Part 4: New Friends

November 24, 2021

Choryghoria, Batiaghata,

District Khulna, Bangladesh

The power is off. I’m sitting on my balcony in the darkness. I love these nights. The bright yard light isn’t shining, and I can see the stars. The earth seems to get quieter when it’s dark. I can hear the chirping crickets and the singing bullfrogs. The palm trees look black, silhouetted against the moonlit fog. Over the chorus of little creatures, I can hear voices: Bangla phrases I can only partly understand. I strain my ears to catch phrases I recognize, and then stash them away in my memory so that someday I may use them. On the last day of October, I listened to my brother’s wedding on this balcony. It was 11pm, and the family was long tucked away. It seemed that even the little creatures had gone to sleep; not even the dogs were barking. I had never been so lonely in all my life. Three weeks later, I sat in the same chair in the same darkness and listened to the beautiful songs and wise words of my Grandpa’s funeral. Life still goes on without me.

Friday is my favorite day of the week. It begins at 8:30, when we become laden down with flannelgraph boards and bags full of crayons and coloring pictures and head down the road to Sunday school. The first Sunday School is in Choyghoria, just a teeny walk down the road. What a production. Sunday School takes place in a building crudely constructed of tin, bamboo, and sparse 2x4s. True to form, 50-100 kids pile into a space that would be way too small for American kids. We sing four songs, followed by a flannelgraph story. I have finally come to understand where Trav has acquired such powerful lungs. He shouts at the top of them over the sound of rowdy little children. Once he is done exerting himself, it is time to pass out crayons and color pictures. Dozens of little hands grab at the boxes of crayons as I pass. They intently color their pictures; even the big kids, and then roll them up and trod on home. We gather our stuff and trod on to Chakrakali. It is about a twenty minute walk to the next Sunday School. There is a little building partially hidden by thick bushes. A set of steps built into the dirt leads down to the gate. It's the same as before, only this time, there are about 15 children instead of a million. Cheryl and I usually stop for cha on the way home. Trav usually gets caught up talking to someone or going to someone’s house or doing who knows what. Once we get home, we have a few hours before we must leave for church. At first, it didn’t feel like church. After all, who gets on the back of a bike thingy and rides in the wind and dust to a church service. Who stops to hold the baby goats and provoke the geese before entering their church building? By now, though, Shanto’s big and welcoming smile has become familiar. Shati’s matter-of-fact march to the front of the building to shake Trav’s hand is expected. I have even come to enjoy the mischievous twinkle that appears in Hridoy’s eye just before he asks me some ridiculous question designed to make me uncomfortable. One Friday, a baby goat welcomed itself in, took its place by the songleader, and peed on the floor. Not even then did people gasp or shriek.

Speaking of good people, I have friends! One day, I saw 2 girls playing on our badminton court that Travis, Seth, Bishnu, and Rathin constructed just outside the fence. They didn’t look too far from my age, and I wondered if I’d ever join them. The next day, I was feeling rather bold, so I decided to join them. When we left, they said they’d be back tomorrow. The next day, they saw me on the balcony. “Sister, ashen!” And so, sister went. Every day since then, 2 boys and a girl have come to play before the big boys come to play with Seth and Travis. Every day I hear them call, “Sister, come play! Sister Kalli, where are you? Are you inside? Come out!” It’s quite an event, playing with people you can only partly talk to. I can have a small conversation if the other party sticks to the script, but that rarely happens. The first day I went, I was very quiet (believe it or not). The second day, I decided that if they were so bent on talking Bangla to me, I was going to speak English to them. By the third day, when they rattled off Bangla that I could not understand, I would say something ridiculous in English to see how they liked it. By now, we have figured out an effective way to communicate. It’s amazing what interaction can do for you. I have an awesome mission family with a couple of built-in best friends, but something about having other people to look forward to seeing does a person good. Now more than ever, I have a pressing urgency to learn to talk. As you can probably tell, or have probably guessed if you know me well, the language thing has been one of the hardest. The learning is coming fairly naturally and quickly, but it drives me nuts that I haven’t been able to go outside and strike up a conversation with someone. I want nothing more than to get stuck at the cash register with a chatty clerk who wants to tell me about her latest ailment. A man stopping me in the grocery store simply to talk about the weather would perhaps bring tears to these eyes. Sometimes, someone will see me in the bazaar by myself and come to me, excitedly rattling off a garbled string that I can’t pick anything from. I sigh and shrug my shoulders and wish I could just miraculously know. Slowly and surely, I am finding my Bangla. It’s very sparse, and I am learning the value of certain phrases, such as “I don’t understand,” “Speak slowly,” and “I don’t speak good Bangla.” They are very proud of their language, and it means a lot to them just to hear you try. I’ve been trying a lot, even if I have been sounding like a fool.

