Читать книгу She Made Me Laugh - Stephanie Emmons - Страница 9

One sunny day in August of 1995, when I was 27, I was at my best friend Margie’s apartment having coffee. We had both lost someone very special not long before: Margie, her mom, and me, my Grandma Emmons. We were both still getting over the shock, coffeeing our way through our grief together.

The phone rang. It was our mutual friend, Miriam Dowd. We had met Miriam about six years earlier through Challenge, a Catholic youth community we all belonged to in Ottawa. I could tell from Margie’s side of the conversation that something was up. Margie had long known of my affinity for Mother Teresa and was smiling and nodding, stirring my curiosity.

“Hmmm. Hang on a moment, okay, Miriam?” Margie said.

Then, Margie turned to me. “Steph, Miriam is planning a six-week trip to India next January to work with Mother Teresa and she’s looking for someone to go with her. Can you think of anyone?”

After pondering the question for about ten seconds, I said, “Yeah, okay!”

It was no more notable than if I had just accepted an invitation to go to the movies. And so, after a few weeks of pinching myself to make sure it was real and convincing my poor family that I had not lost my mind, we got busy making all of the preparations, getting the required shots and arranging the travel.

A few days before our departure, Miriam’s brother, Father Thomas Dowd (now a bishop), celebrated a cozy send-off Mass at their parents’ home for us. There, I took Father Tom aside and told him not to worry, that I would look after his little sister. He smiled and said, “Oh I have a feeling she’ll be looking after you.” How right he was.

When the big day arrived, January 7, 1996, I went to Mass by myself in the morning at St. Maurice Church. During the homily, our pastor told the congregation about our trip and pointed me out. He asked them to reach out and pray a blessing on me, and with that, every one of them extended a hand toward me, praying for my safety and wellbeing. My whole parish. I felt peaceful the rest of the day. Meeting up with Miriam and our family and friends who had come to wish us bon voyage, I set about the difficult business of saying goodbye to my mother and my brother Rob who had come to see me off. They were understandably concerned, reluctant to see me heading so far away toward the unknown. Ultimately though, they supported me and wanted me to do what made me happy.

At long last, we were in the air heading from Ottawa to Halifax. We giggled an awful lot during the first movie. It was Babe—the one with the talking pig and the dancing farmer. Three little blind mice kept appearing, and the sight of them sent us both into peals of silent laughter. (You can only laugh so loud and so long on a plane before your fellow passengers start to get perturbed….) We didn’t dare make eye contact for fear of setting each other off again. We were both giddy and emotional, as the enormity of what we were doing started hitting home. Besides, the weeks leading up to this day had been busy and nerve-wracking, so this bit of comic relief was welcome.

Eventually, we each settled into our own solitude. I thought about the days and weeks ahead, trying to somehow prepare myself for what was to come. But how do you do that? This was India. I’m from Canada; there was no frame of reference. And other than Miriam, I wouldn’t know a soul there. I was nervous, for sure. But more than that, I was thrilled. This was the trip of a lifetime! Every moment would be entirely new and different, and I was keen to get at it.

Before long, however, I started feeling very unwell, thinking maybe a migraine was coming on. There was sharp pain in both my ears, right down into my throat. I was almost in tears when we called for the flight attendant to ask for help. This must happen to other people, as they knew just what to do. They gave me two small white plastic cups with hot moist paper towels inside them to hold over my ears to relieve the pressure. I guess I had a bit of a cold and the change in pressure bothered my ears and sinuses. Miriam, though very sympathetic, couldn’t help giggling at the sight of me. In her defense, I’m sure I did look silly, maybe like Yoda with round white plastic ears, but I didn’t care. The warm towels really helped.

