There is a lot of new construction in my city, constantly. New buildings and apartment complexes being build every where you look. But you can only see the tops of them due to the ever-present high green walls that line the streets in front of the project. Often these green walls are plastered with scenic banners of the country’s astounding beauty: lakes, mountains, and fields of flowers.
My city is truly beautiful. One of my absolute favorite things about the city are the flowers. The streets are lined by flowers and the parks are always full of flowers, and typically in ornately arranged patterns, sometimes even in words. And in only 8 months, I’ve seen these thousands upon thousands of flowers replanted and redesigned at least 4 times. By hand.
Some days it feels like these flowers represent the banner on a green wall, hiding the ugly.
Because my gosh is life hard here. In the city it’s hard. And in the villages it’s often much harder.
I sat with a language teacher this week who was telling me she was, in effect, forced into her marriage because she was old and unmarriable at 26. She says they’ve now been married 33 years, and she is terrified of him. She speaks of his countless affairs, and how when he threatens to leave her for a new wife (she is his third), she hopes that he will. Then shrugs and says this is life.
During the same lesson, her younger sister calls to say her son (my teacher’s five year old nephew) is sick and she needs to take him to the hospital. But first, she must go to a bank to get money wired to her from her husband who sends money from another country where he lives and works. And she must wait an hour before the money is available. All because she doesn’t have the $35 that it costs.
I met a seventeen year old girl today who fled her country with her family five months ago. When they arrived, her older sister died of a sickness, that no one could help with.
My taxi driver today was a man from the same country who fled eight months ago. He spoke English perfectly, thanks to the six years he worked with the US Army as an engineer in construction. He now lives here with his wife and ten month old daughter as they wait to see if their visas to Canada will be granted or not. He works as a taxi driver because there are no jobs for engineers. In fact, he says driving taxis is the only work, and it’s not a good job.
Honestly, I could go on. I have at least 5 other stories off the top of my head.
I don’t have a pretty bow to wrap this up with. And I don’t want to put the green wall back up and hang up a pretty picture of a crystal clear lake in the mountains.
But what I will say is that once you’re behind the facade, looking at real heartbreakingly hard lives, at least you know you're not stuck looking at banners. It makes each step towards change-- each time Jesus is shared, each time a community development project starts, each time villagers band together and agree that they can accomplish something new--that much sweeter, even if it feels miniscule. And I am immensely grateful to be a part of a team that is taking lots of steps.