Ok, now it’s time for a lesson on Hinduism. Hinduism is a very interesting and complex religion: so complex, in fact, that many Hindus don’t even know how to explain their beliefs. I won’t get too deep into it, but here is what you must know to understand the story I wish to tell. The Hindus believe in over 33 million gods. One of the main goddesses is Kali, which is dangerously close to my name. (Pronounced “Collie.”) You see, Kali is believed to be the master of death, time, and change, and goddess of creation and destruction. She has quite a frightening appearance, what with her black or blue skin, 4 arms that spread from her back, and skirt made from human arms. Suddenly that second “L” in my name seems rather important. One day at badminton, Shimanto asked for my name. I told him it was Kalli. His Hindu eyes got as wide as dinner plates. “Kali??” he asked. “No, Kalli,” I said again, placing emphasis on the “A as in apple.” He seemed to calm back down after that. The last thing I needed was for my new friends to think I was a destroyer and a master of death.

One day a lady gave us 9 crabs. I being the resident animal lover, they were placed in my charge. I dumped those squirming little water spiders in a bucket until we could decide what to do with them. The next night, Cheryl decided she wanted to try to cook them. She prepared the water and then informed me that I was to be the one to murder them. After much coaxing, I convinced her that we could do it together. Armed with a pair of tongs, she thrust her arm into the crab bucket. She grabbed a squirming crab by its armored little body and dropped it into the boiling water. It was not a quiet event. The dying crab was silent, but Cheryl was not. I’m not one to talk about causing a scene, though, because when it was my turn, I’m pretty sure the whole village knew there was a killing happening. I felt so bad for the poor little creatures, until... There was one particularly nasty crab. He had broken the bands around his claws and was snapping at anything that entered his bucket. When I stuck my tongs in there to take him to his death, he grabbed on with conviction and would not let go no matter how hard I shook him. At this point, Cheryl had absconded to the safety living room, leaving me to face the storm alone. Travis and I devised a plan: a plan that included 3 kitchen utensils, a faucet of running water, a saucepan, and more than 2 people. We had it down to a science. The blueprints were drawn. The crab did not stick to the plan. He must have failed to read the email. The plan was not, to my knowledge, for the crab to end up on the floor, snapping its claws and chasing me sideways around the kitchen. Needless to say, the kids all came down to see what all the commotion was about. I didn’t even cry when Travis drowned that crab in boiling water.

Here is another story about animals, only we don’t boil and eat them in this one. The day had barely dawned. I was between alarm snoozes, having those weird silvery dreams one has in the 9-minute intervals of sweet sleep that comes between the incessant howling of the clock. Suddenly, little Lauryn was loudly banging my door: “Miss Kalli get up quick there are monkeys on the wall!” Well, now I wasn’t totally sure that what I was hearing wasn’t just one of those silvery dreams, but I decided I had better make sure. I peaked out the window, and sure enough, it was true! Three huge Gray Langur monkeys had come to call. They were perched up on the wall, and Toby was going mad. Travis fed them bananas and peanuts. He set the bag of peanuts down beside Cheryl. In a flash, one of the monkeys jumped off the wall, stole the bag from right under her nose, and made a dash for the opposite wall. Toby made a leap at the monkey, and bit the very tip of its tail. The monkeys finished off the bag of peanuts, jumped into the trees, and swang away. Of all the monkeys the family has seen in this country, I think the ugliest and most disturbing monkey must have been the sight of their teacher, fresh out of bed that morning.

Come see me. -Kalli