Do you miss Antigua?

Do you miss Antigua? What was it like living there? I hear these questions all the time. It’s hard to come up with a pat answer on the spur of the moment. I usually say, “There were good things and bad things about living there, just like any other place.” Here is a short list of the things I miss and those I don’t, off the top of my head.

Things I Miss:
St. John’s Lutheran on Sunday mornings
Visiting with my neighbours
Parties with the mission family
Playing the Steel Pans with Genesis
My dogs
Bible class discussions
Training with the swim club
Meeting friends at the beach
Half Moon Bay on a sunny day
Sunday School with Ajah, Kazende and Dillon

Those I Don’t Miss:
Full body, constant itch
My husband’s stress
Rude, sexual comments from strange men
House problems that will probably never get fixed
Dirt all over my house
Frustration of finding parking in town or at the grocery store
No-shows for meetings
Breakage on tile floors – dishes, toys, heads…
Wishing to do something other than go to the beach
No air conditioning!!!

Monday, Monday

Monday morning.
Get up early.
Vacation Bible School starts today.
“What?
No water?
You’ve got to be kidding!”
Flashbacks to Antigua…
‘Cept - no rainwater in cisterns here.

“Can I go back to bed?”
No?
Sigh.

Pile up the dishes.
“Climb in the car – don’t forget your toothbrushes!”
Drop kids off with their Dad.
Run to the gym for a communal shower.
Talk to the women in the stalls around.
Flashbacks to Blagoevgrad…
‘Cept - no Baba to scrub my back here.

Rush back to school,
Missed registration.
Time to take pictures and help
Do WHAT?
“Keep the paint and glue to yourselves.
I like my clothes how they are.”

Monday afternoon.
Drag ourselves home.
That was 3 hours?
Seriously?
And teachers do this every day?

Start on the dishes
All piled in the sink
Angry faucets spitting.
Water pressure’s returning.
Flashbacks to Antigua…
Water’s everywhere now.

Mama lies down.
She needs a nap.
Little girl has different ideas.
“Mama, mama! Let’s ride our bikes!”
“No way!
Too hot!
It’s one hundred and twelve outside.”

Monday night.
Kids both “in bed.”
One’s sleeping.
The other’s singing.
She’ll be in and out ‘til ten
Or eleven…or twelve.

Quiet time.
Relaxation time.
Veggin’ in front of the TV time.
Can’t stay up too late,
Up early tomorrow.
Bedtime prayers:
“Lord, let there be water on Tuesday!”

Where are you from?

The dental hygienist asked me, "Where are you from?" After a habitual moment of panic, I remembered my prepared response: "All over." She laughed and asked if I was in the military. "No. The church." That segued neatly into a discussion of places to live, Oklahoma living, and working for a church. That was so painless! Why didn't I think of that response years ago?

I have spent the last 20 years dreading the question, "Where are you from?" A no-brainer for most people, this question always catches me unprepared. What do I say? Where AM I from? How long should my answer last? Does the other person really want to know, or is she making polite chit-chat?

For the first 10 years I usually answered "Malawi." Nine times out of ten I drew a blank look or a polite nod (until Madonna put Malawi on the map). Either way, I had to explain how a white, American-seeming person can claim a country in the middle of Africa as home. NOTE: this is a really good way to stick out from the crowd. I learned to use this response if I wanted attention, either good or bad.

When I wanted to be like everyone else at University, I’d try other responses. “My grandparents live in Davenport,” was often safe. NOTE: do not say, “I am from Davenport.” Too often, my classmates were actually from there and wanted to know which high school I attended. Oops!

After years of living in the US, I really didn’t know where I was from anymore. However, responding, “I have no idea,” can be a real conversation stopper. On the other hand, if I told them “I was born and raised in Malawi, went to University in Iowa, and have lived off and on in Minnesota for the last 6 years, so take your pick.” that falls outside the norm for polite, introductory small-talk. Most people don’t want my entire life history when they ask where I’m from.

When we moved to Antigua, I was stumped for a response. “Where am I from? Let’s see. Hmmm. Give me a minute…” I must have sounded like an idiot. At the end of four years, I learned to say, “I live here.” Usually, I didn’t have to explain any further. Perfect!

The best answer I’ve heard is, “I’m not!” While very pithy, this response could be considered rude. Moving around as I do, I want to make friends fast, not alienate them. Even if the person isn’t miffed at this response, I rather not try to explain why I find this response hilarious.

So I’ve come up with “All over.” It’s a safe, unassuming and accurate response. Aaah! Now I can relax and not panic at such a simple question, right?