So... in recording my adventures I have regretfully realized that I forgot to record the first. My apologies, and here it is:
Our hosts may very well be the cleanest people on this planet.They own more chemicals and more vacuum cleaners than anyone I am acquainted with, and they are assiduous in their use of them. However, they lack that most basic of cleaning supplies--the plunger.
We three summer missionaries found this out our second Tuesday here, in the most inconvenient fashion. It was about 11 pm. We had just finished watching The Four Feathers (I liked it), and had each consumed copious amounts of beverages, when Callie discovered our need for that most basic appliance all over the bathroom floor. We have one bathroom. Frankly, we all needed it. And there was no plunger anywhere.
We were faced with three options. a) Do nothing and die in a slow and terrible way b) walk up the road at night to the convenience store (Or the pub. Surrey is diverse in that way.) and ask for the washroom. We decided on c) going to our neighbor's, whom we knew only from the music we can hear through the wall, and asking to borrow the plunger.
CAllie, being brave, was appointed our fearless leader. The conversation was as follows:
(Callie knocks on the door. It opens to reveal a perplexed-looking, college-aged Canadian man with maple leaf shorts and spiky peroxide hair. An omen? Perhaps.)
CAllie: Hi!
CAnada boy (very confused): ...Hey...
Callie: Well, we're your neighbors.
(Canada Boy stares blankly)
CAllie: We're house sitting for Amin and Sepideh?
Canada Boy: ... Oh yeah?
Callie: yup.
Canada boy: THat's cool
Callie: Yeah, we're just working with some churches around the area (this is our spiel that we give to anyone we meet who's interested)
Canada boy: ok
Callie: Yeah... we were just...kinda wondering... do you guys have a plunger we could borrow?
(Canada boy is very amused and proceeds to laugh rather unnecessarily hard for a minute, but then catches his breath)
Caada boy: Yeah, sure (he is still laughing, but is at least trying to hide it now)
Callie (bravely): Thanks so much.
(THen, once we are on our way back)
CAllie: he was kinda cute!
(jenn has a small convulsion)
Jenn: no!! He's the PLUNGER MAN!!! NEVER!! Inappropriate response!
Me: I feel so dirty right now...
I don't remember much after that, aside from himlaughin some more and saying "Sure, anytime." We got the plunger back, and have since not looked him in the eye. at all.
I maintain it was a bonding experience. We are closer because of it. We also try not to speak of it in public.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
The Canada Chronicles--Language
One thing about the Greater Vancouver Area is the sheer quantity and variety of languages that are being spoken at any one time. I have absolutely lost count of how many I've heard, and have taken to furiously scribbling down any new words I hear in my trusty moleskin notebook. During the day, one may find me practicing quietly to myself, which gives the locals a certain amount of interest or fear depending on the people group.
Luckily for me, I am rooming with a retentive genius who knows at least a few words in about a quadzillion different languages. I take full advantage of this. My notebook gets fuller by the day. Even more interestingly, my roommate grew up in Zimbabwe, and one of the languages she is more familiar with is Ndebele, of the Amandebele tribe, which is a click language.
YEah. I know.
So obviously, as soon as I found out about this I asked for some words in Ndebele, and have been practicing ever since. THere are three clicks in Ndebele: Q, X, and C is how we will hereby note them, and the way to become familiar with them is to click through all the vowels: Qa, Qe, Qi, Qo, Qu, Xa, Xe, Xi, Xo, Xu, et cetera. I have been practicing quite diligently, especially on my pracitce sentance: "I would like a glass of ice water" (nivela amanzi lomnQoQane).
In practicing my various languages, I have developed certain techniques-- do's and dont's, if you will. For example, I recommend practicing your languages every day. I also recomend speaking Korean at the Korean fellowship, because it entertains them and is also educational. I don't recoment pracitcing Ndebele with gum in your mouth because not only is it impossible, it also provides the danger of projectile objects landing in precarious places. For example, the turban of the unsuspecting Sikh man sitting on the bus in front of you. Just saying.
I have also noticed differences in the language that I have spoken all my life. For example, there is a word we use in the English language to describe a girl or woman of loose morals, and it start with an "sl" and rhymes with cut. And though this is not exactly a favorable word, we have discovered that it is not nearly as bad in the U.S. as it seems to be in Canada. We have discovered this only through trial and error. ("Oh. Indeed," says Jennifer). Painful trial and error.
