym bag; load car;
8:05 - leave house; drive to work; put in new CD Matt burned for me;
8:45 - stop at Dunkin Donuts on Memorial Drive; order small black coffee; pass police arresting man in parking lot next to store
9:00 - walk into WR office; catch up with Kristine; turn in gas mileage report to Brian; receive assignments for the day from Kristine; make action plan;
9:45 - record Farhan's blood sugar levels; tell Amina & Farhan to be ready for Dr. appt. at 8:30AM on 07/07/09; call customer service number on EBT card to find out when food stamps will be renewed;
11:10 - visit IV G-4 Somali family; take Amino & Owles to Thriftown; meet Gisheru & his Iraqi clients;
12:15 - drink tea with Amino & Owles;
12:25 - drive through middle of drug deal at corner of Northern Ave & Indian Creek Way;
12:50 - lunch at WR office; talk with Brian about JBU in Rogers, AR;
1:15 - meet Kristine at KW N-6; receive assignments for Iraqi family for afternoon;
1:25 - get bitten by 26 red ants outside apartment complex; watch foot swell at least twice its normal size and itch with pain & redness;
1:30 - drop off two Iraqis at Thriftown; take other two Iraqis to DENTIST; 'translate' for clients and dentist; explain why Maryam cannot get any dental work done (because Medicaid only covers basic exam & one X-Ray of one tooth); pick up two Iraqis at Thriftown; get halal bread; drive four Iraqis home;
2:15 - speak with AT&T representative to try to set up home phone service for Iraqi family; fax Georgia Lifeline form to national office;
2:45 - make copies, file papers;
4:00 - eat 'lunch' with Matti family;
4:55 - get call from Tom to take Shiva M. to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta to be with his daughter, Esther M., who [may have] TB
5:35 - park in Emergency Lot at hospital; walk Shiva to room 18 in ER; begin 'translating;'
6:30 - explain Medicaid coverage to Shiva;
6:45 - explain compressed lungs and chest full of fluid to Esther, Shiva, and Tom;
7:30 - explain contrast and CT exam to Shiva and Esther;
7:35 - get Shiva's signature on informed consent form;
9:30 - explain HIV/AIDS test to Shiva & Esther; get Shiva's signature on informed consent form;
10:05 - leave cardiologist(s) in room with Shiva & Esther doing echocardiogram; explain who will come tomorrow; promise to bring candy and a Bible written in English;
10:30 - arrive home; eat chinese chicken salad & cold spaghetti & 3 peppermint patties & a handful of 'puppy chow' chex mix
11:00 - run 2 miles; abs & back work-out
11:45 - blog this entry; shower; pray; set alarm for 6:00; sleep

Violent Fire in the Works

I didn't do anything to celebrate the 4th of July tonight. I was exhausted from running the Peachtree this morning and from having awaken sometime around 5:30-7:30AM every single day for the past 3 months. (Literally.) When I heard the fireworks starting to boom as I was laying in bed (see, I really didn't do anything), I had a set of very unexpected reactions. I thought of and pictured the explosion of bombs in Baghdad and of the shootings all throughout the West Bank. I imagined my Sudanese clients, who are now grown men, as children when the war in Darfur began - I pictured them running frantically towards safety and away from attacks from extremists. I pictured men being shot to death with AK-47s in Iraq, just like Basim told me. I saw visions of corrupt men in uniforms in Burma and Bhutan banging down doors and ... hurting people. Hardly a pretty picture of freedom and independence, right? Right.

I don't think I expected to experience as much spiritual warfare as I seem to be experiencing throughout my work with these refugees. I hear stories of racial, ethnic, and religious persecution; of abuse; of fleeing disease, slavery, and certain death. And suddenly, it seems like the weight of what I have heard and the faces of those who have experienced all this is smacking my heart around. I don't tell anyone about it because no one (okay, almost no one) wants to hear it. People are interested up to a point, and beyond that, it's too hard, too dark, too devastating.

... It's not just stories from and about the refugees. The stories and realities of the women and children caught up in the sex trafficking and sexual entertainment industry are at least as hard to stomach.

I know I'm in the right place, doing what I'm being asked to do. But it's hard. And sometimes, especially tonight, I feel alone.

This is one of the reasons I have started running so much.
I find refuge in running.
The world makes sense, if only for a little while, when I run.
I find a kind of peace when I run.


There is much evil in this world. I stumbled across a journal entry from 2006 entitled, "Why Is The World So Cold?" I wanted to know why suffering, why violence, why evil ... today I ask the same questions, though if I am honest with myself and God, I think I already have some of the answers. They're just hard. It's a hard, violent fire in the working. But there is Light ahead. I know it.

Freedom

I'll just write the facts. You can draw your own conclusions and make your own metaphors.

Basim is an Iraqi man with whom I will be working in the coming months. He arrived late Wednesday night with his beautiful wife and two young children from Jordan. Basim was an interpreter for American soldiers in Iraq - an interesting position to be in for a native-born Iraqi. After five years of service, he decided he needed to create a better, safer life for his family. After a long process of applications and interviews and fleeing and persisting, Basim was finally granted access to come to the Unite States of America - the land of the free. I did not realize just how free we are. (Wait a second for all you who are spiritually inclined - I am not talking about the kind of freedom from sin that Jesus talked about; I am talking about literal, physical freedom.) Let me explain -

After several hours of waiting and filling out DFCS paperwork in the WR office, I told Basim it was time to go home. I loaded up the WR mini van with car seats and got ready to go. He said he had one last question before leaving. "My wife has a gold watch. How do I ensure we are not robbed, and what happens if we are robbed? I do not like that the apartment manager has a key to my apartment." I explained that it's the law in America for all apartment managers to have keys to their tenants' apartments, and that he could buy a safety deposit box at the bank or one at Wal*Mart or a dead bolt lock for his door. "In Iraq, there is no problem. If man comes to my house to steal gold, I have AK-47 to defend myself." He was being dead serious here. "Basim," I say, "Remember what I was telling you about the justice system here and about the police?" (He'd asked if the police were corrupt and if he could trust them.) "Well, you can't just shoot people who come to your door because of the way our justice system works." He wasn't entirely comfortable with that answer. I suppose I wouldn't be, either.

When we got to his apartment complex, I showed him where the mailboxes were and where he'd go to sign the lease in a couple of days. I showed him the pool. "Miss, are we allowed to swim in this pool?" I almost laughed. "Yes, Basim, this is the pool for the apartment complex. You are allowed to swim here." He then asked, "What about this area over here? Am I allowed to walk around and exercise a bit?" This question caught me off guard. No one has asked me, yet, if he/she is allowed to walk here or exercise there. "Basim, you are allowed to walk wherever you please. You can leave the apartment complex and walk down the main road; you can walk to the library and you can walk 10 miles down the street that way, if you really wanted to." He responded, hesitantly, "Is this just in this part of Atlanta or is this true for all of Atlanta?" I felt my insides go funny. I probably made a confused, almost hurt face. "Basim, this is true for all of America. You are free to go wherever you like, whenever you like. You are free." Immediately his eyes bulged and he smiled and exclaimed, "Really!? Really!? Ha! This is America!" To his wife he said, "Shadtha, did you hear that!?" (He translated our conversation to her in Arabic and after a few seconds I saw the same reaction of bulging eyes and a widening smile in her beautiful, black eyes and mysteriously hidden smile.)

Freedom.