Thanksgiving Poem

Hello Everyone,

I realize Thanksgiving is still a week away, but I thought I would go ahead and post a poem of Thanksgiving to start the Turkey week of right! I hope you enjoy it and have a very happy Thanksgiving! 

Officially the biggest squash I have ever seen!

I may be spending Thanksgiving here in East Timor,

But there are certainly many things that I am thankful for.

This year I am a pilgrim who voyaged to a foreign land,

And discovered something greater than I could have ever imagined.

I may not gobble a 10 pound turkey,

But my eyes can feast on the incredible scenery.

Mountains, valleys, fields and plains,

No snow or cold, just sun or rain!

Weekend trips to the ocean,

And swimming in November-what a notion!

I live in a convent surrounded by nuns,

But who knew sisters could be so much fun?

Days filled with fun, prayer, games and laughter,

I finally found my happy ever after.

Communication barriers, bumpy roads and car sickness

Make this an experience I will never forget.

Don’t worry mom and dad, I don’t feel lonely,

The geckos, mosquitos, and slugs like to keep me company.

I won’t see floats in the Macy’s parade,

But in the clinic I’ll administer first aid.

No favorite food fresh from the oven,

Instead, I’ll dish out medicine.

No football games on t.v.,

I’ll be outside soaking up Vitamin D.

No alarm to set for black Friday shopping deals,

Though I’ll be awakened early anyway by pig squeals.

I won’t be home with family and friends,

I’ll be playing instead with dozens of orphans.

We’ll sing and dance and laugh all day,

That’s something to be thankful for-wouldn’t you say?

This year no mashed potatoes or candied yams,

But I’m still so grateful to be where I am.

And so for all these blessings I say “obrigada” (Tetum for thank you),

What more could I want? Zip. Zilch. Nada.

To loved ones back home- I thank God for you every day

Please continue to pray for my mission here in Timor-Leste!

“Take chances, make mistakes. That's how you grow. Pain nourishes your courage. You have to fail in order to practice being brave.” Mary Tyler Moore

An excerpt from my journal dated September 24, 2010: 

“Today at the Dili Health clinic as I was waiting in the cramped, stuffy, hot waiting room to get my X-rays done, I saw Jesus in an injured little boy who entered the waiting room with his dad. He had a makeshift cast on his left arm that was in a cloth sling. He was hunched over and coughing uncontrollably, visibly in pain and distress. After his dad filled out the paper work, the boy came and sat right beside me on the bench. Between coughing spells he looked up at me with big, brown eyes and a tear-drenched face as if to say, “Help me please!” I had no idea what I should do. I wish I could say I did what I longed to do-gave him a reassuring pat on the back and told him everything would be okay. Instead, I just sat there in fear of breaking some unknown social norm. It was not as if I knew that boy, and I didn’t work in the clinic. Who was I to step in and try to comfort him? What if I scared him instead? 

As I looked around the waiting room I couldn’t help but notice everyone else was also staring at the boy, probably also longing to help him in some way but not knowing how. I realized that this fear I had, and this frustration I felt in not knowing how to help was not something unique just to me. It was a feeling shared by everyone in the room. I am not sure if reaching out and comforting a strange boy in an East Timorese medical clinic waiting room would have been socially acceptable, but I believe that compassion trumps social norms, and therefore in the future I will let my heart, not my pride, guide my decisions when it comes to comforting and helping others. I won’t make this mistake again.”

An excerpt from my journal dated November 15, 2010:

“Today at the Venilale Health Clinic I was working dispensing pills as usual, when 2 little girls (aged 12 and 9?) peeked their heads around the corner and grinned at me. I am used to kids shyly smiling at the “malae”, but these girls' faces lit up as if we were old friends. Did I know these kids? My mind raced as I tried to figure out my connection with these girls. For the next 10 minutes I saw them peaking at me from around corners and through windows, always with big smiles on their faces. When I actually talked to them and said, “Boatarde”, they laughed in delight and smiled even bigger. Were they here to be treated? They seemed too cheery and upbeat to be sick. I later noticed the younger girl had a big white bandage around her thumb. Surely she would have it examined, right? Why was she in such a good mood?