We know this because recently, JEnn, Callie, Gloria and I decided on 3 basic rules for life. These are a combination of 1) Jennifer's youth camp rule (don't die), 2)my Theatre troupe rule (don't be dumb) and 3) Jennifer's sage summary of the Bible for her younger brother (stay away from girls who're described with the word that starts with "sl" and rhymes with cut)
I, for one, am very pleased with these rules for life. I find them accurate and furthermore effective. However, the roomful of adults to whom we related this story seemed the tiniest bit mortified. Well, all except Mrs Margaret, the sweetest, most loving woman in this world, who later had to ask her daughter (gloria) what it meant. It was Gloria who later explained to us the gravity of this word. We've tried not to bring it up anymore.
Our presence in Canada has broadened some horizons. Fo real.
Oh, Canada.
Luckily for me, I am rooming with a retentive genius who knows at least a few words in about a quadzillion different languages. I take full advantage of this. My notebook gets fuller by the day. Even more interestingly, my roommate grew up in Zimbabwe, and one of the languages she is more familiar with is Ndebele, of the Amandebele tribe, which is a click language.
YEah. I know.
So obviously, as soon as I found out about this I asked for some words in Ndebele, and have been practicing ever since. THere are three clicks in Ndebele: Q, X, and C is how we will hereby note them, and the way to become familiar with them is to click through all the vowels: Qa, Qe, Qi, Qo, Qu, Xa, Xe, Xi, Xo, Xu, et cetera. I have been practicing quite diligently, especially on my pracitce sentance: "I would like a glass of ice water" (nivela amanzi lomnQoQane).
In practicing my various languages, I have developed certain techniques-- do's and dont's, if you will. For example, I recommend practicing your languages every day. I also recomend speaking Korean at the Korean fellowship, because it entertains them and is also educational. I don't recoment pracitcing Ndebele with gum in your mouth because not only is it impossible, it also provides the danger of projectile objects landing in precarious places. For example, the turban of the unsuspecting Sikh man sitting on the bus in front of you. Just saying.
I have also noticed differences in the language that I have spoken all my life. For example, there is a word we use in the English language to describe a girl or woman of loose morals, and it start with an "sl" and rhymes with cut. And though this is not exactly a favorable word, we have discovered that it is not nearly as bad in the U.S. as it seems to be in Canada. We have discovered this only through trial and error. ("Oh. Indeed," says Jennifer). Painful trial and error.
We know this because recently, JEnn, Callie, Gloria and I decided on 3 basic rules for life. These are a combination of 1) Jennifer's youth camp rule (don't die), 2)my Theatre troupe rule (don't be dumb) and 3) Jennifer's sage summary of the Bible for her younger brother (stay away from girls who're described with the word that starts with "sl" and rhymes with cut)
I, for one, am very pleased with these rules for life. I find them accurate and furthermore effective. However, the roomful of adults to whom we related this story seemed the tiniest bit mortified. Well, all except Mrs Margaret, the sweetest, most loving woman in this world, who later had to ask her daughter (gloria) what it meant. It was Gloria who later explained to us the gravity of this word. We've tried not to bring it up anymore.
Our presence in Canada has broadened some horizons. Fo real.
Oh, Canada.
The Canada Chronicles--fish
JEnn and I live in daily terror these days in Canada, and I mean this particularly when speaking of our adopted fish. Mahi (whose name is Persian for "fish") is Sepideh's only child besides us and it has become very clear that Sepideh is quite attached to Mahi the fish. Our terror thus derives from this: Neither Jenn nor I have ever kept a goldfish alive for more than three days, and as Amin and Sepideh have gone off to Finland to visit their famly it hasbecome OUR duty to love and parent the mahi.
Which I am sorry but that is parenting is one ball of responsibility that I didn't expect to encounter on the summer mission to Canadia. But God asked us to be flexible so we have decided to take it on. Every day Jenn swishes out Mahi's water (I am too afraid to swish out Mahi's water because I was not trained like Jenn and furthermore I have heard that early childhood experiences often traumatize people, so I would rather not have to face God one day knowing I am responsible for the neurotic mess that my adopted fish was. I can't take it, yo.)
