Have you ever had a feeling that some previous experience was nothing more than a dream. That whatever you just did was nothing more than your imagination. It almost feels like you just awoke from a deep sleep.
Tomorrow I return to work at the police department in my same job that I was doing when I left. I am one of the fortunate people who actually love their job and I am even more fortunate to have an employer who would let me come back to my old job after being in Nepal for the last 7 months. I was issued my same car, my same badge and gun, and I even have many of my old clothes that I used to wear to work.
My family and I have moved into our old house with our two Labrador retrievers in the back yard. We returned to our church body at River Oaks and our old small group at the Evans house. I even found a box of old t-shirts in the attic that I used to love to wear.
From the outside looking in we look as though we have never left. I can imagine running into an old friend who might ask,
“So how has work been going?” or “What have you been up to?”
I honestly would not know how to respond or where to begin. I might even be tempted to answer,
“Work is fine and I have been doing the same old stuff.”
We look the same on the outside but everything is different on the inside. How do you explain where we have been or what has happened to us. We might look the same but we are not the same people. Our hearts are scarred from the hardships we saw and the pain that we saw in our friends lives. I don’t think we will ever look at the world the same. Often I feel like maybe this whole thing was just my imagination and that nothing has changed.
Today I felt guilty for allowing too much water to go down the drain when I was shaving and for not collecting the water in the shower so we did not waste any. I still unconsciously refuse to allow my mouth to touch the water coming out of a tap. I still feel guilty every time I use hot water or hear the air conditioner come on. I may look the same but inside things are still a mess.
Last night I was speaking to some friends who I had just seen since we returned to the US. They asked me the usual questions,
“So how does it feel to be back?” and
“Isn’t it great being home?”
My standard response is that it is great to be home, but this time I answered with too much honesty.
“It feels guilty to be home and even though I love it here I cannot stop thinking about the people I knew and left behind.”
Someone once said that a mission to a third world country is about love, but I don’t think that was the truth. The truth is that a mission to a country like Nepal is about grief and pain. Once you begin to have feelings for the people there you never will be the same. No amount of work that I or anyone else could do would ever release your heart from the snare that it has found itself.
I had a similar experience when we adopted Kody. The adoption may have started with a love for an orphan child and a desire to share that love but it ended in heartache and grief accompanied by the greatest joy we had ever experienced. Our hearts would break throughout the entire adoption process as we experienced let down after let down with problems trying to complete the adoption. The adoption of Kody was a wonderful experience but even as we left the orphanage with our first child we still had to say goodbye to 60 other children who were not so fortunate.
I imagine that we are getting closer to the heart of Jesus Christ when we experience grief like this. I know that He hurts for all the orphans and widows. His heart breaks when he sees a starving child. His heart is scarred by all the pain that He has witnessed. Maybe He just gives us a taste of what He must be experiencing?
It was 10pm when I finally finished packing and saying goodbye to all my friends in Nepal. My flight would be at noon the next day and all I had to do now was finally relax. The last week had been a horrible week because the monsoon had started and I had become ill again with Giardia. I felt horrible and the thought of getting on a plane seemed like more than I could stand but I knew that I would feel better once I got some sleep.
I drug myself to the bedroom where I would spend my last night in Nepal and crashed on the firm mattress. To call it a mattress was really an over exaggeration. It was nothing more than two camping pads on top of a piece of plywood but after I got used to it I found it to be quite comfortable. I reflected on how many times I felt this bad and laid here wishing I was in an air-conditioned room or a heated room with a soft bed. I was nearly asleep when I felt something crawl across my leg. I was only laying on top of a sleeping bag because it was hot so I was surprised to feel something on me. I looked up and noticed a legion of ants marching across my bed. I turned on the light and found that my pathetic bed was covered in the little intruders. As bad as I felt I simply could not sleep like this so I lumbered into the kitchen and hosed my bed in bug killer. Soon I was again drifting off to sleep wondering if this was very good for your health to sleep in a bed full of poison.
