I posted more pictures on my facebook. Here is the link to see them:
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2393352084597.122212.1574787470&type=1&l=9e86cdbdbe
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Picture Update.
I posted more pictures on my facebook. Here is the link to see them:
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2393352084597.122212.1574787470&type=1&l=9e86cdbdbe
Monday, November 28, 2011
Hold onto the Little Things
We all sat in the Waid’s living room about to watch a ridiculously cheesy movie when Shashitra walked into the room. She is the lady that is in charge of the office. She is probably around 60 years old and her hair falls all the way down her back. Shashitra informed us that a baby boy would be brought from a village the following day. This brought excitement because we would be a new baby boy. Of course we had to name this baby. I quickly responded, “How about Silas?” and with that it was settled… the boy would be named Silas.
Tonight Lauren, Heather, and I went to the baby room so that we could see the new addition to the Bangla Hope family. We walked around the room for about 5 min trying to find him before we could get Kakoli to ask the caregivers in Bangla where the new baby was. He was lying down behind one of the caregivers. I quickly scooped him up into my arms. Silas has very little hair on his head but it is nice to touch his soft smooth head. He is 2 months old and they say that his mother died from Anemia. Lauren found Paul and Heather picked up Ginger and we all just sat on a bed holding the precious babies. I got Silas to smile and do a little giggle and I believe that it was the most precious thing I have ever seen. Nine members of his family had shown up to give the baby to the orphanage and I couldn’t help but wonder how they gave him up. Of course they were too poor to keep him but my mind still couldn’t comprehend how it was possible to give up such a adorable baby.
When I think of poverty I think of the villagers. As you have read in my other posts, they have nothing. Today we gave out tons of clothes. Many of the clothes were still in very good condition but since so many of them are brought over by the Waid’s each year they have excess that can be given to the villagers that live around the orphanage.
Around 3 o’clock Lauren and I went down and moved all the clothes toward the gate that leads to the village. There had to be about 50 villagers outside the gates waiting to get in. The guard would let 4 or 5 kids in at a time and then we would have to sort through all the clothes and dresses and pick out ones that would fit them. Some of the children would come wearing nothing but rags and we would give them beautiful dresses and sweaters. A few of them would burst into tears when we would get near them and others would just smile because we kept telling them how beautiful they were. They really were beautiful despite the fact that many of the children were caked with dirt. One little girl came who was about 4 or 5 years old. She was blind but yet she had such a precious face. I can’t imagine how hard it is for the mother to take care of her newborn baby and her little blind girl. If being a child in Bangladesh is hard, being a blind child in Bangladesh must be harder. I cannot get that little girl’s face out of my head.
I suppose that tonight is just one of those nights where I cannot help but think of the village people. I cannot help but think of their pain, poverty, and kindness. It is times like these that I wish that I could do more to help but I feel helpless and pathetic. These village kids can be so precious to me but I cannot express it to them. I guess I should just hold on to the fact that we now have baby Silas. He has a much brighter future now that he is here.
Sometimes all I can do is hold onto the little things.
Tonight Lauren, Heather, and I went to the baby room so that we could see the new addition to the Bangla Hope family. We walked around the room for about 5 min trying to find him before we could get Kakoli to ask the caregivers in Bangla where the new baby was. He was lying down behind one of the caregivers. I quickly scooped him up into my arms. Silas has very little hair on his head but it is nice to touch his soft smooth head. He is 2 months old and they say that his mother died from Anemia. Lauren found Paul and Heather picked up Ginger and we all just sat on a bed holding the precious babies. I got Silas to smile and do a little giggle and I believe that it was the most precious thing I have ever seen. Nine members of his family had shown up to give the baby to the orphanage and I couldn’t help but wonder how they gave him up. Of course they were too poor to keep him but my mind still couldn’t comprehend how it was possible to give up such a adorable baby.
