A Banana* in China

Disclaimer: My perfectionist self is 100% dissatisfied with the formatting, but my computer literacy skills and time are lacking to make it... perfect....
  
12 May 2015

Learning the language of my blood is something I've
 always wanted to do before I die (preferably

 before I hit 30) and so here I am in China for the year, 
studying Chinese at Shaanxi Normal University, Xi'an. If I were to sum up my experience so far in one word it would be this:  
Humbling. 

Life in China is, as you can imagine, very interesting. Even more interesting for me, given the fact that I am

 a ‘hua yi’ (overseas Chinese) now living China. Sometimes I find it so amusing that I feel I am a fly on the 

wall or a bird overhead, watching my life go by. The best thing by far is that I blend in!!! Think about it -

 not since I was 2 years old being carried around the streets of Kuala Lumpur have I lived in a place where

 I look like everyone else. In far contrast to being the only chinita running around rural Bolivia, here I’m just

 one in a million - and I love it. (Perhaps for the first time in my life) I love that I have a Chinese name - 

 樊维真**   one that people can not only pronounce properly  (better than I pronounce it myself)   but 

also ‘spell’ correctly (also better than I can myself). 

 The flipside, of course, is that everyone treats me like a local. Shopkeepers will speak to me not only in 

Chinese, but often in Shaanxi hua (the local dialect). Depending on my mood and time on hand I will either 

nod/shake my head, mutter something and quickly leave (leaving them wondering if I’m retarded or

 something...) or explain that I ‘ting bu dong’ (don't understand), which invariably leads into an unfolding 

of my whole family history . This rather strange phenomenon (for both parties) has also led to me being 

addressed as (chinese) ‘teacher’ on more than one occasion or ‘translator’ (for my foreign classmates...

 whose chinese is often better than mine and so they end up translating for me). Shame. 

Its also a humble experience being an undergraduate again. The language department has enough mature

 students, but many of my classmates are my juniors by many, many moons. Apparently, even for a Chinese,

 I look really young (must be the clean NZ air I’ve breathed all my life) and so, since I’m new, everyone 

assumes I must be a freshman (sigh, I was a freshman a decade ago...) One teacher (a 23 year old masters

 student) asked if I was 19 yet (cringe...). On finding out my age, she exclaimed ‘oh we should call you ‘jie jie’

 (literally ‘older sister’ - a term of respect). Shame. 

The international student's dormitory on campus is also a humbling honour. There are no single rooms  so I have a (18year-old!) room mate. The (squat) toilets are communal and outside,

 the (also communal) showers have side.partitions but no doors.  The compound gates are locked between 

11pm and 6am (curfew!!!!!) but thankfully.we can (and do!) jump the gate if we’re locked out. We are the only

 dorm on campus with a jumpable gate, and a kitchen. The kitchen is basic and a bit scungy (especially with the  gross, cats that live behind the hot-water machine (admittedly I did clean the wounds of an injured one one on the kitchen bench one evening (a vets got to do what a vets got to do))).

All sounds terrible and restrictive, but compared to Chinese students we live in paradise - they have 4-8 

students per room, no hot water dispenser, the showers are a 5-10 min walk across campus and you  need to pay, doors also locked 11pm-6am (NO breaking in or out....) (at other unis I’ve heard  the  electricity  also cuts out at 11pm!!.), signing  in an out for visitors, a weekly  Sunday evening roll call,  no washing machine  (that’s what hands are for)  and ( I should have known,  but only found out yesterday)  that its compulsory for all Chinese students to stay in campus dorms for the entire duration of their study. 

Class is really fun, but really, sometimes (no, daily) I feel like I’m back at primary school. The roll is called 

every period, we have homework which is marked with  red pen and graded, and have to write ‘essays’ of at

 least 80 characters (!) for example entitled: ‘My best friend.’ The latter I wrote on the overnight train back

 from Beijing (as it was due that morning).....half the carriage took great interest in this (retarded?) Chinese girl 

primary school homework and helped correct my grammar. Like I said, it is fun...but you know, I’m a

 veterinary doctor for heavens sake....and from my fly-on-.the-wall position I often look down and wonder

if this Banana is a little over-ripe... . 