I was almost asleep when my phone rang. I laid there wanting to just let it ring but after several rings I decided that I should probably answer it to see who it was. I was greeted by a good friend who informed me that another bandh had been called by the Maoists for the next day. This bandh meant that no vehicles would be allowed to operate tomorrow and no stores would be allowed to open. To ensure compliance with their demands the Maoists had blown up several buses who had ignored the bandh the last week. We have been averaging two bandhs a week for the last month and schools had been closed indefinitely already. This bandh meant that my meticulous planning to get to my flight on a day that was not a strike did not work. Now I had to figure a way to get to the airport with all my luggage while feeling so sick.
My friend and I contemplated borrowing a vehicle and making a run for it but we decided that this was simply too dangerous. Even if I made it to the airport safely it did not ensure that my friend would make it home safely. Often the Maoists would come visit people who defied their demands weeks later and would put a car bomb in their car. I would feel horrible if anything happened to my brave friend so we decided to start looking at other choices.
In the end we found a friend who had a tandem bicycle. It was probably the only one in the entire country and if that wasn’t enough he also had a trailer that would attach to the bicycle so we could carry my luggage. We finalized our intrepid plan and soon I was able to return to my bed of bug poison.
The next morning we were sent off by all of my Nepali neighbors who could not resist the temptation to stare at their American friend who was riding the most unusual bicycle they had ever seen. The bicycle must have been 20 feet long by the time we had all the luggage on the back. The entire ride drew stares from everyone who could not believe what they were watching. If that was not unusual enough I also had dozens of flowers draped around my neck by Sanu Maya who gave me the flowers as a Nepali custom of showing respect and love for a friend.
As I boarded the plane I did not prepare myself for how hard it would be to return to the United States. I know this sounds stupid but I found it harder to return to the US than I did to go to Nepal in the first place. I struggled with a host of feelings ranging from relief to guilt and even anger. These feelings combined to make a confusing return to my home that really did not surface until the jet lag finally wore off.
In the US I found a familiar culture that I really missed while I was gone. I was able to communicate with people without having to think about every word that I spoke. The restaurants served more food than most Nepalese eat in a day. No longer was I head and shoulders taller than everyone. At 6 feet tall I looked just like everyone else and did not stick out in a crowd because of my white skin and funny accent.
Two days after I landed I drove to Colorado Springs for a week long debriefing class. I have to admit that I dreaded sitting around with a room full of strangers talking about our experiences. I had much to do to try and get my life back and I did not feel like I had time for all this touchy feely stuff.
I was surprised to discover that much of what I was feeling was also being experienced by the people in the class with us. Many of the attendees were also from Nepal and had recently been evacuated when their village was targeted by the Maoists. We found much to talk about during my week in the class.
During the week of class and on the drive home I had time to reflect on my time in Nepal. I was surprised at some of the things that I discovered were buried deep inside. Most of the feelings revolved around some form of guilt. I struggle with feeling guilty about sitting in an air-conditioned house and driving a car. I feel guilty every time I have extra food or when I pay for a cup of coffee at Starbucks that cost as much as a Nepali spends on food for an entire month. I know this is ridiculous but I think it is normal for people returning from Nepal.
Another source of guilt came from leaving my Nepali friends behind. I hate saying goodbye at any time but it was especially hard when you leave them in Nepal. Saying goodbye meant that I may not ever see them again. I feel guilty because I wonder if there was more that I could have done while I was there or more that I could do if I stayed longer. In Nepal there is so much work to be done that you almost don’t know where to start and you can work a lifetime and look back and see very little change.
The most surprising feeling that I discovered was anger. The feeling of helplessness while in the midst of such suffering stirred up terrible feelings of rage. I was angry at the politicians and the Maoists who continue their war at a terrible cost to the poor and disadvantaged of Nepal. I was angry about seeing such poverty while some Nepalese live in tremendous wealth. I was angry that I was born in such a wonderful country and given so many opportunities while these other people were not given any of the same opportunities. I was angry that the Maoists indiscriminately bomb stores where my children could have been.
Being back in the US has been a wonderful time of rest and catching up with friends and family. I don’t think that I will ever look at Wal-Mart the same as I did before I left. Some of the most routine common things here seem so strange once you look at them through a different light. I should write a book called “Culture Shock Cracker Barrel” or “Culture Shock Wal-Mart” for other people making this same transition. I read book after book to prepare for our trip to Nepal but there was nothing preparing me for our return to the US.