So anyway, every morning Jenn swishes out Mahi's water and gives her exactly five flakes of fish food. After she has done this she moves mahi's bowl back towards the open window (Goldfish, as it turns out, love sunlight. In that way, they are very much like Oregonians). My job every day is to put an ice cube into Mahi's bowl, which is about the most thrilling part of the day, and makes me about as happy as two veggie sandwiches all in a row. I am concerned that this will make me the good guy and Jenn the bad guy, and Mahi will grow up with one of those strange disorders and a hatred for people with short, brown hair. We keep her in our prayers. Poor, confused, manipulated goldfish.
Anyway, JEnn, Mahi, and I wish you good night, and a very happy tomorrow.
Which I am sorry but that is parenting is one ball of responsibility that I didn't expect to encounter on the summer mission to Canadia. But God asked us to be flexible so we have decided to take it on. Every day Jenn swishes out Mahi's water (I am too afraid to swish out Mahi's water because I was not trained like Jenn and furthermore I have heard that early childhood experiences often traumatize people, so I would rather not have to face God one day knowing I am responsible for the neurotic mess that my adopted fish was. I can't take it, yo.)
So anyway, every morning Jenn swishes out Mahi's water and gives her exactly five flakes of fish food. After she has done this she moves mahi's bowl back towards the open window (Goldfish, as it turns out, love sunlight. In that way, they are very much like Oregonians). My job every day is to put an ice cube into Mahi's bowl, which is about the most thrilling part of the day, and makes me about as happy as two veggie sandwiches all in a row. I am concerned that this will make me the good guy and Jenn the bad guy, and Mahi will grow up with one of those strange disorders and a hatred for people with short, brown hair. We keep her in our prayers. Poor, confused, manipulated goldfish.
Anyway, JEnn, Mahi, and I wish you good night, and a very happy tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
The Canada Chronicles-- Alex
Today, we visited the Place of Loving People once again, and it was fantastic, as per usual. i learned (and wrote down) the Korean alphabet and am now confident that I know just enough Korean to be an excellent tourist.
Today, however, was different from our previous visits in that Alex Martichenko was sitting in the back corner.
I'll be honest, I didn't know what to make of him at first. An elderly man with white hair in shorts, sandles, and suit socks up to mid-calf. He had a slight stutter and tried to speak to Gloria (our sweet little guide who is Chinese) in Korean. But it did not take much conversation with Alex to erase my first impressions, which even I will admit are usually wrong. God forgive me for my tendancy to judge.
I am reminded of one of my favorite verses in Acts, after Peter and John have healed the lame man and preached with gut-wrenching boldness and truth to the same men who crucified their master; "And when they saw that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were amazed and took note that these men had been with Jesus."
Well, take note, World. Alex Martichenko has been with Jesus.
After free conversation time at the Place of Loving People with the Korean people ( I love love love LOVE the Korean people), he surprised us by asking to treat us to Ethiopian food. He knows a local place that's run by a Christian family. They play Christian music and won't sell alcohol. They were forced out of Ethiopa, as was he, when the Marxists came in. There were four of us girls, and just one elderly men, so we thought we'd be alright.
We were greeted by Ruth, a teeny-tiny Ethiopian woman who runs and cooks and is generall in charge. She greeted ALex with delighted familiarity, and while we waited for the food, we listened closely to his story.
He is 74, the ninth son in a family of 13 children. He has never been married. HE was in Ethiopia for, as far as we know, over 20 years. He has known the plenty of Western Civilization, he has known the incredible want of the villages of Ethiopia.
Today, however, was different from our previous visits in that Alex Martichenko was sitting in the back corner.
I'll be honest, I didn't know what to make of him at first. An elderly man with white hair in shorts, sandles, and suit socks up to mid-calf. He had a slight stutter and tried to speak to Gloria (our sweet little guide who is Chinese) in Korean. But it did not take much conversation with Alex to erase my first impressions, which even I will admit are usually wrong. God forgive me for my tendancy to judge.
I am reminded of one of my favorite verses in Acts, after Peter and John have healed the lame man and preached with gut-wrenching boldness and truth to the same men who crucified their master; "And when they saw that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were amazed and took note that these men had been with Jesus."
Well, take note, World. Alex Martichenko has been with Jesus.