Soon, the older girl was called in to see Sr. Carolina, and her mom accompanied her. The younger girl with the bandaged thumb was summoned to the “wound care room” where the nurse began removing the dressings. Before he began, the girl was smiling big and broadly, as usual. As the nurse began removing the dressings, she held her hand out as far as she could and turned her body to the left and hid her face behind her shoulder so as not to see what he was doing. As soon as he removed a layer of the dressing, she would turn back around to peak at what had been uncovered. There were several layers to the bandage, so this occurred several times. I had been told she had cut her thumb, so I was anxious to see the damage. Each successive layer that was removed brought me greater and greater anticipation. How bad was it? Would I be able to handle it? What if I fainted?

At this point the nurse said she would have to soak her finger in water before he removed the rest of the dressings because he didn’t want to cause further damage to her finger. She ran off to do so. Drats. This was just like a commercial break at the most suspenseful part of a movie on tv.

After about 5 minutes, the little girl returned and sat back down hesitantly. Her mom was still preoccupied in the other room with her older sister. This time, I decided to sit down beside her instead of just standing and staring from across the room. She was obviously very anxious and in a great deal of pain, so I did something I was too afraid to do 2 months ago-something I longed to do but was unsure was “okay”. I patted the girl on the back and put my hand on her shoulder. I wanted her to know I was there for her. I told her she was very brave. I may have been too scared or intimidated to do that two months ago, but I vowed I would not make that mistake again. There are plenty of mistakes I have made more than once (hey, some mistakes are just too fun to just make once, right?), but this was one I vowed I would NOT let slip by. I think my presence was a comfort to her. She was obvious very curious and interested in me while she was waiting to be seen, so I knew my presence wasn’t a nuisance to her. I’m not sure if I was much help, but I hope I was at least comforting to her. At one point the mom came in the room, and I stood up to offer her my chair. She insisted it was fine and motioned for me to continue sitting there. I stayed with the girl as the last dressing was removed and saw the injured finger- it was pretty gruesome. Her entire last metacarpal of her left thumb was completely missing. The area was very red, and-was that a BONE I could see?! The girl turned and looked in fascination. If it was me I think I would have puked!

I asked when this had occurred-5 days ago. I wondered how she had cut her finger, how it had not gotten infected, how she wasn’t screaming in pain and what the family did when it first happened. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get answers to any of these queries. The nurse deftly bandaged her finger, but before he finished I was called to the other room to help Sr. Carolina once again. I waved goodbye to the little girl and headed off. I didn’t even know her name, but I felt like I made a special connection with her that day. She returned a few days later to have her bandages changed, and when I saw her that time I lit up too, as if I was greeting an old friend. I still don’t know much about her, except that she lives nearby and her name is Bendita. Isn’t it weird how you can feel a special connection with someone you barely know?”

Moral of the story: if you are still alive, it is never too late to right a wrong. God is good. He gave me a second chance, and this time I was prepared to follow through on my promise I had made to Him. I wonder what He has in store for me next?

Santa Cruz Massacre 11/12/91

“On November 12, 1991, Indonesian troops fired upon a peaceful memorial procession to a cemetery in Dili, East Timor that had turned into a pro-independence demonstration. More than 271 East Timorese were killed that day at the Santa Cruz cemetery or in hospitals soon after. An equal number disappeared and are believed dead. 

East Timor was a Portuguese colony for more than 250 years and then became an Indonesian province, before seceding in 1999. The people of East Timor now have their freedom and are an independent nation, but they have yet to see justice for decades human rights crimes inflicted on their people and country by the Indonesian military. No one has ever been prosecuted for the killings.”

Yesterday (November 12) was a national holiday here in East Timor commemorating those who lost their lives at the Santa Cruz massacre almost 20 years ago. Until last night, I had no idea of the significance of the day. I was simply told that it was a national holiday and that the clinic and schools would be closed.

As I was walking down the hill to the other convent for recreation time (dancing) around 8 p.m., I could see the street was lined with thousands of candles. I could hear shouting and yelling, but originally I could not see anyone. I stopped in my tracks. I didn’t know what was going on-a revolt? A protest? Should I continue on or go back to my room? I wasn’t on the main road yet, so no one could see me in the darkness. As the voices got closer, I could see most of the people were teenage boys and young men. They were shouting, “Viva (insert Timorese name)! Viva (insert another East Timorese name)! Viva Timor Leste!” I quickly put 2 and 2 together and surmised these people were not protesting-they were honoring those who had lost their lives on this day. I knew they must be a peaceful bunch. Suddenly I didn’t feel as scared.

