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Letters from Lani

By Lani, an MK in Eastern Europe

Lani, a teenage MK (missionary kid) whose family is serving in Eastern Europe, recently visited Bangladesh on a short-term missions trip. Since she is a MK, she already has firsthand experience of living in a different culture, but she wanted to explore medical ministry as a possible career interest in the future. As she discovered, Bangladesh has plenty of cultural challenges and fascinations of its own. The following letters are drawn from her emails to her parents and prayer supporters.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Hey, I'm here now in Bangladesh. I know you were praying for me, because I could have been pretty messed up. The system in the airport is quite confusing; they announced the boarding for my flight but their intercom doesn't reach to all parts of the airport. I asked the people lining up where the flight was to and they said Seoul. Pretty soon I see these two guys in suits with walkie-talkies running around shouting, " Dhaka, Dhaka! We're missing someone!"

Dr. Helen* met me at the airport. The first things I noticed in the city were the heat, the traffic, and the sounds. The call for prayers sounds at five in the morning in a sing-songy, Arabic-speaking voice and is blasted all over the city from specially placed loud speakers. One hundred forty million people are crammed into a country the size of the state of Iowa—that's crowded! The city is a burst of color with ladies in their multi-colored saris (pronounced shari here), thousands of brightly-designed rickshaws crowding the streets, people selling their goods along the road. I'm never going to complain about the traffic in Eastern Europe again-it doesn't even compare. Here, they drive on the left side of the road, and walk on the left side too, so I keep running into people. When I'm home again, I'll have to make a conscious effort to walk on the right side. I've already taken the rickshaw several times-the streets here are better than the roller coasters at Darien Lake!

My first rickshaw ride was quite the experience. Helen and I sat in a two-person seat behind the driver while he pedaled. The rickshaw has three wheels-the front looks like a normal bike and the back like a mini-version of those old 1800s buggies. To balance, you have one little bar to put your foot against and you can hold onto the side of the seat. Quite the trick, especially when they take a short cut and pedal up the road into on-coming traffic. Besides the people, there are also the cows, goats, dogs and chickens to dodge. And since everyone is dark-skinned and black-haired, whites really stand out. I'm only semi-used to the staring and the curiosity. It really isn't that bad for me though, since I have dark hair and am dark-complexioned, and I'm already tanning in the sun.

I've started learning words in Bangla and wearing a salwar kameez: a very thin tunic/dress worn over baggy pants (they remind me of my karate suit). I thought it would be hard to adjust to the native garb, but I'd much rather wear a salwar kameez to church than a skirt and nylons. I was surprised that the male house-helpers do our laundry. In a country where you're not supposed to touch the opposite sex, where women are very much covered, it is strange to have men wash your underwear!

Suddenly I feel like Leah [a short-termer from Alaska who visited Lani in Eastern Europe]: "How do you say this? What did they say? They're talking about me, aren't they?"

Love you guys lots and lots!

-Lani

Hey everybody,

Today I observed my first surgery. The medics worried I might faint. But I didn't feel light headed at all and wondered why it didn't bother me until I realized it reminded me of gutting deer back in Pennsylvania. But my goodness; as Mark Lowry pointed out, it's a mess if you don't know what you're doing! The surgeons made a six-inch incision in a woman's right side to remove some kidney stones.

I'm learning new phrases and becoming friends with one of the medic's daughters, named Mandeep.* She tries English on me, and I try Bangla on her. Mandeep taught me a Bengali cultural folk dance performed with bells tied on her ankles.

—Lani

Mom and Dad:

Today was the most exciting day. I went to see a tribal woman have a baby. It was her first child and Dr. Helen was delivering it. The baby was born normally, and everything was fine until Dr. Helen exclaimed to the nurse, "Uh, Nelly,* there's another baby in there."

The cord was over the second child's head, which would cut off his oxygen supply during birth. They immediately set up for an emergency C-section. The technological aspects did not go well from the start-lights going off and IV malfunctions gave Dr. Helen, in her words, "palpitations." Let's just say I think Helen is amazing and doctors that work in other countries are some of the best in emergency situations! The tribal lady is now a 21-year-old mother of healthy beautiful twin boys thanks to the doctor's skill.

Hey Mom, how much did I weigh when I was born? I'm trying to find a kid to compare myself to! They are so tiny here.

- Lani

Dear Friends and Family,

I want to thank all of you who were praying for me. It's been so valuable to experience another culture in contrast to Eastern Europe and America, and to learn about medical ministry.

A highlight of the trip was staying overnight in a village in the Chittagong hills. The villagers lined up to greet us, singing in welcome and beating drums. That night, eight different villages gathered to listen as the missionaries and then a traveling tribesman evangelist preached. They stayed up all night. It seemed like forever to me since we were sitting cross-legged on a hard cement floor-remember how I used to moan about those backless Eastern European benches?

I told you we might go swimming. Well, we did. Though we didn't have to worry about creatures like flesh-eating fish or alligators in this river, I did get a leech. I didn't even know it was on me until it had its fill and dropped off, and Helen noticed my bloody pants leg.

I was overwhelmed by the poverty. Most people in the hills live in bamboo and banana leaf thatch houses with mud floors. Many kids have only a shirt or skirt or no clothes at all. Those who are better off have cement homes-without electricity-but at least with walls, a floor, and some form of bed. In the city, the average rickshaw driver can make about a dollar a day. 57 taka=1 dollar. A rickshaw ride costs only five to seven taka-it is grueling work, especially during Ramzan when the drivers can't eat or drink. The heavier their rider is, the harder the work.

Leaving was extremely difficult; I didn't have enough time to fit it all in. It was hard leaving friends that felt like new brothers and sisters and Moms and Dads.

My goal was to experience medical ministry, to see if I had what it takes to do it, and if I was interested enough to make it my life's work. I saw many surgeries, childbirths, and clinics in the villages. Now, I am definitely closer to deciding on a medical career. I am thankful I had this opportunity before having to choose what I'm going to do with my life. I continue to pray that God will show me clearly that this is what He wants me to do.

-Lani

If you're interested in reading more letters from ABWE MKs, read MK2MK: In Their Own Words.

*Names have been changed.