Gumi is a good-sized Korean city (don't ask me exactly how big - it had a lot of high rises, so to this country girl that equals big city!). The window in Mark and Kristen's living room though overlooks a highway running in front of tree-covered hills on the outskirts of the city. We had noticed that the cities were built exclusively in the valleys of these hills, making for some interesting contrast between wooded hills and concrete jungles. Mark and Kristen explained that some Buddhist idea or tradition kept people from building on hills. As in China everything was cold, brown, and barren, and I spent more than one outing wishing I had a few more layers of clothing to warm up with.
Because we were there during several week days, John and I had to entertain ourselves a bit while Mark and Kristen were slaving away teaching their classes. One of the days we did get to go in and see the place where they work, which was fun. Mark and Kristen are both teaching English at a Korean run school. Kids of all ages come in their pressed plaid uniforms for their English classes, which is above and beyond their required school curriculum. The school is called "Wonderland", and the décor matches it's name. We entered the school, on the third floor of a high rise, and removed our shoes as all the proper young Koreans do. The walls were covered with posters, there were bookshelves filled with a variety of English kids books, little painted footprints marked off the pathway to the bathroom and the different classrooms, and the walls and floor were painted a variety of colors. You almost did expect to see a Cheshire cat peak out at you from around the corner.
Mark and Kristen wanted to show us around their workplace, but of course their real motive was to show off Tikvah. She was immediately a big hit among Mark and Kristen's Korean coworkers. One particularly animated young lady exclaimed over and over in a high pitched voice about how cute Tikvah was, her pink miniskirt bouncing with her excitement and exuberance. The lady got down on Tikvah's level to get a better look, and soon produced a sucker from another room for her to enjoy. Tikvah took it all in with her usual coolness, though she did smile and grab the sucker without parental prodding.
It was early in the afternoon, and classes had not yet resumed post-lunch time. The classes at that time were populated by younger students, and the place was a cacophony of childish laughter. We wandered around to the different rooms, and the children practiced their varying English skills on us. Some simply said "hello!", some just pointed and laughed, other's were so bold as to ask, "what's you're name?" It was fun to see Mark and Kristen in their niche, and it gave us a healthy respect for their work there. Once we had left the noisy building, John confided "I sure don't think I could handle that!" But Mark and Kristen seem to be genuinely enjoying their work and the kids that they teach. And the kids seem to be enjoying them as well.
We made the rounds while Tikvah stared at kids and sucked on her sucker. When we reached the front desk again, another adoring Korean lady offered her a little snack, and Tikvah promptly tossed away her remaining sucker and took the new gift. We bid Mark and Kristen farewell and headed back toward their apartment, which was less than a 10 minute walk away.
Back in the apartment Tikvah resumed her cat torturing. Mark and Kristen had recently acquired a kitten, which was quite energetic and very unsure of Tikvah when we first arrived. And rightfully so - Tikvah would pet or grab or hit the cat whenever it was close enough. But after the first day or so, the cat seemed to resign itself to it's fate, and often calmly allowed Tikvah to do as she pleased without suffering retaliation. Mark and Kristen marveled at how calm and quiet the cat was when they would get home. Apparently it would usually bounce off the walls when they returned to the apartment. Tikvah and the cat did a good job of wearing each other out!
John and I returned to reading and the computer. We were perhaps a little too enthralled with the wonderland of free, fast internet. In PNG we had good internet, but we paid for our usage depending on how many megabytes of information we downloaded per month. That meant we often browsed the internet with pictures turned off and that we never looked at videos or listened to music. We had had free internet at my friend's house in China too, but there certain websites (like Facebook and Youtube) are blocked by the government, so we didn't have access to everything. Here in Korea, however, internet access was back to 'normal', and suddenly there were a thousand Youtube videos we needed to watch and so many craft sites and Amazon deals that I really needed to check out. We figured the internet would eventually lose its luster in our eyes, but for now we indulged a bit. But since John had sold his computer in Ukarumpa, we only had one with us and therefore had to take turns on the internet binge. Which was probably a good thing, altogether. We did have a few moments of, "c'mon, you don't need to watch that motorcycle video right now - I want to play my Wordchuck game!!!" We managed to get by without hurting each other though.
The other great wonderland, of both China and Korea, was the food. We ate more things which we couldn't begin to identify than we had in our lives put together, I'm sure. Things on noodles, things on rice, meats and roots and leaves cooked in spice. If you were one of those kids who couldn't stand to eat anything that looked weird, then the dishes served in these countries would have been your worst nightmare come to life (well, fortunately everything we ate was dead!). John and I enjoyed it for the most part, and Tikvah did valiantly well all things considered, though she probably lived largely on rice when we went out for a meal.
One evening after Mark and Kristen got off work, we all went to one of their favorite restaurants. It was a cozy place with wooden floors, a traditional seating area where the tables were on the floor as well as an area with taller tables and chairs. Each table was equipped with a smoldering pit of coals at it's center and a star-trek like vacuum tube hanging above it from the ceiling. On top of the coals was a hot, round, griddle on which each customer could cook their own meat, brought raw on a plate from the kitchen. It would have been a very enjoyable place to eat had Tikvah not decided from the get-go that she was extremely hungry and nothing was going to make her happy.
I offered her rice, and her response was "BAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!" I offered her soup, and her response was "BAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" All accompanied by the classic throwing back of the head in utter disdain. And while she was screaming at everything I offered, she was at the same time of course grabbing for everything in sight. And there was plenty for her to grab. The Koreans apparently like variety, and doing lots of dishes. The meals were comprised of a myriad of small plates and bowls each containing something different. At another restaurant John counted 45 different dishes on the table at once!
So Tikvah wailed and grabbed and wailed again, till she managed to snag a bit of kimchee, that infamous Korean staple which is fermented spicy cabbage. We each held our breath as Tikvah nonchalantly stuck the spiciness into her mouth, waiting for the scream of anger and horror to erupt. We waited a few seconds, and then a few more, but there was no reaction. She munched and chewed, with not the slightest bit of annoyance registering on her face. A few more chews and then she unceremoniously put the kimchee down and looked around for something else to eat. I was amazed! Somehow this child who had blown her top at every little thing managed to chew a very spicy piece of food which many non-Koreans dislike, and she didn't even blink! Strange creatures, children are. She did settle down somewhat, once Uncle Mark got the meat cooked and she found the metal chopsticks to play with. She may have got the kimchee thing down, but never really got the hang of the whole chopstick thing. Several times she would stab a bowl of rice with one chopstick and then be surprised when she didn't get any rice to her mouth.
Overall I really enjoyed the food in China and Korea both. It was incredibly unique, and I was constantly amazed at how completely different their food culture is from our meat, bread, and potatoes heritage in the West. Kristen said most Koreans don't even own an oven, and the one in their apartment was more akin to a large toaster oven. And I thought my oven in Ukarumpa was small! Compared to hers it was luxury size! But though I did enjoy the food, I've decided I probably won't be seeking out Asian restaurants here in the US anytime soon. At least, not until September-ish. Hopefully after the baby is born my tastebuds will be back to normal and I can enjoy Asian cuisine a little more.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
American We Are
Monday morning we started to walk out to the main road near my friend's apartment (in China). She had to head off to school, so her husband was going to accompany us to the bus station and make sure we got off to Beijing. "What luck!" we thought, when a taxi stopped right in front of their apartment building. We were all ready to get in, but after a little bit of dialogue the taxi drove off. Apparently, we had "too much luggage". I remembered my sister's experience in Europe, where she nearly missed a train while dragging her large suitcase and some kindly gentleman poked fun at her American habit of packing too much stuff. It seemed the Chinese would have a similar opinion. Two or three more times the same thing happened - a taxi would pull over for us, see our luggage, and drive away. Finally my friend and her husband enlisted the help of a young Chinese lady who was waiting for a bus, and together the three of them managed to cajole a driver into letting us and our apparently massive amount of luggage into his car. A short drive later and we were at the bus station. My friend's husband procured our tickets for us, and soon we were on our way back to Beijing.
The airport in Beijing is an absolutely massive structure. We first got off at terminal 2, which was an international terminal. But when we couldn't see our flight listed on any of the screens, we double checked our itinerary and realized we should have gone to terminal 3. No matter - we had enough time, and it was a simple shuttle ride to get to the correct terminal. We got on the bus, and I was expecting a short ride of a few minutes to get to the terminal. If I hadn't known for sure that this was an airport shuttle to terminal 3 though, I would have thought we were on the wrong bus! The ride was 10 or 15 minutes long and it seemed like we were driving far away from the airport. But sure enough, we finally stopped in front of the enormous terminal, most likely improved with the coming of the Olympics several years ago.
