Part 13: The Best, The Worst, The Times Between

July 28, 2022 Choyghoria, Batiaghata,

District Khulna, Bangladesh

Last time I wrote, Miss Trish and I were still in Rajshahi. One Wednesday afternoon a few weeks ago, we boarded the train and headed south for home. We sipped on cokes and tried to stay cool. The rain came and splashed through the open windows of our train car, and we welcomed the cool breezes. The sun set, and the moonlight danced across the water in silvery ribbons. A dim glow over the trees told of a Bangladeshi bazaar tucked away in the jungle, brimming with laughter and story-telling.

As we neared Khulna Railway Station, our final destination, I craned my neck over Miss Trish to look for familiar landmarks. When I saw the minaret of the biggest mosque in Khulna, I knew I was almost home again. But, home is not the green and white tower stretching up and up; home is not the bumpy roads scarred with potholes that fill with puddles. No, this tower is only a marker, and these bumpy roads only lead to home. Home is a strong brown hand on mine; an extra wide smile that says “Kalli, kemon acho? We missed you.” Home is a black and white dog who buries his head in my knees, a little girl who reaches for a hug, and a boy with shy gray eyes who says “You look different than you did before.”

The night we returned was the first day of fellowship, a 2-3 day ordeal where all the members and missionaries get together and eat, sing, and, well, fellowship (ergo the name). It was Khulna’s turn to host again, so that meant a lot of work for Trevor’s and Shanto’s. Trevor got up at 6:00 every morning to go to the bazaar for the day’s food, while Shanto’s made sure the church building was up to specs, as well as basically hosting the whole thing at their house since the church is literally in their yard.

They called a caterer for all the meals. The schedule was as follows:

• ● 8:30 - Breakfast One morning we khichuri and dim (mixed rice and boiled eggs,) and the next morning we had fried eggs, paratha (a thick tortilla-like thingy,) and dal (lentils.)

• ● 9:30 - Service

• ● 11:30 - Cha Break

• ● Member’s meeting

• ● 1:00 - Lunch Let’s see if I remember what we ate. Of course, rice, dal, and vegetables. We would either have fish, chicken, boiled eggs, and, on the final day, we had something exrea special: goose. I can attest that it was fresh, as I watched the ducks being weighed and murdered. They were Shati’s own geese, and many a time I had watched her herd them with her stick.

• ● 4:30 - Cha The break between lunch and afternoon gave people time to take their all-important afternoon naps.

• ● 5:30 - Service

• ● 7:30 - Supper Supper was more of the same...bhat, dal, sobji, mangsho (Rice, lentils, vegetables, meat.)

Whitney and I helped the other young people serve, which meant piling heaping mountains of rice on people’s plates, only for them to need more five minutes later. “Madam, I need more dal.” “Madam, give me another egg.” “Madam, where is the water?” “Madam, I need more jhol.” “Madam, give my brother here another piece of fish: he needs it.” “No, no, I am finished, but, madam, my brother needs more rice.” They had us running back and forth, and I loved every minute of it. Not for the first time, I found myself thinking of how much I will miss this when it’s time to go.

In the time between, we hung out with friends. Bangladesh has only one youth-aged member, but there are five other youth-aged people who were there because they have family who belong to the church. There were also two young couples who hung out with the “youth.” My very large social needs cup was filled up to the brim. :)

Fellowship ended, and the company went back to their posts. I got the cold which had been running rampant throughout fellowship. The cold was followed by a fever. The fever was cause for an afternoon of sleep and a very confused madam when I woke up and discovered that I had slept until dark. A few days later, one of the rickshaw van drivers I was riding with was complaining of feeling feverish. I haven’t heard of any of the other villagers feeling sick though, so I don’t think I started any epidemics.

Life is back to normal. A few evenings ago, we walked with our guard, our neighbor, and three friends down the road to a new dokan for puri and dal. While we were snacking on spicy street food, the mosquitos were snacking on us. Lisa got some cooking lessons from the owner. Trevor tried to pay, but our neighbors wouldn’t have it. He ended up sneaking some money when they weren’t looking.

A few nights later, we were led down a muddy path to a house we hadn’t been before. A celebration was taking place at the home of a man to whom Trevor has given the nickname Amazon. We were made to sit down at the back of the crowd for a short bit, then stood back up to go eat. The rice was piled in heaping mountains on our plates, followed by the normal courses. A crowd had gathered to watch us, take pictures, and serve us anything we may seem to need. The food was top notch, and I was happy to provide the entertainment for the evening. Once we were finished, they took and washed our hands and led us back through the trees and to our road. We returned home at 10:00 pm, wondering how we were meant to sleep with our bellies full of rice and potatoes.

