The Moving Saga...

I had to get the time to finally sit down and write this saga for you.

If you've grown accustomed to my shorter posts of late...get a cup of tea and settle in as I attempt to reconstruct the mayhem that was our move.

Day to day, things change.

As I posted about a great deal recently, the issue of moving was a real moving target. We thought that Monday we'd get the okay to go...then it was Tuesday...and school is rapidly approaching. For our kids, this will be the first time they've attended a traditional brick and mortar-type school. They've been homeschooled and we've always enjoyed great flexibility.

Those days are over.

We're excited though...it's a great adventure to go to a school where only a couple of teachers speak your language, but you're surrounded by a new language to learn and children from other parts of the world. (Today I met some parents and their two kids from Italy. They suggested we take a holiday back to Italy together... :)

Tuesday morning we reported to work after rushing to pack as many bags as possible while leaving The Dutch Girl (who I should now re-name The Angel) with the 5 young and an apartment far from ready to "move."

Mid-morning I got the news..."you go get your key now." This results in a walk over to the LQ (living quarters) with my trusty, friendly and eager translator Miss Yang. After dodging the traffic we made it to the grounds where a group of employees of our parent organization had gathered. I'm sure no one noticed me...

Within a few minutes Miss Yang was attempting to inquire not only about the status of our apartment key, but also the all important "gas card" that we would need to take to the gas company and buy "units" to use natural gas for our stove and shower. The mere asking of the questions began what we call a "W-hn (insert our city name here)Smackdown!" The local dialect here, in particular, sounds really course and everyone sounds like their angry while their talking to one another. Voices really elevate and frowns appear...but it seems that this is expected and most of the time there are no hurt feelings...I think, that is.

Wherever we go we witness these "W-han Smackdowns"...all to often their due to some request we've made...even for the simplest thing.

At any rate the conversation gets loud and several people get involved all the while I'm just standing there...unable to communicate or even track what's going on. Regardless the wild exchange goes on for 5 minutes...AT LEAST. When the roar dies down, I ask Miss Yang, "What did they say?" Her reply:

"You cannot have gas card now." .... that's how it often is...5 minutes of multiple people being wild with their speech and arm movements ...boiled down to the simplest answer.

We asked a colleague to help us arrange a moving truck. There are trucks for hire absolutely everywhere here and when one delivered some new furniture to the school that morning, we made the arrangement for a 5 PM meeting at the old apartment to move our stuff to the new apartment about a 8 minute drive away.

Sounds clear...right?

WRONG.

First off the movers come to help us. Another colleague went home with us to "negotiate the price" with the movers. I wouldn't have known what to do without her...and little did I know how important she was going to be!

The movers come in. They survey our items (suitcases and dishes plus two mattresses.) They give her a bid...100 units of the local currency.

She appears to be distressed. She begins to raise her voice, speaking quickly and flailing her arms around. This goes on for several minutes. We stand around like idiots trying to understand what's going on. Dumbfounded, as usual, we can't move because we don't know what to do.

The "discussion" moves outside. Before she leaves she tells me they want 100 to move us. In USDs this is about $16. I tell her in hushed tones..."please, fine, the price is good."

She will have none of it.

Everything is done this way here. Everything is negotiable. Everything results in some sort of heated debate and posturing.

They're outside for another 15-20 minutes. She comes up to tell me that "I tell him no way...I want him to do it for 90...(the difference is about $1.)

Incredulous and already sensitive to the time that's burning on our Tuesday night "move"...I lower my eyes and say..."really, it's okay, we'll pay the 100."

She turns and goes outside.

Another 10 minutes.

She returns.

"I'm sorry" she says..."he wants 100."

Okay...we're through that "W-han Smackdown."

The movers start hauling everything out. Everything eventually arrives down on the curbside in the gated, guarded, apartment complex.

Then my colleague appears. She tells me "Oh my...we have a problem." "They need paper."

"What?" - I say.

"They need paper to go."

My mind is racing...what sort of paper...toilet paper to "go?"

She says "follow me."

We walk to several different offices...several...a great distance from our apartment...a great distance.

Finally we arrive at the management office where we request the "paper" so that the driver's can go with our stuff.

The employees there begin to quiz my colleague about me, our unit number and as you may have guessed...

Another W-han Smackdown, commences.

This time the employees call the owner of the apartment we were renting. Ordinarily this wouldn't have been to big a problem, but this owner apparently didn't know we were "subletting" the apartment from a local renter.

This turned south...quickly.