Even though it was 2 1/2 hours before our flight when we checked in, we were informed that our flight had already been delayed by 45 minutes. Sigh! My friend had confirmed John's suspicion that the Chinese airlines are indeed infamous for delayed flights. Well, at least now we had time to catch a bite to eat before our plane took off. After a dizzying series of escalators and shuttles, we finally reached the area where our gate was located. And quite providentially, there was a Pizza Hut there in the airport. I was thrilled! In PNG there are no pizza restaurants of course, and I'd recently been craving a good Pizza Hut fix. We sat down in the booth and opted for the most standard pizza we could find on the menu, skipping over those laden with shrimp and other toppings seemingly incongruent with my idea of pizza. And boy, did that pepperoni pizza taste good! I marveled that even here in China it could taste exactly like I remembered Pizza Hut pizzas tasting back home. Ahh, the wonders of American exports, spreading our unhealthy eating habits to all these poor skinny nations around the world! Anyway, the familiar taste made this pregnant tummy very happy.
Our flight to Seoul took off at least an hour after the scheduled time, but we still had enough time to catch the bus once we landed in Korea. We settled into some rather comfortable seats for the 3 or so hour journey to Gumi, South Korea, where John's sister and her husband live. I didn't pay much attention to the Korean man with a bag of Dunkin Donuts (those American exports again!) sitting across the aisle from us. He seemed plenty busy with his computer and other electronic gadgets. But Tikvah wasted no time in giving him some rather endearing smiles. And sure enough, they proved quite effective. The next thing I knew, the man was handing Tikvah a chocolate donut hole from his bag, which she was more than happy to receive. I just laughed and told her to say thank you, shaking my head at her wheedling abilities. After Tikvah finished her chocolate treat, she again turned to her recent benefactor with an outstretched hand. I didn't think much about it, and turned for a few seconds to talk to John. But sure enough, when I turned my head back toward Tikvah, she held a new glazed treat in her greedy little hand. I was thoroughly impressed! At this rate, I wouldn't have to feed her the whole time we would be in Korea. She'd take care of herself just fine!
We were happy to see John's sister, Kristen, and her husband, Mark when we reached the bus station. After I changed a rather stinky diaper, whose smell we had endured for the last half hour of our bus ride, we all headed out to grab a taxi. Once again our piles of luggage proved an issue, but thankfully one guy had a big trunk and we were able to stuff our things and the 5 of us into one taxi. We reached their apartment building, which doesn't have the luxury of an elevator, but fortunately they only live on the 4th floor. But, they explained, their apartment number was 501, because the number 4 is bad luck in Korea. I had actually remembered that random fact from when we first went to Ukarumpa. During an orientation to the Ukarumpa center our instructors were explaining the emergency numbers - 4222 was fire, 4333 was for security incidents, and 4444 was for a medical emergency. A friend going through the orientation with us had spent several years teaching English in Korea, and he asked if anyone had thought about the fact that '4' was the "number of death" in Korean culture. Ooops - even with a rather large Korean contingent on center, no one had made that connection before apparently. I'm sure I wouldn't appreciate dialing the "number of death" when making a call for medical emergency!
Mark and Kristen fed us a tasty supper and then we all crashed for the night. And once again, John and I crashed onto a mattress that had about as much give as the concrete floor beneath the bed. Rats! A few more days of tired bones for us. But Mark and Kristen have only been in Korea for a few months, whereas my friend in China has been there for a few years. So Kristen actually thought to mention the mattress and apologize for it's lack of comfort. "Our mattress is the same way," she assured us, so we knew they weren't giving us the 'unwanted company mattress' or something. "Sometimes I wake up with a sore back because the bed is so hard!" she said. We survived, but I have to admit that the first bed we slept on once back in America felt quite heavenly.
The airport in Beijing is an absolutely massive structure. We first got off at terminal 2, which was an international terminal. But when we couldn't see our flight listed on any of the screens, we double checked our itinerary and realized we should have gone to terminal 3. No matter - we had enough time, and it was a simple shuttle ride to get to the correct terminal. We got on the bus, and I was expecting a short ride of a few minutes to get to the terminal. If I hadn't known for sure that this was an airport shuttle to terminal 3 though, I would have thought we were on the wrong bus! The ride was 10 or 15 minutes long and it seemed like we were driving far away from the airport. But sure enough, we finally stopped in front of the enormous terminal, most likely improved with the coming of the Olympics several years ago.
Even though it was 2 1/2 hours before our flight when we checked in, we were informed that our flight had already been delayed by 45 minutes. Sigh! My friend had confirmed John's suspicion that the Chinese airlines are indeed infamous for delayed flights. Well, at least now we had time to catch a bite to eat before our plane took off. After a dizzying series of escalators and shuttles, we finally reached the area where our gate was located. And quite providentially, there was a Pizza Hut there in the airport. I was thrilled! In PNG there are no pizza restaurants of course, and I'd recently been craving a good Pizza Hut fix. We sat down in the booth and opted for the most standard pizza we could find on the menu, skipping over those laden with shrimp and other toppings seemingly incongruent with my idea of pizza. And boy, did that pepperoni pizza taste good! I marveled that even here in China it could taste exactly like I remembered Pizza Hut pizzas tasting back home. Ahh, the wonders of American exports, spreading our unhealthy eating habits to all these poor skinny nations around the world! Anyway, the familiar taste made this pregnant tummy very happy.
Our flight to Seoul took off at least an hour after the scheduled time, but we still had enough time to catch the bus once we landed in Korea. We settled into some rather comfortable seats for the 3 or so hour journey to Gumi, South Korea, where John's sister and her husband live. I didn't pay much attention to the Korean man with a bag of Dunkin Donuts (those American exports again!) sitting across the aisle from us. He seemed plenty busy with his computer and other electronic gadgets. But Tikvah wasted no time in giving him some rather endearing smiles. And sure enough, they proved quite effective. The next thing I knew, the man was handing Tikvah a chocolate donut hole from his bag, which she was more than happy to receive. I just laughed and told her to say thank you, shaking my head at her wheedling abilities. After Tikvah finished her chocolate treat, she again turned to her recent benefactor with an outstretched hand. I didn't think much about it, and turned for a few seconds to talk to John. But sure enough, when I turned my head back toward Tikvah, she held a new glazed treat in her greedy little hand. I was thoroughly impressed! At this rate, I wouldn't have to feed her the whole time we would be in Korea. She'd take care of herself just fine!
We were happy to see John's sister, Kristen, and her husband, Mark when we reached the bus station. After I changed a rather stinky diaper, whose smell we had endured for the last half hour of our bus ride, we all headed out to grab a taxi. Once again our piles of luggage proved an issue, but thankfully one guy had a big trunk and we were able to stuff our things and the 5 of us into one taxi. We reached their apartment building, which doesn't have the luxury of an elevator, but fortunately they only live on the 4th floor. But, they explained, their apartment number was 501, because the number 4 is bad luck in Korea. I had actually remembered that random fact from when we first went to Ukarumpa. During an orientation to the Ukarumpa center our instructors were explaining the emergency numbers - 4222 was fire, 4333 was for security incidents, and 4444 was for a medical emergency. A friend going through the orientation with us had spent several years teaching English in Korea, and he asked if anyone had thought about the fact that '4' was the "number of death" in Korean culture. Ooops - even with a rather large Korean contingent on center, no one had made that connection before apparently. I'm sure I wouldn't appreciate dialing the "number of death" when making a call for medical emergency!
Mark and Kristen fed us a tasty supper and then we all crashed for the night. And once again, John and I crashed onto a mattress that had about as much give as the concrete floor beneath the bed. Rats! A few more days of tired bones for us. But Mark and Kristen have only been in Korea for a few months, whereas my friend in China has been there for a few years. So Kristen actually thought to mention the mattress and apologize for it's lack of comfort. "Our mattress is the same way," she assured us, so we knew they weren't giving us the 'unwanted company mattress' or something. "Sometimes I wake up with a sore back because the bed is so hard!" she said. We survived, but I have to admit that the first bed we slept on once back in America felt quite heavenly.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
The Greatest of Walls
My friend in China had gone there to teach at an international school soon after finishing college. She met a guy, of course, and this pretty midwestern American managed to charm her way into the heart of an Australian physics teacher. Not that she has a hard time charming anyone - she's a fun, dynamic, and driven woman who I'm proud to call my friend. Her husband was a very pleasant fellow himself, and John and I really enjoyed wandering around China with them and chatting through the evenings about life.