Spot the Banana

Spot the Banana 

 * A colloquial term used amongst Asians living in Western countries: ‘yellow on the outside, white on the inside'’ 

 

**Fán Wéi Zhēn.  In contrast to the rest of my classmates who have chosen

 Chinese names for themselves (much like Chinese immigrants in NZ choosing names such as ‘Cherry’, 

 ‘Rainbow’ (or ‘Esther’)), this name was chosen by my grandfather I never met...  

Beautiful Bricks

Tuesday 13 January, Eluru Children's Home, India

I enjoyed sifting through the broken bricks and the orphanage today. The midday sun had no mercy, it was mundane work and dust clung to sweat. Nevertheless I was happy.

'What a beautiful brick,' I commented, placing it in the sack. One of the girls agreed. Though isn't it strange, I continued.  Arriving three hours earlier at the work site - a pile of rubble that would eventually be a church - we didn't gasp 'oh what beautiful bricks we get to sort!'. We probably didn't think much at all - except for 'When is lunch?'

But after a while at work, something happens. Bricks become beautiful. The subject of excitement. What's changed? The bricks? No. The rubble? No. Nothing but our perception - and that is everything.

Is this not our story of India, I thought. Arriving  3 weeks earlier - we didn't think much of the place. The rubbish, the smells, the primitive conditions - made Boot Camp look like paradise! But now we see things differently. India hasn't changed (India's barely changed from when I was here 9 years ago!) - we have. We begin to see beauty. Beauty in the sunrises; in the smiles; in the simplicity..

..in bricks, even.

I never thought it easy
Always knew it worth it 

On the road again

My head and heart are still in South America
now my bags are packed for Asia

What have I done to deserve such a hard life?

In fact, what have any of us done to deserve
all the blessings God bestows?

'Every good gift is from above...'  James 1v17

Enabling Heroes

Her name is Belén; she'll turn 7 on Christmas day and lives in a small house with her mother, grandparents and uncles on the outskirts of Cochabamba, Bolivia. Her (now remarried) father drives a bus and she gets to see him, well....every time she spots him on his route around the city. Nevertheless she's a bunch of smiles and a ball of energy.

She is also my sponsor child through Tearfund/Compassion, whom I had the privilege of meeting as I backpacked Bolivia.

Many of us sponsor sponsor children. And at times, many of us are asked (or ask ourselves) 'Does the money really get there?' Now, it could be that Compassion pockets my money and someone else is supporting Belén. But from what I saw in my one (and probably only) day with her didn't suggest that. Rather, running around the playground, picking flowers and eating ice-blocks together only served to strengthen my belief in organisations like Compassion, and child sponsorship programs.

I observed something else that day: So often, the media, the organisations, and even we ourselves make us sponsors out to be 'heroes'. We are the ones who sacrifice 2 cups of coffee a week; we support a child/family/community; we better the world. And yes we do this - but we're not the heroes.

They are. The hero of the story is Belén, who gets up each morning, kisses her mother goodbye and goes to school so she can have a bright future. The hero is her single mother, the same age as me, working in the flower market Mon-Sat, persevering when times are tough and her child is trying. The heroes are the selfless staff at the Compassion centre, where sponsor children come after school to be fed, taught and play. 

We are not the heroes - in our comfortable western lifestyles making direct debits every month. Our role is different: We enable heroes.

'Everything'

14 Sept 2014, Trinidad, Bolivia. 

Today, upon request from one of the students' aunts, we took a road trip to her village farm to vaccinate cows. For Foot and Mouth Diease. The 'accredited technician' had just signed the form (in the future, even!) and left the vaccine. The farmer wasn't quite sure what to do (and, to be honest, neither were we, but when in doubt, read the back of the bottle). 