My colleague gave me the phone to speak with the ANGRY, NO ENGLISH SPEAKING OWNER...who had never heard of the H's from The Old Place...and wasn't in the mood to meet us, either.

Furthermore, did I mention the heat at 6 pm? Still in the upper 90's with crazy-high humidity. I start to say to myself "It's not a test, unless it's a test."

It became a great test.

After 4 phone calls to other "benevolent keepers" of we, the foreign teachers...still no resolve.

The truck cannot leave. Apparently, within 1 hours time we went from living in a lovely, gated apartment community...to Fort Knox.

Now according to the only broken English my colleague is able to speak, amidst the W-han Smackdown now happening with the furious apartment owner...the owner will not "release you stuff...you must take stuff up again and wait until tomorrow."

Well...all my cross-cultural training....my lofty ideals...all melted away like sticky ice cream all over me.

I did not get into the Smackdown...but I did say..."it is my stuff...it needs to leave with me."

We're not at The Old Place. We're at The New Place. Here it doesn't really matter if it's your stuff. There are rules...and it doesn't matter how it might inconvenience you.

After 2 hours of multiple walks to and fro the apartment and the office...countless phone calls and dozens of staring eyes looking at me like I was from Mars...

We got the paper.

We return to the apartment once again to find.

The truck is gone.

The movers are sitting on our boxes, all of our stuff is sitting around on the shrubbery and sidewalk...but the truck is gone.

The movers don't work for the driver. The driver doesn't care about the movers. He got fed up with waiting...and he left.

My colleague called him.

Another Smackdown ensues. I'm standing there, blistering hot...sweating from head to toe and with a screaming headache...and we're going another round of Smackdown.

It's now dark.

More people come to see the crazy foreigner...with more children than a Kindergarten...sweating and looking clueless with all her worldly possessions strewn about on the public walkway.

Dad was, meanwhile, totally unaware of the perfect storm that was brewing. He was at the new apartment, setting up the refrigerator...reading the kids mattresses...and his phone was left behind at the school.

After pleading and promising more cash...the truck returns.

One more problem...

It's not big enough to fit the mattresses in with the suitcases and the dishes. In fact, the truck looks like a slightly overgrown Matchbox model.

Now the children and The Dutch Girl are poised and ready to leave in a taxi and the truck is loaded with most of our things.

My colleague says..."Maybe you must stay behind until the truck returns?"

"Of course" I say, bravely...trying to tell myself that I will not die on that curb with the vice-like pain that is in my head and my thirst that is fantastic.

They leave.

I sit down on the curb.

Over walks a security guard. He squats down only a few feet away from me and takes in the sight of me.

He sucks on his teeth, as if to clean them.

He shifts his weight...I smile.

I give the customary local greeting. He returns the same.

It grows very, very quiet. He continues to stare at me.

After 5 minutes or so of silence, in the darkness...he says..."how old are you?"

(Obviously a remnant of some foreign teachers conversational English lessons some years back."

I answer and ask him the same.

He pauses. Sucks on his teeth. Shakes his head. "31", he says.

I then attempt to dazzle him with my local geographical knowledge. I use my taxi speak...I name all the roads nearby that I can say...he nods, approvingly.

We share a moment of connection. It was surreal.

It was over.

Both of us had exhausted our entire vocabularies in each other's language.

He didn't move on.

He just stayed with me there. Squatting in front of me. Sucking his teeth and shaking his head.

I began to laugh. Giggle, actually. That nervous sort of laughter that you do when you don't know what else to do...

After 20 minutes or so together...he gets up, without a word...and ambles on down the road.

As I sit there I take inventory. I'm thankful for the divine mercies of colleagues that help us, the fact that there's no rain coming down on me...and that I can learn, over time, how to talk to people who I meet.

While I sat on that curb...another person approached me and asked me if my gate key was working...I realized that this guy spoke really great English. Then he told me he too worked for our employer. I asked him "What's your English name?" He replied..."Today." I said, "No, I'm sorry, your ENGLISH NAME." He replied again, "Today."

Of course...his name couldn't have been Tony...nothing was logical or predictable...his name was "Today."

Wonder when I'll meet Tomorrow?

These strange experiences are repeated (never one like the other), day after day. But we sense His Plan more and more each day as we make our way here.

We're moved in. At least all of our things are here. We're a long way from being moved in. We love our home. It's very comfortable. We would love to post some pictures but we discovered the other day that our brand new (June purchased) camera has been crushed in some way.

As soon as we can get involved in another W-han Smackdown...we'll try to buy another one.