Settling

I can get most places now without using GPS.  That might not sound terribly impressive, but this is a city where street names change often and unpredictably, and you have awesome places with Queens Road and Queens Road W. paralleling each other, and then smashing together at an intersection with both the Queenses and also a Kings Drive, where Queens Road then becomes both Kings Drive and East Boulevard, while Queens Road W. turns into Providence (which is actually Highway 16 on maps, although no one calls it that aloud) and Providence turns into Queens Road and then a couple blocks later splits again into Queens and Morehead.  And then Kings loops around from a north-south road to an east-west road, and becomes Central.  Got that?  So, yes.  Be impressed.

I found a grocery store that is not only affordable but sells quirky international products and—best of all—my tea!  My tea from Kenya, which I have only been able to find sporadically available online since I visited and got hooked.  It's right there, on the shelf, available for purchase any time.  (Granted, this store also sells cans of "No Sugar Added Pears, Artificially Sweetened"... Not really sure how that works, but it seems to defeat its own purpose.)  It's a store that fits right in with the America/not-America theme of my life here.  Those of you who have shopped in other countries' grocery stores, particularly in non-Western countries, will understand—it just doesn't feel quite like an American store.  It's hard to explain exactly why: the products are almost the same (although a lot of unidentifiable ethnic ingredients are mixed in there, too), all the signage is in English, it has the "big supermarket chain" architecture and aisle signs.  But there's just something about the way it's organized (baking supplies sharing shelf space with baby products and cookies), and the slightly-different colors of the food packaging, and the hard-to-describe seafood-mixed-with-unfamiliar-spices smell of the place.  I'm also the only white person in there, and the produce has a much more "whatever happens to be available" stocking philosophy than the huge, thoroughly American supermarket across the street.  (The produce that is there, though?  Cheap, and good.  I'll take unpredictable for that.)

Some of the students in the English class where I volunteer know my name now.  (From the students' perspective, volunteers are in and out all the time, have unpronounceable names, and all look basically the same, so that—like not needing GPS all the time now—is actually a bigger deal than it sounds.)  My name is basically impossible for them to say, of course, being three syllables and ending in a "th," a sound which most of their languages don't even have.  They recognize me, though, and try.  I'm sure I'm terribly butchering their names, too.

I have made some good connections with other believers here; both those involved with the refugee community and just people who seem like they could become good friends.  I've been invited to a meeting on Saturday for many of the people here who have a heart for refugee ministry (and there are many, I'm finding), to come together in one room and share ideas and build unity.  I've met a few Christians in the refugee community itself, and hope to build those friendships more, too.

In short—although I still don't know how to balance all the new demands on my time—I am settling here.  I no longer have that slightly startled "that's right, I actually live here now" feeling when I pull up to my building.    

And God is at work here.  I don't know if or how I fit into that work, but he's doing it.  So it seems like a good place to be...