I made my way safely to the convent. All of the sisters and pre-aspirants were standing outside on the driveway. They were watching the young people pass by. They said we would not be dancing tonight. We would be in solidarity with these people commemorating this occasion. After all of the people on the street had passed by us twice, one of the sisters suggested we walk along the road and pray. Everyone eagerly agreed.

4 sisters, 10 aspirants and myself walked together as a solemn procession. There were many large groups of people gathered together along the road, and they all fell silent as we passed. Two dozen young girls joined us as we walked and prayed the rosary together. We walked through the entire town, candles along either side of the road lighting the way.

I am not East Timorese, but I felt like one today. As we were walking, I felt an intense feeling of national pride. It’s the same feeling I get on September 11 or when the National Anthem is played before a sporting event in the U.S. Apparently you don’t have to be from a large, powerful country to be a proud citizen of your nation. Injustice, cruelty, and terrorism are problems faced by people all over the world. Despite this, I am willing to bet that you can always find people with hope for a brighter future, pride in their nation, faith in the Lord and courage in the face of adversity and uncertainty. I guess people all over the world are not that different after all. 

Laundry Day

Yes, I realize I am writing this post in the second week of November, but I promise you (MOM) this is not the first time I have done my laundry in East Timor!

I’ll admit I was a little nervous about doing my laundry the first time. Not knowing what to expect, I had brought enough clothes to last me 2 full weeks before needing to wash anything. The first two weeks here flew by and I finally caved in, bit the bullet, and headed to the laundry area of the convent. I wasn’t really sure what to do, but I didn’t think it could be that hard. Surely I could figure it out. Unfortunately I hit a snag right off the bat-I couldn’t find any soap or detergent to wash my clothes. I was grateful Sister Alex happened to be walking by and she gladly showed me where it was stored. I figured that was all she would do, but she very nicely stayed and helped me to wash my clothes. I told her I could manage, but she insisted on helping. She said she liked helping me! She is so sweet!

Here at the school there are 10 large stone sinks with built in stone washboards that all 120 girls and 8 sisters use to do their laundry. The 10 sinks are all cemented together. The morning I decided to do my laundry all of the students were in class, so it wasn’t crowded. Sister placed a smaller bucket in 4 sinks and filled them with water. The bucket in the first sink contained just water, the second sink was filled with detergent, the third sink was filled with just water for rinsing the detergent off of the clothes, and the fourth sink was also filled with just water to give the clothes a second rinse. After passing through all 4 buckets, clothes are placed in a basket and carried over to the laundry line to air dry.

Sister nicely showed me how to soak, wash, scrub (with a brush and also by using the built in washboards), and rinse out my clothes. She was there to help and guide me every step of the way. I washed my unmentionables myself, but still felt a little awkward washing those with sister. We headed over to the line to hang up the clothes. Sister Alex was very efficient at hanging them up-I was clumsy, but started to get the hang of it near the end. The clothes were dripping wet, so I wrung them out before hanging them up. Sister just put them on the line as they were. When I took them off the line later that day ALL the clothes were dry, so I guess it doesn’t really matter if you wring them out before hanging them up or not. As I was leaving the laundry line area, I bumped my head on a low pole that is used to support the laundry lines. Because I am taller than most of the people here, I guess other people don’t have to watch their heads when exiting the area.

My first laundry experience (with Sr. Alex) wasn’t that bad after all-the whole process took us less than 20 minutes, and I felt like my clothes actually DID get clean. The second time I did laundry all by myself. The process was much less efficient. When I began doing my laundry the sun was shining and the sky was bright blue, but when I finished it was dark gray and had cooled off considerably. I hung my clothes up on the line and within 10 minutes it started raining! I saw other girls run out to pull their clothes off the line, so I took mine off the line, too, even though they were already soaked from washing. Because of the cool and rainy weather we experienced that week, it took 3 days for my clothes to completely dry! 1^st lesson learned: in the rainy season you need to do laundry every several days so you always have something to wear while some of your clothes are in the laundry. I learned that the hard way! Lesson #2: Don’t wear anything (seen or unseen) that you wouldn’t mind hanging out to dry on the line for all the sisters and students to see!

