Breaking bread and sharing cultures

One of my favorite evenings on GROW’s campus was the Hot Pot night. Throughout the week, we would play with the children as soon as they were home from school and we had finished work. Physically, we were exhausted, but there was always energy to play soccer, volleyball, frisbee, basketball, and more. We got to experience the children in their purest form – joy. I’ve never seen such happy kids at this level, just loving life. It continued to shock me every evening that they had such trust in me, a stranger. As I would watch their excitement and determination on the soccer field or as they tried to shoot a basketball for the first time, I saw kids being kids. Not kids carrying around the weight of their past, but kids who loved God, who loved life, who loved us. It was more beautiful than I can describe.

Alas, every evening, the bell would ring signaling time for games to conclude and the kids to wash up for dinner. Early in the week, the kids would immediately drop what they were doing and head in. As the week moved on, they pushed it later and later to go in for dinner. What had struck me as odd from the beginning of the week, was that our team always ate in a separate area as the kids. It was always disappointing to me, because breaking bread together is a way to share cultures; a love language if you will. It is a time where conversation and connection happen. But every evening, they went to their kitchen, and we went to the café for our meal.

One evening, I made the comment to Jeana that it was odd to me how we parted ways for dinner, and expressed how we would love to spend some more time with the kids if it was possible. I explained that we didn’t want a “nicer” meal inside the café or to be waited on by the staff – that we’d rather join them together. She nodded in agreement, and then shared that it would be uncustomary in Thai culture to eat together. In Thailand, their culture is very horizontal: the age of the person matters more than their status. As such, children and adults did not eat together unless they were outside. “Well, let’s eat outside then!” I blurted out, which probably came across as crass, but I was eager for more interaction with the children. Jeana assured me we would have time to do so later in the week at a Hot Pot night, and every evening I would count down the days.

Hot Pot night came the evening after we had given the beloved backpacks, and the kids were fully warmed up to us at this point. During games, we noticed many of the kids were missing as they were helping to prepare the food. When it began getting carried out, bowl after bowl of items were set on a long table. There were 10 picnic tables and 10 of us Shookies, so they separated each of us and we were assigned 3-4 children at our table. The kids went up to the long table, and came back with trays of food – bacon, squid, mushrooms, shrimp, and more. It was a feast. Aram, Jaran, and Malee were at my table – three of the quieter children – which made it difficult to communicate, but we were able to make do.

Aram, the 14-year-old and eldest of the group, began moving various food items from the tray to the hot pot. As soon as something was finished cooking, the kids would put it on my plate. They did this repeatedly until I said no, no more, you must eat. They took a few items and then, again, more were plunked down on my plate. Hospitality is key in Thai culture, and we experienced that daily at GROW. The kids didn’t stop until I asked Faa the word for full and would say it over and over. They eventually caught on and proceeded to fill and refill the hot pot and eat their heart’s desire. Hot pot night was special for the kids; they only did it once a month and it was filled with foods they didn’t get every day.

Most of our teammates loved the variety of food served that evening. I, on the other hand, have quite bland tastebuds and a texture aversion. Most of the slimy, textured food put on my plate did not go down easily but I forced myself to eat it out of respect and not waste the food. I also was attempting to push myself out of my comfort zone while in Thailand and try new things. I had already eaten a grub with the team on our first night on campus, certainly I could eat squid or squiggly mushrooms. I did, but I did not enjoy it. Mostly, I did not enjoy the cow tongue that was fuzzy. I instantly took the kids up on a Coke, something I usually dislike the flavor of, to wash it down.

Something special happened on Hot Pot night. It was a night of breaking bread together and understanding the Thai culture more. It was unique, and I was able to try new foods that were peculiar to me. More importantly, I was able to watch the children be service-focused and continually check on me. I got to see their joy to eat together and try to communicate with me. It was a wholesome evening.

Then, as we moved around the fire for family time, our American team shared a cultural tradition from back home – s’mores. The squeals and excitement that started with the backpacks the evening before continued with s’mores. We set the 10 hotpots around the fire, and everyone was given a bamboo stick the staff had collected. After demonstrating how to roast a perfect, golden-brown marshmallow, we helped the kids roast their first s’more. I grew up with s’mores and so many of my favorite childhood memories took place around the firepit. To teach the kids and watch them learn how to roast a marshmallow was nothing but joy. I’m not sure if they were screaming with pure delight or if the sugar rush hit that quickly, but they loved that we had brought them another gift. They begged for a second, but Faa said just one – they needed the kids to actually sleep that evening.

Little Naiyana – the girl who reminded me of myself – showed me her s’more with the biggest grin on her face looking for approval. “Yes! You did it!” I exclaimed. She beamed. After we had finished the s’mores and cleaned up, it was time for our team to pack up to go. Naiyana found me once again, and shyly worked her way in for a hug. “Goodnight!” she said in her broken accent. “Goodnight, Naiyana, see you tomorrow!” She walked away and then a few minutes later was back for another hug and another goodnight. This happened 3-4 times until our team finally piled into the truck and drove out the gates toward the city of Wiang Pa Pao. Her shy, but joyful hugs still stick with me. This trip, her little hugs and joy healed me. This shy, innocent girl trusted me, and everything I had was hers in that moment. She was an angel of hope and healing that I needed. And she needed me too. Some days, I still picture her little face with bulging brown eyes and sheepish grin looking up at me, seeking approval. My heart begins to melt as I provide it and anything else she is seeking. And then reality checks in, and I’m in Ohio and she’s halfway around the world. One day, I will hug this child again. One day, I will have someone translate to tell her all the healing she helped me find on this trip.