When I think of poverty I think of the villagers. As you have read in my other posts, they have nothing. Today we gave out tons of clothes. Many of the clothes were still in very good condition but since so many of them are brought over by the Waid’s each year they have excess that can be given to the villagers that live around the orphanage.
Around 3 o’clock Lauren and I went down and moved all the clothes toward the gate that leads to the village. There had to be about 50 villagers outside the gates waiting to get in. The guard would let 4 or 5 kids in at a time and then we would have to sort through all the clothes and dresses and pick out ones that would fit them. Some of the children would come wearing nothing but rags and we would give them beautiful dresses and sweaters. A few of them would burst into tears when we would get near them and others would just smile because we kept telling them how beautiful they were. They really were beautiful despite the fact that many of the children were caked with dirt. One little girl came who was about 4 or 5 years old. She was blind but yet she had such a precious face. I can’t imagine how hard it is for the mother to take care of her newborn baby and her little blind girl. If being a child in Bangladesh is hard, being a blind child in Bangladesh must be harder. I cannot get that little girl’s face out of my head.
I suppose that tonight is just one of those nights where I cannot help but think of the village people. I cannot help but think of their pain, poverty, and kindness. It is times like these that I wish that I could do more to help but I feel helpless and pathetic. These village kids can be so precious to me but I cannot express it to them. I guess I should just hold on to the fact that we now have baby Silas. He has a much brighter future now that he is here.
Sometimes all I can do is hold onto the little things.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Communion
“By eating bread and drinking wine at communion, we act out our acceptance of Christ into our lives, the divine human interaction through which God transforms us by the life of Christ. This we remember and internalize our relationship with him.” Altar Call pg 83
We had communion today in church. For those of you who don’t know what communion is, it is a tradition that Seventh Day Adventist perform (other denominations do it to but they don’t all do the foot washing) where we act out what Jesus did in the New Testament. First of all, Jesus took on the role of a servant and washed the feet of his disciples and then later he took bread and wine and gave it to them showing them what he would do by dying for them. (this is a very brief explanation).
When I was a kid I loved communion because that meant that I got a little snack in the middle of church. As I grew older I stopped performing the foot washing because I was self-conscious about my feet being handled by other people (I know it is weird). It was just to weird for me so I would sit and not participate in that part. In America it seems that we don’t understand the significance of what it means to be the “servant” of another person. We don’t have servants so it doesn’t seem to “apply” to us in a personal way. We are just thankful that Jesus died for us.
In Bangladesh there is distinct differences of people who are wealthy and people who have nothing. Being from America I am automatically wealthier than most of the people here. I hate that this distinction can be felt as I walk around the campus. The woman in Bangladesh cannot wear a sharwa camis if they have not had an education. If they have never been to school they are confined to a plain everyday shari. Since I wear a Sharwa and I’m American.. there is definitely a distinction. I feel like I should be their equal since we are both human beings that have emotions, thoughts, feelings, and opinions. Yet in our exchanges I sometimes feel as if they feel as if they are obligated to treat me in a different manner because of my “superiority” (which I don’t believe I have).
So today when I had the chance to wash the cute little feet of Shati (our cook) I began to understand a fraction of what it was like for Jesus to kneel down and wash the feet of his disciples. It was a privilege for me to mimic Jesus and wash the feet of Shati who has done nothing but spoil us since we arrived in Bangladesh. I finally felt like I was repaying her for everything she has done for me. Yet Jesus didn’t owe the disciples anything. He humbled Himself (the King of the Universe) and washed the dirty feet of men who would desert him when he was handed over to be killed. (The foot washing also meant more because I now understand what it is like to have disgusting feet from walking everywhere with just sandals on. It is so nice to have them be squeaky clean).
After the foot washing we went back into the cafeteria (where we have our church) and we ate the bread and drank the juice that represented Jesus’ death. When handed the juice I knew immediately that it was not grape juice but I drank it without questioning. I later found out that it was raisin juice. Apparently they soak the raisins and then squish them somehow so that it makes a juice… it wasn’t that bad. Even though we didn’t have real grape juice the symbolism was the same. By drinking this I acknowledged that Jesus Christ died for me so that I could live a new life for Him. I think I'm going to look at communion in a different way from now on.
