A Season of Change

When you first step off of a plane from the Third World and into the U.S., there are all sorts of things that strike you. There is hardly any noise. Indeed, nobody's using their horn or clearing their throat. The traffic is going so fast- so fast it feels a bit dangerous. The orderly roads meet deliberately at intersections, rather than at haphazard encounters. There's no trash or vandalism heaped in many layers. There are no beggars wanting handouts. There are no rickshaws or CNGs weaving in and out of traffic on all sides of the road.



There is only five weeks until I'm in Colorado once again. It really hit me last night when I came home. The room mate that joined me in February was surprisingly out of town visiting a village named Bogra. The thing that made this weekend's five week mark hit home was the smell and atmosphere of the apartment. There was this certain smell and a particular atmosphere to my new home when I first arrived here. Such a feeling of alone-ness accompanies it. It melted away eventually, but now it seems to be back. Logically, the smell can probably be blamed on Bangladesh beginning to cycle back into its monsoon season, like when I first got here. Emotionally, I blame the calendar.


How am I going to cope with saying bye to my class? How can I say ''See you again'' to my friends? How can I go back to paying $3.00 for a gallon of gas for my SUV?


You can't go anywhere in Bangladesh without meeting people (lots of people). Many people's lives are lived outside on the streets. Children knock premature fruit down from trees and hit each other with sticks- kid stuff to pass the time. Adults chat and watch people. They watch each other go by. When the school year began, Kim had to keep reminding me, ''People are going to stare no matter what.''


At home, people move smoothly and purposefully. I've been told that, upon arrival back home, after a while, I might start feeling like maybe I'm not looking good today because no one's watching me. People's eyes won't move to left and to the right- there's no tree growing out of the sidewalk or continuous oncoming traffic or basket of cow poo.

I'll always remember something that happened on one of Allie's first days in this country with a smile: we were walking to the grocery store, just having mourned the loss of her two baby street bunny rabbits. We were joking, ''Day eleven, bunnies go to heaven'' testing if it was too soon to laugh and not cry about this general fact of life in Bangladesh (any pets you hope to have WILL come to you sick and MOST LIKELY die). All of a sudden, there was this big basket of cow patties on the road. I turned to her and said, ''Day two, basket of poo!'' Everyone in the vicinity was just going on with their lives as they normally do- no strange attention to the basket of dried poo bits in the road.

Dear Bangladesh, I will miss you. Looooove, Krista

Scripture on my Heart

"It is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose."
Philippians 2:13

Somethings you could pray for me:

• Feeling stressed about coming home in just 2 months
• Our Vice Principal has been very, very ill for months
• Nick is sworn into the Air Force now...
• My class and I are going into the 4th quarter of the year!
• Needing to trust the Lord more fully with my life

Srimongol - Spring Break Bangladesh Style!

  

I can check some things off of my bucket list this week.  Here's the shortest possible explanation of it all...

We (4 friends and 3 Australian family members) left Dhaka for the tea capital of Bangladesh (near Sylhet, if you're looking at the map).  We took a 4-hour train ride with either shot-out, shattered windows or windows so dirty it was impossible to see out of them.  That's when Allie and I spied what became a theme for the trip: man love between Bangladeshi men on different modes of transportation.  In all, we captured this special occurrence (that's totally hetero and typical here) on camera on train, CNG and motorcycle. 

Turned out we had an awesome guide waiting for us, Russel, who is our age.  We instantly had a friend who could just hook anything up.  When we first met, I joked about driving the van.  He went, "Okay!  You American right?  Let's go to America!"  So I drove on the other side of the road on the other side of the car in Bangladesh!  It quickly became a goal of mine to try driving as many modes of transportation as possible, so Russel arranged for us to "rent" bikes to ride in the tea groves.  By "rent", I mean we made a deal with a bike shop owner in Srimongol town to take out some new bikes (all packaging STILL attached), return them, and pretend it all never happened so he can still sell the bikes.  It was the best bike ride of my life.  It was so peaceful and beautiful out in tea country.  We also got to drive a CNG through the country roads!  A CNG is basically a mini-taxi with three wheels and a lawn mower engine.  SO AWESOME! 

