fitting in

When I arrived in Durgapur, I was ready to meet the challenge of "fitting in." I was going to live simply; I am. I was going to learn the language; I'm trying. I was going to dress in the Indian way; I am with some modifications, and I was going to eat their hot, spicy food even if smoke was pouring out of my ears and my nose was running; I have done this, and I have eaten with my right hand, literally hand, on many occasions.
Most of the people at the school and the Center have been very warm and welcoming, hospitable and supportive, but there was one maintenance person working at the center, a young man, who clearly was not happy with my presence at the school for the children from the slums. He never spoke to me, in fact I wondered if he could even talk, and he wore a frown in my presence. I started feeling a bit nervous whenever he and I were at the Center at the same time which was every day, so I started avoiding him as best I could.
Then two things happened at about the same time. One was the garden project which he became very interested in and kept close tabs on as the space was cleared, the soil cultivated, and the seeds planted. The other was the painting project. I had decided to paint the ABCs on one wall of each classroom with pictures, like I did in Jordan (my world project?) He also became very interested in this.
When I was drawing the letters on the wall, he was still glaring and growling, but when I began to paint, he started coming into the classroom to watch. Then when I began the picture part of the project, he really took notice. He would come in and sit at one of the desks and watch. After several pictures were on the wall, he gave me the Indian head wag of approval and the Indian OK sign. He even managed a smile.
Slowly, as his trust in me grew and vice-versa, I found myself teasing with him a bit. Now when he sees me coming, he knows exactly which rooms to open, and if he needs to leave before I am finished, he leaves the keys with me with strict instructions about which rooms to lock and where to leave the keys. His name is Ragabir and he has become a favorite of mine, and I think he likes me a little as well. Fitting in!
Missionary aka celebrity. I didn't know that was part of the job description, but lately I have been honored by different groups, being invited to be the Chief Guest at this function or that. this means I get to sit in the best seat and hand out prizes or gifts. sometimes it means saying a "few words." The Indians are quite good at this kind of surprise. "And now, Ms. Lynn, would you say a few words to the group. This is not what I do best, but I started trying to be a bit prepared for such occasions. So at our Christmas program after all the teachers were introduced and on the stage, the bishop hands me the mike and asks me to say a few words. This was an audience of parents from the villages and a few other guests from St. Michael's and St. Peter's. The lights were very bright and I couldn't see any of their faces. I did not like that at all, but the show must go on, right? I began by greeting them with Nomashkar, which they loved, and then I asked them how they were in Bengali, lots of clapping and cheering for that effort. I have to tell you this was kind of an inside joke as the children quiz me continually every day on these two phrases: kaemon achen and palo achi, How are you and I am fine. After that it didn't really matter what I said and after the program, the parents were eager to meet me and shake my hand. Fitting in!
At another program where I was an important guest and got to say a few words, I was able to use the Muslim greeting Asalamualikum. The parents and the children who were mostly Muslim returned the greeting with wa alikum asalam amidst cheers, laughter and clapping. I spent a lot of that day greeting different parents as the children dragged me from one family to another. Fitting in!
One afternoon I was painting, as usual, and one of the guys came into the room with an old pound cake still in its package and asked me if I wanted it. I told him no that he could have it if he wanted it. He went back to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later and invited me to tea. So there I was hanging out in the kitchen with three maintenance guys drinking tea and eating stale and a bit frozen ( the kitchen fridge tends to do that) pound cake. Fitting in!
The last little cultural tip to fitting in is the dance. Now I love to dance. I've never been any good at it, but it's just something I like to do and the Indian dances are great fun. One day before the Christmas break, we decided to have a little party of our own, just the teachers and the kids here at the Center. This is where the stale pound cake came from. The CD player was dragged out onto the veranda and turned up full blast and the dancing began. We were all dancing and having a great time of it. I had to go into the computer room for something and there was Rogabir, all alone and dancing. and smiling. Fitting in!
Being a missionary is a lot more than arriving in a country with a bag of band aids, some kind words, and a big smile. It's also allowing the people who live in the place the time to warm up to you and to trust you in their own way and in their own time.
You never know exactly what will make a difference but you do know when it happes just from the response.
It's quite a cool feeling, this "fitting in."