Our night guard, Sunil Kaka, has been telling us to come over for cha ever since Trevor’s arrived. We went the other day, expecting cha and biscuits. We did have cha and biscuits, as well as noodles, rice pudding, and sprite. It was another case of wondering if the food was ever going to stop coming out of the kitchen. It was all sooooooo good. I found myself finishing the girls’ rice pudding for them, since it’s not their favorite. I convinced myself that it was rude to leave food on plates, therefore I had to eat it. It is my favorite. Sunil Kaka has an adorable 2-year-old grandson Raj, which means “king.” His daughter-in-law and I found out we are he same age, and she told me I should come some afternoon and we would “go around” together. (Speaking of Sunil Kaka, he has learned to ripstick. He is riding around as I am typing this. One evening, he wore a huge smile as he came to me to say, “Miss Kalli, I made it all the way to the wall tonight!”)

Believe it or not, we do more than just eat. Summer days are filled with late mornings and sleepy-eyed breakfast conversations. In the afternoon, Brock’s friends come over to play football in the sand across the road. Sometimes there’s three, sometimes ten, and sometimes a dozen. Occasionally, I kick off my flip-flops and join them, usually playing goalkeeper across from our guard to make it fair. Even with my natural talents, naughty boys like Imon and Anni can occasionally slip one past me.

One day, when I was only watching instead of playing, the children came to me to settle a dispute. We settled it and, not long after, another problem arose. They started settling it on their own with their fists. I got my teacher's voice out of the back of the cupboard, dusted it off, and told them that if they didn’t learn how to behave, everyone was going home to their mothers. If they had a problem, they needed to tell me about it. They seemed to accept this and went back to being the best of friends.

These afternoons with the children have become a favorite of mine. Trevor’s were so busy while I was in Rajshahi, that Sunday School hadn’t happened for a few weeks. Everyone had missed it so much. After playing was over one day, everyone was sitting in neat little rows in the sand. I looked at them and asked, “What shall we do? Shall we have Sunday School right now?” Their brown eyes lit up and they expressed massive support. I’m not sure what I had expected to happen, but we ended up singing several Sunday School songs right then and there. I was afraid they were going to ask for a story, and then what would I have done? I don’t know any Bible stories in Bangla. Luckily, it was soon time to leave and fulfill our plans of walking the river at sunset.

Yesterday, we spent the day in Gopalgonj moving Kelly and Lanae’s family into their new house. They were living in an old, falling-down house beside a busy bus stop in a town that never sleeps. CSI had lived there for more than twenty years. The new house is a green, not-yet-finished, two-story house down a quiet village path. The main living quarters are on the second floor, and I think Lanae wins the award for the most scenic kitchen sink view. Out over the wall you can see all the things that make BD so pretty. They don’t have many neighbors, and all around are tall trees and rice fields. Their yard is a nice size, with rose bushes growing along the wall.

School is scheduled to start again next week. Whitney will be in 8th grade, Brandi in 5th, and Brock in 2nd. My classroom is all set up and eagerly waiting, minus the missing phonics tests and 5th grade Math teacher key. I decided to do a jungle theme, which basically meant buying a bunch of plants and a stuffed tiger. We are going to name him on the first day of school.

In the meantime, we cook, we clean, and we visit our friends. I have made a pumpkin cake for my neighbor that I plan on delivering today. We take long and slow walks around by the river and sit to watch the boats. The blue sky is constantly filled with thick clouds that threaten to break any minute. The rain falls down in sheets, filling up the pukers and creating slipping hazards along the dirt paths. Umbrellas float along the top of the wall. When the sun does shine, it shines with a vengeance. This morning’s temperature is 91* with a 66% humidity, bringing the real feel up to 108*. It rained in the afternoon, which made our evening ride into town feel almost nippy. By evening, 90* feels comfortable.

I know I make life seem pretty perfect sometimes, but that’s not always reality. In many ways, this summer has been the best summer yet. Simultaneously, it has also been the hardest summer of my life. This weekend, Ulysses is having one of those anniversary reunions. There will be 450+ people there, including most of my uncles and aunts, all my siblings, and my two little nieces. And here I will sit, alone. Two of my close friends, and three others in my youth group have all had weddings, and here I have sat, alone, listening to them over the phone in the dark instead of celebrating with them. (Not to mention, my own brother’s wedding last fall.) The weddings aren’t over yet. It makes me feel like a bad sister and a bad friend for not being there for them. But then I take a moment to think, and I know that God knew all this would happen. He knew I would be sad, disappointed, and a little mad at times. He knew I wouldn’t understand, but it doesn’t shock Him. Because He knew. And He knows I can make it through because He will help me.

The point is, I have to choose to be positive and see the good in all things, because if I don't, I’ll go crazy. Most of the time, it’s not hard to find things to be happy about. Every day has so much good. This morning, I drank a coconut fresh from a palm tree. 12-year-old Rafi helped me pick up trash in front of our house, and I got to sleep in! This afternoon, I played football in the rain, shared my umbrella with a little girl, and helped Whitney put on her first saree. I still love this life.

And so, we wipe the sweat from our faces and keep going. I must not forget that each morning I wake up in Bangladesh is another dream come true.

Thanks for praying, and keep ‘em coming! We use them all up. Come see me, -Kalli