We had arrived at their place on a Friday, so we did a little wandering around on Saturday through a "traditional" area of the city. We got stared at quite a bit, especially with Tikvah in tow. Over and over my friend would say "they're saying she's cute!" when we passed strangers on the street. I don’t know how many phones Tikvah's picture ended up on, but she might as well have been a celebrity for all the attention she got. Ladies in a shop full of snacks gave her free food to chew on, parents took pictures of her with their kids like she was a princess at Disney World, and taxi drivers would turn around in their seats at stoplights to coo at her. Incredible.
Anyway, we wandered a bit, and I bought some cheap wooden chopsticks as my China souvenir. We climbed a drum tower which had a large bell-looking object at the top with a suspended log with which to make it sound. My friend's husband gingerly pushed the log into the 'bell', which produced a pleasant and resounding gong. Afraid that perhaps some of the incomprehensible Chinese characters had been warning of some terrible consequence of ringing the gong, we quickly retreated down the many stairs. But shortly after exiting the main room, a Chinese man behind us thrust the log into the gong, making a much louder and more pervasive tone, as if to say "let me show you silly foreigners how this is done!". Well, if there was a curse associated with ringing that gong, we could rest in the knowledge that he was going to get it worse!
Outside the drum tower, quite a crowd was gathered around a large exercise mat. On the mat were two older Chinese gentlemen in a physical joust that resembled some form of judo. The whole scene looked rather quaint with the traditional Chinese architecture all around as a backdrop.
On Sunday John and I accompanied our friends to their church. It was an international group that met in a hotel auditorium. And when I say international, I'm not exaggerating. There were Asians, Americans, Europeans, and quite a contingent from various African countries. There were no Chinese though, according to government regulations. In fact there was a note on the power point that informed everyone who entered that they must have a foreign passport in order to worship with that group. It was a very poignant reminder of the spiritual condition and governmental control of the country.
In the middle of the service, some rather loud banging noises started resounding through the hotel, loud enough that I was a little afraid of what might be happening. But no one else in the room seemed bothered, and the preacher kept right on talking as if nothing was going on. I turned to my friend with a questioning look, and she said to me, "fireworks." Ahhhh, yes. We had seen some fireworks while at their apartment, and she had explained that people here set them off for anything and everything. Massive, ear piercing fireworks that would be illegal to buy in the US let alone to set off in the middle of an overly crowded city. In fact, she said, if we looked we could see burns on the spare bedroom window where a misguided firework had made it's mark, while she and her husband were watching! Now that would be a bit of a fright!
Monday was our last full day in China, so my friend took a 'personal day' from her work at the school and took us to see, of course, the Great Wall. We rode for about 3 hours out into the country, away from that pervasive 'fog' of pollution, to one of the less visited sections of that famous structure. So far all we had seen of China had been flat, but after an hour or two of driving some mountains finally appeared on the horizon. They weren't fantastically tall and impressive, but they were lovely. We stopped at a rest stop about 2 hours in, and I got my first experience with a genuine Chinese 'squatty potty'. It was rather interesting - simply a ceramic 'sink' in the brick floor with a flush hole in one end and treads on either side so your shoes could grip. As my friend had warned it was a BYOTP service (Bring Your Own Toilet Paper), but all in all it wasn't a terribly unnerving experience. Rather, I wondered if such a public toilet wasn't much more sanitary than ours in the US, whose seats are graced by so many bare bottoms in a day. Hmmm. Anyway, the Great Wall…
As the landscape changed and we entered the mountains, we noticed that the faces around us changed as well. The Chinese of the countryside had a distinctly unique look about them compared to the Chinese we'd seen in the cities, even to our untrained foreign eyes. Finally we could see the Wall on a mountain above us, but it seemed we would have a bit of trouble getting there. The entrance to the road up was completely blocked by a crowd of people who were calmly conducting their market business as our driver honked obnoxiously and accelerated slowly through the scene. A few more minutes of driving and we were at the base of the Great Wall entrance. Stepping out of the car, we wondered how we would make it in the cold mountain air that invaded our layers of clothing. But we breathed deep of the clear mountain air and started up the seemingly endless stairs that led to the Wall.
I was well out of breath by the time we finally reached the actual wall, but was excited to see this amazing place that I'd only seen in pictures. Most of what we saw that day was a restoration of the original wall, but it was fascinating nonetheless. As far as grandeur it was not particularly impressive. It was maybe 15 to 20 feet wide and only 20 or 30 feet tall at the highest places. It was a rather simple stone structure - just a wall with a stone rail on either side, or on only one side in some places. Dotted at intervals along the wall were small towers, which consisted of an enclosed area with a second story. The wall ascended and descended with the landscape, sometimes simply sloped, sometimes with short stairs, and sometimes with very steep stairs that made me dizzy.
The sky above us was blue and sunny, and in no time the exercise of walking up and down the stairs made us as warm as we needed. John, who was carrying Tikvah, even stripped off a couple of layers to keep from overheating. The landscape around us was a mix of brown and barren hills, empty terraced gardens, and scrubby mountain brush and trees. We tried to imagine Mongolian renegades sneaking across the countryside while Chinese night watchmen attempted to keep from freezing to death as they manned their patrol. I definitely didn't envy the plight of either party!
One or two sections of the wall were composed of rough yellowish stones, a stark contrast to the smooth gray stone that made up the majority of the wall we had walked. These small sections were part of the original wall, and it was incredible to think that we were touching a bit of ancient Chinese history.
At one point John let Tikvah out of her carrier, and she gleefully frolicked her way down the wall. Finally we reached the exit of the wall, and I gingerly descended the trail down to the road with legs that felt incredibly similar to jello. On the ride back to my friend's apartment, John and Tikvah and I all three slept shamelessly in the backseat of the car. It hadn't been an incredibly taxing hike, but it was enough to wear us out for a while. And I realized how out of shape my leg muscles were, as going up and down stairs hurt quite a bit for the next three days. But the experience was more than worth the discomfort. My only regret was that Tikvah probably won't remember seeing the wall, nor will her little sibling who I carried in my tummy. But such is the plight of many missionary kids, I fear. Still, I would imagine that the things they experience, even before they are old enough to recall them later, are shaping and informing the people they will become. And if that is the case, I'm thinking we may have to combat an inflated sense of importance in Tikvah's future… :)
We had arrived at their place on a Friday, so we did a little wandering around on Saturday through a "traditional" area of the city. We got stared at quite a bit, especially with Tikvah in tow. Over and over my friend would say "they're saying she's cute!" when we passed strangers on the street. I don’t know how many phones Tikvah's picture ended up on, but she might as well have been a celebrity for all the attention she got. Ladies in a shop full of snacks gave her free food to chew on, parents took pictures of her with their kids like she was a princess at Disney World, and taxi drivers would turn around in their seats at stoplights to coo at her. Incredible.
Anyway, we wandered a bit, and I bought some cheap wooden chopsticks as my China souvenir. We climbed a drum tower which had a large bell-looking object at the top with a suspended log with which to make it sound. My friend's husband gingerly pushed the log into the 'bell', which produced a pleasant and resounding gong. Afraid that perhaps some of the incomprehensible Chinese characters had been warning of some terrible consequence of ringing the gong, we quickly retreated down the many stairs. But shortly after exiting the main room, a Chinese man behind us thrust the log into the gong, making a much louder and more pervasive tone, as if to say "let me show you silly foreigners how this is done!". Well, if there was a curse associated with ringing that gong, we could rest in the knowledge that he was going to get it worse!
Outside the drum tower, quite a crowd was gathered around a large exercise mat. On the mat were two older Chinese gentlemen in a physical joust that resembled some form of judo. The whole scene looked rather quaint with the traditional Chinese architecture all around as a backdrop.
On Sunday John and I accompanied our friends to their church. It was an international group that met in a hotel auditorium. And when I say international, I'm not exaggerating. There were Asians, Americans, Europeans, and quite a contingent from various African countries. There were no Chinese though, according to government regulations. In fact there was a note on the power point that informed everyone who entered that they must have a foreign passport in order to worship with that group. It was a very poignant reminder of the spiritual condition and governmental control of the country.
