Last Saturday, I had to say a difficult goodbye to a young Kyrgyz student. Her simple act of giving rocked my world view and awoke me to myself.
Two days prior to the goodbye, my team and I had boarded a marshrutka (a 15-passenger bus bigger than a minivan but smaller than a school bus) headed for a nearby town to help lead a 3-day personal development camp at a high school.
We climbed down off the bus. We were standing almost directly in front of the high school.
A little apprehensive of what was about to happen and the relationships that were about to be kick-started, we meandered into the school auditorium, carrying lesson materials and other resources and items necessary for over the next few days at our sides and over our shoulders. The auditorium room was decorated in mostly red, white and blue balloons with little room between the 10-15 rows of plywood benches.
Slowly but surely students filled up the seats as the start time approached.
We took up a couple rows in the back of the auditorium, and after being met by a few nervous hellos by several English-speaking students, the camp commensed.
The curriculum was similar to the week prior so in that we knew what we were doing. We were in the spotlight a lot and that was the main way we began to connect with the students. It was definitely fun and the kids got quite a kick out of us performing songs, skits and conducting games (at least that’s what I gathered from the laughter/clapping during and afterwards).
But I was a little anxious to get into the classrooms and spend time with a smaller group of kids in a quieter setting. A little more up my alley, I figured.
However, I realized quickly there was little chance for talking one-on-one. The format of the time was mostly lecture-style teaching with some group involvement during the last 20 minutes.
I was, however, able to take note of who the English speakers were, while observing. A couple of English-speaking girls displayed some leadership skills and caught my attention.
Maybe the next day I would get a chance to talk with them?
Try the next activity…
After the classroom time ended, the setting changed and we were all relocated to the gym for a group game time.
I met the girls then, while we were standing around. Two lovely, tall, young Kyrgyz female students named Zena and Aurora (not their real names). Zena was the first to strike up conversation, asking where I am from and “how do you like our Kyrgyzstan?” (a popular question locals have asked us throughout our travel time about their respective home country).
I told her how I was enjoying my time here and that I have not yet met a mean Kyrgyz person. If I recall correctly, I also think I was honest and said the food has been especially delicious (it’s true…we’ve all been missing out on ploff, naan, fresh watermelon and fresh tomatoes from Kyrgyzstan).
Aurora, who had been listening to Zena and I closely up until this point, chimed in, asking if I had seen how there are mosques almost everywhere in the southern region of Kyrgyzstan. And, with that, BAM these girls had almost instantaneously catapulted our conversation into one of the most universally prickly topics of all time: religion.
I was hesitant to respond fully, wanting to respect the boundaries laid out by our ministry hosts surrounding when they said it was appropriate and inappropriate to have faith discussions with students. And also because…I was nervous. I was just getting to know these girls.
But Zena and Aurora kept pressing, showing how much they wanted to get to know me and share their lives with me. They told me about their faith in Allah and how much their religion meant to them and the ways their religion and their traditions are intermingled (I thought of America occasionally).
It was a great conversation that lasted the entire group game time. Afterwards, I felt foolish for having such hesitancy to engage with them over faith.
(I want to add here that yes, I’m on the World Race as an overseas missionary who is suppose to have it all figured out and be super bold all the time, but the reality is there are definitely times when I get nervous about mentioning what I believe. Maybe you can relate.)
But with these girls, along with nearly every other foreigner we’ve met over the last 6 months, all they wanted was to talk to someone about something that is important to them.
They were in it to connect and be real. Whereas, I was in it to be safe and right.
The second camp day came and went with little opportunity for me to talk with Zena and Aurora again. My team and I still had fun singing a song for the students and acting out a hilarious skit that had all of the students smiling and laughing together. But I wondered if I’d get time to connect with my two new friends again.
Our team doing a skit for the students. My teammates have some great stage presence!
On the last day, during our classroom time, I shared about my experience with the questions “what is success?” and “how can we set and meet good goals?” Throughout my babbling, Zena and Aurora translated for me. And after talking for what the students probably felt was forever, I sat down in my classroom seat behind Zena and began writing a thank you note to her.
No sooner had I written the first sentence but Zena spun around in her chair with a mischievous smirk on her face. She said, “I have something to give you later, ok?” Quickly covering my paper, I managed to spit out, “Ok! I have something for you too.”
A couple hours later, the camp formally wrapped up with some dancing by the students (who dance for anything from being punished for coming in late to being rewarded for winning a competition). And from the auditorium, we mosied outside across an open field to a shady area.
That’s when the goodbyes and pictures began.