After free conversation time at the Place of Loving People with the Korean people ( I love love love LOVE the Korean people), he surprised us by asking to treat us to Ethiopian food. He knows a local place that's run by a Christian family. They play Christian music and won't sell alcohol. They were forced out of Ethiopa, as was he, when the Marxists came in. There were four of us girls, and just one elderly men, so we thought we'd be alright.
We were greeted by Ruth, a teeny-tiny Ethiopian woman who runs and cooks and is generall in charge. She greeted ALex with delighted familiarity, and while we waited for the food, we listened closely to his story.
He is 74, the ninth son in a family of 13 children. He has never been married. HE was in Ethiopia for, as far as we know, over 20 years. He has known the plenty of Western Civilization, he has known the incredible want of the villages of Ethiopia.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Canada Boys
if you are of the male persuasion, I guess you can choose to ignore this one. Sometimes, I just need a little girl talk.
Congratulations to Canada for having finally produced an upstanding specimen of male. We've been searching hard and long for him, and were rewarded today on the 314 bus to Surrey Central Station. He was on his way to a photo shoot, where he'll be assisting the photographer, but usually, he models. Yes. He models. he also does Rubik's cubes real fast which is how JEnn and I got into conversation with him, and he's a Mennonite, which explains why we didn't know he was a model until he told us. I say this partly to comfort my mother, who I suspect has disliked him ever since 3 sentances ago. If it helps, mom, modelling is a side gig. Usually he's in construction. Congratulations, Brad from bus 314. Relocated American girls everywhere salute you.
Needless to say, we found it a ministerial duty to give him a Royal Heights BAptist Church card. would have been wrong to have refrained, I think.
Anywho, I suppose that Canada is not totally devoid of good boys (I mean men. We've been discussing this. Good Men.). I've seen several cute ones, a few of which I've talked to. I try to refrain mostly, though, since the whole missionary thing involves not being distracted. It's not very hard. My problem with all the cute boys is that they all have Canadian accents. And I realize that I'm in Canada. But this fact does not make it any easier for me to take them seriously when they say "Oat and aboat" instead of "Out and About." and also, they say "Beeeeeeeen" instead of "Been" and I am sorry but that sort of drives me bonkergoonies. This is another reason Brad from the bus is to be congratulated. If he had a CAnadian accent, I didn't hear it.
So dont panic, father and youth pastor. Until the Canadians start saying ya'll or busboy comes back, I am quite safe.
Congratulations to Canada for having finally produced an upstanding specimen of male. We've been searching hard and long for him, and were rewarded today on the 314 bus to Surrey Central Station. He was on his way to a photo shoot, where he'll be assisting the photographer, but usually, he models. Yes. He models. he also does Rubik's cubes real fast which is how JEnn and I got into conversation with him, and he's a Mennonite, which explains why we didn't know he was a model until he told us. I say this partly to comfort my mother, who I suspect has disliked him ever since 3 sentances ago. If it helps, mom, modelling is a side gig. Usually he's in construction. Congratulations, Brad from bus 314. Relocated American girls everywhere salute you.
Needless to say, we found it a ministerial duty to give him a Royal Heights BAptist Church card. would have been wrong to have refrained, I think.
Anywho, I suppose that Canada is not totally devoid of good boys (I mean men. We've been discussing this. Good Men.). I've seen several cute ones, a few of which I've talked to. I try to refrain mostly, though, since the whole missionary thing involves not being distracted. It's not very hard. My problem with all the cute boys is that they all have Canadian accents. And I realize that I'm in Canada. But this fact does not make it any easier for me to take them seriously when they say "Oat and aboat" instead of "Out and About." and also, they say "Beeeeeeeen" instead of "Been" and I am sorry but that sort of drives me bonkergoonies. This is another reason Brad from the bus is to be congratulated. If he had a CAnadian accent, I didn't hear it.
So dont panic, father and youth pastor. Until the Canadians start saying ya'll or busboy comes back, I am quite safe.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Week 2
It's funny, isn't it? The way God works in the midst of things, and the way He changes your perspective at the exact moment that you are not looking for it. It sounds cliche, I know. I've heard it about five hundred billion times, and you've probably heard it more. My suspicion, however, is that this idea of God working in mysterious ways was originally more than that thing that everybody says all the time.
Take today, for example.