Lasooing 20 odd cows, one at a time, attaching them to a tree, tying their head and legs - to give each one a single intramuscular injection...this is the kind of bolivian efficiency that I will never get used to. 

That done and dusted/y, we did little devotional. The dear lady expressed her gratitude: 'Muchas veces, tenemos todos las cosas materiales para la vida.. pero nos faltan cosas espirituales - gracias por venir, y compartir las palabras de Dios´*

And I'm standing there thinking:

Dear lady, you live in a mud hut, you have an outhouse as a bathroom,  no running water; your motorbike has been at the mechanics for 3 months so you walk 1.5km in the relentless heat to the nearest shop; you milk 5 cows a day to sell iceblocks for a living...and you are telling me you have 'every material thing?'

And I realise something: that its not how much you have, but how much you think you have. For her, she has everything she needs and wants. I, on the other hand, look at her and see everything she doesn't have... this bothers me, but not her. Shes bothered about her lack of spiritual things.  

How much more stuff do we have in our lives, and how much more do we lack the things of God (not in the least, contentedness!)?

* 'Many times, we have every material thing in life... but we lack spiritual riches...thank you for coming and sharing the Word of God with us' 

I guess theres a lot more to lose in life
than a backpack full of things.
Whats more
many have their things
yet they themselves are lost.
And in this state
I do not wish to be 

Lost in La Paz

10 Sept, 2014

So I lost all my stuff in La Paz last week. My backpack of wordly possessions, suspiciously disappeared from the bottom of the bus, sometime during the 17hr journey from Santa Cruz. After numerous visits to the company offices, hours of meetings, and even more of just waiting around, they compensated me roughly $175NZD for my loss.

Left with the clothes on my back (and, thank God, my valuables in my hand carry), I can't say I wasn't just a little depressed for couple of days. My back pack and I had become quite attached to each other over the last 4 months.  And I mean, I didn't lose any family heirlooms or my wedding ring ( helps if you don't have one...), they were just things - of little eternal significance; I still have blood flowing through my veins, a family who loves, (and my flight home, even!) but one still asks 'why?' and possibly sheds a tear or two hundred.

And with little trust in humans and their word, one learns to turn to God and his.

The day after I returned to Trinidad with my cheap, fake replacement gear, I found myself playing at church: It is well with my soul. Those not familiar with the hymn or history of its author should acquaint themselves.  Geez, I just lost my stuff. Henry Spafford lost his business in a fire and all his daughters in a ship sinking... yet he could still say - sing, even - It Is Well With My Soul. Which - and I'm still trying to comprehend it all - is not to belittle his loss, rather elevate his God. If his loss was great, but his God greater, how great must he be.

And in this unstable world, where else should our hope lie?

 http://www.sharefaith.com/guide/Christian-Music/hymns-the-songs-and-the-stories/it-is-well-with-my-soul-the-song-and-the-story.html

Lapa

12 July 2014, Lapa, Rio de Janeiro. 

A hive of business activity by day - you'd never guess. But when the sun goes down, Lapa lights up. Anything you dare to imagine you'd find. And I found myself wondering...


Dear girl
on your street corner

long lashes
short skirt
full glass
empty smile

why are you here?

what in life has brought you to this place
and what from you has it taken away?

and you, who sells me
 beer (out of chilly bins)
       caipirihnas (from a trolley)
             whisky shots (on a tray)
                    meat (on a stick)
                         popcorn (in paper bags)*

why are you here?

 taxi driver
     street sweeper
         policia

all who are here because of us -
Us - in our insatiable carnality

surely there must be something better for all of us?

                                                             photo courtesy of google images 

       
  *popcorn and prostitutes? what world do we live in? 
                   
