Watering

Our village near the Nile

A family who lives nearby went on vacation and asked us to water their plants while they’re away. We were happy to help.  Each day before the sun sets John and I begin our trek to their home which happens to be at the top of a very tall hill. (Emphasis on very.) Ah, I get it. It’s some sick physical fitness plan that John has whipped up. They probably aren’t even gone at all. They’re probably hiding behind their house for an hour while we gather the water bottles and make our way to the 40 plants on the roof.

Well, anyway…as we’ve created this routine we’ve gathered some new friends along the way. There’s the woman who sits at a small table selling candy to the village kids. She smiles broadly every time we pass her and she offers us her chair. She only offers it once so it’s a polite gesture rather than a serious invitation to sit…at least for now. We do chat with her for a bit before continuing.

Then there’s a group of women who sit outside their home collecting news from the day and telling us that we are welcome.

Sometimes children will run by us playing, “Can you touch the foreigner without getting eaten?” or some will smile and giggle.

Cresting the top of the hill I am nearing a heart rate of 764, we see a construction crew working on a new apartment building. They are mixing concrete and yelling at each other over the very loud machine. As we pass by we hear, “Hello! HELLO! HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

John smiles and waves, but can do nothing more since they are elbow deep in concrete and the machine is rumbling loudly.

Still they persist. 

“WHATISSSSYOURNAME?”

“WELCOME! WELL. COME. WELLLLLLLLLLCOME!”

Now they have turned it into a game with each other. Whoever can get the biggest reaction or the most body language is the winner.

“HEY, COME HERE! COME HERE! FOREIGNER, COME HEEEEEEEEEEERE!”

At times, we know that these are sincere offers at friendship. At others, we understand that they are creating entertainment for themselves as a distraction from the concrete mixing. We think this time it’s the latter.

We go inside the home, water the plants and I yell into the house, “Great to see you! We’ll see you again tomorrow!”

John’s looking at me quizzically and says, “What are you doing?”

“I’m making the neighbors think there’s someone here in the house. Pretty clever, huh?”

John laughed. “Very,” he said wryly. “They’ll never figure it out now.”

I smiled smugly as we began our return trip which required us to walk past the construction workers again. They seemed to be working intently which I had hoped would distract them long enough for us to get by without anymore comments. Not to be.

“Helloooooooo! Helllllllllllll-oh! HELLO, FOREIGNER!”

John once again smiles and greets them. As a woman, it is not proper for me to make eye contact or greet men on the street. I keep my eyes straight ahead.

“WHERE ARE YOU FROM?”

“COME HERE! COME HERE!” (Now he gets serious and in his loudest most demanding voice he screams, “COME HERE!” Then the other co-workers burst out laughing and give the game up.

Most other times, John would stop and engage the men, but since they were supposed to be working and since his wife was with him and since they were being less than respectful in their approach, he decided that today was not the day. I agreed.

We rounded the corner and a small boy sat on a bench. He was helping his father do some work. He gave us his biggest 7-year-old-with-2-front-teeth-missing smile. We shook his hand and he went off running to tell his father what had happened. 

Further on, we successfully dodged a rock-throwing contest between two groups of teenage boys who agreed to a cease-fire until we had made it through safely. They resumed as soon as we were out of the throw zone. We laughed.

It was now twilight and the sun was just peeking over the horizon of our city. A city of half a million, but within it holding the stories of pain and triumph in each individual’s heart.

We discover their hopes, dreams and fears by being in proximity to them. Seeing them each day. Learning the culture. Finding out what’s genuine. 

It’s not easy. We knew it wouldn’t be, but somedays it really is all up hill. My aching calves (metaphorical and actual) can attest to that. Still there’s joy in the pain because as we walk to go water plants we also walk to water seeds of hope in the lives of those who knew none before.

Killer calves are not a bad biproduct either.

Panorama of our city