First sighting of Kiosko Bamboo and what it came to be
It was within the first week of arriving in Calama. Jen and I woke up one morning to brave the impending reality of dry lips, uncomfortable breathing, and a pack of dogs that would inevitably follow us on a run through the town. The high altitude of Calama and innumerable stray dogs that wander its dirty streets created a quite interesting running experience. Nevertheless, as we wandered through the city, passing a skatepark that had begun to gain familiarity in our minds, we were stopped at a red light. Jen signaled me to notice the small, white stand that sat at the edge of the skatepark. The sign on the side of the shop read, “Cafe/Té.” We had been searching for a local spot for coffee, and I was immediately thrilled by the possibility that we had found the place my team and I could gather to enjoy a freshly brewed cup of coffee, or perhaps sip lattes and write blogs. I was wanting a change from the instant Nescafé coffee, the inferior cousin of your standard freshly ground cup of coffee I had grown accustomed to at home. I didn’t know it then, but the plans I had for that little stand were not the ones that came to be — not at all.
It was the next day that two of my teammates and I decided to walk about ten minutes to the coffee shop. The coffee shop that ended up being, to my extreme dismay, merely a mini market stocked with the standard juices, cookies, and snacks I had already begun to recognize as mini market staples. Although initially disappointed, praise the Lord it wasn’t just a coffee shop. Within a few seconds of inspecting the items of the store, the owner of the shop popped into our sight. We began talking —partly in English, partly in Spanish, partly in Google translate — and two hours later we left. We came to know him as Anibal. Within the conversation we learned that the 47 year old man was a Chile-born former miner who now owned a small market called Kiosko Bamboo. He had one son — older and living in another city — had been divorced, and had clearly lived a full 47 years, evident by his leathery, weathered hands. His smile was the first thing I noticed. A smile that has left an indelible impression on me. In the next three weeks, I was blessed by that smile.
Seven different types of juice and language class
Within the first visit with Anibal, I was convinced we had stumbled upon his shop for a reason. I had been praying for God to connect my team and I to the community. I desperately wanted to have more opportunities, as I (selfishly) wanted to show friends and family back home what we were doing. I wanted to feel validated through my actions and relationships. I now have recognized and named these intentions, deeming them as being self-interested, minimizing the perfection of God’s timing. Nevertheless, I was praying for an introduction to a potential new friend or connection in Calama. “I really want to learn English. Do you know anyone who could teach me?” These were some of the first words I heard Anibal say. This mere question from him (which, admittedly, much of which was understood through the power of Google translate) felt as if it doubled as an invitation from God to enter into a relationship with him. We struck a deal: we would help him with his English as he tutored us in Spanish. In the next visits, we got to know Anibal and his story, attempting to ask questions in Spanish that, after several attempts, he would understand and repeat in English. When we rounded the corner and entered the park outside his shop, I liked to spot him merely to witness his reaction. A toothy smile would spread between the wrinkles of his face, overjoyed by the sight of his new friends. The feeling was mutual. So, we would sit on the yellow plastic furniture on the patio of his kiosk, sipping one of the various juices (in light of my personal mission to try every flavor) or licking a popsicle he had given us free of charge. We found ourselves there on many occasions, whether after the prayer walk when we walked through the city seeking individuals in need of prayer, or on a weekday after our day teaching in the school. With every visit, this man who had always felt familiar, continued to feel like a person we were meant to meet.
Chuquicamata, UFO’s, and their relevance to our story
Before coming to Calama, I eagerly researched the city — tourist attractions, cultural foods, landscape and topography — as much as I could. To my dismay, I did not find much on Calama, Chile. I learned that it was the second sunniest place on the planet, being in the desert, and that there was some giant hole people go to see. When we arrived in Calama, we came to learn about the hole called Chuquicamata. It is the largest copper mine in the world. For a reason unknown to me, I had a fascination and fixation on this hole. I needed to see the hole. Unfortunately, although we got close, I never did stand on the rim and peer into the deep and vast crater in the middle of the Calama desert. After spending more time with our new friend and ambitious English speaker, we learned he had once worked in Chuquicamata as well as four other mines in Chile.
One night thinking about Anibal, as if my eyes were suddenly opened, I realized that we had not shared the Gospel with him. Although we had been praying to show God’s love to him through our relationship and through the words heard in the church service he attended, we had not even asked him what he believed. The next day, Jaclyn and I decided to officially present him with what we know as truth. This was my first time sharing the Gospel. With a quivering voice, I asked him what he believed in. (Again, after many different combinations of Spanglish and Google translate). Finally, he understood. After a long, thoughtful ponder, he looked into our eyes. “Aliens.” (WHAT!!!) With widened eyes, Jaclyn and I glanced at each other, internally laughing at this setup into sharing our belief in God. However, let it be known that we did inquire more about his extraterrestrial belief system and his five sightings of UFO’s. I began to share pieces of my testimony that I had prepared through translate previously, making eye contact to ensure that I was making at least some sense. I shared about the giant hole I believe is in each of our hearts. A hole we try to fill with … fill in the blank. A hole that can only be temporarily and insufficiently filled aside from the presence of Christ in our hearts. Although he agreed that there is a God, he insisted that the world contains too many problems for God to be concerned with his — an idea that is ludicrous if we are talking about the Lord of the universe. Pressing in further, we asked him what brings him joy. “Why are you always smiling?” He asked to borrow my phone to translate his response. He raised his eyes to meet ours, passing the phone. It read, “it’s a mask.” It was in that moment I realized the reality of the words I had just spoken. It’s not just a bunch of Christanese. It is true, and pretending it is not does not minimize the pain. Without Christ, our lives are empty, and the holes in our hearts are deep. As deep as Chuquicamata.
Last minute torta and tearful goodbyes
As the time approached when we would leave, we decided to organize a final meal together. On Saturday, we decided we would sit on the same yellow furniture outside the kiosk and eat pizza. We promised to bring brownies as we had missed Anibal’s birthday, which was earlier last month. However, due to the lack of an oven, several key ingredients in brownies, and limited time, we resorted to cake (torta). Although every bakery on the route seemed to be closed, we did eventually acquire three pieces from a store near the kiosk. As the afternoon sun shone through the cracks of the awning, we sang Anibal happy birthday and exchanged our final words. I noticed through his glassy eyes the sincerity of the past few weeks. As we prayed for him before leaving, I was filled with confidence in the fact that he was placed in our lives for a reason. He didn’t confess his sins and cry out to God. He didn’t ask to know more about our friend Jesus. But I’ve come to realize that that’s really not the point, nor does it mean I have any less faith in the significance of the friendship. I certainly learned something from Anibal. I shouldn’t be in missions to feel personal accomplishment or validation. God is working when we see it and when we do not. That’s enough.