We did a morning trek through the national park/rain forest.  What was the #1 animal we saw in the rain forest?  Giant jungle spiders!!!  We encountered a special breed of gibbon as well- our driver Abu was sitting, smoking, petting one when we returned to the tea hut/offices from our trek.  It was so funny.  We pet it and figured out that it was hurt pretty bad (dog bike on its rear end).  One night, Kim and I decided we should see if there were any drum shops in town, so we found one.  It was a pretty epic experience- I ended up buying a drum and had a really interesting conversation with Russel about life/God/money.  He secretly got Allie (Yr 5 teach) and I into the outside of a mosque to see it the next day.  That was an experience that made me feel honored (or honoured, ha) just to have because women are not allowed in mosques as far as I know.  Another afternoon, we walked around a beautiful village with its own religion and language.  It was so beautiful and reminded me of rural Mexico in many ways.  There were children and animals at every stair case we climber.  Often times the women shyed away from us behind hanging laundry, their sari, or a corner.

Throughout the entire trip, our crew made friends with a couple local beggar kids who turned up a few times.  That may have been the best part of the trip- spending time with them.  I made a little friend in town around the bike shop (we found each toher a couple of times!), at the Srimongol train station (I think he has polio because his legs and feet are pretty warped- still walking on them though), and some quick acquaintances out in the wetlands.  We took an open Jeep out there to see the rice fields, water buffalo, and general everything.  There was a farming family who invited us to their hut for tea, which we didn't drink because it was the same water shared between water buffalo and bathing rice farmers, etc). 

Other amazing things from our trip included sleeping in a hut, walking around tea/lime/pine apple/jack fruit groves, drinking 7 layer tea, and finding a work elephant moving logs on a walk looking for ice creams and Cokes (first awesomely cool, then awesomely sad).  I also rode on top of the Jeep and hung off of the train a bit- things that made my dad's voice ring in my ears- eek!  All in all, it was a GREAT trip.  I'm so glad God's shown us what friendship should be.  I'm super lucky to have my friends here to depend on, travel and laugh with when we get a break.

 "No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you."  John 15:15 

Happy St. Patrick's Day from the Future!

It’s Thursday afternoon- I’m at the American Club having a late lunch with friends. Jenny (my new roommie), Josh, Allie and Kim have been laughing for practically an hour now. School is over for the week, next week is “Book Week” and the week after is mid-semester break. Our conversation has wandered from the “Great Balls of Fire” song to placenta jerky. Our sides are splitting.

I love that I can look up from the table and see all familiar faces: Young Grace parents, other teachers, my pastor’s family and sweaty kids running around. Soon, one of my students pulls up a chair to the table next to mine to eat pizza thats “too cheesy” and french fries. Soon after that, another one of my students hustles up to his table. I have to pull off my headphones to answer, “Miss. Schroeder?”

“Yes sir?”

“Did my brother pass out today?” The first says, with a look of wanting to prove this information with an adult to his Indian comrade.

“Yes. He passed out, threw up, and then went home.”

“See? He’s okay though.”

This is the same student who was quoted this morning saying, “And then Miss. Schroeder tripped on my face” to his Year 3 teacher (my now good friend Kim). This was the explanation she got in the bus ride home from Sport time at the French School’s big, green field about our full-speed collision playing Capture the Flag. So epic. I love remembering hearing him explain the story to another classmate, and my little Pakistani student laughs, “Hehe, her legs were up in the air.” So great. We all laughed at that.

Something awesome Kim and I share that nobody else will share with us is my class. They were her first class and they’re now my first class. She calls them “our babies”.

It’s an interesting time to witness in Allie’s life: she’s approaching her 3-month mark in Dhaka. She arrived here in January from Canada to be the new Year 5 teacher. Three months in this life is known as the culture shock time. I remember it so clearly hit me last semester. There was this week of absolute clarity and calm. It was soooo weird. It contrasted so much in comparison to all the weeks before it in that I felt totally comfortable to do everything in my life. For the first time, I wasn’t concerned about walking to the grocery store or catching rickshaw rides to places I’d never gone to before. Teaching was a bit simplified that week, too. Alas, planning still takes me a lot longer than I’d like, but I even enjoy that.

