Used Up Words

It's hard when the novelty of being a westerner wears off. I've used up all my words and any new conversation is tedious. The neighbours have seen in my home. They see how we dress everyday and see what we eat. They've heard our tone of voice when happy or upset and know our weekly schedule. Our daily habits no longer as interesting, our interactions reduced to "Good morning" and a friendly wave.

I told my teacher I'd run out of conversation and he simply replied, "Yes, but you still have to try. You are getting better."

Humph.

I am so eager to learn. Eager to move past the surface level conversations and talk about deeper things. I want to connect and build real meaningful friendships.

But when people stop trying to talk to you because it's just plain difficult and takes forever to communicate anything - What's a girl to do? Even a girl who is eager to learn?

Ben, Isaiah and my frustrated language lacking self attended church on Sunday. Everyone smiled and shook my hand, but offered no conversation beyond the usual "Happy Sunday!"

After the service we stood on the church patio enjoying snacks and smiling awkwardly when my one English speaking Indonesian friend came bounding towards us. "You're back! How was Wamena? Did you like it?" We began offering answers in English and she interrupted, "When can we speak more Indonesian?" Ben and I looked at each other, "I don't have more Indonesian." I said with a shrug. "Well, everyone here wants to talk to you, they just don't know what to say!"

Wait. What? People still want to talk to me?

"Really?" I asked, not quite believing it. "Really!" she responded with a smile. And I quickly went over to Ibu Gembala to ask for a ride to the woman's Ibadah on Monday. Through limited words and mostly hand gestures I managed to arrange a ride.

People still want to talk to me. It's amazing, but she was right and so was my teacher. "You still have to try. You are getting better."

So I reach back into my brain and try to put my few words into new sentences. At the Ibadah I stumble through the sharing time and even add a request prayer. The women, staring at me with huge smiles, almost will the words out of me.

Turns out that even my neighbours, who had given up trying to talk to me, are still interested in conversation. I just needed to listen to my teacher and stop complaining about the words I don't have. Difficult or not, I needed to try again with the words I do have.

And you know what? I managed to arrange a trip to the salon this week with Ibu Gembala. If there was ever a perfect place for building relationships with local women, I'm pretty sure the salon is it.

The Better Way

"Which way did you come?" Our neighbor asked, looking down at our muddy feet.

"Up the red road. The way we always come." I responded, self consciously scraping the mud from the bottom of my sandals.

"Up the red road? No, no. That's much too muddy. There is another way. I'll show you."

For weeks, several times a day, we walk the red road. After a rain shower the pot holes fill with water and the mud is unavoidable. I stand at the edge of the largest puddle and try to decide whether to jump, hoping I make it to the other side and risking a very muddy splash if I don't. Mostly I just tiptoe across on discarded water bottles and whatever other garbage pokes above the puddle's surface.

Following our neighbor, we walk to the gate on the other end of his garden. "This is the better way" he says, swinging the gate open.

The better way is a small sandy path with homes crowding in on either side. Trees shade the path and neighbors we didn't even know we had sit or stand together in afternoon conversation.

We follow the path and our neighbor shows us where it comes out to the main road. Walking back up he points out the opposite end, which stops just before our home.

The path was there all along. A better path, free of deep mud and red clay, right in front of us. We didn't find it ourselves, it took a neighbor to show us the way.

So much of our life right now is a muddy red road. As we spend time with people, trying to build relationships, we are shown new paths. Dry, shaded paths, leading us right into the heart of our community.

The dry path, as it disappears under the tree between houses.