All Saint's and All Soul's Day

This past week we celebrated All Saint’s (November 1) and All Soul’s (November 2) Day. While these days are commemorated all over the world, in East Timor both days are national holidays that begin with mass in the morning. The All Saint’s Day mass was very crowded, but father kept the homily short (under 10 minutes) and I enjoyed it (even though once again I didn’t know what was going on or being said).

There weren’t any other big events planned for the day, so I went down to the orphanage to play with the kids. They were all a little down because Mana Ulla (the volunteer from Germany) was leaving the next day to return to Germany. They were happy to see me and I reassured them I would be staying for another 7 months. This seemed to lift their spirits.

In the afternoon we threw a big party and performance for Mana Ulla complete with plenty of singing and dancing. I was asked to lead the Electric Slide dance with a dozen teenage girls for Mana Ulla. I didn’t know I would be a part of the entertainment until about 10 minutes before we performed. Regardless, it was a lot of fun.

 After the party we headed to the dining room for a big meal. I got to sit at the “table of honor” at the front of the room with Ulla and the other sisters. We had our choice of stew, wanton noodles (yum!), rice, gross green veggies, and chips. The chips were brightly colored red, green and purple. They were also salty and sooo good! Even though they weren’t like American potato chips (they were better!), they were the closest thing to American junk food I have had for several weeks and I guess I still miss American food! Why can’t I be addicted to bananas or something healthy? I sat by Sister Ines, who doesn’t really speak any English. I tried my best to strike up and continue conversation with her in Tetum, but she didn’t seem to understand my questions, and I couldn’t really understand what she was saying, either. Despite these difficulties, we still managed to have a decent conversation.

I wasn’t sure how I would react to Ulla leaving. Would I be sad and envious of her returning home? Surprisingly, I didn’t feel envious of her getting to go home. I actually feel content here and believe this is where I am supposed to be right now. I wonder sometimes (ok, often) how I will spend another 6 and a half months here, but the truth is, I’m not ready to go home yet! If I had to leave today I would be very sad! No, I haven’t quite figured out my niche here in East Timor. I DO know I can brighten some girls’ days just by showing up and being present for them. They will need me now especially in the next couple of weeks as they cope with the “loss” of Ulla.

I ended up spending 7 hours with the orphans that day, so I was very exhausted by the end of the party. Thankfully, All Soul’s Day was a little more restful. Mass was again at 8 a.m. I was running a little behind schedule and didn’t arrive until 7:55. Still, when I got to the church, there was only a handful of people inside (including some sisters). I noticed people outside near the back of the church, but I figured they would process in. At 8:05 the church had not filled up much, but I wasn’t really concerned-mass never starts on time. I suddenly heard father speaking outside using a microphone. I peeked out through a window and saw that all the people were congregated around a big “hut” which had been converted to an altar for mass! As I looked around, I saw hundreds and hundreds of people-definitely too many to fit inside the church. The weather was warm and sunny, so it was really a perfect day to hold mass outside.  

At lunch I got to try “katapas”, a traditional food eaten on this holiday. Katapas is rice wrapped in coconut leaves and cooked in coconut oil. It was delicious! For dessert we had “jello”, which was pastel purple and in the shape of a flower. It had a very “light”, but fruity taste and was actually very good.

Another tradition here in East Timor on All Soul’s Day is to walk to the cemetery, place flowers on the graves of loved ones and pray the rosary around the tombstone. The sisters here at the school always dread this day because villagers sneak onto the school grounds to steal flowers from the garden to put on their relative’s graves. They have to take turns patrolling the school for flower fiends.

I asked Sr. Alma (Mother Superior at the convent where I am staying) when we would be walking to the cemetery. She said there was a large group going at 4 p.m. The sky at mass this morning was a glorious bright blue. The white billowy clouds looked so close that you could reach out and grab one. This afternoon, however, was a different story. It started raining around lunch time and stopped for an hour before starting up again. It was drizzling as several sisters and I headed out with a dozen or so girls to the cemetery to pray the rosary at the tombstone of a former missionary priest. I was shocked to see that every single tombstone in the cemetery was adorned with flowers (and some had candles as well). You could see remnants of food some families had left from lunch when they came to eat with the souls of the deceased.