Life here is actually really easy once you get used to it. At our last staff training day, I was reminded that we get used to things. We settle in. I realized (or “realised” as I must teach it) that I am too used to the horrible things here. I don’t really think twice about rent-a-babies held up to the car window like I used to. These babies are borrowed (for money) to induce sympathy. They’re drugged up on cough syrup as to not cause a lady trouble in the heat or to stop them from crying from hunger pangs. Tens of millions of Bangladeshis get used to their poverty. Low-class children work for random street dudes by selling stickers in traffic jams. Our [amazing] principal was kind to remind us that without our being there, Christian people living on mission in Bangladesh could not be here because their kids would have no school to attend. He mentioned to us that there are currently 130 kids waiting for a spot at Grace. Anyway, I’m trying to work on allowing my eyes to be afresh to Bangladesh like in my first three months here. What are you too used to?

St. Patrick was a slave for 6 years beginning at age 16. He returned to Ireland after escaping and eventually attended 12 years of school to study theology. He thought that loving others like the Lord loved him was that important.

Good stuff. Happy St. Patty’s Day! I’m off to Esther’s house to celebrate with everyone tonight- so stoked to be going to my Irish friend’s pad on this day! Here’s to episodes of Father Ted, green beer, and (more importantly) loving on people with eyes anew and a heart full of love like the Lord!

In Dubai, UAE

I'm writing from the space-station-like airport in Dubai, United Arab Emirates! I'm traveling back to the Desh from Christmas break in the States. It's definitely a bitter sweet travel to make (not just because it takes me 44 hours). Dad, Karl, Ev, and Nick saw me off in Denver yesterday morning. It was suck suck sucky and included three rounds of "last hugs". At the same time, I'm excited by the thought of getting back to teaching in Dhaka, at Grace, with my class. My lovely little class of 19 is now 18 because one of my students moved to Zambia as her family is missional. I have the strong feeling that I'll be gaining one or two more this semester!

The Scoop
Speaking of family, the Schroeders (+ 1 Clendenen) got to have an awesome time together over break. We went hiking... and eating... we pretty much just cooked and ate around the table a bunch. I visited Greeley friends in Littleton (over much-needed Mexican food- yum yum!) and stayed with one of my best friends, Alex, at her parents' house. She was visiting from her new big-girl life in Tempe, Arizona. The catching up was much needed as we just graduated together and landed dream jobs together in two totally different places. I visited my cooperating teacher from student teaching (again, over food- Qdoba this time -again, yum yum!) and we finally set up our classes as pen pals. Wonderfully, I also visited my little friends from Greeley who I used to tutor-Angie and Mia. For those of you who know them, they are doing well and might be moving to California for a fresh start. We spent Christmas at my Mom's and then at my Dad's and we got to be with Jeannie's son, and his wife and kids who live in Seattle. Kyle's being shipped off to Afganistan soon. Uncle Chris came to eat, eat ,eat (seeing a theme in my Americano visit?) at Mom's. It was our first test-run of her newly-remodeled kitchen. Food prep mostly consisted of all of us not knowing how to help because everything lived in a new spot in the new cabinets. We all felt the lack of Boppy's presence as well... and his famously delicious gravy. Awesomely, I got to pick Nick up on Christmas day night from the airport! Our time together was part of the most valuable aspect of being home for these three weeks. He swore into the Air Force days before Christmas and plans to accept a job in communications or business. Once that happens, he's off to basic training and tech school and off somewhere after that! He and I had an awesome New Year's in Denver, celebrating with St. Mary's friends at a charity event party in some warehouse in the art district. We also had a secret Denver date night: got to see my first Nuggets game (killed the Trailblazers P.S.) and went bar-hopping a little with friends. Dad and the boys joined us the next day to go to the Denver Art Museum to see the King Tut exhibit. I got some sweet schwag for my students there :) Shout out- "Chief status!"

The Scoop about Next Year
Last Sunday, the preacher man's sermon was exactly what I needed to hear. Not only did he repeatedly quote from, "What if God was one of us...? Just a slob like one of us...? Just a stranger on a bus...?" (thank you very much for THAT) but he said exactly what I needed to hear. Nick and I had to really think about the next year for us over break. I received great thoughts and advice from my family.... and everyone else's votes... about whether I should stay a second school year in Bangladesh. Anyway, the preacher said,

"It's not about you."

I'm not 110% sure yet, but I think I'm staying in Bangy for a second year. My prayer is that God sustains me and provides spiritual food for my loved ones. It's just not about you.