We had communion today in church. For those of you who don’t know what communion is, it is a tradition that Seventh Day Adventist perform (other denominations do it to but they don’t all do the foot washing) where we act out what Jesus did in the New Testament. First of all, Jesus took on the role of a servant and washed the feet of his disciples and then later he took bread and wine and gave it to them showing them what he would do by dying for them. (this is a very brief explanation).
When I was a kid I loved communion because that meant that I got a little snack in the middle of church. As I grew older I stopped performing the foot washing because I was self-conscious about my feet being handled by other people (I know it is weird). It was just to weird for me so I would sit and not participate in that part. In America it seems that we don’t understand the significance of what it means to be the “servant” of another person. We don’t have servants so it doesn’t seem to “apply” to us in a personal way. We are just thankful that Jesus died for us.
In Bangladesh there is distinct differences of people who are wealthy and people who have nothing. Being from America I am automatically wealthier than most of the people here. I hate that this distinction can be felt as I walk around the campus. The woman in Bangladesh cannot wear a sharwa camis if they have not had an education. If they have never been to school they are confined to a plain everyday shari. Since I wear a Sharwa and I’m American.. there is definitely a distinction. I feel like I should be their equal since we are both human beings that have emotions, thoughts, feelings, and opinions. Yet in our exchanges I sometimes feel as if they feel as if they are obligated to treat me in a different manner because of my “superiority” (which I don’t believe I have).
So today when I had the chance to wash the cute little feet of Shati (our cook) I began to understand a fraction of what it was like for Jesus to kneel down and wash the feet of his disciples. It was a privilege for me to mimic Jesus and wash the feet of Shati who has done nothing but spoil us since we arrived in Bangladesh. I finally felt like I was repaying her for everything she has done for me. Yet Jesus didn’t owe the disciples anything. He humbled Himself (the King of the Universe) and washed the dirty feet of men who would desert him when he was handed over to be killed. (The foot washing also meant more because I now understand what it is like to have disgusting feet from walking everywhere with just sandals on. It is so nice to have them be squeaky clean).
After the foot washing we went back into the cafeteria (where we have our church) and we ate the bread and drank the juice that represented Jesus’ death. When handed the juice I knew immediately that it was not grape juice but I drank it without questioning. I later found out that it was raisin juice. Apparently they soak the raisins and then squish them somehow so that it makes a juice… it wasn’t that bad. Even though we didn’t have real grape juice the symbolism was the same. By drinking this I acknowledged that Jesus Christ died for me so that I could live a new life for Him. I think I'm going to look at communion in a different way from now on.
:)
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thanksgiving
(My internet hasn’t been working to well lately so this is posted a day late)
First part of my favorite season has past and I am still not an emotional wreck. This is a good sign. Thanksgiving was still harder than I thought it would be. I felt so exhausted from the week that teaching on Thanksgiving was more miserable than fun. I just kind of sat there looking out the window rather then trying to restrain the kids in my class from bouncing off the ceiling. They were especially crazy on Thursday and I just couldn’t handle it. Tuli is helping this new girl learn how to read and so she hasn’t been there to help me out. Our Thanksgiving dinner was really nice though. Heather, Lauren, and I got dressed up in our Sharis and decorated the table with leaves and candles. We ate homemade gluten, mashed potatoes (mashed by hand), stuffing, green bean casserole, and of course pumpkin pie. It was a pleasant meal where we ate far too much but enjoyed ourselves in the process.
It wasn’t until I woke up this morning that I felt upset that I wasn’t with my family. It was frustrating because skype wouldn’t work and I just wanted to talk to them so badly… so I called. We had 12 minutes of me on speakerphone and different people telling me hello. I couldn’t help but giggle as everyone was showing their uniqueness in the way they spoke to me for their few seconds. Afterwards I walked inside my room beaming and exclaiming how happy I was to have talked to some of my family members.. then I had to walk back out to my porch and cry a little bit.