 As we prayed the rosary (I think we ended up praying 2 full rosaries), it started to rain harder and harder and harder. At one point you couldn’t hear anyone else praying the rosary, so it was hard to stay in unison. I thought it seemed fitting that it would be cold, damp, dark and rainy on All Soul’s Day.

At dinner Sr. Alma asked me if I had gotten wet during the cemetery walk. I responded affirmatively. “Oh, well you should have come earlier with my group when the weather was so nice and sunny!” she said. I had to laugh because I didn’t KNOW different groups were going throughout the day and SHE was the one who had told me to go at 4. Such is life here in East Timor.

Misadventures on the Mikrolet

This past weekend Ulla and I travelled to Laga to visit the sisters and the orphanage there. This was my first experience riding on a mikrolet. As you can see in the picture, a mikrolet is really just a large van with a long bench lining the length of each side of the interior. You can comfortably seat about 8 people in the back, but a mikrolet never travels anywhere with just 8 people. On one of journeys we squeezed 25 people inside!

Ulla and I were able to catch a mikrolet along the dirt road right outside the orphanage around noon. We hopped in the back and were the only passengers. I took a seat and stared out one of the side windows in front of me (I was facing sideways). We began moving, and I immediately felt a little queasy. Siitting sideways in a moving vehicle is something new to me, and it was difficult to see out the dirty windows so that I could fix my eyes on an object outside to prevent carsickness.  We drove for about 5 minutes before a man standing with a goat signaled for the mikrolet to stop to pick him up. I thought, “Surely he’s not going to be getting on, not with a goat. Maybe he knows the driver and just wants to say hello.” As has so often been the case regarding my mission experience here in East Timor, I was wrong. The man quickly wrestled his goat to the ground, tied its legs together, picked it up and carried it on the bus with him!

For some reason, the driver told Ulla and me to come sit in the passenger seat in the front next to him. I wasn’t sure why he asked us to do that, but I really didn’t mind. I didn’t want to sit in the back by the goat. While we were still stopped, the driver pulled out a cigarette and started smoking it. I quickly remembered my sensitivity to smoke, and I was thankful to be sitting next to an open window. Ulla, who was sitting between the driver and myself, however, got a faceful of smoke at one point and must have smelled it the whole trip.

At this point, we turned around and actually headed back the way we had just come. When we passed by the spot where we had boarded the bus, I seriously considered calling it quits and getting off right then and there. I figured I will be here for another 7 months, so I have plenty of time to explore East Timor. Surely one of the sisters from one of the 2 convents here would need to go up to Laga at some point, and I could tag along with her in one of the sisters’ “chauffeured” vehicles. I didn’t see any reason to have to suffer on this mikrolet another minute. I wanted to get out, but something kept me from doing so. I reasoned that it couldn’t get much worse that it was right now, so I might as well stick it out. Furthermore, I knew if I got off the bus I would have to explain to all of the sisters at the convent why I had come back so soon. I didn’t want to go through the embarrassment of that. I wanted to tough it out. I wanted to prove to them and to myself that I CAN do this. One of my goals before coming here was to truly immerse myself in the culture and experience how the East Timorese live. This is their primary mode of transportation-thousands of people travel on mikrolets every day. Am I really so “privileged” that I can’t live (or at least travel) like an East Timorian for 1 day?

Within 20 minutes of driving along the bumpy road on our way to Baucau we had picked up 15 other people. This brought the total number of passengers heading to Baucau to 20! I liken the mikrolet to a clown car-it is so small, yet somehow there always seems to be enough room to squeeze in another rider. The rest of the hour-long trip to Baucau went very smoothly. Well, as smoothly as a trip in East Timor can go, that is. We bumped along on the rugged roads, the sheep bleating in the back of the van along the way. I was grateful to be sitting in the front seat, facing forward, with a cool breeze on my face. I wondered how bad the next trip would be when I probably wouldn’t have this luxury. The fare for this hour long trip? $1!

Once in Baucau, we hopped onto another mikrolet headed toward Laga. The mikrolet was empty, so we waited a good half an hour for it to fill up before heading out. The elderly lady who sat down across from Ulla was very excited to see malae (foreigners) on the mikrolet. After talking for a while, she offered us some homemade food from a bag she was carrying. I was wary of eating anything offered by a stranger in a foreign country (much less something homemade), but Ulla grabbed some and offered me a bite. It was crunchy, and sort of sweet, but I couldn’t tell you what it was. I only had a little bit. The good news-I didn’t die. And no, I won’t be accepting any more food from strangers any time soon.