I started the morning on a low. not sure what it was. coud have been my quiet time getting cut off, could have been not enough sugar in my coffee I don't know. But week two, I won't lie, has been a serious challenge, and I was really feeling it today. I realize that God is not emotion, and I'm trying to learn to follow Him regardless of emotion. But being sad is still sad. I was frustrated with my spiritual and practical incapabilities, which wasn't helped by the hard day yesterday, where we saw only one woman from the people group we're trying to reach out to, and i didn't really get to have many conversations. And even more than that, my shortcomings are further thrown into light when I am around my roommate, the seminary student who reads the Bible thruogh every year and often reads it in its original Hebrew and Greek and furthermore knows some Arabic. I am slow to learn. I am very quiet up here for some reason; I sometimes feel I lack an outlet, a way to express anything. I am relatively certain that the worship team does not believe me when I tell them I can sing (they get that "don't call us, we'll call you" look every time I've talked to them about it), and besides Callie definitely has that position covered. I would sing in the apartment, except for the part about us not getting home til 9 or 10 and the walls being thin. My violin is 500 miles away. My writing is increasingly bad, mostly because I don't have time. Because of certain personal tensions in the group, prayerwalking is someting I am to do only to myself. I really wish, right now, that I could dance, but we all know I can't.
In short, I feel a little suffocated.
And besides that, I have those common feelings of incompetence. What do I have to offer? I'm an introvert. I can try to be good at conversation, but I'm not as the rest. I cannot use music right now,I cannot use acting. I cannot pray the way i'm good at. As much as I try to learn and converse with Tim and Joan, I always panic and keep quiet so they won't see how spiritually behind i am. i am a little bit lonely.
and feeling this way, it kind of sucks.
i am encouraged daily by reading the book of Acts. Acts rocks. And I find comfort in His joy and His mercies that are new every morning. But it doesn't mean that feeling this way doesn't suck. It sucks less and less the more I look at him, but those feelings, they just suck.
Except that God works in mysterious ways. Many times, I find it is through people. Take the gillihans, for example, who at the moment have the entire family over for a wedding. Congratulations to the Gillihan grandchildren,who have replenished a notch of my faith in children. Congratulations also to the arabic people, for I have not found a more warm and loving people outside that small, Tanzanian house I have been to only once. This evening, Adel and his wife Lela and their children and about 6ish other families welcomed us to their backyard. It was hot--a comfortable hot, like June/July ought to be. And there was a feast there of good food and good people. My feet were bare and I was wearing my new grey dress and not a whole lot else. with the children, i played hide and and seek (and often won). With the adults, I sat and talked and enjoyed their company. i sang a little to myself. I drank tea. And i sat with these wonderful people in the shade, and laughed away the long summer, evening.
And really, I was exactly myself. One foot on in the kiddie pool, one in the deep, adult end. Wild some, thoughtful some. a little wierd, a little traditional. And it didn't matter how good or bad anyone was at anything. We were all children of God, weren't we? Why should we not love each other? I found myself more content than I had though possibly this morning
I am reminded again of who He is, and who I am. Without Him, I am nothing. Through Him, I can do all things. Praise God, eh?
Week 2.
Take today, for example.
I started the morning on a low. not sure what it was. coud have been my quiet time getting cut off, could have been not enough sugar in my coffee I don't know. But week two, I won't lie, has been a serious challenge, and I was really feeling it today. I realize that God is not emotion, and I'm trying to learn to follow Him regardless of emotion. But being sad is still sad. I was frustrated with my spiritual and practical incapabilities, which wasn't helped by the hard day yesterday, where we saw only one woman from the people group we're trying to reach out to, and i didn't really get to have many conversations. And even more than that, my shortcomings are further thrown into light when I am around my roommate, the seminary student who reads the Bible thruogh every year and often reads it in its original Hebrew and Greek and furthermore knows some Arabic. I am slow to learn. I am very quiet up here for some reason; I sometimes feel I lack an outlet, a way to express anything. I am relatively certain that the worship team does not believe me when I tell them I can sing (they get that "don't call us, we'll call you" look every time I've talked to them about it), and besides Callie definitely has that position covered. I would sing in the apartment, except for the part about us not getting home til 9 or 10 and the walls being thin. My violin is 500 miles away. My writing is increasingly bad, mostly because I don't have time. Because of certain personal tensions in the group, prayerwalking is someting I am to do only to myself. I really wish, right now, that I could dance, but we all know I can't.