Being away from the people you love is so hard when you know that they are all together celebrating. It gives one a feeling of being alone even when there are plenty of people here. I was determined to not let this emotion take over so Lauren, Heather, and I went into town. Going to town keeps us sane. It helps to get off the orphanage compound at least once a week and buy something random in town. We usually don’t spend more than 5 American dollars but it is still worth it to make the journey. Town is about 30 minutes away by rickshaw van. Since the put-put (named after the lovely noise that it makes) is broken we had to walk/get a man powered rickshaw van. I felt so bad for the poor little legs of the man who was pedaling four of us girls into town. (My greatest fear is falling off the rickshaw van into the open sewers that are along the side the road. Let’s pray that never happens).
Every time we go into town with a different lady that works here we end up going to different little shops and experience totally different things. This week we went in with Oly who works in the office. She was getting food because she was preparing dinner for a pastor who is visiting. Oly took us to the fish market, which is probably the most disgusting place ever. But what do you expect when there are half dead fish everywhere that are dying slowly and smell awful. After that we went through the spice market that has tons of turmeric and other spices, I love the smell of that place. Oly bought us each a shingara (a little pastry with curried potatoes inside) and I’m pretty sure that it made my day. They were so good. Going to town really cheered me up!
While talking to a good friend of mine today he told me that he was jealous that I got to be here in Bangladesh. It helped remind me of how thankful I am to be here in Bangladesh. I know that soon my family will all be celebrating my return and we will all be in my grandma’s house together. As for now, I am just so thankful that I am experiencing this time in Bangladesh. I thank God for this adventure that he is leading me on.
I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving!
First part of my favorite season has past and I am still not an emotional wreck. This is a good sign. Thanksgiving was still harder than I thought it would be. I felt so exhausted from the week that teaching on Thanksgiving was more miserable than fun. I just kind of sat there looking out the window rather then trying to restrain the kids in my class from bouncing off the ceiling. They were especially crazy on Thursday and I just couldn’t handle it. Tuli is helping this new girl learn how to read and so she hasn’t been there to help me out. Our Thanksgiving dinner was really nice though. Heather, Lauren, and I got dressed up in our Sharis and decorated the table with leaves and candles. We ate homemade gluten, mashed potatoes (mashed by hand), stuffing, green bean casserole, and of course pumpkin pie. It was a pleasant meal where we ate far too much but enjoyed ourselves in the process.
It wasn’t until I woke up this morning that I felt upset that I wasn’t with my family. It was frustrating because skype wouldn’t work and I just wanted to talk to them so badly… so I called. We had 12 minutes of me on speakerphone and different people telling me hello. I couldn’t help but giggle as everyone was showing their uniqueness in the way they spoke to me for their few seconds. Afterwards I walked inside my room beaming and exclaiming how happy I was to have talked to some of my family members.. then I had to walk back out to my porch and cry a little bit.
Being away from the people you love is so hard when you know that they are all together celebrating. It gives one a feeling of being alone even when there are plenty of people here. I was determined to not let this emotion take over so Lauren, Heather, and I went into town. Going to town keeps us sane. It helps to get off the orphanage compound at least once a week and buy something random in town. We usually don’t spend more than 5 American dollars but it is still worth it to make the journey. Town is about 30 minutes away by rickshaw van. Since the put-put (named after the lovely noise that it makes) is broken we had to walk/get a man powered rickshaw van. I felt so bad for the poor little legs of the man who was pedaling four of us girls into town. (My greatest fear is falling off the rickshaw van into the open sewers that are along the side the road. Let’s pray that never happens).