Colorado Christmas

After 39 hours of travel, I'm home for Christmas! The break from school and Dhaka is much needed. It's soooo good to be around my family again after 4 and a half months. It's also weird being back in a way- like I'll wake up from the reality I've gotten used to. Wonderfully, Dad, the boys, Drew and Chase (godson) picked me up from DIA yesterday afternoon with big, neon signs reading, "Stonewall Butterpants", "Welcome back to 'Merica!" and "Mrs. Bouschibottom". First observations: DANG Karl's tall! DOUBLE DANG Ev's got facial hair (that's red?)!

My travels went well- felt quick! I flew from Dhaka (where my favorite driver, Mujibur, dropped me off) to United Arab Emirates (the airport is like a spacestation) to LAX (where I wore the red dot to see what people's reactions would be). On my 16.5 hour flight, I had an empty seat next to me and a really nice man from Kuwait in the window seat (a Kuwaitian? Kuwaiti?). We had epic conversations and he let me curl up in the empty seat between us. I helped him with the non-resident paperwork and we spoke about how funny British and American accents are. He was "confused about why you live in Bangladesh, so far away from home" and a great conversation came out of that.

Seeing the pets and Mom's in-construction-kitchen have been nice little things. Also on the list of nice little things: not having black boogers, not worrying about swallowing shower water, calling Nick and it's not the opposite time of day.

Anyhoodle, the house is starting to stir, so I'm going to go enjoy!
Merry CHRISTmas!

White Girl Rant

If I get meowed at one more time whilest arguing with a rickshaw wallah over price for a ride one more time this week, I'm likely to let a curse word (or four) slip out! I just need to vent/rant about being treated like a rich kid in the middle of a muslim third world country. Just an hour ago, I was standing outside the Bagha (a British club in a section of town called Baridara). Being a white girl by myself on the street in the evening, the wonderful guard of the club (always a remarkable gentlemen) was helping me get a rickshaw home. The wallah came over, I asked him in Bangla if he had change, ''Bai, bente asi?'' He asked how much change I wanted. I asked for 20 taka (only needing to pay him 30 taka to get back to my neighborhood, DOHS Baridara a.k.a. the foreigner area). He scauffed and said, ''You pay me 50.'' I said, ''That Badeshi price, Bai, I pay you maybe 35.'' He replied with, ''You English. You pay 50. Bangladeshi pay 35. You English.'' As I was wanting to yell at him and ask if white people somehow weigh more than Bangali people, the dred cry let out near by: ''Meeeoooooooww!''

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat. Hold up. I've heard this one before. On to the next wallah.

The next wallah, who was flashed a little smile from moi (in hopes that a lesser scene would be caused in front of all the gaping men on this street at this point), quickly agreed that I pay him 40 taka. Fine. Of course, ten minutes later, he demanded 50 outside of my home. When I pulled the Alla-is-watching-card, he stopped pretending that he had no change.

My friend Dave summed up the internal conflict of typical interactions with Bangladeshis on the street really, really well last night. We were talking about a question a new friend, Maffouz, had asked us. Dave said something like this: For us, being respected is being treated as an equal. That's Western thinking, but that's what we're used to. Here, we are respected by being called ''Boss'' and ''Madame'' by everyone in eyeshot of us. Thing is, I'm not anybody's boss. Truth is, I make so little money, I couldn't feed myself with it at home. Here it's a small fortune, but I'm just not a rich kid. Being looked at as only a chance for a handout.... sucks.

Then Fred (my pastor) shared how a beggar boy was following him home from the grocery store asking for 2 taka that day. Fred gave him something cooked to eat (probably cost 20 taka, 28 cents u.s.d.). The kid dropped it on the ground and kept on him for 2 taka.

Honestly, we laugh and play the ''You know you've lived here too long when...'' game, but this week someone behind me said, ''Madame!'' and I turned around like it was my name. I didn't think about it, but I thought/assumed they were talking to me. I make less than $9,000.00 here. That's my salary. There's straight up incredible provision for me as far as benefits and housing goes, and I'm even able to save money, but I just am not a rich kid. It's an adjustment I'm failing at.

