I believe I left off with our family just having purchased a home. Little did we know the owner was a deceitful, former Communist Party Boss who had bilked the neighbors out of much of their land by throwing up a fence in the middle of the night-literally. That same land would be taken from us much in the same way- stupid we were.
But that’s getting ahead of myself… the topic here is the hard work of living overseas, right?
Our home was literally an 80 year old, mud brick structure with a plywood room on one side added on. It had one spigot of running water, an ancient, dangerous electrical system, a heating system of radiators piped with hot water from the city heating plant, no phone, no internet, and no septic (toilet). It was November when we moved in, so the cold weather had already set in. Cold weather to most, except those maybe in Northern Canada, might think cold is in the 30s. Cold to us meant something more in the teens to well below zero for several weeks at a time. Remember, I just told you there was no indoor plumbing. It is hard work to muster the courage to go outside several times a day, or worse take the little ones outside several times a day to visit the loo. More than once we lost a shoe, the roll of paper, or at times the book we’d be “using” pages from. Ironically, the owner had left behind an entire volume set of Lennin’s writings with which to “use”. How fitting.
Let’s talk sleeping. Our bed had to be made to order, and it was hard work: #1- finding a furniture maker who could make a bed; #2- using our extremely limited language to describe to the maker what we wanted; #3- finding a truck to deliver the bed (preferably a driver who would not steal the bed or be drunk when delivering it); and #4 sleeping on a 4 inch piece of foam for 10 years. The kids didn’t have beds until well into our 5th year overseas. Beds worth buying just weren’t available until then, and frankly, there were other things more important to spend the money on. Like plumbing.
Eventually spring came. By now I was expecting Blessing #5…. Yeah, 5 months of using an outhouse. Pregnant. It was hard work. As was trying to stay warm in an unheated plywood shack cooking meals with one spigot… and a bathtub sharing the kitchen. At the end of April it was time for myself and 2 kids to endure the hard work of moving to Thailand for a few months for the impending delivery of our daughter. Being away from each other and having our family ripped apart during those stressful months, and for the end of a pregnancy that we thought would result in another preemie, was not easy. In general, overseas workers don’t freely talk about the more difficult things they have to go through for fear of looking weak, looking like they are whiners, appearing as if they are trying to garner sympathy, but it is time to finally tell our story- if you know and love an overseas worker, they need your prayers, and they need to be invited to share their story freely.
So, was it more hard work raising an infant and 4 other young ones overseas? If you guessed “Yes”, you are right, and I’ll share some more “hard work” stories next time. Until then, pray for someone you know living overseas.
Friday, January 4, 2013
The Hard Work of Living Overseas- Pt. 1
Recently an acquaintance asked me if we “worked hard” while living overseas. For many months I’ve been completely devoid of inspiration for what to write about here, but now feel ready to begin again with story after story of how “hard work” not only took its toll on body and spirit for 10 years, but left us confident that most anything worth doing is purchased by hardship and toil.
My short answer is, “yes, we worked hard”, but more often than not, most people really don’t care to listen for more than 3 minutes to hear our story. If you are reading this, then more than likely you are interested; I’ll try to keep you entertained. If nothing else, you will know our family much better.
After moving to our host country, we lived in an apartment. We knew no language. At. All. We spent countless days sweltering in that hot apartment learning how to count, how to say the time, and what to say if you were being introduced. Outside amidst icy, suspicious glares we tried to find one, just one, friendly face who might be willing to teach us our colors, about weather, and clothing. We also felt the sting of being publicly berated for making a very serious faux pas of tossing a piece of bread aside after it fell and got dirty. My kids were spit on, had rocks thrown at them, and were laughed at routinely. Injuries happened- from scorpion stings to cut hands that needed stitching; the early months were some of the most difficult.
Although not particularly tough physically, it was “hard work” going to our neighbor downstairs to apologize and offer to pay for new wallpaper when our washing machine overflowed and ruined their walls below. It was hard work to listen to our neighbor to the left beat his wife night after night. We slept little because mosquitoes kept us up, there were fist fights outside our window, and it was 90 degrees inside until 2:00AM.
Fall came and we felt it would be a good idea to purchase a home and remodel it to live more comfortably- every parent wants a wants a yard for their kids to be able to play in. We bought it as stupid foreigners who trusted the owner. It wasn’t until a couple years later that we went through the “hard work” of having an intense land dispute in a foreign language and being threatened to be taken to court. One day, half our land was literally taken from us including our outhouse. You may think that funny, but when the pipes are backed up for the 3rd time in a month, digging a hole isn’t that funny.
We moved into that house and started camping. For 5 months. So far, we’ve had a lot of “hard work”, but a whole lot more is about to come our way!
To be continued….
My short answer is, “yes, we worked hard”, but more often than not, most people really don’t care to listen for more than 3 minutes to hear our story. If you are reading this, then more than likely you are interested; I’ll try to keep you entertained. If nothing else, you will know our family much better.
After moving to our host country, we lived in an apartment. We knew no language. At. All. We spent countless days sweltering in that hot apartment learning how to count, how to say the time, and what to say if you were being introduced. Outside amidst icy, suspicious glares we tried to find one, just one, friendly face who might be willing to teach us our colors, about weather, and clothing. We also felt the sting of being publicly berated for making a very serious faux pas of tossing a piece of bread aside after it fell and got dirty. My kids were spit on, had rocks thrown at them, and were laughed at routinely. Injuries happened- from scorpion stings to cut hands that needed stitching; the early months were some of the most difficult.
Although not particularly tough physically, it was “hard work” going to our neighbor downstairs to apologize and offer to pay for new wallpaper when our washing machine overflowed and ruined their walls below. It was hard work to listen to our neighbor to the left beat his wife night after night. We slept little because mosquitoes kept us up, there were fist fights outside our window, and it was 90 degrees inside until 2:00AM.
Fall came and we felt it would be a good idea to purchase a home and remodel it to live more comfortably- every parent wants a wants a yard for their kids to be able to play in. We bought it as stupid foreigners who trusted the owner. It wasn’t until a couple years later that we went through the “hard work” of having an intense land dispute in a foreign language and being threatened to be taken to court. One day, half our land was literally taken from us including our outhouse. You may think that funny, but when the pipes are backed up for the 3rd time in a month, digging a hole isn’t that funny.
We moved into that house and started camping. For 5 months. So far, we’ve had a lot of “hard work”, but a whole lot more is about to come our way!
To be continued….
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