By the time we stopped in Halifax, I couldn’t hear out of my right ear, but I was just glad the pain had eased. On the second descent, this time in Amsterdam, I had an even rougher time than the first. My ears hurt so much that I was crying. Once we landed at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, I bought some nose drops and used them several times during the next flight. I also bought some ibuprofen and made sure to take it before our descent. Thankfully I was okay. I just kept chewing gum, yawning, swallowing, and praying, and I was okay. It was a long, long day. But so worth it.

We arrived in Bombay Airport and were funneled into a large room where we lined up with a throng of others to show our passports and go through customs. The baggage retrieval area was crazy. A crush of travelers, luggage handlers, and people begging swallowed us up as we slowly made our way to the front. It took a good half hour to find our bags, and we then proceeded through an X-ray machine. Then we found our way to the Indian Airlines gate—one staff person with one phone sitting at a wooden desk. We asked about our flight to Cochin—the final aerial leg on our trip!—and he told us to go outside and walk through the parking lot to the bus marked Indian Airlines. It was 3:30 a.m. and very dark. As we walked out to the parking lot, cabbies approached us hollering “taxi!” at us over and over. It was unnerving. We reached the bus and climbed aboard. The driver, two men, and a young couple all stared at us as we stood there awkwardly at the front. The driver asked to see our plane tickets, gestured toward the seats and stowed our bags. All around us nothing stood still—old style taxis, zippy motorized rickshaws, noisy buses, and just so many cars. This was our first experience of the chaos. We took our seats and waited quietly in the rickety old bus for about twenty minutes.

Then we left for the other terminal where we would catch the flight to Cochin. I felt weird and a bit frightened. My stomach was in knots. Now it was 4 a.m., which is a sort of dark and scary time to begin with. We were so alone on a strange bus in a very strange city with a very bad smell. We passed numerous shacks by the side of the road in Bombay, most made with cardboard and rusty tin siding. People, we realized, were in those shacks—whole families—sleeping. Miriam and I glanced at each other, and then we just stared out the window in silence the rest of the way. That bus trip somehow made me sick—soul sick. It had begun.

Almost thirty hours had passed since Miriam and I had first left home. The endless hours spent sitting in airports, on tarmacs, and in the air had hardly given us a chance for any decent stretches of sleep. We were beat. Here’s a letter I wrote to my best friend, Margie, while waiting in the Bombay airport:

Dear Margie,

Hello from two tired, jet lagged, fed up travelers! We are sitting in Bombay airport, waiting hours and hours for our next flight. The trip has been hard but we’re almost there! Two flights down, one to go. Cochin, here we come! I can’t wait to get on the next plane—hope I can sleep a bit. Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam was HUGE! I think it might be the biggest one in the world but I’m not sure. We actually got lost a few times in there, but it was ok cause our next flight was delayed three hours. The shops were so expensive and so was the food. I paid $9.50 for a bowl of tomato soup! Crazy compared to the $4 or so we’d pay in a restaurant at home. We found a lounge where travelers were all stretched out across chairs. It didn’t look too comfy but it was better than nothing so we did the same. We were able to catch a couple of winks, despite the constant flight announcements, fluorescent lighting, zillions of people, and the SMOKE! Everyone smokes here. Ugh. On our overseas flight there were little monitors on the ceiling showing us where we were. We flew over or near: London, Brussels, Berlin, Paris, Munich, Rome, Barcelona, Frankfurt, Glasgow, Manchester, Hamburg, and more! So cool. Anyway, I’ve had about 3 hours of sleep in the past 27 and Miriam has had about 5. I’m so freakin tired and a bit delirious. We seem to be laughing a lot. Everything is hilarious when you’re overtired. But we are safe and really excited to get to Cochin and meet Father John in a few hours. I’m thinking of all of you in the snow back home as I swat away the mosquitos and move slowly in the heavy humidity here in India. (India! It’s hitting me … I made it!) No complaints though—I love the heat. And aside from eating dinner at breakfast time and vice versa, we’re holding up fairly well. Can’t wait to tell you everything in person.

Bye for now. I’ll write again as soon as I can.