Every time we go into town with a different lady that works here we end up going to different little shops and experience totally different things. This week we went in with Oly who works in the office. She was getting food because she was preparing dinner for a pastor who is visiting. Oly took us to the fish market, which is probably the most disgusting place ever. But what do you expect when there are half dead fish everywhere that are dying slowly and smell awful. After that we went through the spice market that has tons of turmeric and other spices, I love the smell of that place. Oly bought us each a shingara (a little pastry with curried potatoes inside) and I’m pretty sure that it made my day. They were so good. Going to town really cheered me up!
While talking to a good friend of mine today he told me that he was jealous that I got to be here in Bangladesh. It helped remind me of how thankful I am to be here in Bangladesh. I know that soon my family will all be celebrating my return and we will all be in my grandma’s house together. As for now, I am just so thankful that I am experiencing this time in Bangladesh. I thank God for this adventure that he is leading me on.
I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
What is Love?
(If you were like me you probably started singing that one song and dancing around when you read the title. If you are not like me (or don’t know that song).. I’m sorry to inform you of my insanity!)
The longer I am here the deeper I fall in love with the kids. Yes, they are crazy and sometimes it seems as if they are bouncing of the wall or using me as a jungle gym but I cannot help but love them. It is easy for me to like people but I think it is an entirely different thing for me to truly love someone. I admit that I do not love people like I should. I find myself getting more frustrated with people rather than loving them. This is what makes Jesus’ love so RADICAL. How could he love people who were so mean, cruel, and most of all selfish? It doesn’t make sense but yet it is so beautiful that it just leaves me in awe of what Jesus did by coming down to the world to die.
I’ve been talking a lot about being selfish in my posts lately. This is because the more that I focus on Jesus the more that I realize how selfish I am and that I am incapable of truly loving people like he loved people. I honestly couldn’t make it through a day remaining happy and positive without asking Jesus to give me energy and happiness. I realized that He could give me energy to keep up with 118 crazy children (all of whom believing that it is possible for me to give each one of them undivided attention at the same time). And if God can do all of this that means He can fill me with a deeper love for people than I ever thought possible.
True Love (I’m not talking about romantic love) is so much deeper than I feel like I can fully comprehend. Yet when I look at Danny (like I am right now) I cannot help but care so deeply about him and all the things that are going to happen in his life. During week of prayer (WOP is mostly in Bangla and is painfully long) I have a lot of time to think (or space out depending on how tired I am). Sometimes I just look at the kids and I think “Oh my word I love them so much!”
Before arriving at Bangla Hope my friend Kelsey (previous missionary) told me, “be careful those children will steal your heart.” At first, I didn’t know how I would survive living in the orphanage compound. The kids overwhelmed me; I couldn’t leave my house without being attacked. I sometimes felt like a famous movie star who was hiding from paparazzi. Of course they have all stolen my heart but I think I am just beginning to understand what Kelsey really meant. I am just beginning to understand a fraction of the love that Jesus feels for every one of us. I am just beginning to understand what love is.
“I’m absolutely convinced that nothing- nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable- absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us”
Romans 8:38-39 (The Message)
Now that is real unchangeable, uncomprehendible, and unfailing love!
The longer I am here the deeper I fall in love with the kids. Yes, they are crazy and sometimes it seems as if they are bouncing of the wall or using me as a jungle gym but I cannot help but love them. It is easy for me to like people but I think it is an entirely different thing for me to truly love someone. I admit that I do not love people like I should. I find myself getting more frustrated with people rather than loving them. This is what makes Jesus’ love so RADICAL. How could he love people who were so mean, cruel, and most of all selfish? It doesn’t make sense but yet it is so beautiful that it just leaves me in awe of what Jesus did by coming down to the world to die.
I’ve been talking a lot about being selfish in my posts lately. This is because the more that I focus on Jesus the more that I realize how selfish I am and that I am incapable of truly loving people like he loved people. I honestly couldn’t make it through a day remaining happy and positive without asking Jesus to give me energy and happiness. I realized that He could give me energy to keep up with 118 crazy children (all of whom believing that it is possible for me to give each one of them undivided attention at the same time). And if God can do all of this that means He can fill me with a deeper love for people than I ever thought possible.
