There are times on the race where I can’t believe that this is actually my life. Last week was one of those times. My team left our ministry sight with our host, Mr. David, and we went to the mountains in Hakha.
Getting there was an adventure all in itself. First, we had a nine-hour bus ride. It was a charter bus and had AC and blankets, so it wasn’t that bad. Besides the dead rat Levi and I walked past at one of our rest stops, it was pretty normal. Then we switched from that bus, to a smaller one. This one was more like a van. It was pretty small, and packed with people and luggage. This bus ride was supposed to be fifteen hours.
Even though it was small and hot, the ride wasn’t that bad. I was so excited to be in the mountains. The drive there was beautiful, and my team has a way of making everything eventful. We stopped around nine or ten for dinner, and that’s when we found out there was a landslide. We wouldn’t be able to go any further that night until it was cleared in the morning. So, some of my team slept on the floor in the restaurant, and some of us slept in the van.
At this point, we were all tired and dirty and had been dreaming of a nice hot shower and a comfy bed. We could have easily gotten in a bad mood, and I have to admit for a minute I was tempted. But God provided all of us with an amazing nights sleep. The next morning, the lovely woman that let us sleep in her restaurant made us breakfast, and then we continued on to the mountains.
Once we made it to Hakha and checked into our hostel, we had about five minutes to drop our stuff off, change clothes, and then head out for ministry. A school bus came and picked us up, and took us to Mount Carmel School International. When we got there, kids came running from all over the place to come say hi to us. We met the teachers and the principle, and then all eight of us got put into our own classroom.
The next few days were a blur. We would have breakfast at the same restaurant at eight with the same order of fried rice and coffee. Around nine the school bus would pick us up outside of our hostel and take us to school. Everyday, the roads were to muddy for the bus, so they would get us as close to the school as possible, and we would walk the last few minutes, trying our hardest not to fall in the mud.
We each taught our own class from ten to twelve, and then we would break for lunch. Sitting at the long conference table, we would eat the noodles the teachers got for us, and talk about what funny thing our students had done that day. From one o’clock to three –thirty we would go to a different class and teach. After that, we would get on the school bus with the kids. This honestly was one of my favorite parts.
The kids loved that we rode the bus with them. They would try to teach us Burmese, and whenever one of the kids got off the bus, you would see a bunch of American’s sticking their heads out the windows waving bye to them. People on the street got a kick out of this. The school bus would drop us off at our hostel, and we would have about two hours to ourselves before we would head back to the restaurant we had breakfast at and again, we would have friend rice. After supper, we went back to the hostel, and usually went straight to bed.
Our days were so busy, but I absolutely loved it. I loved the amazing view of the mountains I had outside my classroom. I loved that it was cold enough that I needed to wear a flannel and pants. I loved the students I got to teach. I loved teaching them the creation story and how to play four corners. I loved hearing “Ms. Tay, Ms. Tay!” every five seconds. I loved the sweet students that loaded me up with plums and bubble gum. I loved every second of Hakha.
