When the Dust Settled in My Host Country

For the first time in weeks, my soul felt alive again. Feeling the wind wrap around me, holding my girl close and watching her hand float through the air, while my guy guided us with ease through traffic that was once again wonderfully chaotic. It was the most glorious feeling. After many months of lockdown, we were free. Rumors of lockdown starting again only pushed us out the door faster, to see our friends that have turned into family. 

Stripping off our helmets and coats, I thanked God for His mercy in holding back the rain. As soon as we crossed the threshold and got inside the downpour began. I smiled, acknowledging His little nudge and imagining Him grinning mischievously. We climbed a single flight of stairs and the reunion began. Cooper went first and I could hear little squeals. Charlie and I walked in and then came the gasps. Three months ago she was just a baby, now she is a full-grown toddler. COVID-19 had indeed robbed us of watching one another grow through each moment. But nothing could dampen this sweet reunion, this sincere embrace. COVID-19 reminded us just how much we’ve come to love this place we call home.

Walking around in Kathmandu during the first few days of lockdown was eerie. Streets that are normally busy—filled with other pedestrians, stepping around street vendors, dodging dogs, and children—were now utterly empty. It was so quiet that even the crackling buzz of the power lines could be easily heard. Kathmandu was on mute. You could taste the fear that lingered behind the closed doors. Neighbors were afraid to sit with one another on their porch. Parents questioned their ability to get groceries without catching the virus. Vegetable sellers were shouting at the top of their lungs to sell the tomatoes that were about to go bad, knowing they’d lose a week's worth of wages if they had to throw them out.

This was not the Kathmandu I knew.

An endless lockdown has proven to be more harmful than the virus with more than a thousand suicides reported in a matter of 80 days of lockdown. Families who depend on daily wages were suddenly unemployed and unable to provide. Economic stress quickly outweighed the fear of the virus. So, people came out of hiding.

Once again the streets are filling with noise and dust. Despite that, when our little family mounted our scooter to head across town for the first time in months, I found myself smiling. I was full of joy to see the city I didn't even realize I had come to love so much to coming back to life again. 

Believe it or not, I missed the dust. I missed the loud noises and barking dogs. But most of all, I missed the lively culture that I’ve come to love over the past few years. During the lockdown, I’d sit in my home wondering who was ok to talk to and who wasn’t. But after a few days and a few attempts at connecting with neighbors, I found beautiful chances to connect more deeply than ever before.

I drank cups of tea with neighbors slowly. I’m not sure I would have had such an opportunity without a nationwide lockdown. Most days I had nothing to do but be. Since we were all in the same house a lot of times, we decided to be together. There was no one else to see. That had never happened before. I had never left the space for it to happen. One of my favorite things to do is fill my calendar. It makes me feel good, useful, productive. But in this “unproductive” season, I’ve found so many reasons to love and praise the Lord for where He’s brought us, dust and all.

We’ve uncovered a new rhythm of pre-dinner time hangouts with the neighborhood kids. We stand with the other adults while a flurry of children scurries around kicking soccer balls and chasing cats. Others open their gates to get a peek at the ruckus. They might slip out to join in, getting the interaction they’ve craved for so long. In this enforced isolation I’ve found the community I’ve longed for all along.

Now that the country is opening up a bit I’m finding it hard to keep the rhythms we found during the lockdown. Once again I’m excited to be out and about. I smiled when my landlord asked why she hadn’t seen me in a week, remembering all the good that came during the months of lockdown. I want to remember the slowness. I’ve realized it’s only when I slow down that I can see all the good, good things that surround me.