In the middle of the service, some rather loud banging noises started resounding through the hotel, loud enough that I was a little afraid of what might be happening. But no one else in the room seemed bothered, and the preacher kept right on talking as if nothing was going on. I turned to my friend with a questioning look, and she said to me, "fireworks." Ahhhh, yes. We had seen some fireworks while at their apartment, and she had explained that people here set them off for anything and everything. Massive, ear piercing fireworks that would be illegal to buy in the US let alone to set off in the middle of an overly crowded city. In fact, she said, if we looked we could see burns on the spare bedroom window where a misguided firework had made it's mark, while she and her husband were watching! Now that would be a bit of a fright!
Monday was our last full day in China, so my friend took a 'personal day' from her work at the school and took us to see, of course, the Great Wall. We rode for about 3 hours out into the country, away from that pervasive 'fog' of pollution, to one of the less visited sections of that famous structure. So far all we had seen of China had been flat, but after an hour or two of driving some mountains finally appeared on the horizon. They weren't fantastically tall and impressive, but they were lovely. We stopped at a rest stop about 2 hours in, and I got my first experience with a genuine Chinese 'squatty potty'. It was rather interesting - simply a ceramic 'sink' in the brick floor with a flush hole in one end and treads on either side so your shoes could grip. As my friend had warned it was a BYOTP service (Bring Your Own Toilet Paper), but all in all it wasn't a terribly unnerving experience. Rather, I wondered if such a public toilet wasn't much more sanitary than ours in the US, whose seats are graced by so many bare bottoms in a day. Hmmm. Anyway, the Great Wall…
As the landscape changed and we entered the mountains, we noticed that the faces around us changed as well. The Chinese of the countryside had a distinctly unique look about them compared to the Chinese we'd seen in the cities, even to our untrained foreign eyes. Finally we could see the Wall on a mountain above us, but it seemed we would have a bit of trouble getting there. The entrance to the road up was completely blocked by a crowd of people who were calmly conducting their market business as our driver honked obnoxiously and accelerated slowly through the scene. A few more minutes of driving and we were at the base of the Great Wall entrance. Stepping out of the car, we wondered how we would make it in the cold mountain air that invaded our layers of clothing. But we breathed deep of the clear mountain air and started up the seemingly endless stairs that led to the Wall.
I was well out of breath by the time we finally reached the actual wall, but was excited to see this amazing place that I'd only seen in pictures. Most of what we saw that day was a restoration of the original wall, but it was fascinating nonetheless. As far as grandeur it was not particularly impressive. It was maybe 15 to 20 feet wide and only 20 or 30 feet tall at the highest places. It was a rather simple stone structure - just a wall with a stone rail on either side, or on only one side in some places. Dotted at intervals along the wall were small towers, which consisted of an enclosed area with a second story. The wall ascended and descended with the landscape, sometimes simply sloped, sometimes with short stairs, and sometimes with very steep stairs that made me dizzy.
The sky above us was blue and sunny, and in no time the exercise of walking up and down the stairs made us as warm as we needed. John, who was carrying Tikvah, even stripped off a couple of layers to keep from overheating. The landscape around us was a mix of brown and barren hills, empty terraced gardens, and scrubby mountain brush and trees. We tried to imagine Mongolian renegades sneaking across the countryside while Chinese night watchmen attempted to keep from freezing to death as they manned their patrol. I definitely didn't envy the plight of either party!
One or two sections of the wall were composed of rough yellowish stones, a stark contrast to the smooth gray stone that made up the majority of the wall we had walked. These small sections were part of the original wall, and it was incredible to think that we were touching a bit of ancient Chinese history.
At one point John let Tikvah out of her carrier, and she gleefully frolicked her way down the wall. Finally we reached the exit of the wall, and I gingerly descended the trail down to the road with legs that felt incredibly similar to jello. On the ride back to my friend's apartment, John and Tikvah and I all three slept shamelessly in the backseat of the car. It hadn't been an incredibly taxing hike, but it was enough to wear us out for a while. And I realized how out of shape my leg muscles were, as going up and down stairs hurt quite a bit for the next three days. But the experience was more than worth the discomfort. My only regret was that Tikvah probably won't remember seeing the wall, nor will her little sibling who I carried in my tummy. But such is the plight of many missionary kids, I fear. Still, I would imagine that the things they experience, even before they are old enough to recall them later, are shaping and informing the people they will become. And if that is the case, I'm thinking we may have to combat an inflated sense of importance in Tikvah's future… :)
Sunday, March 31, 2013
The Fog Sure Is Dense...
Tikvah, of course, was wide awake by the time we got to our hotel room at 3:30am, so I was worried she wouldn't sleep anymore after our crazy long day. She did wake up several times, but mercifully she slept pretty well till about 7am. As light filled our room on the 9th floor, I pulled back the filmy curtains to take a look at this country. The sun was big and red, but I could look straight at it without flinching. I could see a few streets away, but most of the vast city was hidden in what looked like a dense fog. The cold winter weather was evident from the barren trees. But still, John and I were not quite prepared for the arctic blast that greeted us when we ventured toward the hotel doors. We quickly retreated and decided that we needed some "down time" rather than freezing to death to try some sightseeing.
Having come straight from PNG the morning before, we had left our extra layers in our suitcases - which of course were now lost somewhere in the mysterious hinterlands of some airport. Fortunately, we soon got word that our things would be arriving in Beijing around 2pm that afternoon. So we did finally venture out of our cozy hotel room and shivered our way to the airport to collect our things.
Now, when we had left PNG, I had expected to more or less leave behind the attention that Tikvah gathered wherever we went. Of course a little white girl gets a lot of attention in a place like PNG, from women and men alike. And as a mother I sometimes also got attention if someone observed that I wasn't doing my job appropriately. Especially noticeable were the times I didn't protect her sufficiently from sun or rain. Any PNG mother would feel it her duty to tell me Tikvah needed a hat, or would shake her head and click her tongue if Tikvah was getting even drizzled on (which happened fairly often in tropical PNG). But going to a country where our skin color wasn't so distinct, I expected the attention would be non-existent. I had a lot to learn!
Tikvah is quite the social creature, and she wasted no time in smiling and waving at everyone she saw. Before we had left the hotel she had charmed 3 young ladies in their hotel uniforms, an older gentleman in a business suit (who shamelessly hopped around in an effort to make her smile), and a whole table of young Chinese people in the hotel restaurant. And yes, that was to be indicative of the attention she would get constantly through our few days in China. And I wasn't off the hook either. It seemed that many older Chinese women were very concerned with Tikvah's health, and were quick to inform us that we needed to pull her pant legs down better or put a coat on her or socks to make sure she stayed warm. Never mind that they couldn't speak a word of my language nor I a word of theirs - they got their point across quite effectively, and I tried to respond graciously.
At long last, just as the airport worker had promised, our three suitcases came sliding down to the baggage carousel. We gratefully snatched them up and quickly added a few more layers of clothing before heading out to find a bus. About three hours later our bus arrived in Tianjin, where we were to meet my college friend who I hadn't seen in 3 or 4 years. She was waiting near the road with her back turned to us as we got off one of the many busses coming in, but a tall white girl with long dark hair is a pretty distinct figure on a busy sidewalk in China and I caught sight of her quickly. A short taxi ride later we were up in her apartment building (which has an elevator, she exclaimed!) and settling in to her cozy little home.
We tossed our baggage on the floor of the spare bedroom and plopped down on the bed. But the bed wasn't as amenable to plopping as I had expected. In fact, to my pampered American body, the mattress felt more like a box-spring, it was so stiff beneath my tired muscles. Apparently, I thought, soft mattresses are not the ideal here!
Here in Tianjin, the 'fog' that had pervaded Beijing sat heavy in the sky and blocked the scenery. While we had been in the Beijing hotel we had the TV tuned into the one English channel and were watching a news show of some kind. A man was asking people on the street what they felt was the most important issue in Beijing, and they kept saying 'air pollution'. I had laughed to myself, thinking that it was a funny thing for people to be concerned about. I wondered what kind of propaganda they'd been fed to believe that it could be such a big deal. But looking out the apartment in Tianjin, it became very clear that there was a very sensible reason for these concerns. That heavy 'fog' that was limiting my view to only a few city blocks? That's right - it was air pollution. I had never dreamed that such a thing could exist! It hung over the sky like a cloud cover all day and blocked the sunlight. It was heavy and oppressive, and it weighed on your mind to think that you were breathing that white muck into your lungs. Suddenly the not-so-fashionable face masks that lots of people were wearing didn't seem like such a ridiculous idea.