An elderly man carrying a rooster sat down across from me. I felt so badly for the little boy sitting beside him, because he had to ride with a faceful of feathers for the whole hour and a half trip. The man had a very dirty towel wrapped around his shoulders, and every once in a while he would use it to wipe the sweat from his face. Who knows how many germs were on that thing? I guess if he’d lived this long with these habits, there was no point in trying to talk him out of them now.

The trip to Laga was very hot. There were 25 people and 2 chickens jammed into the small mikrolet, and we stopped often to let people on and off. There are very small “windows” in the mikrolet to let air in, but you only feel a breeze if you are travelling fast enough. With all of the stops we made, it was hard to ever feel “cool”. I mostly kept my head down and eyes closed, so I didn’t feel too sick along the way.  We were some of the last people to get off the mikrolet, and when the drivers heard we were going to the orphanage, they drove us up the steep hill, into the compound and right up to the orphanage doors (unbeknownst to us at the time this cost us an additional 25 cents, bringing our trip total from Baucau to Laga to $1). I was very grateful to get off the hot mikrolet, and as a parting gift it gave me a firm bump on the head as I ducked out of it. Regardless, I had survived my first one-way trip on the mikrolet!

The return trip home from Laga was pretty similar to the trip to Laga: hot and very crowded. At one stop on the way to Baucau, an elderly lady boarded the bus. Without being prodded by her mom (who was carrying a smaller child in her lap), an 8 year old girl stood up to allow the older lady to sit down. This left the girl without a seat, and she stood in the small space in the middle of the seats before a complete stranger motioned for the girl to sit on her lap! I never cease to be amazed at the kindness and generosity of these people. The bus was extremely hot and cramped, yet this stranger did not hesitate to offer the girl her lap to sit in. It was so kind!

We were the first ones on the mikrolet for the last leg of our journey from Baucau to Venilale. Thus, we  drove around different streets of town for a good half an hour before finally heading “home”. Because we were the first ones on, we got to sit at the very back of the mikrolet. This was great because I could look out the large back window and focus on the road without feeling carsick. This was the “hippest” mikrolet we had been on so far. It played songs on the radio that I had actually heard and could understand! Some songs I recognized included Jason Mraz’s song, “I’m Yours”, “Hotel California”, “This Time for Africa”, and even Justin Bieber songs! No one else on the bus seemed as excited as I was to hear “American” songs-go figure.

Because we were at the very back of the bus, we were in clear view to all the people we passed who were walking or working along the roads. Some waved at us first, sometimes we waved first. Either way, they were always very excited that we waved to them! We felt a little like celebrities!

I am happy to say I survived my first round-trip mikrolet journey! It was definitely enlightening  to experience how people here travel. In the United States every passenger on a plane, subway or bus has their own seat. We’re uncomfortable if we happen to bump shoulders with someone sitting next to us. Furthermore, we never have to worry about sitting next to a chicken, goat or pig. We are so blessed to have non-smoking transportation that includes air conditioning, seat belts, and smooth roads. Perhaps I will become so used to travelling on the mikrolet that I will forget what travel is like in the U.S. It will be a real shock to come home and sit by only humans next time I ride a bus or a take a subway. 

Running in East Timor

Last week I went on my first run in East Timor! I was a little anxious to get out, but I am glad I did. It was a great experience. Below is an excerpt from my journal documenting my first run.

One of the scenes from my run

I headed out the back driveway of the school around 8:30 a.m., not really sure of a route, just wanting to get out and explore. Soon I hit a fork in the road-down one road I saw 2 men walking toward me-I chose the other road. This road took me out by the other convent and lead me into the “town” of Venilale. I didn’t realize Fridays are school and street clean up days for all the students in Venilale. I was a little embarrassed to run by all of them, so I stopped and walked.  I ended up walking for a good 10 minutes flanked by school children on either side of the road who were pulling weeds and sweeping and picking up trash. Everyone stopped and stared as I passed by, and many offered a cheery, “Bondia!” (Good morning!). Several people asked me where I was going, and I didn’t know how to say I was just exercising. I don’t think these people “just exercise.” They are either work hard or playing soccer games or tag. There is no “exercise.” They don’t really need it. They stay active enough around the house and playing with their friends. Sr. Johana later told me I could just say, “Pasear”, a nice stroll.