Since I have returned I watched a woman eat, talk on the phone, and smoke a cigarette at the same time. People walk through the mall while talking on a head set attached to their cell phone. I felt disgusted as I reflected on our culture of wealth and fast paced living. I don’t think I ever adjusted to the slow pace of Nepal. I never got the fast paced American lifestyle out of my system.
I don’t think I ever realized how hard it would be to leave my friends in Nepal until the time came for us to leave. Saying goodbye to these friends meant that I would probably never see them again. For many it was a hard goodbye but nobody felt it harder than Sanu Maya Bista.
Sanu Maya means “Little Love” in Nepali. She is the youngest daughter of a poor family in Nepal. Her older sisters had the opportunity to get married because her parents were able to pay the dowry so that they could be married. This is an important part of the way people get married in Nepal. A parent must pay the grooms family in order for their daughter to get married. Sanu never had the opportunity to do this because her parents passed away prior to her being old enough to get married.
As an orphan, Sanu was forced to go to work at an early age. She worked as a house helper or a “nanny” to families in Kathmandu. As she got older the possibility of ever getting married became ever slimmer. Sanu loved children but she would not ever have the opportunity to have any biological children.
Sanu was the first Nepali friend we made after we moved there last fall. She helped us babysit our kids and instantly fell in love with both our kids. Soon after we arrived Kody began going to school and Luke and Sanu began spending more and more time together. Sanu and Luke shared a special bond, a bond of friendship and trust. Luke needed Sanu and Sanu needed Luke. As they grew closer and closer she became more and more a part of our family. She would have moved in with us if we had the room for her. Many nights she did not want to go home to her empty flat but would rather stay with us and play with Luke. Luke called her “Didi” which means big sister in Nepali.
When the time came for us to leave Nepal we did not want to leave Sanu behind. She had become a “big sister” and an important part of our family. We decided that we would help her get a passport and a Visa so that she could come live with us in the United States even if it was only for a short period of time. Prior to Sanu getting her passport she did not even know when her birthday was. This sounds horrible to us but in Nepal most people do not celebrate their birthday and many do not even know when the date is. Sanu thought that she was 35 years old but in fact she was turning 39 just a few days before we would leave Nepal. I wrote the US Embassy and explained our situation. I gave details of how we would take care of Sanu and that we would ensure that she would return prior to her Visa expiring. We paid for the application and on the day before her birthday she went to the embassy for her interview. We anxiously awaited what we hoped would be good news about Sanu coming home to live with us.
That evening when I returned home from work there was a letter on the table from Sanu. The letter stated that the embassy would not allow Sanu to enter the United States. I could tell that she was upset by the way the letter was written. The news meant that she would actually have to say goodbye to Luke and the friendship they had developed. We phoned her to tell her how sorry we were to hear the bad news but she was not able to speak to us for long. She fought back tears but it did not take long before she had to stop talking. There was nothing that we could say to console her and we too were heartbroken.
When it finally came time for us to leave we had to say goodbye to Sanu. We had dinner together and she and Luke played until it was time for us to leave. We each knew that this would be hard but none of us were prepared for how bad it would hurt to say goodbye. Sanu hugged Luke and tried to say goodbye. She handed him to us and turned to walk away when Luke cried “Didi” and threw his arms up towards her. Tears came rolling down her face and Luke too began to cry. After several minutes we again tried to take Luke so that she could leave and Luke again turned to her and cried “No Didi”. This went on and on for almost an hour when finally Luke, Sanu, Shawna, and I were exhausted. We stood in the door watching her walk away knowing that we would probably never see her again.
Sanu Maya Bista may not have had very many years of education but she was able to teach us many things. The most important thing that Sanu taught us was that we were just alike. Nepalese were no different than us. They hurt just like we do, they feel love just like we do, and they feel loneliness just like we do. They may look different than us, eat different foods, and live in a strange place but deep inside God wired them just like he did us. Inside we are all the same.
