Local Time: Athens
воскресенье, сентября 03, 2006
Samark
Everyone was busy today, with over 400 refugees filing in and out for pita bread, eggs, peppers, olives and the sweetest tea this side of Alabama. I have to say that I love the pulse and rhythm of this center, with all the various language and people milling around. There is a certain hum, that I like to think comes from people meeting up with the Hope of the World - even if they don't know it.
While I sipped my sweet tea (and dreamed of Starbucks coffee), I was directed to the craft room. Now most of you know that crafts have become my new hobby as that seems to be always what I do in camps. Why I have no idea, as I was never the real lover of glue and crayons. But for whatever it is worth, it is growing on me!
Anyway, so there I sit with my thoughts and a crayon and in walks two twin gals. They smile shyly and sit down to color way across the room. I wave and smile at them and say a big hello. They say nothing. But they do pick up a crayon and begin to draw.
In the course of the next half hour, they miraculously made their way around the long table to my side. One of the girls ran out to show off her drawings, and the other motioned me to begin drawing her a picture. My famous drawings notwithstanding, I of course agreed. And so started our relationship.
Her name is something like Samark, but I couldn't quite get the right spelling. Samark has a twin that is quite a bit shier and doesn't want to play with us. But Samark has a sparkling smile, and seems to always be saying let's do something else. We colored houses, we cut out doors, we drew flowers, and then the fun began.
While all around us other children were shouting and running around the craft room, she was content to stick close to me and laugh. We started with the color pink - "What color is this?" I cautiously asked her. (I forgot to mention that I only speak Russian and English and a bit of French in my dreams, while Samark speaks only Turkmeni. So we really could not understand a single word of each other's conversation. And as it turns out, there is no one in the ministry that speaks Turkmeni - so it was just me and the Spirit's guidance!) She giggles and laughs as she repeats the word slowly - dindaalo. I try to say the word correctly. She bursts into giggles. I try again, but it comes out worse this time. It seemed to me that I was getting a bit better at my pronounciation, but whent the whole room full of children stopped to stare and giggle I knew that my Turkmeni ability was doomed. You know though, I am not worried or frustrated at all by this obvious failure to speak Turkmeni correctly. For my true desire was realized. I wanted to see these refugee children, and this little 8 year old in particular, laugh. I guess that failing to speak their language yet being willing to try was the magic key, as she began to spill out many words all the while holding my hand and giving me hugs.
As the day drew to a close and refugees began to gather their precious food parcels, we continued to play noisely in the corner ring around the rosie, Zdrastyie Mama (for those Russians reading this is the beloved camp game), patty-cake, tickle and any other random thing that came into my head. By this time I seemed to have become her new best friend. And was I thrilled.
The first day I was here I realized that not only have most of these adults lost everything - respect, reputation, status, citizenship, and family among other things - but these children have lost the things held dearest to them as well. They have lost friends, the ability to play, the innocence of childhood and a knowledge that everything will be ok. These children are alone, even as much as their parents are. And they are lost, with no real knowledge of the whys. My heart was overwhelmed by this thought.
And so I decided that my goal would be to get the kids to laugh, if even for a bit.
As Samark was leaving with her twin sister and father, they stopped to say goodbye. He told me that his wife had left him and moved to Germany, and now as a refugee from Iraq he had to figure out a way to provide for his two precious daughters. His eyes were saddened by reality as he watched his daughters hug me and laugh. "Without a mother's love I fear for them," he said. "Thank you."
I have to say that more than anything else I wish that I could be a friend to such girls as these. I wish that I could give them more than just a hug and a game. But I know that if nothing else, I will remember this day. I will remember her smile. I will remember her story, and her sister's story. And I will remember to pray that someday, someone who speaks their language will tell her about the one true Hope.
And then again, maybe I'll just have to learn a little Turkmeni and come back to tell her myself!
While I sipped my sweet tea (and dreamed of Starbucks coffee), I was directed to the craft room. Now most of you know that crafts have become my new hobby as that seems to be always what I do in camps. Why I have no idea, as I was never the real lover of glue and crayons. But for whatever it is worth, it is growing on me!
Anyway, so there I sit with my thoughts and a crayon and in walks two twin gals. They smile shyly and sit down to color way across the room. I wave and smile at them and say a big hello. They say nothing. But they do pick up a crayon and begin to draw.
In the course of the next half hour, they miraculously made their way around the long table to my side. One of the girls ran out to show off her drawings, and the other motioned me to begin drawing her a picture. My famous drawings notwithstanding, I of course agreed. And so started our relationship.
Her name is something like Samark, but I couldn't quite get the right spelling. Samark has a twin that is quite a bit shier and doesn't want to play with us. But Samark has a sparkling smile, and seems to always be saying let's do something else. We colored houses, we cut out doors, we drew flowers, and then the fun began.
While all around us other children were shouting and running around the craft room, she was content to stick close to me and laugh. We started with the color pink - "What color is this?" I cautiously asked her. (I forgot to mention that I only speak Russian and English and a bit of French in my dreams, while Samark speaks only Turkmeni. So we really could not understand a single word of each other's conversation. And as it turns out, there is no one in the ministry that speaks Turkmeni - so it was just me and the Spirit's guidance!) She giggles and laughs as she repeats the word slowly - dindaalo. I try to say the word correctly. She bursts into giggles. I try again, but it comes out worse this time. It seemed to me that I was getting a bit better at my pronounciation, but whent the whole room full of children stopped to stare and giggle I knew that my Turkmeni ability was doomed. You know though, I am not worried or frustrated at all by this obvious failure to speak Turkmeni correctly. For my true desire was realized. I wanted to see these refugee children, and this little 8 year old in particular, laugh. I guess that failing to speak their language yet being willing to try was the magic key, as she began to spill out many words all the while holding my hand and giving me hugs.
As the day drew to a close and refugees began to gather their precious food parcels, we continued to play noisely in the corner ring around the rosie, Zdrastyie Mama (for those Russians reading this is the beloved camp game), patty-cake, tickle and any other random thing that came into my head. By this time I seemed to have become her new best friend. And was I thrilled.
The first day I was here I realized that not only have most of these adults lost everything - respect, reputation, status, citizenship, and family among other things - but these children have lost the things held dearest to them as well. They have lost friends, the ability to play, the innocence of childhood and a knowledge that everything will be ok. These children are alone, even as much as their parents are. And they are lost, with no real knowledge of the whys. My heart was overwhelmed by this thought.
And so I decided that my goal would be to get the kids to laugh, if even for a bit.
As Samark was leaving with her twin sister and father, they stopped to say goodbye. He told me that his wife had left him and moved to Germany, and now as a refugee from Iraq he had to figure out a way to provide for his two precious daughters. His eyes were saddened by reality as he watched his daughters hug me and laugh. "Without a mother's love I fear for them," he said. "Thank you."
I have to say that more than anything else I wish that I could be a friend to such girls as these. I wish that I could give them more than just a hug and a game. But I know that if nothing else, I will remember this day. I will remember her smile. I will remember her story, and her sister's story. And I will remember to pray that someday, someone who speaks their language will tell her about the one true Hope.
And then again, maybe I'll just have to learn a little Turkmeni and come back to tell her myself!