Having come straight from PNG the morning before, we had left our extra layers in our suitcases - which of course were now lost somewhere in the mysterious hinterlands of some airport. Fortunately, we soon got word that our things would be arriving in Beijing around 2pm that afternoon. So we did finally venture out of our cozy hotel room and shivered our way to the airport to collect our things.
Now, when we had left PNG, I had expected to more or less leave behind the attention that Tikvah gathered wherever we went. Of course a little white girl gets a lot of attention in a place like PNG, from women and men alike. And as a mother I sometimes also got attention if someone observed that I wasn't doing my job appropriately. Especially noticeable were the times I didn't protect her sufficiently from sun or rain. Any PNG mother would feel it her duty to tell me Tikvah needed a hat, or would shake her head and click her tongue if Tikvah was getting even drizzled on (which happened fairly often in tropical PNG). But going to a country where our skin color wasn't so distinct, I expected the attention would be non-existent. I had a lot to learn!
Tikvah is quite the social creature, and she wasted no time in smiling and waving at everyone she saw. Before we had left the hotel she had charmed 3 young ladies in their hotel uniforms, an older gentleman in a business suit (who shamelessly hopped around in an effort to make her smile), and a whole table of young Chinese people in the hotel restaurant. And yes, that was to be indicative of the attention she would get constantly through our few days in China. And I wasn't off the hook either. It seemed that many older Chinese women were very concerned with Tikvah's health, and were quick to inform us that we needed to pull her pant legs down better or put a coat on her or socks to make sure she stayed warm. Never mind that they couldn't speak a word of my language nor I a word of theirs - they got their point across quite effectively, and I tried to respond graciously.
At long last, just as the airport worker had promised, our three suitcases came sliding down to the baggage carousel. We gratefully snatched them up and quickly added a few more layers of clothing before heading out to find a bus. About three hours later our bus arrived in Tianjin, where we were to meet my college friend who I hadn't seen in 3 or 4 years. She was waiting near the road with her back turned to us as we got off one of the many busses coming in, but a tall white girl with long dark hair is a pretty distinct figure on a busy sidewalk in China and I caught sight of her quickly. A short taxi ride later we were up in her apartment building (which has an elevator, she exclaimed!) and settling in to her cozy little home.
We tossed our baggage on the floor of the spare bedroom and plopped down on the bed. But the bed wasn't as amenable to plopping as I had expected. In fact, to my pampered American body, the mattress felt more like a box-spring, it was so stiff beneath my tired muscles. Apparently, I thought, soft mattresses are not the ideal here!
Here in Tianjin, the 'fog' that had pervaded Beijing sat heavy in the sky and blocked the scenery. While we had been in the Beijing hotel we had the TV tuned into the one English channel and were watching a news show of some kind. A man was asking people on the street what they felt was the most important issue in Beijing, and they kept saying 'air pollution'. I had laughed to myself, thinking that it was a funny thing for people to be concerned about. I wondered what kind of propaganda they'd been fed to believe that it could be such a big deal. But looking out the apartment in Tianjin, it became very clear that there was a very sensible reason for these concerns. That heavy 'fog' that was limiting my view to only a few city blocks? That's right - it was air pollution. I had never dreamed that such a thing could exist! It hung over the sky like a cloud cover all day and blocked the sunlight. It was heavy and oppressive, and it weighed on your mind to think that you were breathing that white muck into your lungs. Suddenly the not-so-fashionable face masks that lots of people were wearing didn't seem like such a ridiculous idea.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Adventures in Asia
This might sound a little strange coming from two people who have made their home in a country only recently introduced to the "modern world". But to tell the truth, in some ways John and I aren't the most adventurous people. Sure, going to PNG was kind of a big deal. But John had been to this side of the world with his parents before, so it wasn't exactly a strange new place for him. And as part of a missions organization we had plenty of guidance and help along the way to get us through the red tape to get to PNG in the first place. But when it comes to venturing out on our own, we've sometimes been a bit chicken. Or maybe just a bit miserly - either way, it's had the same effect. We've travelled across the world but not bothered to really see the world we're travelling through.
So this time, since we don't know if or when we'll be returning to this side of the world, we decided to actually see some of it. I have a friend in China, and John's sister and her husband live in Korea, so we decided to pay them all a visit and let them show us around a bit.
Our first impression of China? Well, let's just say their airline service wasn't extraordinary. In one long day we were to travel from Port Moresby, PNG's capital, to Brisbane, Australia, to Hong Kong, and then to Beijing, arriving shortly after 10pm. We made a hotel reservation close to the airport, and if we got through customs quick enough we'd have time to catch the free shuttle from the airport to the hotel. Well, plans are made so they can be changed, right?
7pm, Hong Kong airport - John, Tikvah and I and two other passengers from our last flight are being helped by a high-heeled, smartly dressed flight attendant. We were supposed to be on our next flight by now, but a delay in the previous flight and a short layover means we're getting bumped to an 8pm flight to Beijing. No worries, right? Just as long as Tikvah goes to sleep, we'll be good to go. At present I'm sitting cross legged on the airport lounge floor while John chases a sleep deprived and therefore very hyper Tikvah as she (literally) runs circles around him and twirls her way through the big empty spaces.
8:30pm, aboard the flight to Beijing - Tikvah does not want to settle down. In fact, she's screaming and making everyone miserable as the plane taxies the runway. I'm convinced all the people around me think I'm torturing her somehow. I'm not, but I'm about ready to if she doesn't quiet down! Nothing seems to settle her down and all I can do is hold on and hope she wears herself out, very very soon.
10pm, aboard the flight to Beijing - I'm sure it could be worse, but it is hard to imagine how. Our plane is just now leaving Hong Kong. After boarding, the nice Australian pilot informed us that they hadn't been granted permission to fly over a certain airport, so we would have a 40 minute delay. About 10 minutes later, the 40 minutes was stretched to a 1 1/2 hour delay before we could take off. John noticed that most of the Chinese travelers seemed rather ambivalent about the delay, leading him to wonder if that kind of thing happened often on the Chinese airlines. Well, all but the lady who shouted an obscenity when the pilot announced our delay - but then, she was speaking English, so she probably wasn't Chinese anyway! But at long last, the plane engines roared to life and we were up and away.
Tikvah slept fitfully during the 2 1/2 hour flight, and therefore so did I. Two or three times as we flew toward Beijing she awoke, screaming, and I would try desperately for what seemed like forever to calm her down. She would eventually give up and go back to sleep. Then I would gingerly adjust whatever appendage of mine she happened to be squashing or straining this time and then close my eyes to await her next call.
I'll spare you the exciting details of the next few hours. Suffice it to say that we landed in Beijing, didn't get our luggage, talked with the Air China dude for a while about how we would get our luggage and wrote down how much our stuff was worth if we never got our luggage (now that was comforting!), paid more than $20 for a 5 minute taxi ride because the free shuttle to the hotel quit running several hours before, and then finally, at long last, crashed into our beds at the hotel while the clock read 3:30am. Figuring in a couple of time zone changes, we calculated that it had been about 25 hours since we had woken up to leave the guest house in Port Moresby that morning (or the previous morning, technically). Talk about a ridiculously long day! So far, we thought, China has not exactly impressed us!
So this time, since we don't know if or when we'll be returning to this side of the world, we decided to actually see some of it. I have a friend in China, and John's sister and her husband live in Korea, so we decided to pay them all a visit and let them show us around a bit.
Our first impression of China? Well, let's just say their airline service wasn't extraordinary. In one long day we were to travel from Port Moresby, PNG's capital, to Brisbane, Australia, to Hong Kong, and then to Beijing, arriving shortly after 10pm. We made a hotel reservation close to the airport, and if we got through customs quick enough we'd have time to catch the free shuttle from the airport to the hotel. Well, plans are made so they can be changed, right?
7pm, Hong Kong airport - John, Tikvah and I and two other passengers from our last flight are being helped by a high-heeled, smartly dressed flight attendant. We were supposed to be on our next flight by now, but a delay in the previous flight and a short layover means we're getting bumped to an 8pm flight to Beijing. No worries, right? Just as long as Tikvah goes to sleep, we'll be good to go. At present I'm sitting cross legged on the airport lounge floor while John chases a sleep deprived and therefore very hyper Tikvah as she (literally) runs circles around him and twirls her way through the big empty spaces.
