Today is the coolest and calmest my new apartment has been in the three weeks I‘ve resided here. From my bed I can see out my open door to the cloud cover and light sprinkling rain coming down. When it rains here things slow down; while you can still hear a few yelling fruit vendors and car horns, it’s relatively quiet. Along with that my supervisor and his wife just left this morning, having spent the past two days visiting us to see how our relocating has gone and helping us put some finishing touches to the place (e.g. curtains).
Days will be picking up again soon. My teammate and I have already had the pleasure of connecting with a woman here who speaks English very well and whose parents and friends speak our target language. It looks like we may have a group to start storying with as soon as next week!
It feels good to sit back and exhale for today. The neighborhood and markets are beginning to feel familiar, we’re making acquaintances, and this new city is starting to feel less foreign. Emily and I are both enjoying our living arrangement, but have to admit that sometimes our scenario seems like material for a sitcom, because every situation is a comedy when you live overseas. I could go on for pages about the funny scenarios we’ve found ourselves in, but let me settle for simply introducing the most prevalent characters….
The Landlord: Around 60 years old. He is a stroke victim, who now has limited use of his left hand, a limp, and speech that isn’t very well enunciated. He has the typical South Asian style hospitality, though, that considers the “guest to be like god”—he insisted we go on a driving tour of the neighborhood as he pointed out the best locations for food and groceries. (Did I mention it’s a stick shift on the opposite hand side and his left side is impaired?) Also, when we came home a different day with a small bag of flour he was upset and insisted that we consult him next time about where to buy a larger sack. I think the fact that we are two single women in his care makes him feel responsible for us. He was extremely proud of himself for helping us get a tank of gas for our stovetop and used our hands to pat himself on the back. We are invited to join him and his wife every morning for chai downstairs (they live in the level below us), and he makes himself invited to come up and visit us as he likes—which is quite often. His wife is a vegetarian and doesn’t cook meat in her kitchen. We however, are allowed to cook meat in ours. Our landlord brought us a large chunk of mutton last week as a gift…with the attachment that we invite him to join and eat it with us that evening around 7:30pm. True to culture, he didn’t show up to eat until 10:30pm….but it was tasty, and he brought ice cream too. While all the attention could come across sounding a bit creepy, let me assure you he has a heart of gold…it just comes off a bit pushy and intrusive at times (to Americans). haha.
The Landlord’s son: 23 years old and the largest man I have ever seen. Unusually tall and just plain large…I truly don’t think I have seen a head on a human larger than his. He has a voice to match; the only volume he has is loud. We always know when he is home, and multiple times I have been woken by his bellowing around 11pm. Although he is loud, he speaks very fast and is even harder to understand than his father. He is set to be married next month. Currently the house is under construction to fix the new bedroom in the house for him and his bride as well as the level above us to house out-of-town guests. We have been invited (in a way that is more of a command) to be guests at the wedding and all three days of events leading up to it. Front row seat to culture 101…this should be fun.
The grandson: Chubby little 10-year- old, son of our landlord’s daughter. He spends a good amount of time here while his mother and father work. Being the first and currently only grandchild and a boy, he is used to running the place. Despite his sass and entitled attitude, he can be sweet and funny. He has inherited the loud volume, but his voice is still fairly high-pitched. It is not uncommon for him to yell up the stairs to us asking us go for a walk at the park across the street with him and his two little friends. When we finally do go, they run far ahead only checking in once or twice with us. It is also not uncommon to hear him blowing up fire crackers outside in the street.
The other tenants: Also on the second level of the house but in a separate area is a woman probably in her late 40s and her son. She’s a beautician who has offered to thread our eyebrows or do our hair. Our interactions with her have been few…the funny part is that the wall between our living room and her bedroom has a door and windows. The first week we were here Emily and I were sitting around our table at 9pm when suddenly the window between our living spaces popped open an inch and she called to us. She asked if I had a minute to come over. Because it was late I was already in pajamas, but she insisted it was only her at home. The next thing I knew she was walking me back to her computer to meet her daughter, who is living in Dubai, on Skype. Foreign neighbors are material for show-and-tell to be sure.
A paragraph on a few of the people in my new environment is hardly enough to convey my life, but I hope it helps to open a small peep hole into my day-to-day life. Everyday I’m reminded of the reality of differing cultures. Some days it’s a reason to share a laugh with Emily, other days it’s an excuse to treat ourselves to ice cream or coffee. Whichever the case, I hope that more often than not it reminds me of the beauty and creativity God has authored in this world by not making us all the same.