Soon I came to the ”Bemvindo ba Venilale” sign. From here there are 3 possible routes you can take. The very steep uphill route straight ahead was the road Sr. Menia and I had taken the week before on our walk to the oratory. The road to the left was downhill and the road to the right looked pretty flat. I knew a nice flat road would be my best bet since I was pretty out of shape from not having run in almost a month, so I chose the route to the right.

I was a little anxious to start running, both because I knew I was out of shape and because I have never really liked people watching me as I run. When you are in a race, most people are cheering for their own family member or teammates, and they aren’t really focused on you. But when you are in a foreign country where running for exercise is almost unheard of, people are bound to stare. Once I finally started running though, I felt better about it. Maybe I did look ridiculous, but I can only get better from here. I already stand out because I am a “malae” (foreigner), so I don’t think anyone is too concerned with HOW I look while I am running. These people are just so curious and interested in seeing a malae out exercising! As I started running I “got into the running groove” and was reminded why I like it so much. It is challenging, but every minute you run is like a mini victory. YES, I did it! I can do another minute! Etc…

To my dismay, I quickly discovered that this route was actually primarily downhill, too. Therefore, as you might imagine, I was able to easily run 10 minutes without feeling tired or out of breath. The scenery along this road was beautiful! There were trees and huts lining the road, but I could see fields beyond that and tall, majestic mountains in the distance. Many young children and mothers were working in and around their huts, and they all would stop and stare as I passed by. Many greeted me with a  Bondia, but some younger children shouted out, “Malae! Malae!” (foreigner). I still don’t know if this is a friendly greeting or a way of making fun of me, but I generally answer back with a friendly “Bondia!” Some of the kids seem so amazed that the “malae” acknowledges them. When I say hello back sometimes they jump up and down or laugh. Some even came up to give me high fives. 

It was difficult to really take in the scenery because the road was so bumpy and uneven. Cars here drive on the left side of the road, so I figured I should run on the right. When I saw other people on the streets though, they were walking on the smoothest, most even part of the road (generally the middle). That seemed like a good strategy, so I followed suit.  I heard a car slowly coming up from behind me but didn’t think much of it. It definitely had enough room to go around me. As the vehicle passed me I saw that it was actually a microlet bus. It honked as it drove by, startling me. I jumped a little bit and almost ran off the road! I forgot that cars here honk for any number of reasons-they may honk to signal for you to get out of the way, as a friendly greeting, or to warn others they are coming around a sharp bend. I assumed it was honking as a friendly greeting.

Soon I turned around and headed back to school. The uphill return journey was much more difficult than I had anticipated! The good news was that it was much easier to answer the “Where are you going?” question on the way back. I would tell them “Eskola”, and they would nod back knowingly. As I passed one house, a mom holding her youngest child stood in her doorway with her other 3 kids and clapped and cheered for me! It was so nice! Although exercising with so many people watching was a little nerve wracking, it was also motivating. I had decided on the way back uphill that I would alternate between running for a minute and walking for a minute. However, if at the end of that minute I was passing by a house with people staring at me, I couldn’t just STOP right in front of them-I had to keep going!

As I ran by the school kids lining the road on the way back, they all stopped working and clapped and cheered for me, too! It was like I was running a race, but I was the only runner (so I knew all the applause was for me!) It was really nice, but I still felt very awkward. What were these kids really thinking? I tried to stay confident and meet their glances with “Bondia!” A lot of them cheered and laughed as I ran by. I knew they probably weren’t laughing AT me, they were probably laughing at the situation.  These moments are awkward for me, but I think they also help me to develop self-confidence. No, they are not laughing at me, and even if they are, SO WHAT? I am not going to let it interfere with my exercise routine. I am doing something healthy and hopefully setting an example for them. I don’t need to be ashamed or embarrassed by that.

So overall my first run was good! I exercised for 45 minutes total, running 20 minutes. I was sweaty and thirsty when I got back, but am looking forward to doing it again tomorrow (hopefully there won’t be as many spectators, but hey, if I can face all those school kids, surely I can face other people I will pass along the way!