8:30pm, aboard the flight to Beijing - Tikvah does not want to settle down. In fact, she's screaming and making everyone miserable as the plane taxies the runway. I'm convinced all the people around me think I'm torturing her somehow. I'm not, but I'm about ready to if she doesn't quiet down! Nothing seems to settle her down and all I can do is hold on and hope she wears herself out, very very soon.
10pm, aboard the flight to Beijing - I'm sure it could be worse, but it is hard to imagine how. Our plane is just now leaving Hong Kong. After boarding, the nice Australian pilot informed us that they hadn't been granted permission to fly over a certain airport, so we would have a 40 minute delay. About 10 minutes later, the 40 minutes was stretched to a 1 1/2 hour delay before we could take off. John noticed that most of the Chinese travelers seemed rather ambivalent about the delay, leading him to wonder if that kind of thing happened often on the Chinese airlines. Well, all but the lady who shouted an obscenity when the pilot announced our delay - but then, she was speaking English, so she probably wasn't Chinese anyway! But at long last, the plane engines roared to life and we were up and away.
Tikvah slept fitfully during the 2 1/2 hour flight, and therefore so did I. Two or three times as we flew toward Beijing she awoke, screaming, and I would try desperately for what seemed like forever to calm her down. She would eventually give up and go back to sleep. Then I would gingerly adjust whatever appendage of mine she happened to be squashing or straining this time and then close my eyes to await her next call.
I'll spare you the exciting details of the next few hours. Suffice it to say that we landed in Beijing, didn't get our luggage, talked with the Air China dude for a while about how we would get our luggage and wrote down how much our stuff was worth if we never got our luggage (now that was comforting!), paid more than $20 for a 5 minute taxi ride because the free shuttle to the hotel quit running several hours before, and then finally, at long last, crashed into our beds at the hotel while the clock read 3:30am. Figuring in a couple of time zone changes, we calculated that it had been about 25 hours since we had woken up to leave the guest house in Port Moresby that morning (or the previous morning, technically). Talk about a ridiculously long day! So far, we thought, China has not exactly impressed us!
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Village visit
In our last newsletter we mentioned that we hoped to visit the village where we lived for five weeks during our PNG orientation course. We were able to make that visit! The day before we planned to go, we were at the market in Madang, a large though rather shoddy looking town on the northern coast of PNG. We knew that PMVs (Public Motor Vehicles - privately owned vehicles used for public transportation, which can be anything from a van to a bus to a truck with a makeshift roof over the bed) went from Madang to the road near Bom, the village where we lived. We walked toward the place where the PMV parked and asked someone standing there if any PMV's went to Bom. Suddenly a man we didn't recognize jumped up in the back of the PMV and said excitedly, "John! John! Ahh, hello!" It had been two solid years since we left Bom, but obviously we hadn't been forgotten! The man promised to tell our village papa that we were planning to come the next day.
The next morning we started walking down the mountain where we were staying toward the main road into Madang. Fortunately we caught a ride down the hill, and then quickly found a PMV headed into Madang. Once in Madang we climbed on the PMV that would take us to Bom. We started out of town and drove for what seemed like forever. Just as John and I were beginning to wonder if we really were on the right PMV, it turned onto a familiar dirt road. After a bit, we saw a familiar face walking along the side of the road and hollered for the driver to stop. One man began clanking on a metal bar with a coin to signal the driver in the cab, and the vehicle stopped several yards ahead of the man. The short figure came hustling toward the PMV and quickly climbed with great excitement - it was our village papa, and sure enough the man we'd met the day before had informed him of our plans to visit.
He was of course thrilled to see his "kids", and I marveled at how short he really was. Somehow the part he played in our lives made me think I should look up to him, but no, I actually had to look down to look him in the eye! Bom (yes, our village papa has the same name as the village itself) was of course especially enamored with Tikvah. He pushed his rough and stubble-covered face right into hers, and she stared back rather calmly but with wide eyes. We didn't chat much as we rode along, due to the noise of the vehicle, but soon it stopped and we disembarked for the walk to our former village home.
We approached the river which runs directly through the road to Bom. There is no bridge, though our village papa still talked about some company's plans to make one someday upriver. It was the drier season when we had lived in Bom, and fording the river had never been an issue, so I didn't feel too concerned. But as we stepped into the river, John holding Tikvah on his shoulder and me holding the hand of a sturdy young man for support, my lack of concern quickly became a torrent of fear. The river was incredibly strong! How these men shorter than me were so adept at keeping their balance I have yet to understand. The water in the deepest part was close to my chest and I was soon grasping tightly to the young man's hand as my feet were nearly swept from under me. I wasn't too afraid for myself - I knew I could float if I got carried away. But my eyes anxiously focused on John as I hoped and prayed that his feet were steadier than mine. Thankfully, they were, and he and Tikvah stepped on the opposite shore without a worry.
Once we were through the river, the rest of the walk was much less eventful. Our village papa had decided it was his turn to carry Tikvah, so he snatched up the Ergo baby carrier I had been wearing and fastened the waist belt around himself. I helped him get Tikvah situated, and we started off. I had to laugh to myself, wondering if an Ergo carrier had ever been worn by a bush-dwelling Papua New Guinean grandpa before. Tikvah once again was a trooper, and didn't seem to mind being whisked away by this strange man. After we walked for a bit, she did give a slight whimper, which was all it took for Bom to hand her back to me. I'm sure he enjoyed his grandpa time, though!
Through the bush we wandered, following a well worn but thin trail through coconut trees, cocoa trees, and other myriad types of vegetation whose leaves grow to 'prehistoric' proportions. Finally we came into the clearing on the beach where our village was situated. We walked over to our village papa's house, greeted with shouts of excitement from his always exuberant daughter. A few things had changed - a new platform had been built, a house finished, the outdoor kitchen slightly renovated, but for the most part it was life as usual as we had known it. Even our village papa's dad, who had seemed too old and thin to be alive two years ago, was still there to greet us, though we wondered if he could see us at all through his cataracts.
And then, we sat. We talked with various people who came to see the spectacle, we explained a bit about what had transpired since we left, and of course introduced Tikvah to everyone. She was hesitant at first, but before long came to herself and waltzed around, chasing dogs and chickens, lying in the sand, and eating the bananas and cucumbers that were offered her. We took her to down to the water for a few minutes, and let her play in the waves, but they were particularly strong and one wave threatened to pry her from my hands when I wasn't paying enough attention. Tikvah was drenched in salt water, but happy as a lark! I quickly decided that we'd stick to the higher ground.
We stayed there for a few hours, and ate our honorary meal of pumpkin, potato, and some other kind of potato with a few greens all boiled in coconut milk. It isn't bad food, and John seems to like it ok, but I never could get used to the monotony of eating so much starch day after day. Our village family had hoped we would spend the night and put a mattress in "our" house for us to use. We however felt it was wise to get back across the river while we knew we still could, and didn't relish the thought of sleeping without even a mosquito net to aid us. So we soon bid farewell, and began the journey back to the road where we could again catch a PMV into town.
My only regret in leaving so soon was that we hadn't had a chance to see our village sister, Awaio. She had been maybe 12 or 13 when we were there before, and was my little companion in most endeavors. Around other children she seemed a bit bossy and forceful, but with me she was ever kind and helpful. She was a busy girl, and often told me she would do my dishes or my laundry if I would just ask. And of course she would quickly take over when my feeble attempts at fire-building were too much for her to bear. I was curious to see her again and see how she had grown over the last two years. I wondered what kind of a young woman she would be today. I didn't have a chance to find out, except that I deduced she must still be a busy, hard worker. Our papa told us that Awaio had expected we would stay the night, and so had gone out to dig peanuts that day. I felt sad, and asked our papa a few times to make sure and tell her I was sad that I didn't see her.
We retraced our steps back through the forest, back to the dreaded river, but once again we crossed without incident. After a relatively short wait at the PMV stop, we boarded another vehicle and were soon bumping our way toward town. We waved goodby to our village papa, knowing full well that we may never see him again. But no matter, we will always be his kids in his mind, and he'll be able to talk about his little grandaughter's visit for years to come whenever other stories around the night fire grow dull.
