– Written by a Teacher in Hungary –
Szia!
Amidst the mild chaos of life here at the Bicske camp I find little segments of time when the internet room is open and I’m not engulfed with lesson planning or negotiating with the camp administration. The times are rare, usually involving a 40+ email blitz with Facebook and blog comments galore. It’s an even rarer occurrence that I respond to these emails with enough time to do a blog update, but this is one of those times, and I’m very excited to give you a small account of some of the many good things that have been happening here.
About a week ago I was sitting on my favorite bench in the camp with one of our team’s most loved refugees, Muhammed, a 20 year-old Somali with an amazing soccer game who must be the kindest, most respectful, hard-working person here. We were discussing America and different ways of getting there to work. A few minutes after the conversation had died down he looked over at me and said in a low voice “Pierce, I am going to America next July, but don’t let the cat out of the bag.” We both began to laugh because that was one of the idioms that our advanced class has been learning. It was encouraging for Val and Austin to hear that he had used it. They are making very good progress with their class.
Last weekend after our last class on Thursday and playing soccer with the guys at the camp, we attended a birthday party of one of our dear friends, Emra. Turning 12, his family had set up two tables and a colorful banner in front of their apartment. The party was said to begin at 7:00, but really didn’t get underway until 8:30, at which point they lit the candles on a cake and sang the Afghani version of the Happy Birthday Song. Set up on the table was a posh layout, relative to the normal standards of the camp, with fruit, nuts, cookies, and two traditional Afghani cakes baked by a wonderful lady who almost forced it on us (and I’m glad she did.) Emra and his younger sister danced to a song that I believe was Moroccan, while everyone clapped in unison in a circle around them. The time was sweet as the team experienced Afghani hospitality at its finest. Afterwards, the ladies (Val and Jenny included) went into another private room for an after party, which apparently consisted of belly dancing, while Austin and I hung out with a group of 15 Afghani boys in the parking lot. We were struck by how much fun these guys were having, dancing in a circle to music blaring from their cell phones. By the end of the time, Habib, the group’s ringleader, had coerced us into the middle of the circle with Shun, our Japanese friend, to perform a traditional Afghani dance, of which I’m sure I made a disgrace.
Friday morning, with all of the refugees leaving to go to Budapest, our team decided to do the same and took the 10:45 train to the Budapest Deli train station. From there, Jenny broke off from the team to go to Debrecen to see the other teachers. Austin, Val, and I stayed in Pest. We went to Gellert thermal baths for the afternoon, then to Margaret Island later in the evening to attend an outdoor opera, Aida, at the beautiful Budpaest Summer Opera venue under the Water Tower. We did feel a little underdressed (I forgot to pack my tux), but we had a great time. Val and Austin left at intermission in an attempt to catch a train back to Bicske for the night. I decided to stay and bet on an even later train. After the opera ended at 12:15 I made my way towards the train station. About midway through my walk in a busy area of the city, who should I stumble across but Val and Austin coming back from the station. They had missed the last train by twenty minutes and the next one was going to leave at 4:30. Of course this meant that the night was spent at a disco on Margaret Island, none of us being willing to put up the cash for a hotel room for four hours. Saturday was spent back at Bickse sleeping to an intense storm that lasted most of the day.
One of our class cut-ups is a 16 or 17 year-old Afghani kid who sports a faux hawk and a gold chain. The first day he came to class he introduced himself as James Bond. The real names are difficult enough to remember so I decided to roll with it and call him James Bond from now on. The whole team now knows him as such. Whenever I see him I yell ”James Bond!” and start singing the theme song.
Last night walking home from dinner I had a great conversation with one of my Muslim friends here. The sky was packed with bright stars from horizon to horizon and I said “My friend, look at these beautiful stars. It reminds me of when God promised Abraham this many sons and daughters. Do you know this story?” “Ah, yes, my friend.” he said “Very well, very well.” He may be the most devout Muslim in the camp, making the hour-long trip to the Budapest Mosque at least once every day. I hope to have increased conversation with him.
Your prayers are appreciated. Keep praying for effectiveness in teaching, and for opportunity and boldness to make Christ look great!
Koszonom!