Love Steph

I finished the letter and we heard the long-awaited boarding call for our flight, quickly gathered up our things and scrambled to the tarmac toward the very last plane—the one that would take us to Cochin. And although I was thrilled that we would soon be there, I was desperate to close my eyes.

Once settled, I curved my little travel pillow around my neck. And, pulling my fleece jacket up to my ears like a cozy blanket, I relaxed and became one with the seat. At last I could rest. Closing my eyes, I slipped out of consciousness. It was delicious. Then a loud female voice jolted me awake. I thought it had only been a few minutes but apparently an hour had passed. It felt like a wicked hangover. I rubbed my eyes, feeling fuzzy, disoriented, and annoyed. The voice was announcing that we were almost there, and it was time to prepare for landing.

Miriam and I looked out the window, suddenly wide awake with the happy knowledge that we were about to land. We saw lots of water, waving palm trees, and a few buildings. Looking at each other with silly grins, Miriam whispered, “We’re in India!” A few minutes later, we landed in Cochin in the south of India. I was so excited.

As I stepped off the plane, the heat embraced me like a warm, wet blanket. Back home in Canada, we had bundled up against January’s biting cold. Now we were in the heat of a tropical country, and it was heavenly. Our big adventure was finally underway. Our hosts, Father John and three religious sisters, were there to meet us. Friends of Miriam’s had traveled to India and stayed with them the previous year. These friends had put us in touch with Father when we started making plans months earlier. He was delighted to have us come.

The little welcoming committee came rushing toward us, all smiles and chatter and waving arms. They greeted us heartily, like long-lost friends, though we had never met. We would stay with them for the first two weeks.

Here’s part of a letter I sent home once we arrived in Cochin and got settled:

Okay Margie, we made it!

We arrived in Cochin with no problems. Father and some nuns met us at the airport. Their driver, Baby, carried our bags. The ride from the airport to the place where we were staying was crazy! You know Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disney World? It was like that. And picture this: one narrow road, no dividing line, driving on the left, many, many motorcycles, rickshaws, bicycles, Mack trucks, taxis, and people walking everywhere. It seems they communicate mostly by honking. I was startled many times, but it was thrilling! Miriam and I had to hold onto the seats in front of us for dear life. I kept closing my eyes. We couldn’t stop laughing so hard, like when you’re on a terrifying roller coaster, trying not to scream! Miriam’s awesome. She makes me laugh a lot. We had a good long sleep last night and I’m feeling much better. This morning, we were offered three varieties of bananas. I tried some of each and they weren’t too bad. I really wish I didn’t hate bananas. Miriam loved them. And here is my great news of the century: On Feb 9, Mother Teresa is coming here to Cochin! MOTHER TERESA! It’s the 100th anniversary of the Catholic Diocese here and she is coming to give the keynote address! Father has known about it but he waited to tell us in person. And get this—he said he would see if we could meet her! I can’t believe this. By then, we will have been to Calcutta and back, and who knows—maybe we’ll have met her there already. Wow. Oh, and this morning we washed our clothes in buckets, outside on the roof. The sisters showed us how to scrub them on a slab of rock. The view from up there was stunning. Well we’re off to find a bank so we can cash some travelers’ checks. The sisters are taking us shopping for saris! Loving this.

Miss you.

Love Steph

My first few days there were all about the senses. Everything was so new and fresh. In many ways, it was good.

One morning, Father John took us to a little roadside fruit stand and bought several pineapples. The man there said they had been picked that morning. He cut one open with a massive, ancient machete and offered a piece to each of us. The glowing yellow flesh was sweeter and yummier than any candy I’d ever tasted, and I know candy. In Canada we pay an awful lot for pineapples, despite the fact that days or weeks pass between the picking and the eating. But in India, these beauties cost the equivalent of pennies. We went so crazy over them that Father bought a whole bunch for us to take home. They didn’t last beyond the day.

