Friends at the Hostel

Over the past couple days, while I have been adjusting to life in the Stocks home, I have struggled a little with loneliness and a feeling of helplessness. I know that the official reason I am here is to be a blessing to the Stocks and to the local Pakistani people. And yet, because I do not yet have even a rudimentary handle of Urdu, I can only look mutely at the curious villagers, not even sure what gestures to make in order to be polite. I find myself following the Stocks around and relying on them to direct me in almost everything that needs to be done around the house and in public. I feel simultaneously lonely, longing for relaxed fellowship, and emotionally drained, wanting only to get away by myself to sleep or to disappear into a novel.

This afternoon I fell asleep after helping the Stock children with their school and reading aloud to them two chapters of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. When I woke, all was dark (electricity is not used unless specifically turned on) and no one was in the rest of the house. I was glad of the solitude as I felt a little queasy and disoriented from my nap. I took the time to shower, have a snack, and settle down with my Bible for some much needed devotional time. As I stared at my Bible, I prayed to God about my aching heart and weary body. “Lord, if I can ask one thing, please give me tarab.” Tarab is an Arabic word I learned in ethnomusicology class which encompasses all the ecstasy and peace that is found in the experience of worshiping God through music. For me, it referred to the joy and peace that is known when one is secure in being in the center of God’s will; content in the meaningfulness and rightness of their course and their orientation toward God. After that prayer I added, more directly, “Lord, help me recognize your Spirit in these people in spite of their outward foreignness.” With a sigh of knowing I had prayed my heart, I settled down to read and restore my spirit.

Not five minutes later, I heard young voices calling my name through the open window. “Michelle? Michelle!” Called a girl, cupping her hands around her dark face, which was pressed against the screen. “I come with you to speak!” She called out cheerily when I answered her. Though I was uneasy about losing my alone time, I couldn’t help but recognize that this might be the opportunity I had prayed for. So I jumped in with both feet.

I spent the next three or four hours with Jodie, the Stock’s 10 year old daughter, and five of her village friends. Four of the girls come from one family who lives next door to the Stocks. The other girl is also a neighbor. (The Stocks live in a hostel compound which is protected by a guard. A school and several homes are also within the compound.) They took me to their homes one by one. I was nervous because I had never been around Pakistani adults without Pat and I was afraid of doing something culturally insensitive. But the girls drew me along by both hands, all smiles and laughter.

The first home belonged to Marta, a very beautiful 14ish year old with a round face, big dark eyes, and deep dimples. She presented me to her grandmother, a tiny, weathered woman who sat in the courtyard wearing the draping tribal clothes and headdress. “Jay suni” (Praise Jesus) I said timidly, bowing to let the older woman greet me by touching my head. She responded by clasping me in a hug and kissing both my cheeks. Marta proudly pulled me into her home, a concrete structure comprised of two small rooms, a narrow kitchen nook, and a screened in-porch which looked out on the walled-in courtyard in which sat four of the rope cots which serve as eating, sleeping, and visiting furniture. As I sat nervously alone with the grandmother, who spoke absolutely no English but looked at me adoringly, Marta made for me a cup of steaming chai, an absolutely necessary sign of hospitality. After consuming the cup full, Marta and I heard the other girls urging us to come outside. After bowing again to the grandmother, and to the other members of the family who were now arranging themselves on the cots, I hurried out to the main compound courtyard to join the other girls. Marta called the Pakistani parting to her family, “Teek-hey!” (All is well!)

Marta and the other girls (Ahmret, Rani, Shanti, and Shani) ushered me into their identical dwelling place. This time both parents were there, hurriedly spreading quilts over the rope mattresses on the out-door cots. I was indicated to sit while Rani prepared another pot of chai. Again the halting conversation over scalding tea (did I mention that it was 120 degrees today?). This time the conversation was a bit more successful. Rani is a good friend of Ashley Stock’s and is fairly capable in English; Jodie also was there this time and was able to translate when I could get her attention. Additionally, the presence of so many children made me feel more at ease. The girls crowded around me on the cot, holding my hands and arms and laughing as I tried to mimic their words. They taught me several games while we sat there and weaved pink flowers into my hair. I couldn’t follow their speedy speech but they didn’t mind. I did manage to pick up several words, at least for a few moments before they I forgot them again. Rani’s family urged me and Jodi to stay for dinner so we did. The food was characteristically fiery but I managed to eat most of it and avoid the hottest bits with good grace; I greatly enjoyed the freshly picked mangos they served me for desert.

After dinner, the girls and I went up to the roof of the Stocks home and admired the full chand (moon) from the breezy hammock. Then I heard Pat calling me. She and Paul were going to the very homes I had visited earlier. Both of the families had sick sons and we were going to pray for them. My heart was greatly moved to see the two young men hunched over, and to hear their stories of discomfort and fever. We prayed. Afterward, one of the young men told us of another heart ache. He had recently married and was unhappy. He said that he only married to please his grandfather and that the girl and her family were unhappy with the match as well because they were Hindu and he was Christian. He said she also was of low intelligence, uncooperative, destructive, and unresponsive. He had wanted to delay marriage until after school but now it is too late. He is only 20 years old.

After praying for the two families, the Stocks and I went back to our home to have devotions and go to bed. Now the Stocks are settling down and I am writing to you. It is almost 2:00am. Tomorrow we will take a train from the southern boarder where we are to the northern boarder where Ashley’s school is. The Stocks assure me that the train will be my real induction into the Pakistani experience. I tend to think that the Bazaar, the roads, the village funeral last night, and the general tasks of daily life are induction enough! Still, I look forward to the next chapter. :) Please pray for me to continue to grow in love and connection to these people. Pray that my energy and motivation stays high and that I am blessed with a smooth acquisition of basic communication skills. Thank you so much!