Maffouz told us the story of when he first saw a white person (he grew up in Dhaka and just experienced a semester abroad in Michigan). He was about 8 when he saw a white person. He was with his dad, so he asked him, ''Why do they look like that?'' Miffouz' dad replied, ''They're white so they're really good. They're a good person. Their skin is light and pure. It's something in their skin.'' Miffouz described when he first saw a black person, too. He happened to be with his dad again, years later, and his dad's reply was, ''They're black, so they are a very good person. It's something in their skin.'' This is what brought on the whole conversation.... How are foreigners treated here? What is it like? He earnestly wanted to know and it was an interesting convo between 2 Englishmen, an Irishwoman, 4 Americans, a Bengladeshi man, and a Kiwi.

In this jumble of thought, I just now thought about my conversation with my dad this morning. He was telling me about some Muslim guy in Yemen who's telling Muslims worldwide to kill Christians. Dad said, as he usually does, ''So be really careful. Can you do that? Be careful not to stand out.'' Hahaha.... man. I stand out. I stand out like a sore thumb. The ''public'' in this town is like 90% men in any given place, at any given time (if not more) and I am Money Bags Madame to them.

Year 4 Poem (by a Year 4 Parent)

Last month at school was Special Emphasis Week. The theme was "Rap, Rhythm, and Ryhme" which allows us to have an AWESOME week of rap, dance, song, poetry, art..... so much. Wonderfully, one of my kids' parents visited the class to share some of her own poetry. She really showed us that everyone is an author. She wrote this amazing poem about us! Her point of view is so touching to me- Indian, Christian, mom, observer. Enjoy!


Year 4

1, 2, 3, 4
Ah! That’s it…
Year 4.
This is Year 4 classroom
I have lovely beaming son in here.
Where is he?! Oh! Where’s he?
Oh there he is
Happy as ever, oh! Thanks.
He doesn’t put that cooky frown on.
Oh! I know he’s in a lovely home
With a bunch of happy friends
With beaming smiles on their faces.
I can see some gaps by missing tooth.

Can you recite them?
They would sound a lovely song in my ears.
I know them all as clear as mine,
As friendly tigers:
Tae-Min, Haaris, Ameya, Siddharth,
Rafhan, Rohan, Jared, Alexander…
Where’s he?
I do not see him anywhere.
Leave far, far away
But I wonder how many tigers fly?
I hear their growl
But not see them fly.
Perhaps he is with new tigers.
Happy wishes for him.

In come more friendly tigers:
Aagneya, Matthew, Zechariah, Tawfiq.
How nice to see them grow
With their sharp canines.
I wish they don’t grow their nails
But they cut them short.
Oh yeah! I did not miss
Friendly tigresses.
They keep tigers’ growls and yell.
Hope I don’t miss any of them:
Alisha, Cassia, Ellie, Celine,
Eira, Svea, and Amber joining in.
Oh! Prathana came away by the wind
And Pruitt too.

Tigers & Tigresses under care
Of the most lovely Miss. Schroeder.
“Silly Miss. Schroeder”
As the cheeky tigers & tigresses
Address her.
Oh! It’s heaven on earth!
Lovely bunch of creative children,
Miss. Schroeder holding them
Proudly showing them off
As the peacock shows
His wonderful feathers.

Oh! Please check for their nails.
Well, good... they are trimmed.
As I said,
They are friendly tigers
Lovely bunch of friendly tigers
Where anybody who’s let in
Peeping would enjoy.

School Today

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.

-Teddy Roosevelt

The best reaction to what my kiddos saw this morning was a sneaky smile of giggles. Most of the boys walked in to the classroom and yelped, "What?!??!" or went "WHOAAAA!" Their desks and chairs were in a wild pile in the carpet area. In the center of where their desks used to be were two big plush mats. I didn't think anyone noticed that their desk group baskets were somewhere on the floor on the mats... like we'd actually be USING the space today to learn in..... They went about their business as usual until our morning Assembly time.

We had Class Assembly (instead of a whole-school one), talking about the stuff of our classroom and school; how awesome it is to have been blessed with it all. We prayed for the children of Dhaka who don't have all the learning junk we utilize. We prayed not to be distracted today by sitting on the floor (otherwise known as "wiggle bottom" to all you teachers out there a.k.a the bain of my existence). We prayed that we learn the true meaning of the quote above (it hangs in the classroom

Our door read "Welcome to Slum School" today. We went all day without some of the things children in the slum schools of Dhaka go without: Air conditioning, desks, chairs, and recess play equipment (Oh no, no soccer balls??!?). They had no idea it was coming! Basically, it was GREAT. The kids had to sit on the ground all day (instead of slouching in their wooden chairs) and we occasionally put the fans on.

