Neighbors, etc.

I met some of my neighbors last week. Ibu Ana and her husband own a little food stand on the main road in our neighborhood, which I can see from my doorway. They have a 6 month old. They have three other children as well, but I haven‘t met them so they don‘t figure into this story. I sat talking with Ibu Ana as neighbors came and went, some sat at the table for a while, some just stood and talked, some got their food and left. They all seemed to know the Ibu and the Pak, and were comfortable enough to pick up the baby or touch her cheek. Perfectly beautiful people, several of which I have since seen again as I walk home or go to the market in the morning. Unfortunately, the only name I could remember was Ana. Presumably even that was only because it is also an English name. I’ve back since then though, and I really like sitting with them, talking, learning, sharing. It’s part of what makes my life so amazing. I eat the food and they are patient with me as I learn, repeating and explaining what they say. It excites me to have another year to get to know them better.

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Five times a day, the call to prayer sounds. Five am, noon, three pm, sunset, seven-fifteen pm. It’s sounding right now and one time I went to bed at four (I was up late making pies and talking to people back home). I could faintly hear a man singing something in Arabic over the speakers, although I wasn’t sure if it was a legitimate call to prayer or just practice. They do that a lot, in the mornings. Practice… except I’m not quite sure what they practice.

I’ll be honest… Don’t get angry with me. Most of the time, I barely even register it anymore. Sometimes, though, I would give a lot to have it stop, if I’m trying to listen to music or watch a movie especially. It just sweeps through walls, through your blood. It doesn’t know boundaries. As an American, I like boundaries. Boundaries are nice, and neat, and clean. Boundaries give us personal space and keep us from having to let people get to really know us. If someone steps over the boundaries, you can feel justified in getting angry. “I told you that it annoys me that when you do!!” you shout at the offender, thinking you have the right. I’m learning that I don’t have the right to have walls. That life is not going to care if I have them anyway. Like the call to prayer, life sweeps right past the boundaries and personal space.