It was dark before we finally made it up the long hill to the place where we were staying. I was so exhausted that John ended up carrying Tikvah and our backpacks for the last portion of the hike. Even then I struggled a bit to keep up with his pace. The house where we were staying was nice, though not as much so as our house in Ukarumpa. But this night, it may as well have been a castle. We were very thankful to see beds and mosquito nets and to have a cool shower before going to bed. Whew! It had been a day, for sure!
The next morning we started walking down the mountain where we were staying toward the main road into Madang. Fortunately we caught a ride down the hill, and then quickly found a PMV headed into Madang. Once in Madang we climbed on the PMV that would take us to Bom. We started out of town and drove for what seemed like forever. Just as John and I were beginning to wonder if we really were on the right PMV, it turned onto a familiar dirt road. After a bit, we saw a familiar face walking along the side of the road and hollered for the driver to stop. One man began clanking on a metal bar with a coin to signal the driver in the cab, and the vehicle stopped several yards ahead of the man. The short figure came hustling toward the PMV and quickly climbed with great excitement - it was our village papa, and sure enough the man we'd met the day before had informed him of our plans to visit.
He was of course thrilled to see his "kids", and I marveled at how short he really was. Somehow the part he played in our lives made me think I should look up to him, but no, I actually had to look down to look him in the eye! Bom (yes, our village papa has the same name as the village itself) was of course especially enamored with Tikvah. He pushed his rough and stubble-covered face right into hers, and she stared back rather calmly but with wide eyes. We didn't chat much as we rode along, due to the noise of the vehicle, but soon it stopped and we disembarked for the walk to our former village home.
We approached the river which runs directly through the road to Bom. There is no bridge, though our village papa still talked about some company's plans to make one someday upriver. It was the drier season when we had lived in Bom, and fording the river had never been an issue, so I didn't feel too concerned. But as we stepped into the river, John holding Tikvah on his shoulder and me holding the hand of a sturdy young man for support, my lack of concern quickly became a torrent of fear. The river was incredibly strong! How these men shorter than me were so adept at keeping their balance I have yet to understand. The water in the deepest part was close to my chest and I was soon grasping tightly to the young man's hand as my feet were nearly swept from under me. I wasn't too afraid for myself - I knew I could float if I got carried away. But my eyes anxiously focused on John as I hoped and prayed that his feet were steadier than mine. Thankfully, they were, and he and Tikvah stepped on the opposite shore without a worry.
Once we were through the river, the rest of the walk was much less eventful. Our village papa had decided it was his turn to carry Tikvah, so he snatched up the Ergo baby carrier I had been wearing and fastened the waist belt around himself. I helped him get Tikvah situated, and we started off. I had to laugh to myself, wondering if an Ergo carrier had ever been worn by a bush-dwelling Papua New Guinean grandpa before. Tikvah once again was a trooper, and didn't seem to mind being whisked away by this strange man. After we walked for a bit, she did give a slight whimper, which was all it took for Bom to hand her back to me. I'm sure he enjoyed his grandpa time, though!
Through the bush we wandered, following a well worn but thin trail through coconut trees, cocoa trees, and other myriad types of vegetation whose leaves grow to 'prehistoric' proportions. Finally we came into the clearing on the beach where our village was situated. We walked over to our village papa's house, greeted with shouts of excitement from his always exuberant daughter. A few things had changed - a new platform had been built, a house finished, the outdoor kitchen slightly renovated, but for the most part it was life as usual as we had known it. Even our village papa's dad, who had seemed too old and thin to be alive two years ago, was still there to greet us, though we wondered if he could see us at all through his cataracts.
And then, we sat. We talked with various people who came to see the spectacle, we explained a bit about what had transpired since we left, and of course introduced Tikvah to everyone. She was hesitant at first, but before long came to herself and waltzed around, chasing dogs and chickens, lying in the sand, and eating the bananas and cucumbers that were offered her. We took her to down to the water for a few minutes, and let her play in the waves, but they were particularly strong and one wave threatened to pry her from my hands when I wasn't paying enough attention. Tikvah was drenched in salt water, but happy as a lark! I quickly decided that we'd stick to the higher ground.
We stayed there for a few hours, and ate our honorary meal of pumpkin, potato, and some other kind of potato with a few greens all boiled in coconut milk. It isn't bad food, and John seems to like it ok, but I never could get used to the monotony of eating so much starch day after day. Our village family had hoped we would spend the night and put a mattress in "our" house for us to use. We however felt it was wise to get back across the river while we knew we still could, and didn't relish the thought of sleeping without even a mosquito net to aid us. So we soon bid farewell, and began the journey back to the road where we could again catch a PMV into town.
My only regret in leaving so soon was that we hadn't had a chance to see our village sister, Awaio. She had been maybe 12 or 13 when we were there before, and was my little companion in most endeavors. Around other children she seemed a bit bossy and forceful, but with me she was ever kind and helpful. She was a busy girl, and often told me she would do my dishes or my laundry if I would just ask. And of course she would quickly take over when my feeble attempts at fire-building were too much for her to bear. I was curious to see her again and see how she had grown over the last two years. I wondered what kind of a young woman she would be today. I didn't have a chance to find out, except that I deduced she must still be a busy, hard worker. Our papa told us that Awaio had expected we would stay the night, and so had gone out to dig peanuts that day. I felt sad, and asked our papa a few times to make sure and tell her I was sad that I didn't see her.
We retraced our steps back through the forest, back to the dreaded river, but once again we crossed without incident. After a relatively short wait at the PMV stop, we boarded another vehicle and were soon bumping our way toward town. We waved goodby to our village papa, knowing full well that we may never see him again. But no matter, we will always be his kids in his mind, and he'll be able to talk about his little grandaughter's visit for years to come whenever other stories around the night fire grow dull.
It was dark before we finally made it up the long hill to the place where we were staying. I was so exhausted that John ended up carrying Tikvah and our backpacks for the last portion of the hike. Even then I struggled a bit to keep up with his pace. The house where we were staying was nice, though not as much so as our house in Ukarumpa. But this night, it may as well have been a castle. We were very thankful to see beds and mosquito nets and to have a cool shower before going to bed. Whew! It had been a day, for sure!
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Lightening the Load
I am not prone to packrat-ism. I’ve spent too much of my life lugging suitcases around to believe that accumulating goods is worth my while. Yet recently even I have been shedding some weight.
In our modern world many are supremely privileged to have the capacity to pursue arts and crafts. Think about it: a couple of centuries ago you probably wouldn’t have had the spare change to buy a guitar, even if you could find one (when were they invented, anyway?). Here in PNG, that usually remains the case. Because people live a subsistence lifestyle off the land, most have little pocket money. What money they do have often goes towards school fees for their kids or basic necessities, like some store-bought rice or second-hand clothes. I am extremely wealthy compared to them.
So I’m passing on some of my goods to the community here. My guitar? I’ve had it for around 5 years and loved it, especially the smell of the wood when opening the case. I sometimes even made it sound all right! I have sold my guitar to a deserving MK who, at the age of 12 or 13, is already better than me.
Camera. I’ve had it for three years now. A decent DSLR is worlds better than your average compact digital. I used it during village living back in 2010 to get some great shots of life in PNG, and more recently have been capturing my beautiful daughter as she grows at an alarming rate. (I keep wanting to push the ‘slow down’ button on Tikvah, but can’t seem to find it.) The camera went to a young Papua New Guinean lady working in a partner organization here in PNG. She has been trained in media and is responsible for communications and promotional material. I think it will serve her well.
Other loved items have been passed on. Each of these represents an opportunity, and I’m grateful to have had them and to be able to share them. Life is brighter when there are avenues for creativity.
In addition to the good reasons of 1) sharing the blessings I’ve received and 2) not having to lug the stuff back across the globe, there’s a third good reason to be selling these things: we’re going to be going back to school this year… and school costs a lot of money. I suppose that is good motivation for paying attention in class.
In our modern world many are supremely privileged to have the capacity to pursue arts and crafts. Think about it: a couple of centuries ago you probably wouldn’t have had the spare change to buy a guitar, even if you could find one (when were they invented, anyway?). Here in PNG, that usually remains the case. Because people live a subsistence lifestyle off the land, most have little pocket money. What money they do have often goes towards school fees for their kids or basic necessities, like some store-bought rice or second-hand clothes. I am extremely wealthy compared to them.
