Every day we visit the slums to teach English and basic manners to kids ages 1-12. There’s about 20-30 of them who gather at the well for bath time before class. We put baby powder on the young ones and remind everyone that if they’re good during class they will be given fresh bread. We teach twice a day, in the morning and again in the afternoon. Then we teach from 5-6 at a private school which is unfortunately not affiliated with slum ministry at all.
My team and I adore doing work in the slums.
Let me paint this picture for you. The classroom is a little bigger than your bedroom at home. There are no windows, only two doors. One leads in from the front, the other takes you out back where a woman and her two kids live.
I’ve made friends with this woman. She doesn’t know my name, and truth be told I don’t know hers.
I teach her 10 year old son twice a day and in the mornings I bathe her daughter. Sometimes when the classroom gets too hot I sneak out the back door and sit with her. We just smile at each other in silence. But it’s comfortable, because we’re friends, remember?
Without asking I pick up a knife and grab a piece of ginger from her pile. We sit across from each other on a wooden bed frame and cook together. I mimic what she does. Cutting the first layer of ginger away then plopping them in a bowl of water.
She keeps a bird in a cage and wears socks with flip flops. Micky mouse pajama bottoms hang loosely on her legs. Her little sweater is faded in color, and never quite matches. But I’m not judging, because we’re friends.
Her home is smaller than the classroom. The bed has many uses and is missing a mattress. It’s more like a clean platform above the ground. A place to rest your bones.
Less than four feet away she has a fire for cooking. There is a small shelf that “separates” the bedroom from the kitchen, holding a few old pans and colorful children’s bowls. Still, we do all the chopping and peeling on the bed. There is no place to sit in the kitchen anyway.
The bird sits in a cage near the kitchen. I wonder if he can feel the heat from her cooking when the wind blows just right. I wonder if he’s even a pet..
Her home isn’t much. In fact, there are no walls. Fortunately, being that she’s right outside the building, her home is covered by the schools roof. I’m thankful she has made the most of out this space. I’m thankful that when it rains, my friend is dry.
While I help chop unknown roots and herbs, she’s allowed time to play with her daughter. A baby with perfect tan skin and huge brown eyes. She speaks Cambodian baby talk and I consider the language difference once again.
Her son comes to sit by me and begins peeling the ginger root. Faster than me. I savor this for a rich minute, I feel connected. I feel HERE.
..And it’s time to lead by example again. Standing up, welcoming him back into the classroom with the other kids. Hoping the mother will also be lead by this example.
I look back at her with a smile, she’s the first one to break eye contact. She doesn’t know my name, but we’re friends.
“If things start happening, don’t worry, don’t stew, just go right along and you’ll start happening too.” -Dr. Seuss