Today was inspired by last week's school visitor, Freek (my very quiet neighbor from the Netherlands) and 6 slum school school girls. This Saturday is Grace's annual Autumn Fair, which collects money and donations for their local "slum" school nearby. Freek and his lovely ladies presented the conditions of the one-room school house that houses grades 1 - 5 twice a day, five days a week. The sweet, sweet girls did a traditional Bengali dance (for like 10 minuntes- totally typical of traditional dances here). Freek showed us pictures and answered questions as well. It all came down to this:o

• Our poor little Christian school ain't so poor after all.


• Children of Dhaka are LUCKY if they can go to a "slum" school. Dhaka’s population is expanding by 4.4% each year, making it the fastest-growing city in the world. This makes education of children low on the list of the hungry and needy.


• GIRLS are really lucky to attend formal scholing. They don't usually grow up to get jobs and students must pay for a uniform here.


• Year 4 students had some things to.... consider....

I have to say, I love my job so much. I'm thankful this message could be brought to my students. I'm thankful for the national staff of our school that really encouraged me because, "they have to learn this." I'm really thankful my Head of School supported the idea despite having it popped on her at 7:00am, and in fact, was so on board, she went and found beautiful blown-up pictures of smiling students learning on the floor of Freek's church's school.

What I'm MOST THANKFUL FOR TODAY came in a moment. It was the moment one of my (always inquiring) Hindu students asked why Christ gives us all of this and them none of it? How can that be if He loves us all so much? I let this idea out and let it marinate in all of them: Welcome to the broken world, sweetheart. This isn't paradise anymore. This world is full of man's decisions because God gives us free will to do what we want, including love Him or NOT. Remember, He doesn't want robot-human-love (this student loves this idea- who doesn't)? And unfortunately, mankind doesn't really choose to give all children the same opportunites.



HumanFail.


Praise the Lord for loving this child so much as to send this mesage to him at his Christian school! It's quite a bizarre thing to send your Hindu child to a Christian school in a Muslim country, yes??

Hahahaha... love it. He truly works in EVERYONE's life in weird ways.

Walkin Around

Kim and I were walking around yesterday, doing some shopping, and started talking about what everybody at home would think of the things we're now accustomed. Right when this conversation began, we walked by a couple men sitting on a blanket with two piles of goat heads. The goat heads were a bit unrecognizable at first, being soaked in black oil and bodiless. We laughed and never broke our stride. That's exactly what we weren't talking about, but it qualified. The men paused mid-Eid prep to stare at us... and then kept right on with their machete business.

Half an hour later, we walked through Gulshan 2 and accumulated a small tribe of followers: little beggar boys wanting food and money. They probably saw us buying cheap pearls in the nearby shop (It's a daily adjustment to live the privileged life in a third-world country, coming from middle-class America). We quickened our pace, but looking at Kim and knowing my own feelings, we were both in love with one of the boys. He was so sweet! He acted like our protector and local guide amongst the traffic (since we're so obviously NOT from here). He stopped on-coming cars and moved a man out of the way as we kept walking. He asked me things in Bangla and then translated them in perfect English when I didn't understand. I stopped to buy him and his buddy a banana apiece. WRONG MOVE KRISTA! That's when our little tribe suddenly became a big tribe of shoeless children. It was crappy to stick to my original plan and only buy two bananas, but we would've been even mauled further if we'd decided to do more in the moment.

Other [now] normal encounters on this trip out of the house included: picking up a rickshaw walla with a really red mouth (high on juicy red sheesh), riding by a man with no legs, scooting furiously at us on the road, talking about anything we want in open public because nobody understands us, and continuing to throw up furiously, as we had been the last two days, upon getting home.

These are all crazy things that we all kinda laugh about being accustomed to (better than crying), but I really think (lately) about how my view of money, complaining, and what "being poor" means. I keep thinking about my friends and family back home.... if they will understand.... if I will hate the things people say. I hate the things I mentally (and verbally) complained about. There's just no way to justly describe what it's like over here. This blog does nothing for it for sure. It's wild to teach Bible stories to my class (currently: Noah's Ark) and then see the streets of Dhaka because it's very much what I picture Bible times to have been like: beggars following people and chopped up goat heads just out in the open all the time.

I dunno. It's constant confrontation and awesome displacement for me.