                       

The Feet of Jesus

19 July 2014,  Rio de Janiero

Yesterday I was at the feet of Jesus.
I didn't really notice for the crowds pushing and shoving.
Though that's no excuse.

But then I think: everyday I am at the feet of Christ the Redeemer.
At His feet, at His mercy. Within His sight, within His reach.
Were I not, I would cease to be.
Yet for the crowds, I often fail to notice.

Though that's no excuse

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=iaCqOX5OIbs

Confessions of a control freak

1 July 2014 Americana, Brazil

And so I've arrived in this country which speaks Portuguese, and I don't. English here is practically useless, and Spanish only slightly less so. which means a lot of the time, I don't know exactly what going on.

Sometimes its quite important to know what going on. (Like, why isn't anyone at the check-in counter? Oh because our 4.30 am flight has been cancelled..)

Other times, its not. Like,  I'm sitting in a car, and all I know is that we're going somewhere to eat something and will return at an unspecified hour (and we'll do it slowly, even). All I'm called upon to do is sit back and enjoy the ride.

Though my hosts are good and trustworthy, I have to admit, for a control freak like me, its a little unsettling.

Is this not a lot like life? Oh how we wish we knew what was going on, all the time. Us human beings were created to question. We're just not very accepting when there are no answers. Or no answers in the language we understand.

But does it always matter?

Depends. If we know Who we're with  - if He is good, if He knows exactly whats going on, now, and every day hereafter -
Then maybe it doesn't.

Sometimes I just need to sit back and enjoy the ride.

The problem.

Its not that there are no fish
But that we have no patience

                                                                                                                Fishing for piranas 

The Promised Land

19 June, Uruguay.

Everyone here raves about NZ. Well, ok, most of my friends here and the irish guy at the hostel. But still, even with this subset of 'Everyone', I'm suprised.

They rave about the place - its beauty, the work, the quality of life, lack of corruption, the people. Speak of it like its the Promised Land. Those not fortunate enough to have been listen to the sighs and praise and are converted on the spot.

For us Kiwis, this is Sweet! Good as! for our tourism, our seasonal worker demand and shortage of professionals. Its also a little humbling. I mean, by what stroke of luck have we been born/brought up in such paradise? And which aspect of your life were your complaining about the other day?

Now, NZ is undoubtedly beautiful, peaceful and safe. Yes, it flows with milk (and therefore South Americans) and we have a reasonable amount of honey. Yet, its far from perfect. You and I have seen its ugly side - the poverty ( relative, nevertheless poverty), the destructive PC ness, the terrible social stats that shouldn't be in a 1st world country as ours. And you and I don't live fairytale lives either. 

Makes me think: there is quality of life, and there is quality of life. You can be in the best country in the world, but if your heart isn't in the right place, you'll still be lacking. You can be in the most peaceful of places, but if you're not at peace with your Maker, you'll never have peace within. You can find yourself in the most beautiful of surroundings, but if you dont know the Creator of beauty, you'll never fully appreciate it all. 

Tell me if this isnt true. Yet how often do we favour the pursuit of a passport over the citizenship of our souls?

What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world (NZ, even!), yet loses his soul?1

And for those of us who have addressed the later - I wonder what it'd be like if we raved about heaven the way my friends rave about NZ. Sure, no-one has ever been there and back on a working holiday visa. But if we know our God well enough, if we are familiar with his Lonely Planet Guide, then we have idea enough of our Promised Land.

What if heaven were the hot topic of our conversations; always in the back (or front) of our minds; our obsession, our passion, our destination; our one cause we would willingly leave everything we know as 'home' behind for? 

'...for we have an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands... our citizenship is in heaven...so we fix our eyes not on what is seen but what is unseen...for what is seen is temporary but what is unseen is eternal....' 2

Disturb Us, Lord

Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show Your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.
We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.

(attributed to Sir Francis Drake -1577)

1  Matthew 16v26
2  2 Corínthians 5v1, 4v18, Philippians 3v20