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.