July 10, 2006
Reflections
I received so many Independence Day wishes from our friends and family back in the States and I appreciate them; but one that really touched me was from my friend and former manager, Rick. His reflections on the meanings of freedom and independence just reminded me that it truly is a privilege to live in America – flawed though it may be – it’s my home and will always be. So many Americans consider it an inalienable right to turn on the tap and have clean water, to flip a switch and have electricity and to worship or not worship as their conscious dictates. Now that I have lived in China and Africa I am not ashamed to say I have gotten on my knees and thanked God for those things and for my country. Certainly, there is crime, poverty, injustice and racism in America but I don’t think I will ever be convinced that there is a better place on the planet for me to call home. One of the greatest consequences of this international lifestyle Ken and I have chosen is experiencing other cultures and being constantly reminded and humbled by how fortunate we are. I’m sometimes homesick and often frustrated, I miss the comforts of home but at the end of the day I laugh more often than I cry. I find comfort in prayer, reading, writing, electronic communication with you guys and especially from being married to my best friend; my heart’s twin.
The Littlest Africans
I went to a local orphanage with an American friend who happens to be a Baptist missionary. They are always in need of workers to help out with the children so we went one morning to help with the morning feeding. Out of respect for the institution, I am not going to give their name but will say that it is run by local people. If you look at the place through the eyes of an American, conditions are dismal. When I walked into the room where the babies sleep, the first thing I noticed was the strong smell of urine. I confess that I had to immediately ask God to humble me and take away my notions of how things “ought” to be. These volunteers were children of the same God that I serve and they were surely doing work that was pleasing in His sight.
It has taken me several days to process my experiences and feelings about that day. I wish a loving home for every single child in that orphanage but the reality is that the majority will not be adopted. Without giving the exact number, I will tell you that they house several dozen babies and toddlers. Each infant has his or her own crib but there are never enough workers for every one to get extended periods of physical contact and personal attention. The babies appear to be well nourished, they all looked clean and I was told they get daily baths. Nonetheless, someone is always crying to be held and there are never enough arms. I asked why there were so many young babies and where the moms were. As I understand it, many of the babies are the children of prostitutes or of poor families who just could not afford another mouth to feed. One of the infants was found by neighbors in a plastic bag with the umbilicus still attached. Some of the babies have HIV but no one gets tested until a family expresses interest in adoption. The fortunate few who do get adopted always go to foreign families since the locals simply are not adopting.
Like infants all over the world, these babies calm down when you rub their backs, they sigh with contentment when you rock them and they smile back at you. I fell in love with a two-month-old named Joseph. Joseph has eyes like mine, chubby cheeks and an adorable baby’s bald head. More than one person commented that he looked like he could have been my biological child. I suppose that’s why I was instantly drawn to him. As I walked him up and down the isles I fantasized about taking him home and raising him as mine. If we were ten years younger and about to end this international lifestyle it might have been a possibility. It was really hard to leave him there but my prayer is that he won’t be there when I return. I hope another woman sees the things in him that I saw and gives him a chance at a wonderful life.
On a Lighter Note
We’re looking for a dog. In this country where pets are rare, it is no small task to find one. If you see someone with a dog, they are definitely foreign. A friend of a friend is a missionary and also a veterinarian. So the good doctor is on the lookout for healthy pups on our behalf. We don’t care what breed – it can be a mutt – as long as it’s healthy with a good disposition. Hopefully, we will find one soon.
So many things happen over the course of my normal day that make me just stop and shake my head in disbelief. I’m constantly laughing at myself and the wraparounds I come up with for daily living like using the tea kettle to heat water for washing dishes or keeping a flashlight under my pillow for the inevitable power outage.
I frequently see items in the grocery store and while they look interesting, I hesitate to make the purchase because I simply don’t know what they are. However, I have learned that if I see something I like to buy it right then since it’s not likely to be on the shelf the next time. We like to eat beans and rice so I’m always checking out interesting looking dried beans to experiment with. I found a small red bean that looks sort of like a kidney bean and thought I would try to create some version of red beans and rice. I bought a bag, soaked half and put them on the stove to cook. I fell asleep. I burned the beans. Next day I soak the other half, put them on the stove and go sit on the terrace to read. Yep, I burned the beans again. The next time I go to the grocery store I buy the beans again and the clerk looks at me like this lady must really like beans. Anyway, I get the beans home, add seasonings and chopped onions and determine that I will not burn them this time. I spend the day going back and forth to the kitchen stirring and adding water trying to get them tender and just right for when Ken gets home. After cooking them for about five hours I begin to wonder if there’s something different about the beans here versus the ones back home. Anyway, I’ve got these beans seasoned really nicely but they are still a bit on the crunchy side. It turns out they taste pretty good and Ken likes them. Over dinner we both comment about how different they taste. Yeah, Ken says, they taste kind of nutty but he likes the way they seem to “pop” in your mouth. I count it a success and decide to buy them on my next grocery outing.
Several days later, I went to the market with my friend Jessica who is American but also speaks the local language. We were both buying produce and chatting about what’s good and so forth. I say to her, oh you know what’s really good is those little red beans up there on the top shelf. They take a long time to cook but they have a nice nutty flavor. She looks at the beans, looks at me, looks back at the beans then says something to the clerk in their language. The ladies behind the counter all break into gales of laughter. I giggle nervously because everyone’s laughing but me so I surmise that I must be the reason. Jessica smiles at me and says, Sharon those are peanuts. Nothing I could do but laugh at myself.