Students who I hadn’t talked to for any seemingly significant amount of time were coming up and saying “thank you for teaching us” or “it was nice to meet you” or “I hope you have a safe travels” (grammatical error intended).
We found out on the second day how big an ordeal it was for these students that we were there. This was the first ever chance they’d been given to practice conversational English with native English speakers. Sure they took classes and their teachers were given chances to practice English, but for the students, this was an extremely special opportunity.
Hearing that helped put the tough goodbyes in better perspective, but it did increase a suspicion of Zena and Aurora’s motives. Could that be why they had taken such interest in talking to me on the first day? To practice their English?
In the midst of remembering this thought while taking pictures, Zena found me and, pulling me aside into the sun, she dropped two rust-colored dangling earrings into my hand.
“These were an expensive gift to me from my mother, and now I want to give them to you. Please do not lose them. I really enjoy talking to you during this camp and think that you have a very pure spirit. I think this is beautiful. I will not forget about you, and I hope we can see each other again, even if it is in many years.”
I hardly knew how to react in real time. It was kinda like being hugged randomly and suddenly by your crush. Just….what….? What just happened? Life? Where am I…
Still stuck in my head from shock, I tried to tell her how highly I thought of her and of how good it was to discuss things with her. But my outward gratitude was an overly-controlled and calm version of my internal feelings. What a sweet girl, true to her words, raw in expressing her thoughts and feelings, making me truly embarressed for having suspected that she merely wanted to talk to me for my language.
I later gave her the brief note I had written, telling her it was noy earrings, but that I wanted to give her something. She was kind, saying how she “will keep it forever. And when we see each other again, we can say ‘see, I still have the item you gave me'”. The softness of her eyes when she smiled. The occasional arm stroke of endearment. She was there in that moment, fully present and without shame and pride. She brought her whole honest self in this goodbye.
I found Aurora soon after and took a picture of the three of us, telling them how thankful I was to have met them. They were kind and expressed sincere remorse that we couldn’t stay longer in their town.
We saw our packs get thrown into the marshrutka and we began to say final goodbyes. Zena and Aurora let me pray to Jesus for them, and it was such an honor. God reminded me how hearts can be beautifully connected even if they don’t all belong to him.
Aurora, me (with the earings) and Zena
We hugged for a long time, and then I boarded the bus. From the window of our bus I could spot Zena and Aurora waving heartfelt goodbyes as my team and I drove out of the school parking area.
In relaying this story to a friend of mine on my team, she commented how “this is really such a common situation.” And it’s so true. Locals alllllllll across Asia have shown us this caliber of love and raw fullness of themselves, offering us things far more valuable than earrings.
But it made me wonder if, as an American, I’m willing to let myself notice and feel my own raw emotion like these people I’ve met. Am I so worried about not being “realistic” or “logic-based” to feel deeply for others? Do I think I’m better than other cultures because I have a better handle on my emotions? Am I REALLY more emotionally intelligent than them? More real? Have a better notion of reality than them?
The more we travel, the more I’ve seen my deeply rooted American pride be held up against the authentic, honest connection sought after by Asian people. It’s a startling contrast.
True, I’m making generalizations when I say “Americans” and “Asians”, and maybe I am not accurate in making them. And maybe you don’t think you fall into them, but hey maybe some of you actually do. Maybe it’s so subtle you’d never see it with the naked eye (guilty). Maybe you feel justified in your pride and willingness to entertain thoughts of being above others (guilty). Maybe pity, not empathy, is your go-to emotion in consideration towards yourself and/or how you view others (guilty). Maybe you haven’t done an honest self-eval in awhile and need to to be awoken to yourself again (I know I should want this more and more).
And juuust maybe… you don’t need to go on an 11-month 11-country journey around the world to have your eyes be truly opened to yourself.
That’s the great thing I’m learning to love about Jesus. He see us as we really are right now, how you are right now. He makes himself ready to meet us, even if the roots we’re held up by are twisted and wound around rocks. His thoughts are still above us, outside of us but yet seeing all of us. And that didn’t stop him from kneeling down into the dirt and doing the hard work of unraveling us in order to place us in fertile soil.
For the past 6 months, I’ve been living in a region of the world that excells at being real and purposeful, of not putting up fronts or false pretenses, of connecting well. Zena has me hoping for the day when I can say, with full confidence and not pride, that I am someone who is real and raw with anyone I talk to.
God for sure used Zena to show me what that looks like, what bold connection and loving authenticity looks like. It’s navigating freely through deep conversations, and taking the time to tell people how you really feel about them. It’s about being seen, not being right.
