The "Hard Work" of Living in a Developing Country- Pt. 5

Mid-summer came; the weather was blistering as it usually is from June to mid-September. Construction was in full swing, and the in-laws decided to come for a visit…. Begin the hard work of long days of translation, playing tour guide, explaining proper etiquette, finding accommodations, and supplying their daily needs, all while trying to build a home. Using a foreign language. Without any knowledge or understanding of local construction methods or laws.

Don’t get me wrong, Dear Reader! Having a visit from ANYONE was a VERY rare occurrence. Speaking English outside our own home happened once every couple of weeks during Team Meetings. Having a visit from family was like roping the moon. But it certainly came with its large load of hard work. In addition to the requisite gifts of peanut butter, taco seasoning, and vanilla, Mom and Dad brought some amazing things like American movies, new books, and a box of goodies to stash away until Christmas. But they also brought an unpleasant visitor with them as well. Shingles. And with Shingles comes Chicken Pox. None of my kids had gotten them before we had left, despite my best efforts to expose them to numerous friends long before. So one by one, they fell, including NariLoo at only 3 months old. Each one suffered horribly in the 110 degree heat with no remedy except the ones recommended locally, like having the dog lick them, or calling the local Shaman to cast them out.

But the children weren’t the ones who suffered most. My dear mother-in-law was in tears much of the time during their visit due to her excruciating pain. I did manage to find a Canadian EMT on duty for the oil company who happened to have an anti-viral, but it was far too little, too late. Blistered and in agonizing pain, she made the most of her visit, and we will always remember her incredible fortitude in that awful situation. Again, hard work by all who live overseas.

Eventually, the house was finished, and we enjoyed some semblance of rest. Of course, there was always the hard work of dragging the drunks home who happened to throw up and pass out on our front sidewalk. One time a gang of teenagers carrying iron pipes and rocks came marauding through our neighborhood, and I, as a mom, enjoyed the hard work of worrying about whether our home would be targeted for violence. Only a few times did we ever feel physically threatened; once an angry slur was thrown our way in a restaurant in reference to Bush, and once when a neighbor asked for money and threatened The Water Guy when we refused. More often than that we felt uneasy by the presence of “those who would want to know”. Countless times we were “observed” by the random guy in the sedan pretending to read the paper, followed on the sidewalk while shopping or going to and from the office, or simply stopped and interrogated while travelling. Our phone was always assumed (and in reality was) tapped and listened to, and once we were harassed for not informing the city of our move to the point that my husband was hauled down to court for a hearing. When he demanded to be shown the law, they backed down and gave him a warning. It was hard work, my friends, trying to understand our rights, and guessing if we had any at all. And even if we did, if they’d be honored. Or if we’d be deported or worse yet, jailed.

Some of the most wearisome hard work was the irregularity of the utilities. Every Fall, each neighborhood would take a “turn” with the roving black outs. For 2 weeks each year, the power would be off and on every 2 hours. The planning it takes to get everything done from washing and ironing, to video school lessons was extremely difficult. The rest of the year, the power was simply off about 3 or 4 days a month… sometimes in a row. When the power goes out for 4 or 5 days you can count on losing ALL of your frozen and cold items. You can count on doing the laundry by hand. You can count on going to bed at 7:00 when it is too dark to do anything by sit by a candle and read aloud- which we actually did quite often. Treasure Island never got old. If the power wasn’t out, the water was. Hauling water from a neighbor’s well, or from across town where they DID have water was HARD WORK! If the water was not off, the heating was. It is really hard work in the winter keeping ice off the windows, the kids dressed warmly enough, and the front door unfrozen enough to open in case of a fire. Yes, our front door actually froze shut regularly. On the inside.

If you haven’t sat down and prayed for an overseas worker for a while, it might be time. They are working hard for the Kingdom of God somewhere and they need your prayers and letters of encouragement. Every day, they work hard just to make a comfortable life.

More coming up!!