True Love (I’m not talking about romantic love) is so much deeper than I feel like I can fully comprehend. Yet when I look at Danny (like I am right now) I cannot help but care so deeply about him and all the things that are going to happen in his life. During week of prayer (WOP is mostly in Bangla and is painfully long) I have a lot of time to think (or space out depending on how tired I am). Sometimes I just look at the kids and I think “Oh my word I love them so much!”
Before arriving at Bangla Hope my friend Kelsey (previous missionary) told me, “be careful those children will steal your heart.” At first, I didn’t know how I would survive living in the orphanage compound. The kids overwhelmed me; I couldn’t leave my house without being attacked. I sometimes felt like a famous movie star who was hiding from paparazzi. Of course they have all stolen my heart but I think I am just beginning to understand what Kelsey really meant. I am just beginning to understand a fraction of the love that Jesus feels for every one of us. I am just beginning to understand what love is.
“I’m absolutely convinced that nothing- nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable- absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us”
Romans 8:38-39 (The Message)
Now that is real unchangeable, uncomprehendible, and unfailing love!
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The Extended Family
Today I became the daughter of Danny and Marissa, the twin sister of Diana, the niece of Kakoli, and the extended family is growing every hour by at least two or three. I came out of my house this afternoon to be dragged into my new “house” where my new mom had prepared me a lovely dinner of Ice cream and curry that was made from water and sand. Of course she put a few greens on my plate (clovers) because that is what every good mom does. My father, Danny took me to Hili and Dhaka and then he preached a good sermon on Sabbath. You can do so much when you play house! I even had my birthday and got a huge mound of sand… I mean cake!
I couldn’t help but laugh as I was dragged around the campus and forced to “sleep” in a bed made of broken tiles behind a tropical tree. Marissa would tell me in a motherly tone, “Chantel, it is time for you to sleep… no, lay all the way down,” the rest of the kids would just giggle at me being treated as a slave of a daughter. These kids are fun and they really do bring out the kid in me. My love for them is growing everyday. I almost cried today when saying goodnight to Danny because he was just so sweet and kept asking me not to go. I use to give huge giant hugs to a few of the kids before bed and now I give giant hugs to almost all of the older kids and my face gets so many kisses that it can get gross sometimes.
This morning was a little tough because I really wanted to talk to my family at home but I couldn’t because I don’t have access to a phone right now. But as the day kept going I realized that I have a family here in Bangladesh as well as in America. These kids are my family now and I’m not just talking about the game of house we played this afternoon.
I feel that family is more than just blood relations. Family is people that you love no matter what. You love them when you haven't talked to them forever or seen their face.
God is teaching me so much. One of the biggest lessons I'm learning is how to really Love.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I was dragged around the campus and forced to “sleep” in a bed made of broken tiles behind a tropical tree. Marissa would tell me in a motherly tone, “Chantel, it is time for you to sleep… no, lay all the way down,” the rest of the kids would just giggle at me being treated as a slave of a daughter. These kids are fun and they really do bring out the kid in me. My love for them is growing everyday. I almost cried today when saying goodnight to Danny because he was just so sweet and kept asking me not to go. I use to give huge giant hugs to a few of the kids before bed and now I give giant hugs to almost all of the older kids and my face gets so many kisses that it can get gross sometimes.
This morning was a little tough because I really wanted to talk to my family at home but I couldn’t because I don’t have access to a phone right now. But as the day kept going I realized that I have a family here in Bangladesh as well as in America. These kids are my family now and I’m not just talking about the game of house we played this afternoon.
I feel that family is more than just blood relations. Family is people that you love no matter what. You love them when you haven't talked to them forever or seen their face.