I went up on the roof alone whenever I had the chance. I liked being around people and all, but I’m also an introvert, so I grabbed moments of solitude when I could. I loved sitting up there in my little sanctuary, looking out over the towering tops of banana trees. I’d never been a fan of bananas before the trip (okay … hated them) so I wasn’t exactly swooning over them as I had the pineapples. But they still beat the heck out of any banana I’d ever tasted back in Canada.

When I called home and talked to my brother Rob, a few days after our arrival, I was endlessly complaining about the heat. It had sometimes hit 40 degrees Celsius (104 degrees Fahrenheit) and I don’t do so well in the heat. He then said he had just come in from a half hour of shoveling after a huge snowfall. That shut me right up. I didn’t miss the Canadian winter one bit, although it occurred to me several times every day that I was very far from home.

Numerous times over the next six weeks, whenever it occurred to us, Miriam and I would gleefully exclaim to one another, “We’re in India!” It was fun to say and just such a bizarre thing to hear. Plus, it was so hard to believe that we were actually there, I think we were trying to make it sink in. Pretty sure it never really did.

Not everything was rosy, though. Here’s part of another letter I sent home:

Dear Margie,

I want to tell you a bit more about my first day here in Cochin. It was a very hard one. We’d been traveling about thirty hours and I had only been able to sleep about three hours in total. So I was absolutely exhausted—as bone tired as I’ve ever been. We finally touched down in Cochin in the south of India, and a very friendly Father John was at the airport to meet us. I almost cried. I think I’d been secretly worried that no one would be there and we’d be left to fend for ourselves. But no, there he was, along with his driver named Baby. I felt the warmth of reassurance wash over me, like God was saying, See? I told you I’d look after you. After the introductions and getting settled in the car, we were treated to that jarring and jolting thrill of our first experience in traffic. Wow. It was nerve wracking but strangely fun too.

Then we arrived at the place where we’ll stay for the first week—the residence of a priest and several nuns. We asked Father if we could use the phone to call home and he said we could. He showed us to his office and I called my Mom. She was thrilled to hear from me. We started catching up and she said she missed me a lot and had been wearing my scarf. I was so thrilled that I could finally tell her all about the trip, my worries, and whatever else I wanted. There was so much to say! Then for some reason, Father took the phone out of my hand and said, “Hi Mom! Don’t worry, she’s in good hands with Father, okay? Bye now!” and he hung up the phone. Just like that. She was gone. I felt like I’d been shot. I was so exhausted and I needed so much to talk to my Mom and was nowhere near finished. Of course I knew she would be very upset too. I burst into tears (mostly anger) and he grabbed my face and buried it in his chest, sort of petting my cheek over and over, saying, “There, there, no need to cry! Your Father is here. Why are you crying? You must miss your mother a lot.” I was beside myself, crying hard as I pushed away from him. He looked bewildered, as if he truly had no idea why I was so upset. He told Miriam she could make her call. I said I was going to our room, bolted from the office and ran all the way.

When I reached my room, I jumped on my bed and just sobbed. I was thinking I could only phone when he said so, that he’d be around all the time, etc. I felt desperate to be back home. I was still bawling my head off when Miriam walked in. I unloaded my feelings, holding nothing back. She was supportive but seemed very worried. I told her I was going to set my boundaries and tell him off. I had to tell him where I stood! I was feeling pretty bold in my hurt, sleep-deprived state. Poor Miriam … I think she was really concerned. Here we were on the very first day and I was about to alienate our host—one of the few people we knew in the city … in the country! She asked me to have a good sleep before I said anything to him. I agreed. It turned out to be a very good idea because in the morning I did gain some perspective and didn’t quite feel so raw or injured after I had slept. Thank God for Miriam who saved me from myself. At breakfast Father assured us that the next time we wanted to call someone all we had to do was ask, and we could talk as long as we liked. Gotta run. Can’t wait to tell you everything! Say hi to everyone for us! Love Steph