So I’m passing on some of my goods to the community here. My guitar? I’ve had it for around 5 years and loved it, especially the smell of the wood when opening the case. I sometimes even made it sound all right! I have sold my guitar to a deserving MK who, at the age of 12 or 13, is already better than me.
Camera. I’ve had it for three years now. A decent DSLR is worlds better than your average compact digital. I used it during village living back in 2010 to get some great shots of life in PNG, and more recently have been capturing my beautiful daughter as she grows at an alarming rate. (I keep wanting to push the ‘slow down’ button on Tikvah, but can’t seem to find it.) The camera went to a young Papua New Guinean lady working in a partner organization here in PNG. She has been trained in media and is responsible for communications and promotional material. I think it will serve her well.
Other loved items have been passed on. Each of these represents an opportunity, and I’m grateful to have had them and to be able to share them. Life is brighter when there are avenues for creativity.
In addition to the good reasons of 1) sharing the blessings I’ve received and 2) not having to lug the stuff back across the globe, there’s a third good reason to be selling these things: we’re going to be going back to school this year… and school costs a lot of money. I suppose that is good motivation for paying attention in class.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Bows and Arrows
Returning from church one Sunday morning, I heard a lot of yelling. “A rugby match?” I thought. Rugby matches can be pretty fierce here, but this sounded more like ‘fight’ than ‘play,’ and besides, it was not from the direction of the rugby pitch that the shouting was coming from.
As I walked towards a spot where I’d have a view across the ravine, I heard a ‘boom.’ Definitely a rifle. Thankfully there was only one boom; the shooter must not have had much ammunition.
Getting closer, I could hear ‘kilim em,’ which you can probably guess can mean ‘kill him.’ It can also mean ‘hit him,’ and hopefully the latter was the case, but it all sounded pretty intense so I couldn’t be sure. By this time I’d seen a number of men running up a ridge into a small wood on the opposite side of the ravine. They were obviously running towards the fight.
I got home and pulled out the camera. To document a fight or not to document a fight, that is the question. I’d witnessed one before, and they’re not really the types of events you glory in. Anger and a desire for revenge drive these encounters, and unfortunately a fight is rarely the end of the matter. On survey we often hear, “Now that Christianity has come, we don’t fight any more.” I’m sure there is much less fighting than there was before, but the human desire to pay back evil for evil remains strong.
As you see these pictures, be grateful for systems of law and order that prevent this from happening in your neighborhood, but also remember the many countries where conflict between ethnic groups is regular and deadly. And don’t forget to pray that people everywhere would hear and learn this: that sin has been atoned for, that peace can reside in the hearts of those who have been wronged, and that—by God’s grace—we need not seek revenge.
Click on the image below or save it to your computer to see the images and text.
As I walked towards a spot where I’d have a view across the ravine, I heard a ‘boom.’ Definitely a rifle. Thankfully there was only one boom; the shooter must not have had much ammunition.
Getting closer, I could hear ‘kilim em,’ which you can probably guess can mean ‘kill him.’ It can also mean ‘hit him,’ and hopefully the latter was the case, but it all sounded pretty intense so I couldn’t be sure. By this time I’d seen a number of men running up a ridge into a small wood on the opposite side of the ravine. They were obviously running towards the fight.
I got home and pulled out the camera. To document a fight or not to document a fight, that is the question. I’d witnessed one before, and they’re not really the types of events you glory in. Anger and a desire for revenge drive these encounters, and unfortunately a fight is rarely the end of the matter. On survey we often hear, “Now that Christianity has come, we don’t fight any more.” I’m sure there is much less fighting than there was before, but the human desire to pay back evil for evil remains strong.
As you see these pictures, be grateful for systems of law and order that prevent this from happening in your neighborhood, but also remember the many countries where conflict between ethnic groups is regular and deadly. And don’t forget to pray that people everywhere would hear and learn this: that sin has been atoned for, that peace can reside in the hearts of those who have been wronged, and that—by God’s grace—we need not seek revenge.
Click on the image below or save it to your computer to see the images and text.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
The Limbo
"Limbo lower now! How low can you go?" The song still echoes through my head though it's been years since I heard it. One Monday a month, my crowd of home school friends had control of the Macomb skating rink for the afternoon (while all the normal kids were busy in school). And one of the standard games was the limbo, where we attempted to get as low to the floor as possible without falling off our skates. I did ok, but didn't seem to have the flexibility to flatten myself like some others did. So after the first few rounds of sliding under the stick, I'd usually end up on the sidelines watching with envy my more limbo-adept friends. Limbo apparently was not my forte.
Now, the word "limbo" carries a much heavier meaning for me. It's not just that game that I can't seem to win no matter how hard I try. It is now a state of being that I have to wrestle with much more often than I would like. And lately, after the first few weeks or months of maneuvering under the "limbo stick", I once again end up on the sidelines, watching with envy as my more flexible husband seems to effortlessly glide through this limbo game. Now, to be fair, John has had much more practice at this limbo game than I ever will in my lifetime. As if being a missionary kid isn't tough enough, going back and forth constantly between two countries, John lived in at least 4 different countries during his MK experience. Even during his college years he hopped between Canada, Montana, North Carolina, and Australia in a series of experiences that I still couldn't accurately plot on a timeline. When I first met him in Canada, he had come to the Canada Institute of Linguistics to test out this Bible translation thing after a possible job opportunity left him in limbo for some time.
Me? When I met John, I was on track as planned since childhood for missionary adventures. I'd joined our missions organization soon after graduating from college and had my sights set on survey. I even received an invitation to do survey in an Asian branch during my time in Canada. But I asked if I could postpone my decision till the end of the summer just in case something interesting developed between me and John. And to my shock and amazement, something did develop! Outwardly I was thrilled! Inwardly, I was a mass of confusion. Should I be one of those girls that runs off to the mission field and makes the guy chase her to the other side of the world? Or should I stick around home, leaving my missions plans in limbo, so that John and I would have a better chance at a relationship? And what if I stayed home and it didn't work out? I hated trying to sort through my mess of thoughts to come to a rational conclusion. But as John and I headed away from Canada on our first of many epic trips, I decided to give this relationship thing a shot and put missions on hold somewhat.
As John and I waited in a seemingly endless line to cross the border into the United States, I was reflecting on this "borderland" experience in my own life. "You know," I said to John thoughtfully, "I think this is the first time in my life that I haven't had my next steps planned out." John looked at me and, without any attempt to hide his sarcasm, said "Congratulations." Being the nice person I was, I sort of shut up and thought about how that must have sounded to an MK with his experiences. Looking back, I think I should have just slugged him! Yes, I do need to learn a lot about quieting my busy, purpose driven soul and trusting God to get me through the times that my plans just don't work. But I think it will be a lifelong lesson, much to my husband's frustration.
I don't like limbo. Growing up in a solid family and with consistent friends, I've come to expect stability. And I think it is much more of a real need in my life than I might care to admit. "No, no!" my proud self yells, "I can do this! I can do anything! I will be a good missionary! I don't need stability!" But it's there, it's ingrained - that nagging desire to know where I'll be and what I'll be doing for the rest of my life. To know that the people I love and the people I've known forever will always be around and always be my friends.
All that said, it may be apparent that John and I don't have our next steps planned out. Well, we do have plane tickets to the US and a tentative road trip from West to East coast planned. But beyond that, we’re not sure of much. And it hasn't been like this just the last few weeks. When we first came to PNG 2 1/2 years ago, we expected to stay for at least 3 years. Before the end of our term we figured we would decide whether to stay in PNG. And in the last 10 months, we've been seriously considering and looking at other assignments. 10 months! One particular option looked interesting to us, and as we talked with the people in charge, the shape of that option morphed several times. And then suddenly, yesterday, that option was very definitively taken out of the running. So basically we're back to square one again - attempting to figure out what we want to do with our lives (or at least what we want to do for the next few years.)
I'm not looking forward to more "limbo". But at least this time, I have something to look back on. I can tell myself, "you know what, self? Don't worry. God has brought you through times of great uncertainty before, and he will do it again." It makes me think of a bit in Lamentations - read it, this is good stuff!
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”
The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the Lord.
Wait? And wait quietly?! Yikes, it looks like I have some work to do. So I'll pray for grace to be faithful, do the next thing, and try not to complain too much as those limbo muscles get stretched once again.
P.S. The picture is Tikvah with some Christmas presents we received in mid-January, caught over Christmas in the limbo which is the PNG postal system :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