God is teaching me so much. One of the biggest lessons I'm learning is how to really Love.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Happy
The first Sabbath I was here I sat down on the floor with the kids during church. On the back of the mat sat a beautiful young girl who I would later find out is named Mehtali. She is 11 years old and is very thin but has the most gorgeous thick black hair that falls half way down her back. My first impression was that she talked A LOT. That first Sabbath she whispered to me the whole time and almost none of it was comprehendible. Even now that I know her she’ll go on a tangent about something in banglish (English + Bangla) and then ends it with, “but you have to promise you wont tell anyone.” Of course I always promise not to tell anyone because I have no clue what she was talking about in the first place. These last few weeks she has clung to me and is one of my closest companions here. I have brought out my watercolor paint set and am trying to teach her how to paint.
Mehtali hasn’t had an easy past and just today I found out her life right now isn’t particularly easy either. She grew up in the slums of Dhaka and has probably seen things and lived through things that I don’t want to know about. It seems that everyone who comes from Dhaka is plagued with a fear of people and the things that they may do to them. So often I am with her when she starts rambling about how something scares her so much. Even here in this haven of Bangla Hope she says that her greatest fear is being raped when she gets up to go to the bathroom in the night. Why should a little kid be so worried about being raped? Why does that have to happen? The world is so messed up.
Today she dragged me into her house and I was shocked by what I saw. After taking my shoes off I stepped into a tiny room with a concrete floor and all the possessions of the four people who lived inside. The room (or should I say house) was half the size of the room that Lauren, Heather, and I share (which fits our three beds and a little table). I asked her where she slept since I spotted only one small bed that took up half the room. She looked down to the floor and point to the spot that was hers and then pointed to where her mother and sister slept. Her father took claim of the bed. I then asked her if she had a pad that she slept on and she pointed to a thin mat made of grass woven together. She virtually wears the same dress everyday and apparently she sleeps in that same dress. Mehtali was trying to be a good hostess but then she realized that she didn’t have any food to give me and it made her so sad. I tried to tell her it was okay because I was suppose to eat in a few minutes but I could tell that she still felt upset about it.
Mehtali is tough, insecure, afraid, beautiful, and one of the most loving girls I’ve met. After she was done painting in my room last night I walked her half way to her house. She gave me a huge hug and didn’t let go of me for several minutes so I just held her. She kissed me on the cheek and then skipped off with her face beaming. She is so happy with so little and is simply overjoyed with the fact that I am her friend. Mehtali is so precious.
Mehtali hasn’t had an easy past and just today I found out her life right now isn’t particularly easy either. She grew up in the slums of Dhaka and has probably seen things and lived through things that I don’t want to know about. It seems that everyone who comes from Dhaka is plagued with a fear of people and the things that they may do to them. So often I am with her when she starts rambling about how something scares her so much. Even here in this haven of Bangla Hope she says that her greatest fear is being raped when she gets up to go to the bathroom in the night. Why should a little kid be so worried about being raped? Why does that have to happen? The world is so messed up.
Today she dragged me into her house and I was shocked by what I saw. After taking my shoes off I stepped into a tiny room with a concrete floor and all the possessions of the four people who lived inside. The room (or should I say house) was half the size of the room that Lauren, Heather, and I share (which fits our three beds and a little table). I asked her where she slept since I spotted only one small bed that took up half the room. She looked down to the floor and point to the spot that was hers and then pointed to where her mother and sister slept. Her father took claim of the bed. I then asked her if she had a pad that she slept on and she pointed to a thin mat made of grass woven together. She virtually wears the same dress everyday and apparently she sleeps in that same dress. Mehtali was trying to be a good hostess but then she realized that she didn’t have any food to give me and it made her so sad. I tried to tell her it was okay because I was suppose to eat in a few minutes but I could tell that she still felt upset about it.
Mehtali is tough, insecure, afraid, beautiful, and one of the most loving girls I’ve met. After she was done painting in my room last night I walked her half way to her house. She gave me a huge hug and didn’t let go of me for several minutes so I just held her. She kissed me on the cheek and then skipped off with her face beaming. She is so happy with so little and is simply overjoyed with the fact that I am her friend. Mehtali is so precious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)