In short, I feel a little suffocated.
And besides that, I have those common feelings of incompetence. What do I have to offer? I'm an introvert. I can try to be good at conversation, but I'm not as the rest. I cannot use music right now,I cannot use acting. I cannot pray the way i'm good at. As much as I try to learn and converse with Tim and Joan, I always panic and keep quiet so they won't see how spiritually behind i am. i am a little bit lonely.
and feeling this way, it kind of sucks.
i am encouraged daily by reading the book of Acts. Acts rocks. And I find comfort in His joy and His mercies that are new every morning. But it doesn't mean that feeling this way doesn't suck. It sucks less and less the more I look at him, but those feelings, they just suck.
Except that God works in mysterious ways. Many times, I find it is through people. Take the gillihans, for example, who at the moment have the entire family over for a wedding. Congratulations to the Gillihan grandchildren,who have replenished a notch of my faith in children. Congratulations also to the arabic people, for I have not found a more warm and loving people outside that small, Tanzanian house I have been to only once. This evening, Adel and his wife Lela and their children and about 6ish other families welcomed us to their backyard. It was hot--a comfortable hot, like June/July ought to be. And there was a feast there of good food and good people. My feet were bare and I was wearing my new grey dress and not a whole lot else. with the children, i played hide and and seek (and often won). With the adults, I sat and talked and enjoyed their company. i sang a little to myself. I drank tea. And i sat with these wonderful people in the shade, and laughed away the long summer, evening.
And really, I was exactly myself. One foot on in the kiddie pool, one in the deep, adult end. Wild some, thoughtful some. a little wierd, a little traditional. And it didn't matter how good or bad anyone was at anything. We were all children of God, weren't we? Why should we not love each other? I found myself more content than I had though possibly this morning
I am reminded again of who He is, and who I am. Without Him, I am nothing. Through Him, I can do all things. Praise God, eh?
Week 2.
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Canada Chronicles-trip to Vancouver
Vancouver is, at times, exactly like Portland. It is also, at times, Seattle, Dubai, Dallas, Sausalito, and London. I even forgot for a moment, while walking along a dusty road, that I was not once again in the streets of Dar Es Salaam. Except that Dar Es Salaam did not require a jacket.
At any one time in Vancouver, you hear the sound of everyone talking in several hundred different languages at once, and it kind of makes me wish for another Pentacost when I learn that only about 2 percent of these people have heard the life-changing message of Christ. Canada is all about being nice and pleasant and not being abrasive and God forbid you offend anybody, and the result is that relationships are hard to get past a really shallow level (at least with native Canadians) because no ones opens up because of this fear, and there are many, many, many lonely people. Really, my fear is that Canada is America in ten years. Pray that this is not the case, and pray pray pray for Canada.
I was encouraged, however, in the afternoon. We were walking down the middle of downtown Van (as the locals call it. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet) with Tim and Joan and they lead us to this huge building. And there's this directory thing at the bottom, and it says "Room 811: Place of Loving People" and after we knock, this Korean woman opens the door and just hugs us and says "Hello! Hello! Come in come in!! Are you thirsty? Hungry?" The walls are all green and orange and there's flowers on the table (gerber daisies. I love gerber daisies) and there's Korean worship music playing, and students are inside studying and generally being together. They come here to worship every Friday night, and also take English classes and do other ministry and connect with other Korean immigrants. The first is Scarlett, whom I immediately loved. She smiled and even the gerber daisies seemed to gain a little color. I see in her the joy of the Lord that is new every morning. She is studying right now to become a doctor to be a doctor/missionary someday and her English is improving. The next is Moon, a cute girl that reminds me of Hali Hesson, if you know her. She had almost no accent at all, but refrained from speaking because she was emarrassed about her grammar. I found this unfortunate. Last is Ian, who is the worship leader and was also quiet, but that was mostly because he was planning the group's retreat next week. They are all ecstatic.
Scarlett and Moon and Ian are 3 of 3o to 40ish young Koreans who have found the Place of Loving People. Scarlett says it is a second home. SHe has a key. They bring lunch and chill. They talk about God. We will be returning to it every Tuesday to help with the English class.
The woman who runs it has been here for about ten years, and created and runs this place mostly by herself. When she told us the English name she has finally chosen after a decade of being here, I almost laughed.
Lydia.
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