InTENTS!
On the World Race, one should make no assumptions, and expect nothing, except for God to be at work. This was demonstrated once again as we prepared to depart Kathmandu in the city of Themal and head for Lalitpur. All our bags were packed and we were ready to go. Yes, I went there. Now the song lyrics play in your head. You’re welcome! We found out our contacts weren’t quite ready for our arrival, so we had the opportunity to spend one more night in our guest house. Then came the gift after the gift. Not only could we sleep in beds one last time, but we were encouraged to spend our day doing whatever we needed for ourselves.
I wanted to spend my day visiting the earthquake victims at the base of the monkey temple. I was prepared to go by myself, but soon, 3 other racers decided to join me. It would be about a 2-3 mile walk, and I was thrilled to have company. This day spent in tents would be nothing short of intense.
During our walk to the tents, I started talking to a man who had devoted 5 weeks studying and doing life with boys on the street, learning their ways of survival. He told stories about how they ask for baby food and return it to then use the money to purchase more glue to get high with, serving to also suppress out their hunger pangs. The children often travel to the big cities hoping to provide for their family, and upon trying to return to their village, they would be shunned. They beg tourists and their bodies carry the mark of the evil their lives have become. Inside of their shirts, children as young as 7 carry bags to sniff glue. Around their necks they wear a string adorned with a razor blade for quick access during a gang fight. With much knowledge comes much responsibility, and one by one they are lost to the streets.
It was a struggle for me to leave my heart and press on toward the tents, but I mustered up the courage to do just that. It helped that I had other women eager to keep moving. I wanted inside not only that man’s head but to spend the day with him loving on the street kids. God’s lost sons, are still my brothers.
As we reached the base of the monkey temple, I had suggested buying waters for the people, but we decided to wait and see the situation at hand. Jen decided to buy a bunch of bananas off the street, just outside the tents, and probably held them for 2 minutes before a monkey literally attacked her clothing ripping the whole bag out of her hands. That selfish monkey had no plans of sharing it with his own let alone the people we had come to visit.
Nothing could have prepared us for what we would see or who would greet us. The ground was blanketed with tents and as I walked in I was overwhelmed by the number of women and children. School aged children were not at school, but on the streets begging, while their mothers and youngest siblings stayed behind.
Having the momma heart I carry, I was immediately drawn to a little boy named Asahad and his mother Najune. I stooped down to give him a drink from my water bottle, and left it in his hands. Though the size of one of his little legs, he proudly lugged it from place to place. His mom didn’t wait long before asking for rice. Before the day was done, I would secretly return with a bag full of cooked spaghetti noodles to feed her family of 6.
Walking further into the tent community, I heard a baby screaming. I found her in the arms of a gray haired old man, claiming to be her father. I motioned to hold her, and he placed her in my arms. A few seconds in the arms of The Baby Whisperer as my church refers to me, and she was soothed. She was all smiles, sticking out her tongue, studying me. Sadly, I do not doubt that were I to offer to take her home, her parents would not have hesitated letting me have precious Goti. The World Race is full of parents willing to give you their children, trusting a better life is available in your arms, rather than their own. Sometimes, they have too many to feed , sometimes they don’t want them, and sometimes they simply don’t see hope of a better tomorrow.
A young man in his 20’s started walking towards me, and I just knew two things. He was safe, and He knew English. I was right on both accounts. His single self, would later ask if my 33 year old self would ever want to date a Nepali man. You know, dinner table conversation 🙂 Not only that, but God would break my heart once again hearing his story. After talking to Sanzeep for a while, I promised I would go meet his family on the other side of the camp. I asked the other women to go with me, and it was hard for a few to leave the children they had quickly fallen in love with.
My first thought upon seeing his family’s tent was that they needed to go home where everyone had a place to sit down, and they could have space to call their own. We met Sanzeep’s mother Bilma, sisters Sonu and Sunita, baby Shoguna, and learned a little of Sanzeep’s story. After a few minutes, Sanzeep offered to take us to see the rubble that was his home. I thought it would be quite a trek and was saddened to learn that their home was literally across the street from the camp. Their dog Jennie was still their guarding it.
The walls for the bottom floor were up in the front, but the second story was leveled. The back was just a pile of bricks and with personal items strewn across the home, found in random places. The ladder no longer needed, was propped up against another house. I was excited to get away from the camp, hoping to pray with Sanzeep, but was pleasantly surprised to find out that he and his mother are Christian and when I offered to pray, he agreed, but that we would need to go inside of his tent with his family.
Sanzeep began to tell me part of his story. Lunch was being prepared in the kitchen on the first level when the earthquake hit. Bilma was on the second floor, and now struggles to walk after falling and having to be pulled down through to the first floor. They ran across the street hoping to find safety. After the earthquake, they were left with no personal belongings, and an aunt nearby provided a few items to sustain them. Sonu has only one t-shirt to wear, but luckily her school understands and doesn’t make her wear the school uniform. The Chinese Red Cross set up a tent for them, and relief of food and water only came for a short time. I also learned that only 6 of the tents in this camp are filled with earthquake victims, and the rest are Nepali people who couldn’t pay their rent.
Returning to the tent, Bilma welcomed my sister and I, and Sanzeep made tea for us. Biscuits were offered and as much as we told him it was not necessary to buy them, he wanted to serve us. I prayed for my new friend Bilma, for healing for her leg, peace for her family, and restoration of her house. It broke my heart to see the rubble across the street. I told the family that I would do what I could to help them rebuild their house, but that I couldn’t make any promises, beyond telling their story and trying to get donations.
As I write, I have been faced with many obstacles communicating with the family, but I hope you will continue to follow my blog trusting God to prepare your “YES” partnering with me, when the time comes. What is in the past for us, is still very present for them. They had nothing, but gave of their BEST. The least I can do is keep my promise to tell their story, hoping to one day soon hear their voices and see their home restored.
“For every house is built by someone, but God is the builder of everything.”
